Have you gotten to the part where Samantha and April meet the waitress who is secretly a ninja who rescues lost children No I covered my ears Don’t say another word Stanley nodded again this time in understanding A clean-enough hoodie was on top of a clothing pile so I put it on OK Ready now I called out before closing the window Stanley threw the next pinecone Thunk I flipped the lights on and off twice my counter signal and headed downstairs Six giant cinnamon buns sat on the kitchen counter I sighed and thought Pity buns for breakfast Again I know most people would be happy to find homemade goodies in their kitchen on a Saturday morning And I was sort of Aunt Gertie made the cinnamon buns because she knew they were my absolute favorite treat But it was the third time she’d baked them this week and the fact that she’d made them again meant that my parents were still away saving the world on one of their top secret missions Good for the world lonely for me There’s a limit to the amount of self-pity that can be wiped away by sugar and cinnamon I hadn’t reached it yet but if my parents didn’t come home soon I might I was lucky to have Aunt Gertie stay with me That was our family’s protocol whenever my parents were away protocol rules for how to get things done in certain situations Aunt Gertie had left hours ago to open the Star’s Tale her café and knickknack shop where she served coffee and pastries to the hordes of day-trippers and hardcore backpackers making their way to Mount Rainier for one last fall hike I ran through the kitchen sliding across the wooden floor and opened the back door to let Stanley in He was in full hiking gear even though we were only going to our favorite tree grove about a forty-five minute walk from here Though he’d never been a Boy Scout Stanley was always prepared The pockets of his forest-green vest bulged with maps a compass and a tube of sunscreen In his backpack he kept a variety of items like sunglasses snacks water extra clothes a flashlight a first-aid kit matches and a pocketknife Before I could join him outside on the porch the rich aroma of cinnamon and sugar had lured him inside Are your parents awake Stanley whispered as he made a beeline for the buns I’m pretty sure I heard his stomach growl
Dodging Stanley’s question I shrugged grabbed a bun and started eating Though it was a pity bun it was warm gooey and made with love and that made my belly happy I zoned out thinking about what my parents might be up to at this very moment The truth was I had no idea whether my parents were awake or even what time zone they were in My parents worked as top secret agents a special type of spy known as Cleaners They would go into really bad situations around the world to clean up messes made by other spies One time my parents had to erase video footage of the original spies sneaking into a forbidden area and walking out with documents clearly marked Top Secret Sure the actual Cleaners work only took twenty minutes or so my mom was a whiz at hacking video surveillance systems but my parents had to physically remove the hard drive containing the back-up video According to Dad he was in and out in fewer than seven minutes The real time-eater was the flight to the other side of the Earth sixteen hours and five minutes each way My parents never gave me too many specifics but spy work of any kind sounded dangerous and fun and more exciting than their cover stories On the surface my parents sounded boring Even their names were snore-inducing Fred and Jane Pear My father maintained old telephone lines that run through Mount Rainier National Park and Mount Baker-Snoqualmie National Forest He also repaired cell phone towers Sometimes Mom went to keep him company At least there was one exciting thing about his cover job He got to pilot small planes Mom could pilot too just not for her cover job My mother was the curator for our family’s private museum Le Petit Musée of Antique Silver Spoons She spent her days looking at old stuff mostly spoons and filling out paperwork Lots of paperwork Why a spoon museum It’d been in our family for generations My great-great grandfather used to travel a lot He would bring my great-great-grandmother a commemorative silver spoon from wherever he was When the kitchen drawers were stuffed with more than a thousand spoons my great-great-grandma bought the house next door put the spoons on display and charged admission She called it Le Petit Musée because she thought it sounded sophisticated She didn’t know the French words for old silver spoon Is it OK if I have another bun Stanley asked breaking into my thoughts I nodded as I continued to uncoil mine its sugar and cinnamon melting on my tongue with each
bite The spoon obsession was odd I’d admit but it was a harmless enough hobby My great-grandparents collected spoons until they died Then my grandparents added to the collection When Mom and I did inventory last summer we counted more than two thousand spoons on display Some of the spoons were rare some had gemstones or gold handles and all had to be dusted and polished on a regular basis And when Mom and Dad were out saving the world who do you think had to clean all of those spoons I only got a measly five dollars for the job even if it took all afternoon At least when I help Aunt Gertie she pays me in pastries and cash I thought as I savored my last bite I decided against another bun and washed my hands When Stanley finished he took two cups from the cupboard opened the refrigerator looked inside and said You’re out of milk He continued to poke around the fridge behind the yogurts and take-out containers from Mai’s Diner If we hadn’t been best friends since practically birth I wouldn’t have noticed his grunt of irritation He was used to my kitchen being fully stocked at all times We had an unspoken agreement He never mentioned my parents bizarre schedules and I never mentioned that he’d practically lived at my house ever since his dad had left and his mom had to start working two jobs Stanley closed the fridge door and with his pointer finger tapped the photo he had given to my parents of the red-winged blackbird The bird was perched on a nest of woven reeds and cattails his scarlet and yellow shoulder patch standing out against his sleek black feathers Stanley had shot the photo on a camping trip we’d taken in late spring He smiled every time he saw it on the fridge door which was practically every day I couldn’t very well tell him that my parents had been gone almost ten days much longer than anticipated While Aunt Gertie was a marvelous baker she totally flaked out on normal grocery shopping We can get milk from the café I said as Stanley put the cups away We went out my front door past the spoon museum and walked into Aunt Gertie’s shop The three buildings my house the museum and the café took up an entire block on Main Street which was only four blocks long The only other buildings of note were the old jail which now doubled as a tourist info station and Mai’s Diner
The Star’s Tale was packed Stanley and I elbowed our way to the front of the line flashing innocent smiles and exchanging nods of greeting with the regulars Like usual the café was a mess Scented candles propped up guidebooks on shelves with jewelry strewn about Packets of dried fruit and nuts sat between wool socks In the middle of it all the café served coffee hot chocolate sandwiches and pastries Luckily Aunt Gertie could find anything within ten seconds so the wacky mixed-up system worked for her One reason for the traffic jam was obvious At the table by the display of earrings an older man lingering over coffee took up a four-seater Dressed like an REI mannequin in a new green and blue plaid flannel shirt new water-resistant pants and new hiking boots he was studying a topographic map of Mount Rainier The tread on the man’s boots was not worn at all so I could understand his caution before setting out for a hike New boots meant possible blisters Noticing details like that was part of spy training so I tried to do it all I could I wanted to tell the man to pick up a map of easy day hikes from the ranger’s station But when I caught his eye cold and watchful the words stuck in my throat Something told me he wasn’t looking for advice I tried stepping back but the crowd held me in place A thought popped into my mind It was the end of October probably the last hike before many of the trails closed for the winter Sure someone might have a new vest or even new boots But an entirely new outfit Early summer was typically when novice hikers would try their luck on the mountain Dad always said that a good secret agent was constantly on the lookout for the odd sock something or someone that was seemingly meaningless but out of place This man was an odd sock Aunt Gertie’s long purple skirt twirled as she flitted from table to table coffee pot in hand When she saw Stanley and me she didn’t miss a beat She waltzed behind the counter poured milk into to-go cups waltzed back handed the cups to us and sneaked a kiss on my head You kids aren’t planning on hiking all the way to Tim Chamberlain’s warehouse are you Aunt Gertie asked as she took in Stanley’s outfit There’s not enough time this morning No ma’am That part of the path is gated off after Labor Day Stanley pulled out a paper map to show her our route about halfway on a popular path to the abandoned warehouse As they spoke the odd sock leaned in ever so slightly as if trying to
