The Paris Mysteries (Confessions #3)(40)

“I can’t prove any of it, but I’m telling you, the accident was a deliberate attempt to kill me. And I’m sure Peter found out that I didn’t die. Someone else’s remains were sent to New York and buried at my funeral.

“Peter must have arranged that to maintain the fiction of my death while he hunted for me. After all these years, I’m still being hunted.”

“But why, Kath? Why does Peter want you dead?”

“Because I know all about the pills, Tandy. Peter talked incessantly to me during those long trips. He drank and he talked. I know about the experiments on children. I met most of those poor children, and I know how they died.”

I blurted, “Gram Hilda’s house burned down.”

“I know, Tandy. I don’t doubt that Peter was behind that. He’s trying to destroy the whole family because we’re all living evidence of his insane experiments.”

I had my hands over my mouth, but I still managed to say, “Oh God oh God oh God.”

Kath said, “I think Peter has future plans for those pills. Don’t be surprised if a bad phoenix rises from the ashes of Angel Pharmaceuticals.”





I still had questions, but Kath had stopped walking, and as clotted crowds of people flowed around us, I sensed that my time with my sister was about to end.

Her hand was inside the neckline of her coat, and as I watched, she pulled out a gold chain with a pebble the size of a gumdrop hanging from it.

I gasped—because I knew. The pendant was the diamond Katherine had mined in Africa before she “died.”

Katherine’s cheeks were wet with tears. She said, “Duck your head, Tandy.” She slipped the chain over my neck and rearranged the silk scarf.

“It’s yours now, little sister,” she said. “Maybe it protected me. And maybe it will protect you.”

She put her hands on my shoulders and said, “I’ve changed my name. I don’t live in France, and I hate this, Tandy, but I may never be able to see you again. That goes for Matty, Harry, and Hugo, too. It would just be too dangerous for all of us. I know this is awful, especially after today. But do you understand? We simply can’t take any chances. You can’t tell anyone that you saw me or that I’m still alive. Anyone.

“And please stop being a detective. This is too big. There’s too much money involved. That’s why there’s no end to the danger. You can’t come looking for me. Promise me you won’t do that.”

“No. For God’s sake, Kath. How can you ask me to promise that? Don’t disappear from my life again. We can work together. We can overcome anything or anyone—”

“Tandy, finding you and seeing you was extremely dangerous, and worth every precious moment. But now I have to go.”

My feelings of frantic, panicky denial changed into a kind of sickening despair. I understood that Katherine was right, but I was already feeling the terrible loss of her.

She said, “Say, ‘I promise not to look for you, Kath.’ ”

I nodded dumbly. And then I said, “I promise, Katherine.”

We interlaced our fingers like we used to do when we swore to keep a secret. Then she kissed me on both cheeks. I took in her fragrance deeply before she broke away from me, dashed out into the avenue, and disappeared into a taxi.

I watched the cab shoot ahead—and I felt another meltdown coming on.

Katherine had come back from the dead. We’d touched, cried, laughed, hugged, renewed all the loving feelings we’d had for each other.

Now she was gone.

I stood there on the street, completely devastated. It was not just like losing Katherine all over again, it was almost worse than if she’d never appeared.

But not quite.

Katherine had told me I was right to be scared.

And she’d given me answers.

I also had more questions. Starting with “Would my brothers and I be safe anywhere?” That answer came to me like a grenade going off in my hand.

We will never be safe as long as Peter is alive.

I walked the streets for a couple of hours, sticking to the broad avenues, keeping my eyes on everything as I processed my short time with Katherine.

She was right when she said not to tell people I had seen her. That would not only be dangerous for her, but who would believe me? I had no picture of her. I had no address. I didn’t even know my sister’s name.

I could almost talk myself into believing I’d imagined that Katherine was alive. I could almost believe that Katherine was a ghost.

I rubbed the rough diamond between my fingers.

Then I called Jacob.





We deplaned at the private airport in Teterboro, New Jersey. A sleek white limo was waiting for us on the tarmac, with a surprise inside.

Our old family friend and attorney, the sophisticated, funny, and very smart Philippe Montaigne, was in the back. Even though Philippe was also Peter’s attorney, I trusted and loved him. We all did.

We shouted his name, swarming over him, competing to be heard. And as the car raced toward Manhattan, he said, “If I may just get in a few words.”

We all stopped talking, but there was a whole lot of giggling.

“I have big news. Through your estate managers and with the authority vested in me, you three have purchased a four-bedroom apartment in the San Remo Apartments. As you know, it’s right on Central Park, and I’m pretty sure you’re going to like it.”