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    Eight Months Before the Clue Hunt
     
    On Christmas morning, Grace Cahill learned she was dying of cancer.
    She watched as Dr. Zimmerman set a thin folder down on the desk. They were in a wide study in Grace’s house. She was the kind of person people made house calls for, even on Christmas. All that bad news from such a small file. It struck Grace as strange, though she wasn’t sure why. She was an accomplished chemist and knew that the most terrible things often came in small doses.
    “How long?” Grace asked, as though the question were an involuntary reaction. “Isn’t that what people ask in this situation?”
    Dr. Zimmerman sighed, removing her glasses and pinching the bridge of her nose. “Patients at this stage usually have a time frame of around six months. That’s about where I’d put you, Grace.”
    “Six . . .” It wasn’t enough time. There was still too much to prepare, too much that the children didn’t know. And if they weren’t ready, the whole world could suffer. “I’ll take eight,” Grace said.
    “Grace,” said Dr. Zimmerman. “You’re a strong and ambitious woman. I know you’re going to fight this, which is why I’m telling you six months instead of three. But you need to accept that you are dying. Soon.”
    Grace found her eyes were locked on her hands, which were knotted firmly in her lap. They were the only things she
could
focus on right then. She didn’t dare meet the oncologist’s eyes, in case she betray not sadness or fear, but anger. Grace was furious with herself. She’d spent her whole life searching for the 39 Clues, but it still wasn’t enough time. She’d failed.
    Dr. Zimmerman reached for Grace’s hands. “You need to be thinking about your loved ones right now. Your family. Are they taken care of? Have you spent the time with them that you need to? It’s Christmas morning, and where are they? Now is the moment to make sure they understand how much they mean to you, and ensure that they are provided for.”
    Provided for.
Grace’s thoughts snapped back to the legal documents locked in a hidden compartment in that very desk, right below her test results. They would change not only the lives of her family, but perhaps the very course of human history. Grace slowly withdrew her hands, patting out invisible wrinkles in her blouse.
    “Thank you, Barbara. I think you’re right. There are affairs that still must be set in order.”
    “I’m sorry, Grace. I’ll still do everything I can —”
    “No, thank you. You said exactly what I needed to hear, I think. I’ll come to your office next week to talk treatments.”
    Grace led Dr. Zimmerman to the door and said good-bye, then moved silently to the window. She was nearly eighty years old. Death was no stranger to her. She’d seen it take many others, including her beloved daughter and son-in-law. Staring death in the face now was nothing compared to finding it had sneaked by to claim her only child first.
    Grace watched the snow begin to fall over the front lawn of her estate like a blanket, or a powder, or any of those soft and comforting things snow was supposed to be in moments like this. But she didn’t need comfort right now. She needed to make a decision.
    A coughing fit brought her cat, Saladin, into the room. Saladin was a large, gray Egyptian Mau and had been Grace’s travel companion on many adventures. When she first started getting sick, it had been Saladin who seemed to sense it. In the week preceding her recent prognosis, he had barely left her side at all.
    Grace’s cough subsided. Reaching down to pet Saladin, she noticed his fur was wet with melted snow.
    “You’ve been prowling the neighborhood, haven’t you?” she said. “Quite a trek through the snow, just to fertilize the neighbors’ yards.”
    Saladin mewled, as if feigning surprise at the accusation.
    “Well, it’ll be spring by the time they find your little gifts, and by then . . .” Grace paused. “By then, they’ll