Spy Glass

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For Bob Mecoy, agent extraordinaire.

Without your encouragement and frequent feedback on this one, it never would have been finished.

CROUCHING IN THE DARKNESS OF THE CLOSET, I stilled as footsteps approached. My instincts screamed to run. I stared at the thin ribbon of light under the door, shadows of shoes paused. I silently urged them to walk away. All I wanted was one day of peace. One day. The knob turned. No luck. With a whoosh of fresh air, my hiding spot was exposed.

“For sand’s sake, Opal, what are you doing in there?” my mother asked.

I suppressed a sigh. The truth—hiding from her—wouldn’t help. “Looking for my boots?”

Her scowl deepened as she pushed back a lock of graying hair. “They’re on your feet.”

I straightened. “Oh…yes…well.”

“Come. There are a thousand things we need to do, and you’re wasting time.” She shooed me through my room and downstairs to the kitchen. “Sit and read me the guest list while I cook lunch.”

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