style="font-size:15px;"> “And you can spell.” She gave him a droll look and lightly tapped his arm. “I wear these to read to the children for story time. They also like the pointy black boots I wear and the red-and-white-striped socks. I dress like Mrs. Piggle-Wiggle, not that I expect you to know who that is. I suppose I should dress more like a muggle or a hobbit to keep current with the times, but I find that the younger children particularly enjoy the comfort and familiarity of a grandmotherly type reading them books.”
“And do you read from an upside-down house?” Navarro murmured.
“Oh, you have read the books!”
“Well,” Navarro said uncomfortably, not wanting to dim the excitement in her voice because he liked it. “I haven’t read them personally. Dad used to read to us as kids, at night, to give Mom a break from taking care of us. It wasn’t easy raising twelve boys, and her joy was a bubble bath at night while Dad read. But then, he tired out when…” He hesitated, thinking about the past. He and his brothers had enjoyed their childhoods, he couldn’t deny that. But after their mother died, the reading—and a lot more—had stopped. “I haven’t read a book in a while.”
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