“This is a long-standing tradition.”
“More like long-standing misinformation.”
He’s lethal. I love it.
He proceeds to dismantle Harold’s entire worldview with polite butterrifying efficiency. He cites journals, talks about a missing diary, and mentions some obscure-sounding biscuit taxation.
Harold blinks like a glitching Christmas light.
“Well,” he says gruffly at last. “I stand corrected.”
“You’re welcome,” Antonio says.
“That was incredible,” I say once we’re out of earshot.
“You’re so smart. An inspiration.”
“Stop it,” he mutters, but he looks pleased.
We’re heading toward the lemonade stand when Antonio stops.
“Look, the Statue of Mayor Billings!”
He sounds excited.
“How do you know that?” I ask.
“Everyone knows the story of Billings and his squirrel.”
Jaws drop around us.
“No one knows that story,” I say gravely.
“No one,” Earl agrees, popcorn stuck to his shirt. “Sometimes I wake up at night and the question haunts me.”
Ann-Sabrina nods, for once agreeing with Earl.
“I bet there was something going on between them.”
“Are you saying the mayor was involved with a squirrel?” Steve looks incredulous.
“Shifter squirrels exist,” Ann-Sabrina points out.
“It wasn’t a love affair, but it was definitely something,” Antonio says carefully. “After the Rodent Accountability Initiative went haywire, they formed a bond.”
A hush falls.
“Why did the initiative go haywire?” Earl whispers, putting the popcorn from his shirt to his mouth.
“The squirrel in the statue, Aracorn, outsmarted Billings at every turn. It also stole things from his office. Once it got drunk on Billings’ whiskey.”
“I hope it was the good sort,” Steve says.
“That’s when Billings took it home,” Antonio says. “He nursed it through the hangover and tried to keep it as a pet. But Aracorn grew restless and left. It visited Billings but never stayed for long.”
“That’s beautiful,” Earl says, sniffling.
“When Billings died, his widow ordered the statue,” Antonio finishes.
