A couple of the boards on the back wall had slipped, exposing wooden studs beneath. Dad said that was this year’s project, and that he wanted to get some of that blow-in insulation while he was at it. Peter was pretty sure he’d seen a fat red squirrel disappear into one of those gaps, but if he mentioned that to Dad he’d yell.
The one kitchen window that still worked had been knocked open and propped with the brick. The smell of garlic from the garden drifted out, mingling with the thick aroma of the Creeping Charlie that covered the back yard.
Was Mom making spaghetti? Of all the nights to be sent to bed without supper!
No, Peter had a treasure. Whatever the mask was, it wasn’t like the time he’d brought home the stray Rottweiler and Mom had gone all Vader on him. He’d get dinner.
If
