I didn't understand what, exactly, I had to look for, but I began a thorough search in the house, hoping to find that thing of importance to him. But how could I look when I didn't know what I was looking for? That was the big question.
I found some old coins that had caught between the wood floors and. the molding, a piece of broken violin, some abused toys, but nothing more exciting.
Susan and. Earl kept their eyes open for anything out of the ordinary, but we were all coming up with nothing of significance.
Since Tom had been of help earlier, I grilled him with questions, hoping for an instant answer. But, as I have often learned, there are no instant answers, only more questions.
"You have the whole history of the house, you should have some idea," he told me, in desperation after puzzling over the situation.
"Wait, he has a brother!" I remembered. His brother was the one who sold the house years ago. Who would know better than his brother? Of course, at that age, I had to wonder where he was. Was he still alive? Why did he sell the house? Facts were really nothing sometimes, as they only led to more questions.
It was a long shot, but I decided to try to locate the missing brother. I decided to try a search on the Internet, hoping I might get lucky. I quickly turned up thirteen people with his name. But none of them had a New York address, which meant that he could be anywhere.
He might not even be listed. He could even be dead.
I hate writing to strangers, but I tried anyway. I fired a few e-mails off, hoping no one would be offended at my search. After all, maybe they did not want to be found. Who knew? Of course, he might not even be on the Internet. I was beginning to feel overwhelmed.
Later on, I got an instant message on the computer.
"You were looking for me," stated the instant message, from a person with a screen name I didn't recognize.
Surprised, I typed, "Are you Jack?" and nervously hit the Enter key.
"Yes, I am. What can I help you with," he responded, with a speed that made me question his age.
Here was a 76-year-old who could type messages faster than I could.
I told him about his brother, and the strange thing he said to me about how he would help me only if I returned something that he had lost.
"Oh, that old coot," he typed, which made me smile, since he was in fact older than his brother. I was beginning to figure out that both brothers had completely different personalities.
