home, Archer,” the badger said miserably. “Would you mind helping me out of this thing? Why does she do this to me every year?”
“She thinks it makes you look like a gentleman,” Archer said, pulling the tiny sweater over the badger’s head.
The badger huffed as Archer smoothed its fur. “I was neither gentle nor a man in life, and I don’t see why I should be made such things in death!” The badger lowered its voice. “And while I’m glad you’re back, Archer, I must say there’s something strange going on. Why did Benjamin say you’re going to hate him? Why haven’t you heard a word from your grandparents? And why was that Mrs. Fig so furious at them? I’m not sure what it’s all about, but I think it’s bad.”
Archer stared at the badger. “How do you know all that?”
“I know it because you know it.”
“What’s going on?” the ostrich shouted from the next room over. “I can’t see with this lampshade on my head! Is that thing back? Don’t tell me the thing with dirty hands is back!”
♦ JUST A CHRISTMAS PARTY ♦
Next door, the Glubs’ house was filled with people and music and all sorts of delights. Everyone gathered in a room that, despite its chipping paint and loose floorboards, was called the great room. And it was great. Adélaïde was seated on a plaid couch before a crackling fire. Next to her were three tall windows overlooking the snowy gardens. Oliver scurried into the room and plopped himself beside her.
“I put more logs on,” he said, sticking his shivering hands toward the fire. “It’s freezing out there. You can go next time.”
Adélaïde pointed to her wooden leg. Oliver rolled his eyes.
“How long are you going to milk that?”
Adélaïde smiled and got comfortable on the couch.
A few feet away, in the corner of the room, Oliver’s younger sister, Claire, was digging beneath a tree decked in tin ornaments and lights.
“What’s she doing?” he asked slowly.
“She’s moving her presents to the outside and yours to the inside.”
Claire peeked over her shoulder at Adélaïde. Both started giggling.
“I don’t like this at all,” Oliver grumbled, and turned back to the fire. “The two of you are not becoming friends. I forbid it.”
Lovely smells wafted from the other side of the room. Mrs. Glub was dashing between the kitchen and the great room, keeping a long table overflowing with food.
“Mind yourselves!” she called, setting a spiced pecan pie on the table. “Piping hot!”
Miss Whitewood, invited at Adélaïde’s request, was also at that table, filling a plate and explaining her duties as the Willow Academy librarian to Belmont Café’s barman, Amaury Guilbert. But Amaury was clearly more interested in the duties of Mrs. Glub’s pastries, which, of course, were to be eaten.
“These strudels are delicious,” he said, glancing over at Mr. Belmont. “We should be selling these at the café!”
Mr. Belmont wasn’t paying attention. He had gifted an espresso machine to the Glubs and was showing Mr. Glub how to operate it by brewing a brand-new espresso blend he’d been working on and was finally quite pleased with.
“And then you simply pull this lever here.”
A small cup filled with a dark, steamy brew.
“Most remarkable!” Mr. Glub said. He lifted the cup and took a sip. “And most delicious! But tell me, François… what am I tasting? Wait—it’s hazelnut, isn’t it? Yes, that’s certainly hazelnut!”
“It should be toffee,” Mr. Belmont said, frowning. “Hints of toffee?”
“Toffee?” Mr. Glub took another sip. “How fascinating! You’re a genius, François! I had no idea toffee could taste just like hazelnut.”
Mr. Belmont opened a notebook and crossed something out while muttering in French. Mrs. Glub returned from the kitchen, this time with a tray of cherry almond cookies, and shook her head at them.
“I like your family,” Adélaïde said. “I wish mine was more like yours.”
“Sure,” said Oliver. “They’re great. But when’s Archer getting here?”
“The Helmsleys should be arriving any minute,” Mrs. Glub said, stepping up behind the couch. “So I’ll say it one last time: you two are not to tell Archer anything about the newspapers or his grandparents.”
“But they’re his grandparents,” Adélaïde said, peering up at her. “Don’t you think he needs to know what everyone in Rosewood already does?”
“I very much do, dear,” Mrs. Glub admitted somberly. “That boy’s been awaiting this moment for as long as I’ve known him. It’s all he’s ever talked about. Unfortunately, it’s not our decision. Mr. and Mrs. Helmsley made me promise it wouldn’t be mentioned. I suspect, and hope, there’s more to all of this than we know.”
♦ SECRETS AND SNOWBALLS ♦
Oliver and Adélaïde left the couch and the great room and went to a window at the front of the house. Oliver forced the latch, slid open the window, and stuck his head out. Willow Street was deserted.
“We have to tell him,” Adélaïde said, leaning next to Oliver.
“I know. I’m just worried he’s going to hate us for not saying something sooner.”
“He’ll hate us even more if we don’t do it now.”
Oliver was about to agree when a snowball smacked him clean across the face. He jerked his head and clunked it on the window. “Who did—?”
“ARCHER!” yelled Adélaïde.
Oliver wiped the snow from his eyes. Archer was smiling at them from a snowdrift where the sidewalk should have been. Adélaïde and Oliver dashed to the door and, without bothering to grab their coats, jumped down the front steps and tackled him.
“It’s about time!” Oliver said, pulling his arm from beneath Adélaïde. “But a hello would have worked just as well.”
“Hello,” Archer said, sitting up and inspecting Oliver’s head. “Sorry about that.”
“He’s fine,” Adélaïde assured him. “He’s got a thick skull.”
Oliver stood up grinning and offered them both a hand. They shook the snow from their clothes and stepped back inside the Glubs’ house. Archer took a deep sniff. It smelled like gingerbread and caramel and pine. It smelled like home.
“Keep your coat,” Oliver said, pulling his from a hook and handing Adélaïde hers. “We’re going upstairs. But you should say hello first. Everyone’s been waiting for you.”
They
