I stood in my parent's living room, Dad and Mom seated side-by-side on the sofa, Crew in an armchair and Daisy perched on the edge of the love seat while I filled in the story we'd been investigating since I discovered the box buried in my back yard.
Wow, was that three years ago? Amazing. But no more so than the astonished looks on my parent's faces, how Dad's natural curiosity-yes, I came by it honestly-lit up his face like a Christmas tree loaded with far too many lightbulbs for his own good.
When I finished off by handing over Crew's letter, Dad skimmed it before Mom took it from him, her lips pursed while my father stood and started to pace. Awesome. Dad pacing meant his mind was churning and amazing things came from John Fleming's brain.
Why hadn't we brought this to him earlier? Stubborn, that's why.