A/N: Ah. Welcome. Thank you for gracing my story with your presence. (bows) I would like to begin on a light note by saying that this story is one of my favorites so far! (I've got so many ideas shoved into my little cranium...!) I don't exactly know how it came to me. All I can say is that Isabelle was originally the main character and it was entirely about some secret organization of assassins that number themselves according to rank or something...(Izzy had a '1' right above her left hip) James, who was known as 'Kid-san' (Mr. Kid, at the time had a '5' right under his left eye) was some punk who liked to rumble. Absolutely weird now that I think of it. (That new movie 'Wanted' totally took my idea.

I shall start every chapter with a relevant quote that I find interesting. (That doesn't mean you will.) If you read any further than this, please review! Thank you.

PS: Environmental Protection Agency. They're nature's law enforcement. )

A Turn of Events

‘Every child is an artist. The problem is how to remain an artist once he grows up.’
-Pablo Picasso

The script you hold before you is entirely about the endeavors of a boy named James. Of course you will encounter a number of other personalities that are just as interesting, but James is, by far, the most important. In fact, it can be said that this entire work revolves around him. Now, know that James does not have any particularly special abilities; he is the picture of a normal, healthy thirteen-year-old boy. If anything, the only peculiarity that separates him from most other thirteen-year-old boys is that James is a Thinker. He uses his imagination more than any other boy his age.

You may think that because James was such a Thinker that he would be pushed around and bullied in school. This; however, was not the case. James was accepted for what he was in middle school and had a plethora of decent friends. James was the artist, the imaginer, the visualizer. He could think up excellent strategies for various sports (making him the co-captain of many teams) and construct projects in his mind to a point. If you were paired with James for a school assignment, you knew to expect an A+.

As with every school, there were the few bullies and people who would use James for his complex thought, but isn’t that normal? Life was fine for James and not the least bit exciting. There were no evil stepmothers, sisters or brothers. There were no magical disasters that killed off his loving family. There were no monsters waiting to eat him or something horrendous. And this was entirely fine with James.

For this story to start properly; however, it shall begin on a day that was not so normal, a day in which James would discover things that not even his imagination could completely comprehend. Things he could only read about would soon jump off their pages to meet him head on, much to his surprise.

It was a “Leaving Day” as James had dubbed them. His parents were packing their camping equipment to fly to the many jungles of the world, again. They were the adventuring type, people who rock climb in order to bungee jump off said cliff and who white water raft to catch salmon. Ever since he could remember, James’ parents had been living on the extreme side of life. Today was just another extreme day.

Back when James was small, they would leave him with his grandparents in Florida, but now James was older and considered old enough to take care of himself. This notion may seem unreasonable to any parents reading this, but James’ parents were not usual. They always went on about how they must see the entire world, every rock and tree, before they died. This had to have been their second trip around the world, but they insisted on going away anyway. Indeed, they lived a dangerous life and thus decided that James should not partake in such risky endeavors. On that note, it should be agreed that his parents were, as most, only looking out for his immediate welfare.

At this time, it was Wednesday morning. James was not looking forward to another day at school, like any normal child. In fact, he was dreading this day more than any because he would have to read aloud something of his own writing. His English teacher thought it would be a splendid, fulfilling idea if every student wrote a piece on anything due on Wednesdays. These would then be read aloud to the entire class.

It was not that James was not proud of his writing abilities—his English teacher simply adored his writing—he was just afraid of sharing it. What if someone misinterpreted his point? What if no one could understand what he wrote? If so, would they think that he was being nonsensical? Anyway, Wednesday was always a difficult day for James.

And his parents were not making it any easier.

In between packing huge sacks of provisions, his mother would fawn over him and hug him lightly. Although James’ father was not quite as affectionate, he would stop moving bulky sacks—at the insistence of James’ mother—and gently pat James on the head, or give him a kind word.

Not only did James not need this, but it also made him feel very guilty. Guilty that he was feeling worried that they were leaving him home alone, and in turn guilty because his worries overpowered the joy normally felt on a “Leaving Day.”

After hearing for the hundredth time how brilliant a child he was, James decided that it was time for him to head off to school—he wasn’t sure how much more of their undying devotion he could take.

His middle school was not very far away at all; it was actually only a few blocks from his house. Since his parents were such nature enthusiasts, they were entirely against cars. This did not bother James much, since school was so close. Only when the snow piled high on the sidewalks, or the rain flooded the streets did James wish he had a little metal vehicle.

Normally, James would walk to school with his best friend, Conor Anderson, and Conor’s little sister, Emma. “Leaving Day” was no exception. He quickly kissed his parents good-bye and good luck, making his way across the street where his friend lived.

Conor resided in a house identical to those surrounding it, although his blue siding did help differentiate his from the next house. It was a simple one family home with two levels, a living space and a bedroom space. James found the house much too cramped for his liking, as if the builder had thought that a taller house was a better one. This left every room smashed together into one great clump. It also annoyed James that Conor’s house was always the slightest bit untidy because in a cramped house, even the slightest bit of disorganization showed. It’s not that Conor’s parents left the house a mess—in fact, they were very tidy people—it was just that they were a little cluttered in the narrow house.

That Wednesday morning, James rang the pleasant doorbell and waited patiently. Inside, he could hear the flop flop! of someone hurrying to the door. In a matter of seconds, the door opened to reveal a very disheveled Mrs. Anderson. She had her hair in a mass of pink curlers, and was dressed in a robe and slippers to match.

“Oh hello, James,” she said looking rather pleased to see him, “Conor’s around back with Emma. I think they’re gathering stones.”

James thanked the ruffled Mrs. Anderson and made his way into the backyard, where he found Conor and Emma huddled around something interesting. They both looked up when James entered, and Conor stood hastily dusting off his khaki pants.

“H’llo James. Is it really time to leave?” Conor said.

“Yes. It’s almost a quarter to eight.” James looked at Emma and smiled. Emma responded by turning bright red. “Good morning Emma,” he added. Emma uttered a tiny good morning, while Conor rolled his eyes.

“Rock hunting again?” James asked with a laugh. Conor dreamed of becoming a geologist and knew the name of every rock in the known world. He was a Thinker like James, too. That was probably why James was not surprised to find Conor looking for rocks in the early morning.

“Well we better get going.” Conor took a small bag out of his pocket and collected the rocks. “They’re for my English project,” he said with a shrug. Once the rocks were safely in Conor’s book bag, the trio set off for school.

It was not a particularly arduous trip, and they talked about their normal topics—the impending English report, certain people of interest, and the latest video games. Once in a while, Emma would get the courage to add to their discussion, but James would smile at her and she would fall silent. It seemed that every morning of his life was like this, but it did help them get to school more quickly, or so James thought.

When they arrived at school, there was still the lively buzz and chatter of school children on the playground. The school was divided into two buildings, one for the elementary school children and the other for the middle school children. Both buildings had their own playgrounds complete with wire fencing. Since Emma was in the elementary school, Conor had to drop off his sister before meeting James in the middle school building. They parted ways at the big archway onto the school grounds, with the promise of meeting up in English class.

James quickly entered the building—even though it was only June, the summer heat began earlier every morning—and glanced at his watch. It was nearing eight o’clock, and the beginning of the school day. No sooner had James walked through to the main hall, than an announcement blared on the scratchy P.A. system. As with any low quality sound system, the words were staticky and hard to make out. James was fairly certain that he heard:

“Will James Barnes please report to the secretary for a message, James Barnes.”

Unless he was sorely mistaken, James was confident that he was the only James Barnes in school and the secretary had actually called for him. He wondered if his parents had forgotten to tell him something and called the school to relay the message. It seemed likely; his parents were not that good at remembering important things. With that in mind, he made his way down the hall to the secretary’s office.

Well it wasn’t an actual office; it was more like a receptionist’s cubicle. James had to go through a glass door in the right side of the hallway. This was the general waiting room. The secretary was still farther back behind a square fiberglass window. The secretary was not at the window when James walked in, so he settled into one of the uncomfortable chairs.

Next to him, James saw a very well dressed man, looking oddly out of place in the worn down chairs. He was casually reading a newspaper as if the waiting room was a four-star lounge. Farther away, there seemed to be a woman with her nose firmly buried in a thick book. James noticed that once in a while, the well-dressed man would glance indifferently at the woman.

In the background, James could hear the bell signaling the beginning of classes. He sighed with both anxiety and relief—he might not have to read his writings after all.

After an eternity of watching the reading adults—James mentally noted that neither of them had turned a page in their reading materials—the ever-elusive secretary emerged into the waiting room. Almost instantaneously, and at the same time, the two adults closed whatever they were reading. The man gave his most devote attention to the secretary, while the woman stared at James, who stared back. The secretary seemed not to notice the woman and smiled pleasantly at James.

“Oh how wonderful! You’re here!” the secretary said as if she was afraid James would not have shown up.

“You do have class now,” she continued, “so I think that we should get right to the point.” At this she took out a stack of papers that James had not seen her walk in with. He could clearly see the watermark on the back of a page, suggesting that they were very important pieces of paper.

“Ah, I see that my lawyer faxed you all of the necessary paperwork.” James looked at the well-dressed man with surprise. His voice sounded exactly as James had imagined it would. It was smooth, deep, and especially soft. One thing that James had not foreseen was the manner in which the man spoke—every word carried a chilly air, no matter how softly the man tried to speak.

James looked back at the secretary, who seemed similarly affected by the man’s voice and was trying very hard to hide it. After a moment, however, she regained her composure.

“Yes, Mr. Edgemont, it does seem that everything is in perfect order. I do still need; however, for James to identify you as a relative,” the secretary said.

The man called Mr. Edgemont chuckled and turned his icy blue eyes to James. “You may not remember me,” he began, “but I’m your uncle.” He winked at James and instantly James seemed to recall a Christmas party with a man in an armchair that vaguely resembled Mr. Edgemont.

“Were you at a Christmas party?” James asked hesitantly. ‘Oh what a stupid question,’ he thought, ‘anyone can make up something like that.’

“Yes, I was asleep in a rather comfortable armchair. Missed your cousin Fred get attacked by his fiancée’s poodle.”

Suddenly, James recalled that as well. Cousin Fred had sworn off of dogs and women with dogs after that incident.

“I remember,” James said, smiling.

The secretary practically beamed at them. “Wonderful!” she said drawing their attention back to her. “Perfect! Your parents have requested that someone take care of you while they’re away.”

“But my parents told me that I would be staying alone for a few weeks.” Although Uncle Edgemont did seem like great fun.

“I know,” the secretary continued kindly, “but they decided last minute to leave you with a relative. They said that they forgot that you couldn’t drive.” James rolled his eyes—that seemed like something his parents would forget.

“I got a call early this morning asking that I take you into my care,” Uncle Edgemont said.

James blinked in confusion. It had only been fifteen minutes from the time he had left his house and gotten to school. Uncle Edgemont seemed to have been sitting in the waiting room for some time. And his parents had never told him that they called Uncle Edgemont. Maybe they had, and just forgot to tell James. That also seemed like something they would forget. His parents were not always the best at communicating their plans with James.

“Well, Mr. Edgemont, it seems that everything is in order.”

“Good. I’d like to take James out for the day, so if you would kindly sign him out.”

“You will do no such thing, Miss Secretary.”

James stared at the strange young woman who had just spoken up. She rose slowly from her chair and glared menacingly at Uncle Edgemont. ‘What is going on?’ James thought frantically.

The young woman walked up to Uncle Edgemont and pointed a finger at his suited chest. He and the secretary acted as if they had never noticed the woman was in the room. Uncle Edgemont was the first to speak.

“Well, my darling Isabelle, such a pleasant surprise.”

‘Surprise?’ James thought, ‘this woman has been here the entire time.’

“Unfortunately, I don’t feel the same.” That was the woman, Isabelle, again.

Uncle Edgemont chuckled, but he didn’t seem quite amused. “Always the wit, my dear. I do specifically remember telling you that I would pick up James.”

“Seeing as I wouldn’t talk to you even if it was completely necessary, I can see how I missed such a memo.”

“But my darling, we live together. I don’t see how you could have missed it.”

James could only stare. There was not much else to do. So was this Isabelle his aunt? Why was she so hostile? If Uncle Edgemont knew her so well, why hadn’t he noticed that she was sitting in the waiting room the entire time?

“You’re married, Mr. Edgemont?” The secretary’s eyes kept darting between the two. James could tell that she was getting very suspicious of Miss Isabelle and Uncle Edgemont.

“Why of course. Isabelle is my wife and James is my brother’s son.” Uncle Edgemont had not taken his eyes off of Miss Isabelle. Almost instantaneously, Miss Isabelle was ready for another confrontation.

“I am most certainly not! That is the most farfetched lie I have ever heard! Besides, James is my nephew on my brother’s side. Liar.”

“Don’t be an imbecile darling,” Uncle Edgemont then turned to the secretary, “I’m afraid that Isabelle and I are in an arranged marriage. I’m quite content, even if she is not.”

The secretary no longer had a smile on her face. It seemed to James that there was something like disgust etched into her features.

“Mr. Edgemont,” she said quite firmly, “I am not your marriage counselor. All I wish to do is settle poor James’ guardianship issue!”

Isabelle yelled that she was not married and Uncle Edgemont said, “Why, my dear woman, I would never expect such a thing from you. I will take James now. Afterwards, Isabelle and I will seek immediate therapy for out deteriorating marriage. Thank you for the advice. It’s quite invaluable.”

The secretary was now more suspicious than ever and put a very protective hand on James’ shoulder.

“I don’t think I can let you leave here with James, Mr. Edgemont.”

“Madam, it is so stated in those legal documents that—“

“Sir, what if you are not married to that woman? That means that you would have lied. What if these papers are a lie as well?”

‘Uncle’ Edgemont’s face flushed and he glared at the secretary with a newfound kind of hatred. Behind him, Miss Isabelle was full of triumph. Her whole being reverberated victory. But it seemed that Edgemont was not going to give up so easily.

“Honestly, madam, I don’t care if you think that I am lying about my very real marriage. I also don’t think that your remarks are very becoming of a secretary.”

Edgemont had most definitely struck a nerve with the secretary; she had turned very red.

“Miss Receptionist,” Isabelle quickly cut in, “I have some legal papers regarding James that might help you.” The secretary didn’t even look at Isabelle as she roughly snatched the thick papers from her hands. She then made her way behind the fiberglass window again, her face fixed on Edgemont’s.

“Oh this is absurd,” Edgemont said moodily, “James recognized me from a Christmas party. Obviously we know each other.”

“Some images can be planted in the mind if we will it enough.” James stared incredulously at Isabelle. She seemed a little crazy implying such things.

“Don’t be stupid, Isabelle. None of us are psychic or anything.”

“Just because none of us are telepathic doesn’t mean that you couldn’t have willed those thoughts into James’ brain.”

‘She’s insane,’ James thought, ‘my aunt is insane. She’s completely off her rocker.’

“Then I suppose I have just unsuccessfully willed you to shut up.”

Isabelle laughed loudly. Edgemont had only whispered, and he sent a nervous glance over to the secretary, who was on the phone. Once he saw she was occupied, he dared set his mouth in what appeared to be a smile.

“That was witty,” Isabelle said, “and it was almost humorous.”

“I just have a wonderfully amusing thought process. I’m glad that I could share some of it with you.”

Isabelle was instantly frowning and glaring again, as if such pleasant talk was against the rules. It seemed that Edgemont felt the same way, because he also fell back into his coldness. ‘There has to be something between these two,’ James thought. Maybe a grudge? What if they were really related to James and this was some kind of family thing? James certainly did not want to be in the middle of that.

“I think that maybe James should decide who he would wish to stay with, seeing as this whole ordeal is about him,” Isabelle said.

“What a brilliant idea. It’s nice to see you using your brain for once.”

She glowered at Edgemont, but didn’t get a chance to retort anything because the secretary had finished her phone call. James thought she looked rather like a penguin waddling back to them, and almost laughed in spite of the situation.

“I was just on the phone with your parents, James.” It seemed like the secretary was no longer speaking to either Edgemont or Isabelle. James felt a little odd that she was completely ignoring the only other adults in the room.

“They told me,” she continued, “that you are to be placed in Miss Isabelle’s guardianship.”

James looked to his aunt, who smiled and winked back. For some strange reason, he felt better that Isabelle was going to be taking care of him. Something still seemed not quite right with Edgemont. What if his aunt was right—what if Edgemont had willed those memories into his mind?

The secretary pulled James aside, with their backs facing the adults. She said, “I apologize for everything that happened today. I called the police, who should be on their way to pick up Mr. Edgemont soon.”

“You mean he’s not my uncle?” His own voice sounded strained and tired. The secretary saw it and answered gently, “I didn’t ask, and I don’t really care. Forging legal documents and planning to abduct you are crimes enough.” James had had enough of people not giving him straight answers. ‘I’m not five,’ he thought bitterly.

He meant to say something else to her, but she had already turned back to Isabelle and Edgemont. Except that it was only Isabelle standing there, looking patiently at James and the secretary. She looked thoroughly complacent.

“Where did he go?” James noticed that the secretary instantly developed a thick Irish brogue.

“He’s vanished. Gone. Run away with his tail between his legs. Good riddance, I say.”

James expected the secretary to blow up and call the police again, but she only sighed with relief. “Oh good. I was getting worried.”

Isabelle walked over and gave the secretary a pat on the shoulder. “You did splendidly, my dear Grenja.” Then she quickly turned her attention to James. “Let’s get going then.”

He was overwhelmed by the whole ordeal. “Where?” he asked in a defeated fashion.

“Why my home of course.”

Isabelle tried to pat his shoulder too, but James pushed her away hastily.

“I don’t know what’s going on, but I will not go anywhere with you or your accomplice. As a matter of fact, I am going to call the police. Right now.”

He must have looked absolutely loony running towards the secretary’s cubby, screaming wildly. Apparently, James’ sudden loss of sanity and the threat of the police did not perturb Isabelle in the least. Instead, she and Grenja merely stared quietly while James continued on.

“Then I shall get the principal and she will deal with you frauds while I go back to my English class.”

At being called a fraud, Isabelle’s cheeks went pink, but her calm demeanor did not fluctuate.

“I’m afraid to tell you that I’m no fraud. Also, I humbly ask that you cease this cacophonous tirade.”

But James would not stop. He picked up the phone angrily, dialed the buttons angrily, and waited for the ringing angrily.

“Oh honestly James, what do you want to know? Your parents are Melinda and Michael Barnes. You were born on August 16th. You enjoy painting and playing video games. Want to know more?”

Isabelle continued to ramble about James’ life, but James had already dropped the phone. The line was dead. How was the secretary’s phone line dead? It didn’t seem to matter to James anymore. He slowly retraced his steps and got his backpack. Silently, in a defeated fashion, he slung the bag over his shoulders.

“…and you have a cat named Munchkin, but before him you had two birds. They killed each other. And before them, you had five fish. One of those fish ate the other four. So you decided that by getting one cat, the chances of it dying became slimmer.”

He stared at Isabelle, who looked back triumphantly. “That’s absolutely correct. I hope you’re proud of yourself for knowing my life story.” He whispered this, quite under his breath. He knew that if Isabelle heard that, she would get extraordinarily angry. He did decide; however, that he didn’t care what made this Grenja mad, so he asked quite rudely, “How did you make that phone call if the phone line is dead?”

But Isabelle interrupted loudly. “I don’t care, quite frankly, what you think of me. I care for myself, first and foremost, and then you. That’s how it goes. Remember that.” Grenja coughed causing Isabelle to add, “Oh, and Grenja comes before you along with a myriad of household items.”

“And Henry,” Grenja reminded her.

“Yes, and Henry, clumped in there with the household things.”

Grenja smiled demurely at James. “Shall we be off then?” she asked. “Excellent idea,” murmured Isabelle.

Isabelle walked briskly to the door and opened it with a flourish. James looked to Grenja who scooted him kindly into the hallway.

Classes were just changing when the trio got outside. James’ next class would be Living Environment in a lab room down the hall. Instantly, James thought of Conor. He was supposed to walk home with him, but now, he would be going to his aunt’s house. He felt he should at least have the decency to forewarn Conor.

“May I tell a friend of mine that I won’t be able to walk home with him?”

Isabelle glanced at him from the corner of her eyes. “I don’t see why not. Although I can tell that you’re only asking politely because it’s something for your benefit. Next time, I expect you to speak to me normally, even if you’re not getting anything out of it.”

James gave her a skeptical look before sprinting down the hall. He found Conor at his locker, putting the bag of rocks away and getting out his science books.

“Hey James!” Conor slammed the flimsy metal door shut and locked it.

“Hey Conor, listen. My aunt is picking me up so I won’t be able to walk home with you. I’m really sorry.”

“Are you staying with your aunt until your parents get back?”

“Yeah…and I don’t know where she lives.”

Conor’s face fell a little, but he managed a smile. “That’s alright. Just get your aunt’s number and call me later. We’ll get together sometime. And I’ll see you in school tomorrow anyway.” James had always admired Conor’s optimism.

The two friends parted and James made his way back to his aunt. “Can we leave now or do you need to speak to your girlfriend too?” Isabelle asked. James rolled his eyes and trudged silently behind Isabelle, murmuring that he didn’t even have a girlfriend. ‘Although that would be nice,’ he thought.

Once outside in the parking lot, James tried to guess which car was Isabelle’s. For some reason, he vividly imagined that her car would be bright red. As they exited the parking lot, James began to worry that Aunt Isabelle didn’t have a car at all. When they left the main road and turned down an alleyway, James was positive that he would be trekking to Isabelle’s house.

“Aunt Isabelle,” he asked hesitantly in case she was still mad at him, “do you have a car?”

“Why?” she asked, “Do you want to drive it?”

“No, I’m just curious.”

Isabelle rounded a sharp corner and led them down a darker alley. Then she said, “I’m with the EPA side of your family.”

James frowned a little, but wasn’t the least bit surprised that she didn’t have a car. It was just something he had learned to expect. Besides, when his parents got back, he wouldn’t have the luxury of a car anyway. It was just better not having one at all.

Initially, when they turned up the first few alleyways, James had known roughly where they were. But now, as they crossed into what must have been their forty-seventh passageway, he could not identify where they were. The buildings they were walking by were all crumbled from the back and a variety of rusted objects lay on the sides of the dirt paths. Stray tomcats with patchy fur would mewl piteously from the windowsills. James did not like this place at all.

After a dozen more turns and sharp twists, Isabelle led them to a clearing. It was actually a small park that consisted of a few trees, some benches and a swing set. James recognized it at once—his home was only a couple of houses down from it. All of those alleyways made him think that they were going to China, but no, they were only going to his block.

“Aunt Isabelle,” he started, “my house is over there. If we were going to come by here, why didn’t we just take the main road?”

“My darling child,” she responded, not even looking at him, “I wished to come to this exact spot. That is why we took such a route.”

“But Aunt Isabelle,” James could only stare at her back, “We could have gotten here much faster if only we had taken the main road.”

“James. Edgemont would have driven by to see if we had successfully taken you from the school. Let me say that I am not proficient at all when it comes to battling cars.”

He stared and stared at her, but she said nothing else. Instead, she walked straight up to the house bordering the tiny park and rummaged through her pockets, obviously looking for a key. James noted that he, Aunt Isabelle and Miss Grenja were only a house apart. He wondered vaguely why he had never seen them around before. He decided to ask Miss Grenja: “If you’ve lived here so long, why haven’t I seen you outside?”

“Why don’t be silly,” she replied sweetly, “I’ve been your secretary for a month now. You’ve seen me everyday!”

James rolled his eyes. This was going to be impossible.

Isabelle murmured an “Aha!” signaling that she had found her key, and James heard the lock click open. She pushed the door open quickly and ushered them into the foyer equally as fast.

The second that James walked into the house, he felt cool and damp, and the house smelled of plants. Everything was shockingly dark—all the shades had been pulled down—and it took James a few seconds to adjust to the light. Absentmindedly, Isabelle flicked on a bare electric bulb on the ceiling. It gave a little light to the foyer and uncovered a staircase right in the middle of the entranceway. It almost acted as a separating wall, with what looked like a family room and a kitchen on the left and a dining room on the right. Isabelle led him straight through the family room and into the kitchen.

It was quaint enough, with a circular Italian table in the middle. On his left, the whole wall was occupied with pots and pans that hung from above the stove, pantry, sink and refrigerator. Something that almost immediately caught his eyes; however, was an out of place bookshelf standing in a narrow nook next to a closet that jutted from the left wall.

‘Maybe it’s filled with cookbooks,’ he tried to reason. Aunt Isabelle did seem like the avid reader.

James walked over to it and placed a hand on the smooth spines of the books. ‘None of them have names on them,’ he thought. Before he could pull out one of the books, Isabelle’s delicate hand removed his from the bookshelf. With the same careful precision, she managed to get James away from the wall and, at the same time, placed a large blue book back into its spot. She didn’t say anything to James, but made her way over to the pantry. Once he was sure she was thoroughly occupied with some boxes, he looked to the book she had just placed on the shelf.

James recognized it immediately—it was the one she was reading in the waiting room. He had not seen her take the book with her as they left, nor did she carry a pocketbook to put it in. So how, he wondered, did the book end up in Isabelle’s house on her bookshelf? It was most definitely too big to hide. James felt a prickling on his neck and began to worry that things were not as they seemed with Aunt Isabelle, and a host of burning questions seemed to form effortlessly as he turned around to sit at the nicely carved table.