Wheelchair bound by age's infirmities, Bonnie LaFontaine sat in the autumnal chill and stared out over the lake. She'd visited every summer as a girl, missed it as a woman, and as a grandmother who'd made her fortune she lived here, bringing her descendants to visit in her favorite place.
A sprawling house looked down on two tall pines at the far end of a long, sloping lawn where it vanished into the lake, which itself reflected the mountain peaks beyond. This would be her last season with her lake, her mountains, her trees. The doctors had been clear. And she was ready. Her children would be comfortable, but most of her wealth was hidden away. One of her grandchildren would find it where the sun touched when it cleared of the mountains on the day that it ascended perfectly between the two pines, though she'd made the riddles a little harder than that.
They'd come up to visit often after she was gone. One would find the riddles tucked into her favorite book, then.... She was still smiling about it when Jenine wheeled her back inside.
"C'mon," said Jenine. "It'll sell much faster without those trees blocking the view."