If anything, it reminded her of an archaeological dig of some sort. The old book in a strange language, notes written out in what was possibly the same language—all that was missing was an overgrown pyramid or booby-trapped temple. Heck, even his button-down shirt was khaki . . . maybe his pith helmet was with him, wherever he was. She hadn’t heard any credible reports of secret societies operating in northern Michigan—the few militias and disorganized whackos didn’t bother with books in code, that was for sure.