The phrase jolted Andrew. His uncle, part of something “classified”? He pressed the archivist for details, but the man shrugged. “Postwar article. Hundreds of academics were roped into the war effort. Codebreaking, logistics, who knows? Most records remain sealed. Odd, though. Why would the man keep it so hush-hush?”
Back at the estate, Andrew spread the deed across the desk, tracing words with his finger. The archivist’s words and Mrs. Linton’s warning gnawed at him. Henry’s silence, his wife’s suspicious death, his reclusion. The garden references formed an itch in Andrew’s mind— deliberate and patterned, like the beginning of code.