Page 39 of Secret Paths

“Yes.” I nod too enthusiastically. “Possible mice. I heard scratching in the kitchen last night.”

Behind me, Peter makes a small choking sound.

Dan looks from me to him.

“Peter came to look behind the cupboards,” I continue. “He has a torch.”

“And a screwdriver,” Peter says.

I turn my head and glare at him.

Dan’s eyebrows rise.

“For the kickboards,” I say, although I have never called them kickboards in my life. “Obviously. He was checking the gaps. There may not even be mice. It could be pipes. Or the fridge. But he stayed because it got late.”

There is a small silence.

Then I make it worse.

“Not that he stayed because of the mice. I mean, he did stay, but not to monitor the mice. There are no confirmed mice. He was just making sure I was not dealing with a possible rodent issue on my own.”

Dan nods once, slowly.

“Right.”

Peter clears his throat. “No visual confirmation yet.”

I close my eyes.

Dan takes a step back.

“Well,” he says. “Hope you get it sorted.”

“Thank you.”

He heads down the path with the careful speed of a man who has made a firm decision not to hear one more word about my imaginary rodent problem.

I shut the door.

For a few seconds, I keep my hand on the handle and stare at the wood.

Behind me, Peter says, “That was remarkably thorough.”

“Do not speak.”

“You have invented an entire overnight pest-control operation.”

“Do not.”

“You gave me tools.”

“You mentioned the screwdriver.”

“I thought we were building credibility.”

I turn around.

Peter is leaning against the wall with one hand in his jacket pocket. His mouth is pressed together, but he is not even pretending he is not about to laugh.