CHAPTER 1
THE COVERT ART OF CHRISTMAS CHEER
Hammy
Iglance at the group of us who’ve gathered at theCipherSpringsPublicLibrary, toward the front doors, and then to the nearby stacks, casually looking for people trying to conceal their actions.Likethe librarian who just innocently pushed her cart into the stacks furthest from the front desk while her secret love interest meanders toward the same area.
WhyamIscanning the area?Becauseold intelligence operative instincts never really die, even though it’s been a dozen years sinceIwas last in the field andI’mliving in a town where the most exciting things that happen are whatever antics theBartonteens are up to.
Thoseinstincts made me a good operative.They’realso the reasonI’vemade it to age fifty-four.
DoIstill need to wear this disguise that makes me look a decade older?Probablynot.I’vebeen out of the field too longto be remembered.ButIwear it everywhere except the office because covert instincts never really die, either.Especiallysince my current job is all about disguising operatives.Andbecause the other club members wouldn’t recognize me without it.
Abouttwenty civilians have gathered for tonight’s activity, which is impressive!Whenmy physical therapy tech,Mackenzie, first told me over a year ago about herOutsidetheBubbleclub,Icame to one of the first meetings.Therewere only four of us.
Forthe record,I’mnot here to get out of my bubble.Mycomfort zone is large enough that no activity we’ve done has made me step out of it.I’mhere because living the bachelor life for so many years is rather lonely.Ineed people in my bubble.Andthe ones here are interesting.
Mackenziewelcomes us in a quiet voice.Thenshe says, “Areyou ready for our specialChristmassyOutsidetheBubbleclub activity?”
Everyoneenthusiastically whispers, “Yeah!” but not too loudly because we are in the library, and not only is there aQuiet, pleasesign five feet away, but there’s also a librarian who could hold her own in a battle of severe expressions against the receptionist at theClandestineServicesAgency(and she’s trained to scare people off).
Mackenziegrins at everyone’s exuberant (yet muted) enthusiasm. “Okay, we’ve got six captains who are going to lead six service projects.You’llhear about your project from your captain.”Sheputs the first two groups together, then says, “Ourthird captain isReese, and the project is putting upChristmaslights.Inthat group, let’s have…HammyandCharlie.”
SoIget to team up withCharlie, one of my favorite people on earth, andCharlie’sroommate,Reese, who always wears fun glasses and at least one honey, bee, or honeycomb-shaped piece of jewelry.
Igrin asCharliebounds over to me with her own grin.I’venever had kids of my own, but my best friend,Rick, had six.Heinvited me into their lives from the start as “UncleAbe.”ButsinceRickdied five years ago,I’vebeen more of a stand-in dad for the youngestLancaster,Charlie.She’sa full-grown woman now, and an amazing tech operative and handler at theCSA.
“Didyou bring enough warm clothes for working outside?”Iask her.Stand-in dad and all—it’s my job to ask.
“Yep!Reesegave me advance warning about being outside.Whatabout you?Willyou be able to keep that balding head of yours warm?”
It’sa good-natured ribbing. “Ofcourse. ‘Beprepared’ has been my motto sinceIwas a squeaky-voiced newBoyScout.”Plus,Ihave my own hair to keep me warm under the cap of balding hairI’mwearing.
It’sfun to have people impressed at allIcan do “at my age” (especially as a highly-trained ex-operative), butIwish that six years ago whenImoved toCipherSpringsand decided on a disguise,Ihadn’t chosen to appear a decade older.AtleastIchose a name that’s a nickname of mine.IamAbrahamat work andHammyin town, so if someone knows me by both—likeCharlie—and accidentally calls me the wrong name, it’s not suspicious.
Oncethe three of us are inReese’scompactSUVand are pulling out of the parking lot,Reesetells us about our assignment. “So, my parents got divorced about a year ago.Well, it was a long time coming before that—Oh, sorry!” she calls out to the car she just cut off. “Ididn’t see you!—but my dad officially moved out two days afterChristmas.Anyway, my mom lives in a neighborhood where everyone hasChristmaslights.It’sher favorite thing, and she loves having them on her own house.”
Reesetakes a left turn like she doesn’t know that one typically applies the brake a bit around corners, and we all lean to one side of the car.
“Thesmall business who usually put up the lights closed.Mymom’s been super busy at work, and calling to schedule someone else slipped her mind.Bythe time she did, everyone was booked.Ooo—look at their lights!”Reesepoints at a house we’re passing, and apparently, the steering wheel is connected to her eyes because we drift toward it.Untila car coming from the opposite direction honks, prompting her to get back into our lane.
“Iwould do it, but heights andIget along about as well as cats and vacuum cleaners.Mymom won’t ask my brother because he lives ninety minutes away and has an eight-month-old baby.ButIknow it really matters to her.SowhenMackenzieannounced she needed service project ideas,Isuggested putting up my mom’s lights because it’s perfect!Plus, she’s out of town for business so we can surprise her.”
“Thatworked well,”Isay.Whatwill also work well: arriving atReese’smom’s house in one piece.Reesehas come to the last fewOutsidetheBubbleactivities, and from whatIknow of her, she’s fun, thoughtful, and organized.Inever guessed she was such a chaotic driver.
Ionly feel like my life is in the hands of a blindfolded carnival bumper car driver once more (when she slides on a patch of ice at an intersection) before she screeches to a stop in front of a good-looking home.It’sfully dark outside, but from the porch and street lights,Ican see the roof has several gables that will look nice with lights.Thereare about six inches of snow on the ground, soIcan’t see yard details, butIcan tell there are shrubs near the home in one section and the rest is pretty clear.
Reeseleads us inside her mom’s garage, turns on the lights, shuts the door, and shows us where the boxes ofChristmaslightsare stored in the rafters.Threeladders are leaning against a wall, soIchoose anA-frame one and set it up under the rafters.
Iclimb up, grab a box, and hand it down toCharlie.AsI’mreaching for the second box,Reesesays in a shaky voice, “Areyou sure you’re okay up there?You’reup so high!”
Ihand a second box toCharlie. “I’mfine.I’vejumped out of airplanes dozens of times.Heightsdon’t scare me.”Peoplein town don’t knowI’vebeen a field operative, of course, butIdon’t hide thatI’velived an adventurous life.
“Just… don’t fall,”Reesesays. “Idon’t want you to get hurt.”
I’mnot going to get hurt.Imay be in my fifties now, butI’vebeen highly trained andIstay active.Igrab the third box and hand it down.
“Yeah,”Charlieadds, andIcan hear the smile in her voice. “BecauseMackenziewon’t be happy if you need more physical therapy.”
