Sparks and stars float across my closed eyes. Sightless, I can almost feel my twin again. The darkness is alive and intelligent, and I fancy that I catch a bit of Toby’s own boyish scent, grass and cotton. I’m not sure how long I am burrowed there. My hand crawls to find a jam pot from our stockpile. My mouth is suddenly flooded with the taste of strawberries from sweeter and happier days. I drift…

I’m startled from my reverie by voices in the corridor outside.

“Tut, tut I’ve been looking for you, Mr. Pritchett,” Aunt Clara exclaims. “You need to write that check to Gladwell’s so that I may place my order. We are much in debt there.”

“Don’t see why we need new wallpaper when the old hasn’t fallen down on us yet.” But Uncle Henry’s voice sounds enfeebled as always when bending to Aunt. “And this talk of debt is a tax on my health.”

“You’ve never concerned yourself about our debt before, husband. There’s no need to start now.” Aunt’s voice is deceptively sweet. “Anyway, it’s a passing vexation until Quinn pays off everything as he’d promised and sets us right as rain.”

Uncle Henry answers in a mumble, and he and Aunt part on a sour note as he storms off while Aunt patters away in the opposite direction.

Alone again, I wait a few more minutes so that nobody catches me darting out of the closet.

A spy hears everything and forgets nothing.

I had no idea Aunt relied so heavily on Quinn’s future earnings. And yet she continues to spend with foolish abandon why do we need new wallpaper? I’ll have to report on these silly extravagances that continue to flow from Aunt Clara’s whims and Uncle Henry’s henpecked pen.

A debt to Gladwell’s is news to me, too. Costs must be piling up. This private information is useful. Was it only chance that has drawn me to this closet? On impulse, I spin on my heel and return to the door. I place my hand on the knob and pull. But now the door won’t budge.


25.