On cue, this older, possibly cooler Lynde, heretofore known by me as Lynde Senior, rested her watery blue but also very sharp eyes on me. “The Anne. I have heard about you. I have also been anxious to make your acquaintance.”

I stiffened. Spotted. Spied on? Probably.

Of course she knew everything!

I still hadn’t gotten those curtains up!

Was Principal Lynde her source? I searched her face.

Play it cool, Anne, I told myself.

“Okay,” I sort of shouted. “It’s very nice to meet you.”

Lynde Senior smiled, revealing a gold canine tooth. “No need to shout, dear. The knees are out, but the ears work fine.”

“Sorry.”

She winked. “Goodness, I love your hair,” she said. “And that sweater! What a fascinating color story! Please come in.”

Okay, unexpected points to Beverly because I was in fact wearing a color story consisting of a neon-yellow sweater, pink jeans, and green Crocs, which with my orange hair constructed a story I had mentally titled “Citrus Fantasy.” Looking at Beverly Lynde some more, I realized her outfit also told a color story, which I would title “Ancient Moonlight Velvet Witch Lullaby.”

I stepped over the threshold into the world of Beverly Lynde. Which was full, full of stuff. Every wall was covered in paintings and portraits of all different styles. There were black-and-white photographs of austere-looking men and a few of some less-than-austere-looking men. And many many photographs of various pretty sexy-looking Beverlys.

This was not her first photoshoot.

There were walls and walls of bookshelves and books stacked on every surface and on almost every step of the white winding double staircase that led up from the front hall. Every piece of furniture looked less like a piece of furniture and more like a houseguest, dressed in some sort of fabric, scarf, or sweater. Chairs lolled in the hallways and couches cut off doorways. Lynde led us through, weaving adeptly and moving at a solid clip despite her knees.

“Don’t excuse the mess,” she joked as she directed us through the maze of stuff, her robes billowing. “It’s part of my charm.”

She pointed at a back room, a sort of sunroom full of plants and even more books.

“I think,” she mused, “the light will be best in here.”

There was a giant blue-and-yellow stuffed bird perched on a large branch that stretched across the room. Its left wing was spread out to reveal delicate layers of various shades of blue feathers. Its eyes looked like they were made of some sort of ancient precious jewel.

“Just ignore him.” Lynde Senior waved at the bird dismissively. “That’s Waldo. His spirit is strong but not destructive.”

“Got it.” Millie nodded. “Anne, gimme a hand?”