If looks could kill, Steve Pell would be no more.
“I happen to find history extremely interesting,” I claim.
He opens his mouth, so I quickly guide Antonio toward the food stalls where Earl is waving enthusiastically.
“See the man who looks like he’s directing air traffic without a permit? That’s Earl.”
“Caspian and Antonio!” Earl says, smiling brightly. He gives Antonio an enthusiastic once-over.
“Dorothy and Delilah were right. You are cute as a bottom.”
Antonio’s mouth opens.
I groan.
“Earl, I think they said cute as a button.”
“Right then,” Earl announces, rubbing his hands together. “Popcorntime!”
At the popcorn stand, he stops and clutches his throat.
“It flew in!” he shrieks. “It flew right in!”
Dorothy’s loud sigh tells me this is not the first Earl-emergency today.
She peers at Earl from behind the stand.
“What flew in?”
“A bee!” Earl panics, flailing.
“There was a buzz, and a zing, and it swooped in! What if I’m allergic?”
“It was a stray popcorn,” Delilah says.
Earl pauses.
“It did burn,” he admits. “I thought maybe the bee was warm from the sun?”
Antonio snorts.
“Caspian!” Harold bellows from across the park. He stands guard beside a plaque like someone would steal it the second he averted his gaze.
“That’s Harold,” I tell Antonio as we approach. “He offers free history lectures. No one ever goes.”
Harold shakes Antonio’s hand pompously.
“Finally a fellow historian!” He taps the plaque with a pointer. “Installed in 1994. I personally oversaw the wording.”
Antonio studies the sign.
“The part about the Baywood militia forming in 1812 is incorrect.”
“Excuse me?”
“The first organized response wasn’t until 1814,” Antonio explains.
Harold looks scandalized.
