Haven excused herself after dinner, and they let everyone socialize a bit while the caterers cleaned up dinner. Trevor noticed Haven was taking down everyone’s names, and she’d wandered off into the office. When she came back, she got everyone’s attention and herded them all into the living room.

“Trevor and I have cooked up something very special—and hopefully fun for you for tonight. Trevor, do you want to tell everyone about it?”

He didn’t. Too many details, and he didn’t want to screw it up and get things wrong. “You go ahead, Haven. You’re doing a fine job.”

“Okay. We’re going to have a scavenger hunt. And the best part is, there are prizes at the end. You’re all going to be paired up in teams. There are forty items in total that have been hidden. These items could be hidden somewhere on the property here, on the street, or in town. You’ll be given a list of these items, as well as clues where to find them. You have one hour and one hour only. At the end of the hour you’re to report back here. The team that has found the most items will be declared the winner.”

“What are the prizes?” one of the guys asked.

“The prize for the first-place team is a deep-sea fishing expedition.”

Lots of oohs, aahs, and applause on that one. Trevor loved to fish, and he knew several of the guys did, too.

“There are also prizes for second-and third-place teams, too, which is dinner at some of Tampa’s finest restaurants. So let’s get started.

“I’ll announce the names on each team,” Haven said. “Once everyone’s together with their teams, I’ll hand out your tote bags you’ll be using to accumulate the items, and your list of items and clues.”

She started calling names. True to what they discussed, Trevor and Warrell were on the same team, along with wide receiver Elvin Detteridge and Elvin’s girlfriend, Allison.

One rookie was paired with at least one veteran. Trevor made sure to have Haven mix it up that way, so the rookies weren’t paired up.

Haven had worked that out well.

Once all the teams were formed, Haven handed them their bag with clues and the list. “Good luck,” she said, offering him a smile. “Thanks.”

He turned to Warrell, Elvin, and Allison and pulled out the clues and items list. “You ready to kick some butt?”

Allison nodded. “Absolutely. Let’s see what we’ve got here.”

She took the list. “Oh, these are all football items. Awesome.”

“How about we let Allison be in charge of reading the clues,” Trevor suggested. “And who has a good sense of direction?”

“Well, this is your home,” Elvin said. “You should be able to tell from the clues where this stuff might be.”

“That’s true,” Allison said. “I think we ended up on the best team, having Trevor with us.”

Warrell had yet to say anything.

“I don’t know about that,” Trevor said. “Knowing Haven, she wouldn’t deliberately give anyone an advantage. Besides, she doesn’t live here, so she wouldn’t know to mark a spot that I would be familiar with.”

“Oh,” Allison said. “Good point.”

“Ready, everyone?” Haven had her phone out. “I’m starting the countdown. Ten . . . nine . . . eight . . .”

Trevor turned to Warrell. “Let’s win this, okay?”

Warrell gave a short nod. “Sure.”

When Haven gave the go signal, everyone scrambled. Some out the back door, some out the front.

“Let’s not start with the first clue,” Allison said. “Everyone will start with that. Let’s work our way up from the bottom.”

“That sounds like a good plan,” Elvin said, then looked to Trevor and Warrell.

“Works for me,” Warrell said.

They made their way down to the marina based on one of the clues, and found a team keychain hanging on the bell at the entrance to the harbor.

“Score one for our team,” Allison said with a triumphant fist pump. She slid the keychain into the tote bag. “Okay, next clue.”

Thirty minutes later, they had three of the items, but were stumped on one of the clues.

“ ‘If it quacks like a duck . . .’? What the hell does that even mean?” Warrell asked.

“There aren’t any duck ponds around here,” Trevor said, trying to think.

“How do you know for sure? Do you hang out at all the ponds?” Warrell asked.

“Well . . . no.”