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  For my grandfathers

  PROLOGUE

  A week before the January thaw finally arrived in February, I found myself hanging like a bat from a rafter inside a church steeple, face-to-face with a bell made by Paul Revere.

  If you’d have told me a month ago that I’d find myself in this position, I would have said you were crazy.

  But then, a month ago my life was completely different. A month ago, my career as a middle-school private eye hadn’t begun.

  And by the way, it didn’t begin inside a steeple. Absolutely truly not.

  It began the day my report card made it home before I did.

  CHAPTER 1

  “What is THIS supposed to mean?” my father demanded as I followed my brother through the front door, our arms full of boxes. My father stalked across the entry hall, waving a slip of paper at me with his good hand.

  Hatcher flashed me a sympathetic look and vanished upstairs. I didn’t blame him; I’d have done the same thing in his place. No one wants to face the wrath of Lieutenant Colonel Jericho T. Lovejoy.

  “An F plus in pre-algebra?” The chill in my father’s voice could have single-handledly reversed global warming. “F plus, Truly?”

  Yes, that’s really my name. It’s a family thing.

  “Does that mean you almost passed, or that you failed spectacularly?” My father pinned me with one of his signature glares.

  I hadn’t counted on this—I thought it would take at least a week for mail from Texas to reach the East Coast. And I’d counted on being able to snag this particular envelope from the mailbox before anyone else spotted it.

  “Um,” I said.

  “This is unacceptable, young lady.”

  Silence is the best strategy when my father gets like this.

  “I don’t understand it,” he continued, pacing back and forth. “Not one bit. Lovejoys can do anything! We’re naturally good at math.”

  Actually, there’s a whole long list of things I can’t do and that I’m not good at. Usually, though, math isn’t one of them. It’s one of my favorite subjects, in fact. But how was I supposed to concentrate on stupid pre-algebra when my world had been turned upside down? The F plus wasn’t my fault; it was his, and I said so under my breath.

  My father stopped midpace. “What was that?”

  “Nothing, sir,” I mumbled.

  My father isn’t one of those hypermilitary dads—when we lived on the base in Colorado, I had a friend whose father used to do actual room inspections for her and her brother every Saturday morning in full dress uniform, white gloves and all; still, all of us Lovejoy kids have been trained to add “sir” to the end of our sentences when we’re talking to our dad, especially when we want to be on his good side.

  And with a math grade like mine, that was definitely the side I wanted to be on.

  My father grabbed his coat from off the banister. I resisted the urge to offer some help as he swung it awkwardly around his shoulders. No point adding fuel to the fire. “Wait until your mother hears about this.”

  That wasn’t a conversation I was looking forward to. When my father’s mad, at least everything’s out in the open and you know where you stand. With my mother, whenever one of us messes up, she just looks at us sorrowfully and shakes her head, like we’re the biggest disappointment in the history of the world. Which I probably am.

  “Finish unpacking the car,” my father said. “I’m heading back to the bookstore. And don’t forget, you and Hatcher have Kitchen Patrol tonight.”

  And with that he left, slamming the door behind him.

  I slumped down on the hall bench and banged my forehead against one of the boxes I was holding. It was so unfair! The math grade, the move—everything! Why couldn’t we have just stayed in Texas?

  This time, there wasn’t even the prospect of moving someplace decent again in a year or two either. This time, I was stuck. Forever. In population you’ve-got-to-be-kidding-me Pumpkin Falls, New Hampshire.

  CHAPTER 2

  Bumpkin Falls would be a better name for it, I thought bitterly. I still couldn’t believe we’d traded Austin for this peanut-sized blip on a map. And a very cold blip too. Winter lasts six months out of the year in Pumpkin Falls, and the likelihood of anything interesting ever happening was about the same as that of me sprouting wings. The nearest mall was an hour away. The town didn’t even have a movie theater. It did have a swimming pool, at least. That was some consolation.

  I stacked the boxes on the bench, carrying the one labeled TRULY’S BIRD BOOKS over to the bottom of the stairs. I’d take it up to my room later. “Hatcher!” I yelled. “Get yourself down here on the double! Dad wants us to finish unloading!”

  I could hear my brother rattling around up there, and wondered what he was doing. Usually, the first thing that happens when we move into a new house, which is often since Dad is in the army, is that Hatcher and Danny run inside to stake out their territory. Mom always lets them, because they’re the oldest, I guess. This time, though, there was no territory to stake out. We all knew this particular house like the backs of our hands, and Mom and Dad had decided our room assignments back in Texas.

  I opened the front door and was struck by a blast of icy wind. Shivering, I ran to the minivan for another armload of boxes. Dropping two of them on the sofa in the living room, I took the third into the dining room. We were traveling light this time, most of our furniture headed for storage since we wouldn’t be needing it. The stuff here was much nicer than ours, anyway.

  I rummaged in the box for place mats. I wouldn’t win any brownie points with Dad if I shirked Kitchen Patrol—better known as “KP,” Lovejoy shorthand for setting the table, helping with dinner, and doing the dishes.

  “Where’ve you been?” I snapped as my brother finally galumphed down the stairs.

  “Didn’t go so well with Dad, huh?”

  “Nope.”

  “Want to talk about it?”

  “Nope.”

  If there’s one good thing about Hatcher, it’s that he knows when to leave me alone. He shrugged and vanished out the front door.

  Counting out seven place mats and seven napkins, I arranged them around the table. One set for each of my parents, a set each for my two older brothers and my two younger sisters, and a final set for me, smack-dab in the center of the Lovejoy lineup.

  “Truly-in-the-Middle,” Dad used to call me, back before he turned into Silent Man. He had a nickname for our family back then too—the Magnificent Seven. The theme song from the old movie used to be the ringtone on his cell phone.

  The war changed all that.

  Since he came home from Afghanistan, Silent Man doesn’t joke around anymore, and there’s no fun ringtone, and he hasn’t once called me “Truly-in-the-Middle” or referred to our family as the Magnificent Seven. I don’t know if we’ll ever be that family again. “Magnificent” isn’t exactly the word I’d use for us these days.

  Six months ago, though, things were different. Six months ago, my life was perfect.

  We were living in Texas, for one thing, instead of Nowheresville, New Hampshire. We’d moved to Austin after school got out in Fort Carson, Colorado, at the end of June, so that we could get everything ready for Dad’s homecoming. He was set to return from his final tour of duty after Labor Day.


  We were giddy the day we moved into the new house. My brothers and sisters and I could hardly believe it—a real, permanent home of our own, at last! And a nice one too, with a swimming pool out back and a big family room with a fireplace, and enough bathrooms so that us girls didn’t have to share with Hatcher and Danny. No more rentals or temporary base housing, no more barely-unpacked-before-we-had-to-pack-everything-up-again lifestyle, no more switching schools every two years, along with teachers and coaches and neighbors and friends.

  For the first time in my life I had a bedroom all to myself, and best of all, I was living in the same zip code as my cousin Mackenzie. Mom found us a house just down the street from Aunt Louise and Uncle Teddy’s, which was the most awesome thing about moving to Texas as far as I was concerned.

  Mackenzie and I were born a week apart, and the two of us have been best friends since we were in diapers. When we were little, we actually used to pretend we were twins. Not that anyone would ever mistake us for them. Mackenzie totally has the Gifford genes. She’s just over five feet tall and cute as a button, with curly strawberry blond hair just like Uncle Teddy’s, and just like my mom’s and my little sister Pippa’s.

  I, on the other hand, have straight brown Lovejoy hair and am not even remotely petite. I’ve always been the tallest one in my class, but this past year, shortly after I turned twelve, I shot up to just under six feet. I felt like the scene in Alice in Wonderland after she eats the cake and grows that weird long neck and says good-bye to her feet, which she can hardly see anymore because she’s such a giant.

  I wish I could say good-bye to my feet. They grew right along with me, unfortunately. I wear size ten and a half now, and my shoes look like something a clown would wear. Especially next to Mackenzie’s.

  My cousin is a really good best friend. She knows how much it bothers me to be so tall. My father calls me an Amazon. They were warrior women a zillion years ago, and I guess it makes sense for him to call me that, being a soldier and all, but still, that’s a nickname I don’t want to get stuck with. Anyway, Mackenzie promised to take me under her wing and introduce me to everyone when school started, so for once I’d be ahead of the curve. I’d be the cousin of cute, perky Mackenzie Gifford, instead of just the freakishly tall new girl.

  After our family’s move to Texas, Mackenzie and I had the best summer ever. I talked her into trying out with me for the summer swim team, and we rode our bikes to the pool every morning for practice, then hung out for the rest of the day at my house or hers. We had sleepovers and backyard barbecues, and she helped me pick out paint for my new room—a really pretty shade of aqua called “Mermaid.” We went to the movies and shopping and to Amy’s for ice cream at least once a week. July and August were heaven.

  Then came Black Monday.

  That’s what Mom called it, afterward.

  I was practicing the piano that morning while I waited for Mackenzie to finish breakfast and come over. Hatcher and Danny had gone fishing, and Mom was paying bills and keeping an eye on my younger sisters, who had made a fort under the dining room table and were playing zoo with Lauren’s hamster, Nibbles, and Thumper, her rabbit.

  I didn’t pay much attention at first when my mother’s cell phone rang.

  “J. T.!” she cried happily.

  I looked up. She was talking to Dad! As I watched, though, her smile faded and the color drained from her face, until she was as white as the sheet music in front of me. My fingers stumbled on the piano keys, leaving a jangle of sour notes hanging in the air. Something was wrong.

  My mother listened for a minute, then stood up abruptly, sending her chair toppling backward onto the floor. She pressed her cell phone against her chest and turned to us. “Go upstairs, girls.”

  My sisters poked their heads out from underneath the table.

  “But, Mom—” Lauren protested.

  “Now.”

  “Yes, ma’am,” my sisters chorused. Wide-eyed, they scrambled out of hiding.

  “Make sure y’all take those animals with you.” My mother turned her back on us and raised the cell phone to her ear again.

  Automatic pilot kicked in, the kind that obeyed without question when given an order. I crossed the room, scooping up an armload of critters and hustling my protesting sisters up to the room they shared.

  “What’s happening?” Lauren asked me. “Is everything okay?”

  I wasn’t sure, and I didn’t want to scare her. She’s only nine. “It’s probably nothing,” I said, and steered her and Pippa over to Pippa’s Barbie house.

  I waited until they were busy building a new zoo, then slipped out of the room. I heard the front door open, and tiptoed over to crouch at the top of the stairs. I didn’t care if it was bad news—I needed to know what was going on.

  “Dinah, I’m so sorry.” It was Aunt Louise. Uncle Teddy was with her, and he had his arms around Mom. She must have called and asked them to come over.

  I squeezed my eyes shut tight. Please, Dad, still be alive! Please, please, please!

  “He only had a few days left!” my mother sobbed. “Just a few days!”

  My heart nearly stopped.

  “He’s just wounded, Dinah,” Uncle Teddy murmured. “He’ll be safe at home again soon.”

  My heart started again. Wounded was better than dead.

  “What happened?” asked Aunt Louise. “Was it a helicopter accident?”

  My father was an army pilot.

  Mom shook her head. She drew a shaky breath. “IED,” she replied.

  My stomach lurched. I knew what that meant. Every military kid with a parent serving in a war zone knew what that meant: “Improvised Explosive Device”—a homemade enemy bomb.

  I saw Aunt Louise and Uncle Teddy exchange a glance.

  “How did he sound when you talked to him?” Uncle Teddy asked gently, and my mother let out a soft sound, halfway between a sigh and a moan.

  “Not like himself!” She started to cry again, and Aunt Louise patted her shoulder. After a few moments, my mother drew another shaky breath, then added, “He’s in the hospital in Kabul, but he’s being transferred soon to Germany. I want to book a flight just as soon as possible.”

  “You leave that to me,” my uncle told her.

  Everything was a bit of a blur after that. As the news of my father’s injury spread, the rest of Mom’s family started to gather. My mother has six brothers scattered all over Texas, so there were a lot of aunts and uncles and cousins underfoot for a couple of days.

  In the end, while Mom flew to Germany to be with Dad, Aunt Louise, Uncle Teddy, and Mackenzie came to stay with Danny and Hatcher and my little sisters and me. Over the next few weeks there were lots of phone calls at odd hours, and whispered conversations between the adults, and then, finally, a videoconference with Dad. He didn’t say much, but I was relieved to see that he looked like himself. Well, mostly. If you didn’t count the fact that where his right arm should have been there was a whole lot of nothing.

  “Upper extremity loss,” the military calls it.

  “He’s alive,” Mom reminded us every time she called to talk to us, first from Germany and later from the military hospital in Maryland. “We need to be grateful for that. Not every family is as fortunate as we are.”

  She meant the Larsons. Dad’s best friend, Tom Larson, had been in the same transport hit by the IED, and he wasn’t coming home. I couldn’t even imagine how his family must be feeling. We’d spent lots of time with them over the years—we’d even gone to Disney World together last spring break.

  “Your father’s going to get through this, and so will we,” Mom told us.

  I didn’t see how, though, and I couldn’t stop worrying about it.

  Not that anyone noticed. You wouldn’t think I’d be that hard to overlook, given the fact that I’m now the family Clydesdale. Somehow, though, I still tend to get lost in the shuffle.

  My cousin Mackenzie is an only child, and after just a few days of looking after the five of
us Lovejoys, I could tell that Uncle Teddy’s and Aunt Louise’s heads were spinning. I guess they decided that divide and conquer was their only hope of survival, because pretty soon my uncle was busy having lots of man-to-man talks with my brothers, while my aunt turned her attention to us girls. Which mostly meant Pippa.

  My baby sister is a Drama Queen with a capital DQ. Pippa may just be a kindergartner, but she knows how to grab the spotlight. She can turn on the waterworks at the drop of a hat. And with her halo of blonde curls, two missing front teeth, and pink sparkly glasses—well, hardly anybody stands a chance. Pippa had Aunt Louise wrapped around her pinkie finger in nothing flat.

  Mackenzie and I were assigned to keep an eye on Lauren, meanwhile, which pretty much left me to fend for myself. I didn’t say anything, though, because I knew everybody was doing the best they could.

  By mid-September, my father was deep into physical therapy, learning how to use his new temporary prosthesis—the fake arm he’ll have to wear—and adjusting to life as a lefty. I could only imagine how that was going. My father is not the world’s most patient person.

  “He’s a real trouper” was all my mother ever said, but from the tone of her voice I could tell that wasn’t the whole story.

  Somewhere in the middle of all this, school started. Before Black Monday, I’d actually been looking forward to it, which is kind of unusual for me. Since military families move every couple of years, you’d think I’d be used to changing schools. This is our normal. For me, though, I’d always dreaded that first day, especially since I turned into Truly the Amazon. Austin had felt different, thanks to Mackenzie, and for once I didn’t have butterflies stomping around in my stomach during the weeks leading up to it.

  After Dad was injured, though, I didn’t think about school at all one way or the other. It just kind of snuck up on me. I was pretty dazed that first week, even though Mackenzie took me under her wing just like she said she would. Her friends were all really nice to me and everything, but somehow it all felt wrong, like I was sleepwalking or something.