“For a spy?”
“For a family secret hidden in a safety deposit box.”
That got his attention and he opened his eyes again.
Behind us, Mo padded into the room, assessing the scene like a security supervisor disappointed in his staff.
Roxie’s tail flicked once from beneath the bed.
Ian carefully shifted so we could sit up without causing further injury.
He studied my face again. “The swelling is worsening. You need ice on it.”
“Stop narrating it.”
“I’m going to have to walk through town with you like this.”
“Yes,” I said brightly. “You are.”
He sighed heavily.
“Your mom,” he said, shaking his head as if he didn’t want to think about it.
“And Vera is absolutely putting this in her notebook. Her special one she keeps just for me.”
He shook his head again. “You are chaos.”
“But you love me anyway.”
“Unfortunately.” He chuckled. “I love you and your chaos very much.”
Mo huffed as if that was the correct answer.
“Come on,” he said, helping me to get up. “Let’s get ice on those bruises and you can tell me what you know about my Uncle Max the spy.”
CHAPTER 19
Morning came too fast.
I stood in the kitchen, still in my pajamas, clutching a mug of oolong tea like it was medicinal. Which given the dull throb in my jaw and the steady pulse beneath my left eye, it practically was.
The house was quiet.
Ian had already left for the sunrise shoot. He’d moved gently this morning, clearly feeling guilty about my face, though I’d reminded him repeatedly that gravity had started the war. He hadn’t gotten much sleep. I’d only managed a few hours myself after rereading Aunt Effie’s letter twice more and deciding that yes, Uncle Max had absolutely been a spy.
A spy who was now buried in the churchyard cemetery like any other ordinary man who’d worked hard, grown his business, and celebrated milestones with family and friends. But he had not been an ordinary man. Uncle Max had been a full-blown spy.
Ian suggested I continue to read Aunt Effie’s letters, take notes, and then we’d see what we could figure out about his uncle’s spy days. He also intended to call his father and see if he knew anything about it. I was eager to dive into it.
I took a careful sip of tea before taking a look at my reflection in the compact mirror I had in my PJ pocket. It confirmed what Ian had predicted and what I saw since waking this morning, a blooming bruise along my jaw and another that continued to deepen and swell under my eye and along the corner.
“Not too bad,” I said, turning to get Mo and Roxie’s opinions.
Mo lay stretched near the back door, chin on his paws, while Roxie occupied her usual throne atop the refrigerator, surveying her kingdom.
Both turned their heads away from me, not a good sign.
The sound of tires on gravel drifted through the open kitchen window, catching my attention and Mo’s as well. He lifted his head.
