Page 27 of Beehive

“Oh, Thomas.” I shifted my sights. “You are related—”

“To no one of consequence,” Stork cut in, the sudden sharpness of his tone jarring us out of our playful banter. Arty and Stork both knew Thomas was a du Pont and would one day inherit more money than any of us had ever imagined, but I’dforgotten we weren’t alone. Loon didn’t know us—and we didn’t really know her.

Family secrets were best kept within one’s family. Stork was right.

“Children,” Loon interjected, turning everyone’s heads, including Manakin’s. “Santa Claus is actually aRussianinvention. Saint Nicholas was said to hand out bags of gold to the poor and needy, hence the story of gift-giving began. You have Uncle Joe’s forefathers to thank for your holiday festivities.”

Arty and I gaped at the woman. She’d barely spoken ten words since we’d arrived, and now she wanted to launch into a history lesson about Christmas?

“Um, okay. Great. What’s next, Arty?” I asked, hoping Loon would go back to her brooding silence.

“This,” Arty said, retrieving a pipe from his box. The piece looked like black plastic, while the bowl—or whatever you call it—was made of a rich wood, possibly cherry. It had an elegant, movie-inspector vibe.

“A pipe?” Thomas said, cocking his head. “We still don’t smoke.”

“And you’re still obtuse,” Arty quipped. “This is a bone conduction radio receiver.”

“Oh.” Thomas’s eyes widened to almost comical proportions.

I shrugged and shook my head when he glanced my way.

Arty looked well pleased to have stumped us again. “When you put this in your mouth and bite down, you will be able to hear whatever the other end picks up. And by ‘other end,’ I mean the transmitter.”

He retrieved a box the size of a deck of playing cards out of his wooden treasure chest and held it up. A tiny pig’s tail antenna curled up from one end.

“Plant this box wherever you want to eavesdrop, and whoever is biting the pipe will hear everything.”

“How in the world—” Thomas began.

Arty waved him off. “There isn’t enough time to explain how bone conduction works, certainly not to a neanderthal like you.”

“Hey!”

Arty smirked. “Just know that sound is conducted from the transmitter to the pipe, up your jaw, and into your ear. Good enough?”

Thomas perked up. “Oh,thatkind of bone conductor. I thought—”“God, make him stop,” I said, desperate to keep the blush from overtaking my ears.

Stork actually laughed out loud.

Thomas beamed, like a kid who’d just told a fart joke in Sunday School.

Arty blushed.

Loon’s frown discovered new ways to deepen.

“Can we get this over with, minus any more juvenile erection jokes?” Loon groused.

“There’s nothing juvenile about my—”

“Thomas!” Arty and I said in unison.

He shrank back in his seat.

Arty struggled to wipe his grin. “A word of caution on the pipe. The Soviets are very good at intercepting transmissions. They will have listening posts all over Berlin. You should only use this little trick for a quick burst of conversation, then destroy the transmitter as soon as possible.”

“Got it,” Thomas said, setting the pipe beside the used ciggy-cam.

“The rest of the items are fairly benign. Thomas, that means they’re not exciting.”

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