“Forgive me for interrupting what will surely be more detailedexplanations of everything you discover in your pockets,” Norma Jean began, “but you might just want to ask Miss Merriweather for one of her hairpins and then pick the lock. That would get us out of the boxes before Marvel arrives with help.”
Seth stilled. “What a brilliant idea.”
“And one that’s simplistic, which is why you didn’t come up with it,” Norma Jean called back.
“I do have the tendency to overthink things at times,” he admitted.
“I know,” Norma Jean replied. “I also know that if anyone threatens us with extortion at any point, the simplest response will be for you to pull out your Colt pocket pistol. It’s in your right-hand lower pocket and would definitely fit the bill of that somethinglethalMiss Merriweather mentioned.”
Seth stuck his hand in his right-hand pocket, his fingers touching cold metal a blink of an eye later. “I don’t recall putting this pistol in my pocket, but...” He frowned. “How did you know it was in here?”
For the briefest of seconds, Norma Jean’s only response was a wiggle of feet that were still sticking out of the box. “I put it in there yesterday when you stopped by the house.”
“But why did you have my pistol to begin with?”
“You let me borrow it.”
“I don’t recall telling you that you could borrow my pistol.”
Another wiggle of feet immediately commenced. “Well, you did, and to refresh your memory, I asked you last Saturday if I could borrow it, and you said, and I quote, ‘Uh-huh.’”
“Last Saturday I was reconfiguring my flame thrower.”
“I know, and you were just about to light it up when I asked if I could borrow your pistol.”
Seth’s brows drew together. “Was I paying attention to you when you asked me, or did you wait until I couldn’t hear you over the roar of the flame thrower?”
“That almost sounds as if you don’t pay attention to whatI’m saying at times, which explains why you didn’t know your pistol was in your pocket because you obviously weren’t paying attention when I told you I returned it there.”
A dull ache began settling in at the very base of his neck. “Why didn’t you just hand the pistol back to me?”
“I was sparing you a lecture from Mother because you know she doesn’t exactly approve of me going off to do any target practice on my own.”
He opened his mouth—to say what, he wasn’t sure—but was spared a response when Annaliese plucked a pin from her hair. “What say the two of you agree to discuss how you should engage in more meaningful conversations at a more opportune time since, clearly, there are more important matters to attend to right now.”
“That’s an excellent idea, Miss Merriweather,” Norma Jean called, earning a twitch of the lips from Annaliese, who handed him the hairpin and nodded to Velma.
“I’d start with Velma first as she’s looking more than a little flushed.”
“I’m sure I’m looking flushed as well,” Norma Jean called.
“I’ll have you out in a minute,” Seth said before he moved next to Velma, bent over, and began manipulating the lock, a satisfying click sounding twenty seconds later. After opening the lid, he lifted a very rumpled Velma out and steadied her when she began wobbling. Then, once she seemed as if she wouldn’t crumple to the floor if he released her, he moved to Norma Jean’s box.
It took him almost a minute to pick that lock as it was old and rusty, but thankfully, the unlocking mechanism finally slipped into place. Tugging Norma Jean out, he released a grunt after picking her up, the grunt a direct result of his sister going completely limp, turning her into a dead weight.
“You could at least put your arms around my neck to help me out,” he muttered.
“My arms are asleep, as are my legs, so have a care when you set me down.”
“I wouldn’t have to have a care if you hadn’t gotten yourself into yet another pickle to begin with,” Seth said before he lowered Norma Jean to her feet, stepping back when she began stomping one foot and then the other against the dirt floor.
“I feel like there are a thousand needles sticking into my legs,” Norma Jean complained as she began jumping up and down, grimacing with every jump.
“Perhaps you’ll remember this type of discomfort the next time you feel the urge to slip away from a school group and allow a complete stranger to lock you in a box,” he told her, eliciting a huff from Norma Jean in the process.
“And perhaps the next time I decide to pursue an intriguing opportunity to enhance a plot point and become trapped, you’ll choose the most logical and easiest solution to get me free instead of trying to find one of your inventions thatmightdo the trick,” Norma Jean shot back.
A smile tugged his lips. “A sound rebuttal as your hairpin suggestion was practicality at its finest.”
