“If it’s code, it’s nothing I can fathom.” Andrew picked up another letter from the stack. “But that’s a very astute observation. I’ll keep looking. Maybe something will jump out.”
While we worked I snuck looks at Corbin and his dad, smiling at their identical habits. The way they both bent over the letters, the rest of the world fading away as they focused on research. The way their eyes lit up when they uncovered some interesting detail. After a while, they started to read aloud particularly cryptic sentences, and even got into an argument about the science of graphology that included at least seven words I never knew existed (psychogram? Iridology? The Barnum Effect? You had to be kidding me).
But after a while, even watching Corbin reconnect with his dad couldn’t keep down the creeping sensation that we weren’t finding anything useful. I tossed the last letter down and stared forlornly at the page of notes I’d made, most of which consisted of the words, ‘ROBERT = CRAZY?’ with a million question marks.
“There isn’t anything here.” I tossed the letter back into the archive box.
“Agreed.” Corbin frowned at the sketchbook in front of him. “I feel as though we’re circling the edges of the truth.”
“Maybe that’s because we’re approaching this like historians, instead of scientists.” An idea glimmered in my mind.
“What do you mean?”
I held up a handful of the letters. “We’re reading old conversations, old news, completely out of context.” I jabbed my finger at the stack of letters on the table. “We’ve got no way of knowing if these are the insane ramblings of a sick man or a code between Smithers and my mother. Since Robert’s the only person alive who can decode this mystery, I think it’s time we visited him, even if we have to break the law to do it.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR
FLYNN
After Maeve’s revelation yesterday, there was no way I could enjoy Oxford without several pints of ale in me. Arthur was being a right tosser about my request for inebriation. He only agreed to go to a pub if it was the one his favourite author, J. R. R. Tolkien, used to drink at, so he dragged us across town – past several perfectly respectable-looking drinking holes – to arrive at theEagle and Child.
The pub was too bright and filled with happy-looking tourists. The ale was okay. I’d have expected more from Mr. Hobbit himself. Arthur couldn’t stop grinning as he sat down at Tolkien’s table. Kelly and Jane had disappeared into some shop next door. They seemed to get along well, always whispering and laughing together and ducking off on some secret mission. That sounded preferable to listening to Arthur, Rowan, and Blake talk about how amazing Maeve was.
Arthur and Rowan got up to order more food, and Blake leaned in and tapped my shoulder. “Maeve’s angry with you.”
“Is it that obvious?” I slurped the foam off my drink.
“What’d you do, tell her you’d found unequivocal evidence that the world is flat?”
“How do you even know the word ‘unequivocal’?”
“Maeve said it once. I had to look it up on your phone.” Blake poked my arm. “Out with it. Why is she upset?”
“She told me she loved me.”
Blake shrugged. “She told Corbin and Rowan, too.”
I winced. I hadn’t known that. “Yeah, but they probably did the polite thing and said it back.”
Blake sighed. “Everyone is so concerned thatI’mthe one lying all the time, but you can’t even admit the truth to yourself.”
“And what’s that?”
“That you’re hopelessly in love with Maeve just like the rest of us.”
I shook my head. “I’m not in love. Maeve and me…it’s just a bit of fun.”
“I thought that, at first.” Blake squeezed vinegar over his basket of chips and shoved three in his mouth. “But you gave yourself away. You’ve got it bad, but for some reason I can’t fathom, you don’t want her to know that. You push her away and?—”
I stood up, pushing my chair out. “I’m going to bed.”
“Don’t be daft. You haven’t even finished your pint, and it’s your round next.”
“Fine.” I threw a few pounds down on the table and headed for the door, my heart racing. “I’m not thirsty anymore.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE
MAEVE
