When we were kids, I remember my younger sister Kate loving puzzle books. I Spy, Where's Waldo, Mazes, Magic Eye, that sort of thing. She and my mom would sit on the couch under the lamp and read them after the bath and before bedtime. I liked the cleverness of them: puns as little clues, tiny hinting details, and illustrated equivalents of twinkly eye-winks.
We found such a book at the library today that, amazingly, I had never read before despite its 1989 publishing date. It was Graeme Base's The Eleventh Hour: A Curious Mystery, and Woody and I spent the better part of the evening working through the clues and cracking the code. He was really quite funny about it, insisting that the real work wouldn't begin until he put on his detective hat (his dad's gray Fedora) and got out his lab set magnifying glass.
Once he solved the puzzle, he immediately lamented that there weren't more books like this. And so, I gave myself the homeschooling homework assignment of digging some up.