Hidden Pictures(33)
11
And I’m sorry but there’s no way Teddy drew these pictures. Most adults can’t draw this well—let alone a five-year-old boy who sleeps with stuffed animals and can’t count past twenty-nine.
But how else did they end up in the recycling bin?
Did Ted draw them? Caroline?
Are the Maxwells studying illustration in their free time?
All my questions lead to more questions, and pretty soon I’m wishing I never got out of bed. I wish I’d just let the sanitation trucks carry away the clues, so I wouldn’t have to wonder what they meant.
Monday passes in a daze—LEGOs, mac and cheese, Quiet Time, swimming pool—but by nightfall I’m ready to do some serious research. I take a shower and wash my hair and put on one of Caroline’s nicest outfits, a breezy blue midi dress with pretty white flowers. Then I walk a mile into town to The Raconteur, Spring Brook’s local independent bookstore.
I’m surprised to find it crowded on a Monday night—a neighborhood author has just finished a reading and the mood is festive, like a party. People are drinking wine in plastic cups and eating sheet cake off tiny paper plates. I have to push through the crowd to reach the parenting section, but I’m grateful for all the distractions; I don’t want any store clerks offering to help me find something. If they heard what I was researching, they’d think I was crazy.
I gather some books and head out the back door to a large brick patio—a crowded café that’s ringed with twinkling Christmas lights. There’s a small bar selling snacks and drinks, and a very earnest teenage girl sitting on a barstool with an acoustic guitar, dressed in overalls and singing “Tears in Heaven.” I can’t hear this song without thinking about my sister’s memorial service; it was part of a playlist that looped over and over. The song is constantly sneaking up on me in supermarkets and restaurants, and even after a thousand times it still has the power to make me cry. But this girl’s version is brighter than the Eric Clapton original. There’s something about her young age that makes the song seem almost hopeful.
I walk over to the coffee bar and order a mug of tea and a pastry, only to find that I don’t have enough hands to carry everything. Plus, all the tables are full and no one seems anxious to leave, so I can’t believe my good luck when I see Adrian sitting alone at a table for two, reading a Star Wars novel.
“Can I join you?”
And it’s funny—this time, he doesn’t recognize me, not right away, not in Caroline’s gorgeous $500 dress. “Yes! Definitely! Mallory! How are you?”
“I didn’t realize it would be so crowded.”
“It’s always busy here,” Adrian says. “This is the third-hottest spot in Spring Brook.”
“What are the other two?”
“Number one is Cheesecake Factory, obviously. Number two is the Wegmans hot food buffet.” He shrugs. “We don’t have much of a night life.”
The girl with the guitar finishes “Tears in Heaven” to tepid applause but Adrian claps long and loud, and she shoots an annoyed look in our direction. “My cousin Gabriella,” he says. “She’s only fifteen, can you believe it? She marched in here with a guitar and they gave her a job.”
Gabriella leans closer to the microphone and says she’s going to switch to the Beatles, and then she starts singing a sweet cover of “Blackbird.” I look at the book Adrian is reading. The cover shows Chewbacca firing lasers at an army of robots, and the title is printed in giant silver-foil letters: Wookiee Vengeance.
“Is that any good?”
Adrian shrugs. “It’s not canon? So they take a lot of liberties. But if you liked Ewok Vengeance, you’ll love this one.”
And I can’t help myself—I start laughing. “You’re really something. You look like a landscaper. You’ve got a Florida tan and dirt under your fingernails. But it turns out you’re actually a country club kid and a Star Wars nerd.”
“I spend my whole summer pulling weeds. I need some escapist entertainment.”
“I understand. I watch Hallmark Channel for the same reason.”
“Seriously?”
“No joke. I’ve seen all five Murder, She Baked mysteries. And I don’t share this information with a lot of people so I’m trusting you to keep it secret.”
Adrian crosses an X over his heart. “Your secret’s safe with me,” he says. “What books are you reading?” And I don’t have to answer the question because my books are already on the table and Adrian can read the spines: Abnormal Child Psychology and The Encyclopedia of Supernatural Phenomena. “This is how you unwind after a long day of babysitting?”
“If I told you why I’m reading these books, there’s a good chance you’ll think I’m crazy.”
Adrian closes Wookiee Vengeance and sets it aside, giving me his full and undivided attention. “All my favorite stories come with that kind of warning,” he says. “Tell me everything.”
“It’s a really long story.”
“I have nowhere to be.”
“I’m warning you. The bookstore might close before I can finish.”
“Start from the beginning and don’t leave out any details,” he tells me. “You never know what’s going to be important.”