PUZZLES ARE FOR PUZZLERS. DEDUCERS DEDUCE.

What has Dodge told us about Dodge?  Let's list it all.

HUNGRY CARTIER-BRESSON

As usual, sorry for my absence.  Since the confidential-assistant revenue stream has dried up for the moment, I have had to turn elsewhere for funds.  Not an easy thing in this economy, of course, but fortunately I have that art-school degree to fall back upon.  Yes, I've decided to double-down on the photography sideline.  What do you think of my most recent work?

For those of you more interested in the 12 than in my monograph-in-progress: It seems wise to wonder whether the state-highway-mile system applies any longer.  For the residents of Ternky Tower, it made sense, of course: a unified system so that any one of them could locate the jewels.  In other words, that wasn't a case of accidental fingerprints; the residents left comprehensible clues because the clues were intended to communicate.  Now, though, it seems the answers rest not in the building, but in the man.  I don't believe Dodge intends to help anyone.  I don't believe he's playing the same game as the residents.  I believe he's a big jerk. 

Also, I believe I can eat this entire watermelon in one sitting.


MY DARLING DARLINGS

I like where Sailor and Juliett are going with this!  Whether where they are going where Dodge is — well, Dodge is the only one who knows that.  But better to go towards than to go away, that's what I say.  If the man has the jewel, and we desire to find the jewel, then we must find the man.  And where is the man?  Where did the man go?  Am I going around in circles?  Yes to the last, it seems — but as for the first two, what do we know?  What information do we have?  Of that information, what is relevant to his current location? Again, me no know, me just dumb ol' Gus, but here's one thing I do know: Anyone who thinks these marshmallow pics are a clue clearly hasn't eaten a marshmallow recently enough.

GUS IS BACK!

I have nothing useful to say, but I won't let that stop me from saying something!

The below is from my current photography project, entitled "Friends 4-Ever."

 I am exploring the artist-subject relationship as a form of mediated consumption (mediated by peanut butter, generally).

EMOTIONS ARE COMPLICATED

We all have emotions, and each of us reacts to those emotions in different ways.  In times of extreme emotion, we seek safety and stability.

Thus, upon receiving the report of  the Idaho expedition, Dodge's glass, the newly-missing 12…well, I experienced many emotions, and I reacted emotionally.  For me, the safe place was a dumpster behind the old Hormel factory in Beloit.  I nestled my trembling body amid those smoky smells, curled up in a ball, and slept for a week.  (It's possible I also snacked occasionally — my memory is fuzzy.)

Most of you reacted differently, fortunately.  Juliett, CosmicJay, Popper, DMonty, Theda, others — your unvanquished spirit is inspiring, and your early sleuthing is provocative.  Dodge himself would have been proud — I mean, if Dodge wasn't a devious fink.  

Other others of you reacted in another way, going to your own safe place, your own Hormel dumpster of demoralized suspicion.  I understand discouragement — surely we have all experienced that many times throughout this jewel-encrusted rollercoaster.  But to call into question a fellow Deducer?  The lack of decorum is troubling, discouraging… and suddenly a familiar smoked-meat aroma wafts into my nostrils, and my eyes go hazy… Don't send me back into that dumpster, Deducers!  Not now, when we need each other most!

So.  After a year-long quest, beginning with a devious thievery, then an even more devious thievery, and then eleven-and-a-half heroic unearthings, we now come to a fork in the path.  One path is Acceptance, with a tinge of Defeat, perhaps leading to a chasm of Rotting Smoked Meats.  The other path is Riskier, perhaps leading to Madness, especially considering the Price of Gas These Days.  This path is only for those maniacal sleuths who are personally offended by the notion that Dodge sleeps easy, snuggled under covers with his emerald 12.

Two paths diverge.  It's a tough decision, and each of us must decide for his or her self.  I personally will now sequester myself in the pantry; when the pistachios are all gone, my own choice will become clear.  I suggest you all do the same (the pistachios may be replaced by cashews or peanuts — but NOT almonds, trust me, it doesn't work).

WE GOT GOT?

Deducer Popper reports:

    Our original ideas for Floor 9 seemed too good to be totally wrong, and I had been a fan of Theda's theories about the poem, and especially Heirloom's idea of starting from the other side of the state -- but none of that mattered, since I live at least a thousand miles away from either side of Idaho.  But when I realized I would be visiting my cousin in Salt Lake City, not too far from the Idaho border...I started thinking, why not? 
    A week later the two of us were together in Utah.  We travelled north on I-15/84, crossed the Idaho border, and stopped at the first rest stop (and semi-welcome center with soda machines) to the right -- the last stop for another 45 miles or so!  The area was full of scrubby little tree-like things -- I wasn't sure whether they "counted," but after driving all this way I wasn't giving up without a search.
    After a long while of roaming, we ended up on a short trail to a little picnic site.  Trees all appeared to be unmarked.  It was a sunny day, so we kept walking, through a clearing, and ended up in a stand of trees that looked...different, somehow.  I don't know -- they looked like the kind of place whether something should be.  There were three trees in a row, all with weird funky bark, and on the middle one...well, you can guess what I saw. I must not have been truly expecting to find anything, because when I saw the marker my heart just started pounding. 

The dirt was surprisingly soft, and we scrabbled through it with everything we had, and then...about a foot down...plastic. 

A plastic bag, and inside it some newsprint wrapping...but it didn't seem to have the shape of the other boxes I had seen pictured...but maybe the 12 was different?  But when I unwrapped the paper...well, the photo shows what I saw:

It was a note (slightly soggy but legible) and a magnifying glass.  With a name engraved on it:

My reaction was...well, I'm still figuring out what to feel.  I was slightly disappointed to not be holding the emerald 12, but mostly I just felt (and still feel!) this overwhelming burning desire to find Roy Dodge (whatever that means).  That monster's got my 12!  Are we supposed to give up that easy?  Augustus, we need your assistance!

You need assistance?  I need a five-gallon tub of rocky road, Season 1 of Friday Night Lights, and a diaper!  My brain is literally melting.

I DON'T KNOW HOW TO FEEL.

Idaho expedition reveals— oh, it's too much to even begin!

More soon.

FRIENDLY JEROME HAUNTS ME WHEREVER I GO

Even the grocery store.