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"Arthur, you're standing very stiffly," she remarked, squinting at his shirt. "Is that a new button? It’s a bit... large, isn't it?"

"I... I want to see what's over the fence," Arthur said, trying to sound like a man who frequently infiltrated things. buy spy gear

Mrs. Gable laughed, a sound that echoed digitally in his ears. "I'm a retired librarian, Arthur. But even librarians need to know why their neighbor is filming their potato salad." large, isn't it

That night, Arthur began his mission. He strapped on the goggles and peered over his hydrangeas. The world was a luminous, lime-green blur. He saw Mrs. Gable in her kitchen. She wasn't decoding intercepted telegrams; she was making tea. But Arthur knew better. The way she stirred the spoon—three times clockwise, once counter-clockwise—was clearly a signal to a waiting submarine in the local pond. Gable laughed, a sound that echoed digitally in his ears

to his neighborhood's monthly potluck. He stood near Mrs. Gable, trying to angle his chest toward her while she served her famous potato salad.