The Paris Mysteries (Confessions #3)(23)

No one believed me, but still, we took seats at a table in the front room, and Jacob called Monsieur Morel, asking him to go to the house and wait there in case Hugo came home.

I called the waiter to our table.

“We need a platter of chocolate croissants, s’il vous pla?t,” I said, pointing to a heap of them in the display case. “And pots of hot chocolate. Pots.”

I had no appetite, but ordering chocolate was like baiting a trap for Hugo. When the croissants were just a buttery smear on the plate and Hugo still hadn’t arrived, my fluttering uncertainty was growing into full-fledged panic. Harry leaned forward and said, “You can’t be right all the time, sis.”

“I hate to do it,” Jacob said, “but we have waited long enough. We must go to our nuclear option. I’m calling Monsieur Delavergne. He may be able to fire up the police.” He picked up his phone and began pressing the dreaded numbers.

It was the right thing to do, but I felt that once our lawyers were in play, we were lost. This would be the last straw for them. I felt a tightness in my throat and a watery feeling in my guts. I was one second from a weepy public meltdown; then I saw a kid in a red All Saints lacrosse shirt rounding the confections counter.

I jumped up, grabbed Hugo roughly by the arm, and angrily demanded, “Hugo! Are you all right? What’s wrong with you? Where the hell were you?”

God, I was mad.

Hugo trudged ahead of me toward the table, looking defiant. Which was totally nuts.

“I went to the bathroom,” he said. “And then I went to the locker room to look around, and when I came out, Uncle Jacob, you were gone.”

“I was looking for you,” said Jacob. “Why didn’t you call me? Why didn’t you wait?”

“I lost my phone, so I looked for Monsieur Morel. And then this black SUV zoomed toward me. It was scary… like it was waiting for me. I thought it was going to run me down.”

I wanted to throw up. Another black car. Waiting, zooming. I reached for my little brother, but he didn’t want comforting.

“Wait, so let me tell you. I ran into a bookstore, and when I went out the back door, the black car was gone.”

Hugo went on, “And then I got into the Métro and here I am. You should stop thinking of me as an ordinary little kid, you know? I can get around really well.”

In the speechless silence around the table, Hugo eyed the empty plates.

“You guys were hungry, too? I need macarons, really bad.”

Jacob said, “Two words, Hugo.”

“Let me guess. ‘You’re grounded.’ ”

“Correct.” Jacob signaled to the waiter.

“You’re so predictable,” said Hugo.

“Yes, and predictability is exactly what you kids need in your lives right now. Tandy, good call.”

Then our uncle put down his phone and closed his eyes. Jacob might have been an Israeli commando, but it was obvious that babysitting the Angels was one of the harder missions he’d ever undertaken.





It was late, sometime after one.

The house was dark except for the small room tucked inside the basement. No light escaped that dungeon, and yeah, Jacob wouldn’t like me being there. But in my not-so-humble opinion, my needs were greater than his.

Katherine was my sister. And I was going to go through her boxes. I had the right to do it.

The last few weeks had thrown out too many questions without answers.

The mystery that nagged me night and day was Katherine’s death in South Africa. I hadn’t questioned what I’d been told until Dominick said Uncle Peter had threatened his life.

Why had Peter done that?

What didn’t Peter want anyone to know?

The threat against Dominick was just one in a pattern of threats.

Besides Uncle Peter’s, there were Royal Rampling’s multiple warnings and the ongoing danger James had warned me about.

And now I was questioning everything.

I reached into a box and lifted out a large unsealed envelope that was filled with loose documents of all sizes and colors. I spilled the enclosed papers onto the monastery table and was sorting them out with my fingertips when a letter with a drawing on the bottom grabbed my attention and wouldn’t let go.

I recognized that letter. Because I had written it to Katherine. In my clear genius-in-training handwriting, I had written:

Dear Kath,

I hope you find the diamonds you want to make into a necklace that will light up a room. And if you find smaller diamonds that light up a smaller room and look good on a ten-year-old, please bring them home to me.

Love, your very adorable sister,

The Amazing Tandoo





At the bottom of the page, I’d drawn a picture of myself and Kath with marking pens, both of us wearing blue dresses and diamond necklaces with rays shooting out of the stones, both of us with big dopey smiles.

I had loved Katherine so much. The way Hugo adores Matty. Wanted to wear her clothes. Wanted her approval. Wanted to grow up to be just like her. And damn, I teared up again.

This happened too often since I stopped taking the pills. I’m amazed at the strength of my feelings and totally scared of them at the same time. I’m just not prepared for floods of emotions that I can’t control. I’m like an ice girl who has just come in from the cold.