But first I have to find out how—and if—Dean is connected to the Montauk Project.
Peter, my grandfather, sits on the floor in front of us playing war with small metal figurines. “Pow, pow, pow,” he murmurs, knocking one of the army men onto the rug.
When his mother disappears into the hallway, I ask, “Who’s winning?”
“The Allies.” He doesn’t look up from his toys. “We’re bumping off those Jerrys one by one.”
Mary fidgets in her seat. “I don’t know why we had to come over for tea,” she whispers to her mother. “Lydia and I were supposed to go to the beach with Suze and Jinx. You know I’m volunteering at Camp Hero later this afternoon. This was my only time to go.”
“Shh,” Mrs. Bentley scolds. “This is your brother’s home. Be polite.”
“My brother’s not even here....” She trails off as Elizabeth returns, carrying a tray of cookies.
“Help yourself.” Elizabeth places it onto the low wooden coffee table.
Mary snatches up one of the cookies and takes a bite.
“Ohhh,” she sighs, “real sugar.” She finishes the cookie and reaches for another one. “How is it that you always have so many rations? First the tea, then the sugar cookies.” She drops her voice. “It’s the black market, isn’t it?”
“Mary!” Mrs. Bentley exclaims. “The stories you come up with.”
Elizabeth’s pale skin stands out against the dark red of her high-necked dress. “Your brother brought tea, sugar, and white flour home the other day. He said the army gave him these supplies to pass on to his family.”
“Lucas never has stuff like this.” Mary eats the second cookie, closing her eyes as she chews.
Mrs. Bentley picks up a cookie from the tray. “I’m sure it’s only for the senior officers.”
“I thought we were all making do with less.”
“That’s for us civilians, not our soldiers. They’re making the ultimate sacrifice. We do what we can on the home front.” Mrs. Bentley touches Mary gently on the arm. “That means sacrificing in a different way.”
“Well, it just seems like some of us are sacrificing more than others.” Mary pouts.
“Oh Mary, have another cookie.” Elizabeth hands her the plate. She sounds like she’s trying not to laugh, even as Mary glares at her. “We can all benefit from your brother’s important position.”
Speaking of Dean. I glance toward the hallway. Mary might have been disappointed about this tea, but the minute Mrs. Bentley told us we were going, I started to plot. To find out what Dean really does at Camp Hero, I’ll need to become the spy he originally accused me of being. What better place to start than in his own house?
I stand up, smoothing the fabric of my narrow blue skirt, another castoff from Mary. “Could you tell me where the bathroom is?”
“Of course.” Elizabeth’s tone is cool but polite. “It’s down the hallway, to the right of Dean’s study.”
“Thank you.” As they start to talk about the upcoming USO dance, I walk out of the room. Dean’s study is across the hall from the kitchen and I find it easily. The door is slightly ajar. I check the hallway to make sure I’m alone, and then I slip into the room.
The blackout curtains are pulled tight across the small window, the only light coming from the open door behind me. There’s a wide wooden table in the center of the room, with two straight-back chairs flanking it. Neat stacks of paper rest on its surface. A large black-and-white map of the world covers one wall, with careful lines drawn across it, marking where the Allies are advancing through Europe. Another large writing desk takes up half of the opposite wall, with open compartments built into the top and drawers along one leg.
I carefully rifle through the papers on the table. Most of the sheets are blank, and I put them aside, turning to the desk. The compartments are filled with letters, stamps, and envelopes. Moving quickly, I pull open the drawers. The top one is filled with pens and paper. The middle drawer has bills and receipts. I yank at the bottom one, but it’s stuck. I pull harder. The wood creaks, then pops open.
I glance at the door. I’ve only been gone a minute or so, but I need to be careful. I don’t know what Dean would do if he heard I was snooping through his stuff, but I know he wouldn’t be happy. The top of the drawer is filled with papers, a deed to the house, a recent bank statement. I pull out a smaller stack of papers. They’re covered in Dean’s neat handwriting.
“The fuse box is in the basement near the furnace,” the top one reads. “Flip the switch if one is blown.” I rifle through the sheets. They’re all like that—instructions on how to fix the furnace when it overheats, on how to refill the oil in the hot water tank.
Why is Dean leaving his family instructions on how to maintain the house? Is he expecting to disappear? Perhaps every soldier does this in order to prepare his family for the worst.
I put the papers back but notice a strange bundle in the very bottom, hidden underneath a file. I pull it out. It’s a small stack of magazines, held together with twine. I cut the twine with a letter opener from Dean’s desk. All six magazines are the Electrical Experimenter from 1919. One cover shows a red plane crashing into the sea. One is of a scientist holding a glowing lightbulb under the words THE TESLA WIRELESS LIGHT.
So this is Nikola Tesla. His face is thin, and he has a neatly trimmed mustache. I open the issue. The article on Tesla is dog-eared. It’s the beginning of a six-part series called My Inventions written by Tesla himself. I quickly rifle through the other issues. Each one has another part of the series, and each one has been bookmarked. Anywhere Tesla mentions magnetic theory, specifically his discovery of a rotating magnetic field,
