Free In the Drink by Allyson K Abbott Page B

staging your hunt, to try to figure out who they are. Sometimes knowing the person helps in figuring out the clues.”
    Adam smiled and visibly relaxed. “Okay, now I get it,” he said. “That actually sounds like fun. Can anyone join and play?”
    I hadn’t anticipated that question, so once again I had to scramble to come up with an answer. “Um, geez, I don’t know. I got into it by invitation from a friend. If you want, I can ask her. Give me your e-mail address.”
    Adam flipped the index card he was holding and took a pen from his shirt pocket. “Here you go,” he said, scribbling something on the back of the card and handing to me. “I’m supposed to gather up all the ingredients in this ink recipe for you, and I have something else to give you before you leave. It’s a sealed envelope I have up at the register. The instructions included a deadline and said I should destroy the envelope if no one came in by then. But you made it in plenty of time. I’ll slip it into the bag when I ring up your stuff.”
    â€œThat will be great,” I said, hoping my voice wasn’t betraying the nervous excitement I felt. “Do you still have the courier envelope that held these instructions?”
    â€œIt’s in the trash up at the front counter,” he said. He had turned to another shelf and was gathering supplies.
    â€œCan I have that, too?”
    Adam shrugged. “I guess so. The instructions didn’t say I couldn’t give it to you.”
    â€œWere there any other instructions?” I asked. “For instance, were you given a means for communicating that your task was carried out?”
    Adam nodded. “If you show up and get the supplies as directed, I’m supposed to put a paint palette with a glob of green acrylic paint on it in the display window and leave it there for two nights.”
    I realized how smart this was. Even if someone staked out the store 24-7, there would be no way to know which of the hundreds of people driving or walking by were looking for a sign in the art store window.
    Adam finished rounding up his supplies and handed them to me one at a time. “You start with lamp black,” he said as he handed me a small jar filled with a black powdery substance. “It used to be made by collecting the soot from oil lamps. You can make your own if you want by holding a plate over a candle and collecting the soot that accumulates on the plate, but most people just prefer to buy it like this.” Next he handed me two small bottles, both of which were filled with a pale yellow liquid. The first one was labeled HONEY , the second was labeled GUM ARABIC . “The honey is the same stuff you buy in the grocery store,” Adam explained. “The gum arabic is made out of hardened sap from acacia trees. It gives the ink gloss and consistency, to help it spread more evenly.”
    â€œThis is all I need?” I asked.
    â€œIf you read the recipe you’ll see you have to add an egg yolk. You mix all the ingredients together the way the recipe says and you’ll end up with a thick paste that you can store in a jar or any other container with a tight lid. When you want to make your ink, you add a small amount of water to the paste until you get the right consistency.”
    â€œHow will I know what the right consistency is?”
    â€œTrial and error. And it may vary from one project to another depending on the type of paper you use.”
    â€œThat’s it?”
    â€œThat’s it,” Adam echoed. “I have some instructional booklets up by the register.”
    Malachi came walking up to us carrying a box of pencil leads, a straight edge, a compass, and a large tablet of drafting paper. “Got what you need?” he asked me.
    I nodded. “I think so, yes.”
    We headed up front and Adam talked me into buying two calligraphy instructional booklets that I was pretty sure I