“Is it possible your grandfather still believed there was a message hidden in your mother’s copy ofThe Secret of the Old Clock?”
I shrugged. “Maybe. A year or so ago I asked him to stop talking to me about it. I think he kept looking though.”
Duke’s brow furrowed. “Why did you ask him to stop talking to you about it?”
“Who knows?”
“I know,” Duke said softly. “You wanted there to be a message, and yet there wasn’t one. The wound couldn’t heal as long as your grandfather kept picking at it.”
“A disgusting yet apt metaphor,” I told him.
“You said you believed your grandfather was still attempting to crack the code, so to speak?”
“Right. I think so.”
“How do you know he carried on his work if he didn’t tell you about it?”
“I’d catch him looking through the Nancy Drew book and writing in his case notebook. But he never said a word—”
“His case notebook? Tell me about that.”
“Not much to tell. He keeps a case notebook. We all do,” I said. In fact, anyone reading this story right now is readingmycase notebook. “I think he took it with him.”
“Are you sure?”
“He always kept it in his desk.” I nodded toward the desk by the library windows. “And it’s not there. I already looked.”
Duke went to the desk and examined it thoroughly, pulling drawers, lifting objects, checking it top and bottom.
Despite my fear and extreme annoyance at having an unauthorized fictional character roaming around my house, I couldn’t help but watch him work. This is why readers return to the same series over and over, even though the outcomes are always predetermined…Watching Sherlock or Miss Marple or Duke solve a crime is like watching a gymnast backflip or a sword fighter disarm an opponent with one glorious parry. It never gets old, watching someone being phenomenally good at their very difficult job.
“The bottom drawer is locked,” Duke said, glancing up at me.
“Pops would have the key.”
“I’ll have to pick it,” Duke said.
“Tried that already. It’s an enchanted lock. It can only be opened with the key. See?”
I pulled the drawer handle, and pale orange electricity danced over my hands. But the drawer didn’t budge.
“So you did have your suspicions?” Duke asked.
“I was being nosy,” I admitted. “I wanted to know where he went.”
He looked at me, eyes narrowed.
“He’s lonely,” I said. “With Grandma gone. I thought maybe he’d met someone and was going on a trip with her but was too embarrassed to tell me. I’m allowed to be nosy. He’s the only family I have left.”
“Let’s see the note,” Duke said. I handed him the card, and he read it aloud again. “I’ll think of you every second of every minute. I’ll be watching the clock until I can come home again….Dramatic statement. Almost melodramatic.”
“He does love me.”
“Still, a bit of overkill,” Duke said. “Miss you every second of every minute,andhe’ll be watching the clock?”
“What are you implying?”
“I am implying…it sounded like he wanted to send you a message.”
