✏️ The Littlest Spy

23. Confidential Informant

Estelle smoothed down her skirt nervously as she and Bernard approached Mrs. Stanwick's front door. The house was similar to theirs in size and style, but each owner had clearly stamped their personality on their home in years past. The garden paths connected together, but this path changed from neat limestone rounds to crazy paving when it crossed the boundary. The garden here was clearly loved, with well-tended flower boxes bursting with colour beneath each window, like a mirror so that the person inside the house could see the flower beds below.

Bernard squeezed her hand reassuringly before ringing the doorbell. "Remember," he murmured, "we're just a normal couple getting to know our neighbours. Nothing to worry about."

Mrs. Stanwick answered the door before Isadora could respond. "Oh, you made it! Come in, come in. I was just pouring tea. You like sweet tea, yes?"

As they stepped inside, Isadora couldn't help but notice how cosy and cluttered the house was compared to their own. Every surface seemed covered with knick-knacks and framed photos of relatives. It was easy to make out at least a dozen young people; probably nieces and nephews. But despite the density of mementoes on every surface, it was also fastidiously clean. That should have been impressive, but Isadora quickly found herself thinking about how much time Mrs Stanwick must have, living in a family home after her husband had passed away. Was all the housework, and nosiness about her new neighbours, a sign that the widow needed something to fill her time?

"Your home is lovely," she said, unable to find anything more specific to say about the clutter. There was almost too much to take in."

"Oh, thank you, dear," Mrs. Stanwick beamed. "I do like to keep things homey. I never had kids myself, more's the pity, but all the nieces and nephews send me a lot of mementoes from their travels, so it's like a collage of all the places they've been. Now, why don't you take a seat and I'll fetch the tea."

As they settled onto an overstuffed floral sofa, Bernard leaned in close. "She seems eager to share," he whispered. "Let her direct the conversation. It's okay to show enthusiasm if she has interesting anecdotes; don't worry too much about remembering every detail."

"I know," Isadora hissed, just a little frustrated that he was treating her as an apprentice rather than a partner. She'd done all the classes on information gathering, and she was sure that she'd had more experience with neighbours than Brock could imagine. She wanted to tell him that she knew what she was doing, and that this wasn't a babysitting job, but Mrs Stanwick was already back in the doorway with a tray. There were three ornate crystal glasses on the tray, each decorated with a slice of lemon and a sprig of mint on the rim, as well as a large pitcher of iced tea.

Sure enough, as soon as the tea was poured Mrs Stanwick launched into a detailed account of the neighbourhood's history and current residents. It wasn't clear what order she was mentioning them in; she seemed to jump back and forth between people in their street and those who lived on the far side of Evergreen Estates, and even former residents who Bernard and Estelle were unlikely to meet. Isadora recognised many of the names, and did her best to match the stories their host was spinning against the profiles she had done her best to memorise; but so many of the stories seemed to be lacking in purpose, odd factoids that she couldn't see any reason for Stanwick to mention.

"Now, you simply must meet the Arrencani brothers," she said, and Isadora suddenly tried to give her full attention. It was hard to focus, though, when she was sure she'd just seen Brock perform some mysterious sleight-of-hand with his glass. "They practically run this place. My husband would quarrel with them on occasion, but never about anything important. Wonderful boys really, always looking out for everyone."