We are back in Milwaukee, staying with Barbara and Paul for the rest of the week.

Today, after a stunning episode of "All My Children" (in which the amnesiac Maria, returning after five years under the alias Maureen, is convinced by the evil David—on the night before her husband, thinking her dead, marries Brooke—that she murdered herself in cold blood and that she has a long-lost daughter with whom she will be reunited in Puerto Vallarta, Mexico), Rindy, Rob, and I patronized a massive used-book store, where I stumbled across a treasure from my youth: the Alfred Hitchcock and the Three Investigators series of books. The Three Investigators are teenagers from Rocky Beach, California, who are also, as their name suggests, master detectives. Their leader is Jupiter Jones, a "stocky" young genius who lives with his Uncle Titus and Aunt Matilda at their salvage yard. The second investigator, often referred to as "Second," is Pete Crenshaw, who is tall and muscular. (A description that single-handedly ignited my short-lived childhood crush.) Bob Andrews, called "Records," was in charge of records and research because he wore a brace on his leg and worked at the library. Poor gimpy Records was often left behind as his more able-bodied companions tracked criminals who invested in elaborate hoaxes and horrific disguises rather than simply breaking in to steal what they wanted at gunpoint. (Presumably, the Three Investigators shared their rogues' gallery with those pesky kids from "Scooby Doo.")

Each case was introduced by Alfred Hitchcock until his death, at which time the entire series of books was reissued with forewords by mystery writer Hector Sebastian, an entity who may have been completely fabricated but in any case did not get his name on the cover.

As a child, I scrimped and saved to purchase individual volumes. As an adult, overcome with nostalgia, I breezed up to the counter with the entire series and paid cash.

Over a late lunch, our literary purchases stacked around us, we decided to form our own detective agency modeled after this fictional trio. Rob, the brains of the operation, is Jupiter. Rindy, who works in an archive and twisted her ankle the other day, is the obvious Bob. The fantasy begins to disintegrate when we consider that the only remaining role is tall and muscular Pete, a position I could not fill without straining the seams of reality in a way that even the transsexual Records does not. I comfort myself with the notion that I am probably taller and more muscular than the imaginary young teenager who is my predecessor.

Our first case will be that of Maria/Maureen, who on the flight to Puerta Vallerta, flashed back to a suppressed memory of surrendering her long-lost child to Brooke, also on the doomed flight whose crash, along with a starring role in a movie about Annette Funicello, led to Maria's original disappearance. As much of this investigation will occur on the couch as we stare, entranced, at a television set, we have our work cut out for us.