Sara Darnell was a sprightly, svelte twenty-five year old who was known for serving detentions at meter maid frequency, if only to be taken marginally more seriously by the predominantly male Lincoln High Science Department. The smile had become a laugh. The vast mirrored chamber, with its four little square window bays, two either side of the large raised dais that led to the French doors, was very full of company for the start of the Little Season. “I think this ends the business,” he said, turning to his sister. ’ ‘I was called in, ma’am, to catch a French spy—at least, that is what Pottiswick thought.
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