But by Saturday night, I was out of productive distractions. I needed to get the bug for Monday.
I waited until midnight to make a jailbreak from my room to seek it out, banking that my parents would be sleeping soundly by then. I’d avoided them since the heated discussion the night before.
They were being unreasonable.
I crept down the stairs barefoot—channeling my inner elf—and into my dad’s home study where the contraband was stored. I crossed the threshold and the glowing lamp he always left on at night rewarded me with the sight of both my phone and my laptop stacked in a chair across from Dad’s desk.
Tempting, but only after I’d gotten what I came for.
Although not being able to lock the office door wasn’t ideal for the search. I was afraid to even close it, in case someone made a trip downstairs to the kitchen for a glass of water.
Wait. Dad wasn’t paranoid enough to have added a nanny cam, stashed away in some hollowed-out volume of military history or embedded in a statuette of a Civil War soldier, was he?
I hadn’t even considered that. Then again, those were the spots I had to check, the kind of places where he sometimes hid the key to the heavy lock on the tall wooden cabinet in the corner of the office. The cabinet where he stored the cache of high-tech toys and gear I planned to raid.
Well, not raid. Borrow from.
I went to a bookshelf and checked inside a volume about President Ulysses S. Grant, or more importantly in Dad’s view, the great General Grant, which was actually a hollowed-out box. Nada.
Given that we’d just moved to Metropolis, he could be homesick for places with a base closer by. So next I went to an end table with a model tank one of his soldiers had made for him years before and undid the hatch on top. Empty.
“Argh,” I muttered, looking around.
My attention landed on a framed photo on the short bookshelf beside his desk. It was us, our family decked out in our finest, with me and Lucy in front of Dad and Mom, the three of them smiling happily and me not. My black hair fell over my shoulders in soft waves that Mom had labored over, but I was scowling at the camera. We’d had it taken last year, and Dad and I had a big argument that day. I remembered slamming doors, but not what we fought about. Thinking back, though, he’d first mentioned requesting a permanent assignment right after that.
I walked over and picked up the picture frame. And . . . felt a shape along the back. I turned it around.
The key was stuck to the back of the frame with a small dollop of putty. I pulled it free and, setting the frame down, beelined for the cabinet. The key slid into the brass lock and the cabinet door gave up the treasures inside with a click.
Row upon row of Dad’s goodies awaited. Directly in front of me were a tiny camera, a few small laser pointers, and some sleek black cylinders that might have been actual handheld lasers. Below was a line of close-quarters prism flares and other gadgets; the flares we were allowed to use on the Fourth of July, a more exciting alternative to sparklers, as long as you called for everyone to squeeze their eyes shut before you let them off.
Finding the bug I needed was easy. I closed my palm around the ink-pen-shaped infrared video and listening device on the second to bottom shelf, complete with a pen-cap receiver. I stowed both inside the pocket of my fuzzy robe.
I closed the cabinet, glad I didn’t need directions on how to use the bug. One of the military scientists who liked Lucy and me best had let us observe when he demoed it for Dad. I’d kind of hoped to find an even newer generation with fresh improvements in Dad’s stockpile, but this would do nicely.
I relocked the door, crossed to the picture frame, and restored the key to the putty. I should go back upstairs, but I paused.
My laptop and phone were right there.
I scurried across the thick rug toward the chair. I was willing to risk booting up down here, instead of lugging the computer all the way upstairs where I might get caught on the way.
And I rationalized that I’d risk only a few more minutes to attempt a check-in with SmallvilleGuy, make sure nothing else had happened in the game, tell him about my plan for Monday, see if he had any new info to share.
Maybe he’d have a new picture of Nellie the baby cow or Shelby the dog to lift my spirits.
If Dad caught me, I’d tell him I was looking at email. Lifting the laptop, I sat down and opened it, letting my phone drop down beside me in the chair.
“If I wanted you to use that this weekend, then I wouldn’t have taken it away.”
I flinched.
Dad stood in the doorway. He flipped on the brighter overhead light. “I am surprised it took you this long to sneak down here, though. Now put that down and go back to bed.”
Good thing you didn’t show up two minutes earlier. I closed the laptop, but hesitated for a split second, considering my odds of success if I tried to slip the phone into the pocket of my robe along with the bug.