London (23 page)

“You're right. But apart from Tallulah's belief that there is a connection between the images on this stick and his attack, we don't really have anything concrete to go on, do we?”

“We have my gut instinct.”

Sebastian rolled his eyes.

“What? That counts for something! And by the way, if there's no connection, then why was I sent a photo?”

“You have a point.” He ran his fingers through his hair and then leaned back in the banquette, his head cradled in his hands. He looked gorgeous, I thought, and for a moment the case melted away. I loved his broad shoulders and the way his smile teased me when he gave me that certain look. He was good at watching and observing, and he didn't feel the need to fill silence with words. I liked that about him. I pulled my eyes away from him and forced myself back to the task at hand.

“So, nothing?” I asked as I pointed at the two photos Sebastian still held.

“No. Not unless you want to hear that they remind me of my father.” He laughed. Sebastian's father was the Chief Inspector of Paris Police and wore a trench coat and scarf with more flair than anyone in the Burberry ads ever did. What he and these photos could possibly have in common intrigued me.

“Tell me, then.”

“My father always writes and doodles on the left-hand side of papers first. Just like someone has on these.”

I'd definitely noticed that the word
Hall
was written in the upper left-hand corner of the photo I'd been sent. And I'd also noted that the photo that Gavin had been sent had a notation or doodle—it was illegible—in the left-hand border of the photo that he had been sent. But I hadn't given these observations more thought than that.

“So why does he do that?” I took a pen and my notebook from my shoulder bag and noted how, instinctively, I would aim for the upper right-hand corner of a photo. Okay, but so what? And yet something clicked in my mind as I practiced this simple exercise. Something so obvious that I kicked myself for not having realized it sooner!

It dawned on me just as Sebastian said: “Because he is left-handed.”

Suddenly I was buzzing. Sebastian's face faded from sight and the noises around me became an indistinguishable hum. Something was finally coming together. I thought back to every meeting I'd had with Johnny, Jane, Georgie, and Caro. I'd seen it, but I certainly hadn't given it any thought. Again I kicked myself for my lax observation. But I was going to make up for lost time. Starting now.

“Axelle? Have I missed something?” Sebastian was waving his hand in front of my face.

“Sorry.” I smiled. “But, Watson, I owe you one.”

“Thanks. I'm thrilled to know you owe me one—and don't worry, I'll collect—but are you saying you think the person who sent these photos is left-handed?”

I nodded.

“And do you know for a fact that one of our suspects is?”

“I do.”

“But you're not going to tell me which one, are you?”

I smiled and shook my head.

“In that case, Holmes, I think you owe me two.”

Sebastian walked me home, just like he had on Tuesday night. It was only Thursday but the last couple of days had gone by in such a blur of following clues, chasing leads, and modeling work that Tuesday could have been two weeks ago.

We stood outside in the warm air for a few minutes, holding hands. Gradually he drew me to him, until I was close enough to feel his breath on my skin. As our eyes locked, he gently ran his finger over my lips and leaned in to slowly kiss me good night. He was in London until Sunday, but already I was missing him, dreading his absence.

Finally we parted, but I felt him watching me as I walked up our front path and into my house. I turned and waved before I stepped inside. Sebastian smiled and waved back before he disappeared into the night.

Halley was waiting for me when I walked in. My mom still wasn't home, so after sending her a quick message to say that I was back and was going to bed, I let Halley out for a last tour of the garden before we both climbed upstairs. Just as I reached my bedroom, a text message came through. It was from Agnieszka.

What does she want?
I thought, as I unlocked my phone and started to read her message.

Mr. Rivera says he's found someone who can tell you about Mrs. Underwood. He asks if you can meet him at the library at 9 a.m.

I texted back:

That's great! I'll be there, thanks, Agnieszka. And please thank Mr. R for me!

After washing off my makeup and brushing my still-straight hair, I padded back to my bedroom. My mind was still whirring with what seemed like a gazillion thoughts about the case. I was hoping they would all suddenly fall into place. Before I slipped into bed I sat at my desk and picked up the paper copy of the old photo Gavin had been sent. I turned on my bright desk lamp and aimed it at the photo. Then, with the magnifying glass, I took a very slow and very careful look at it.

Both Sebastian and I had studied it while we were at the diner, but the light hadn't been as good there. I went carefully over it again, from left to right and top to bottom. After a minute something did in fact catch my eye. I turned my laptop back on and opened Gavin's file. I found the photo in the file and looked closely at it under the light and with the magnifying glass. Hmm…the tiny fleck seemed to be there too, but on-screen it wasn't as sharply defined.

The tiny spot I was looking at seemed to be part of the original—and not just a surface scratch on the photo itself.

I knew my father had a better magnifying glass in his study, so I quickly ran down to fetch it. Back in my bedroom I looked again at the spot in question until a chill ran through me and the hairs on the back of my neck stood on end. I bent over the photo for a long time, paralyzed by what I saw. Mudlarking, indeed. This minuscule spot looked like nothing, and yet it was everything. If my suspicions were correct, then I finally knew why Gavin had nearly been killed.

So had he discovered this long covered-up detail as I had, just by studying the photo? Had there been a note attached to the original hand-delivered photo? Assuming there was, that note must have helped Gavin uncover this clue much faster than I had. But how had he proved he was right about it? Because I'd have to find a way of proving it too. Furthermore, had Gavin had any idea what he was getting into by following up on the photo?

And yet his photo—his clue—was only a small part of this mystery. The photo I had been sent was related to a different long-buried secret, and yet both secrets were connected.

I felt sick to my stomach and had to sit down on my bed. I took some deep breaths and thought about everything I'd have to do in the morning.

I was seeing Mr. Rivera again first thing, and I needed him to verify something that he'd said. I also needed to meet Georgie as soon as possible. And I'd need Agnieszka's help later in the day—not to mention Sebastian's and Ellie's—that is, if I was going to get Johnny, Georgie, Caro, and Jane together the next evening. It was time to confront them all with the truth. What was it my grandfather used to say?
The truth always comes out in the end. You may have to wait a long time, but a secret doesn't remain secret forever.

I was about to prove my grandfather right.

More Pieces of the Puzzle

I woke up in a panic as the water pulled me down. Cold and clammy, it pressed against my throat, choking all the breath out of me. With all the force I could muster, I pushed myself up and out of it. It took me a minute to realize that I was sitting up in my bed, in such a cold sweat that my pajamas were clinging to me. Halley snuggled closer and slowly the nightmare receded. It was light outside, and according to my alarm clock, it was five o'clock.
Just as well
, I thought as I got out of bed.
I've got a long day ahead of me. I could use the early start.

I picked up my phone and was relieved to see that Josh's obsessed fans finally seemed to have stopped messaging me. I then wrote to Tallulah, saying I hoped to have good news for her later that night. If I didn't, then I strongly suggested we should update the police on what I'd pieced together. But one thing at a time, I told myself.

I also asked her to keep me updated on Gavin. He was, after all, supposed to come out of his induced coma today.

Next I sat at my desk and went through all my notes, starting with the ones I'd taken on Tuesday morning when I'd met Tallulah for the first time. There was one more niggling point that kept playing on rewind in my mind. It was a question Sebastian had also raised. Why had Clarissa gone down the stairs at that moment on that afternoon? Mr. Rivera had said that everyone in the household knew Clarissa rested for a couple of hours after lunch every day. So something must have caused her to get out of bed…

I sat at my desk, thinking about this as the dawn light burned through the morning mist. The songbirds were busy in the garden, trilling and chirping, filling the air with music. I got up and gazed out of the window for a while, thinking and thinking, until finally, after putting myself in Clarissa's place, I came to an answer that I thought made sense.

I took my phone and called Sebastian, hoping he'd be awake. He answered right away.

“Yes, I'm awake, Holmes. And if you're calling this early, it can only mean one thing. Case solved?”

“I think so, yes.”

“But you need help to tie up the loose ends?”

I laughed. “How'd you guess?”

“That, dear Holmes, is because I know you. And I'm ready whenever you are.”

After looking at my schedule we decided that the best idea would be to meet at the Johnny Vane offices, right after I'd (hopefully) seen Georgie.

“So eleven a.m. at Holborn Tube station it is,” I said.

“Fine. See you there.”

“Wait! Hold on, not so fast! In the meantime, can you do a couple of things for me?”

“No problem, I'm all yours. What do you need?”

“This might sound odd—”

“I'm used to that from you by now, Holmes.”

“Ha-ha. As I was saying, this may sound odd, but just trust me, will you? I'd like a list of the locations of the pay phones closest to the Dawson Place mansion at the time of Clarissa's death. Do you think you can help with that?”

“Absolutely. I'll try to have it by the time we meet. What else?”

“Can you buy a small can of paint? A sample size in a bright color. Brick red would be good—but not too dark. And could you get a sort of painter's uniform? Cap, splattered shirt, that sort of thing?”

“Are we still working on the same case?” I could practically feel Sebastian smile from across town. “Or are you just two steps ahead of me?”

“I'm many more than that, Watson!” As I said good-bye and put down the phone, I thanked the detective gods for Sebastian's help. It was crucial that I found out the locations of the pay phones. I knew that wouldn't take Sebastian long, but it's the sort of thing I'm not very good at. As for the paint and painter's outfit, well, he didn't know it yet, but that was also something I thought he'd be good at.

I went back to my desk and quickly riffled through my notes again, and then I wrote a new list:

Mr. Rivera

Georgie

Sebastian: pay phones, paint

Jorge Cruz: show at Hampton Court (with Sebastian)

Dawson Place tonight: Johnny, Georgie, Caro, and Jane. (Plus Agnieszka (?), Ellie (?), and Sebastian)

Yes, that was better
, I thought as I turned and walked to my bathroom. Hopefully everything would go according to plan.

Halley was on my bed and barked as I shut my laptop. “What is it, Halley?”

She answered with a few whimpers.

“Are you ready to help me again today?” I asked as I pulled my outfit together.

She barked.

“Good. Then let me finish getting dressed and we'll go.”

Dark-blue jeans, another T-shirt (this one from Jorge Cruz, and appropriate, I thought, considering I'd be doing his show later that day), and a really cool jacket I'd found at H&M. It was black and had the most amazing razor-sharp shoulders. I topped the outfit off with my glasses. Then I went in to say good-bye to my mom and to tell her that I'd be gone—with Halley—for the day.

“She seems to like doing your fashion rounds with you, doesn't she?” my mom asked as she tickled Halley's belly.

“Yes, she does,” I answered. Needless to say I didn't mention how much Halley was enjoying the extra walks and adventures my sleuthing took us on.

“Well, enjoy your day, Axelle darling. It sounds like it's going to be exciting. Jorge Cruz should be fun.”

If only she knew
, I thought. Then, without going into detail, I mentioned that I had plans for that evening with Ellie (hopefully—I still had to ask her) and Sebastian. “I'm not sure when I'll be back.”

“Well, it is Friday, so as long as you stay with Ellie and Sebastian and one of them brings you home, then I don't see why you shouldn't stay out till midnight. I'll be waiting for you though.”

“Thanks, Mom.” I had a feeling my night would go on much later than that, but I'd cross that bridge when I got to it, I told myself.

“And what about Josh? And the photo situation?” my mom asked. “I don't see any photographers outside this morning,” she said as she walked to my dad's study and looked out along the street.

“Well, it does seem to have calmed down,” I answered as I checked my phone again. There were no new messages since I'd checked earlier. That was a good sign! “Plus I'm going to see Josh later—he'll be at the Jorge Cruz show. He sent me an email late last night about the ‘photo situation.'” I had a missed call from Josh too, but I didn't tell my mom that part. “His lawyers have managed to get the papers to admit that they were in the wrong. An apology will be forthcoming, which is great, isn't it?”

“Thank goodness for that!” my mom said as she planted a kiss that landed half on my forehead. “Darling, really, it's hard to kiss you with those glasses covering half your face.”

I pushed them back up my nose. Honestly, would my mom
ever
get over my glasses?

“Anyway, I'll see you tonight.”

“Absolutely, Mom.” I put Halley on her leash and left.

Mrs. Sobecki was just going up the library steps when Halley and I arrived. Mr. Rivera was waiting for me at the bottom.

“Good morning, Axelle, and good morning, Halley. We don't need to go in the library this morning. We should get to Dawson Place as soon as possible. Follow me,” he said with a wave of his hand. “By the way,” he continued as I walked beside him, “how did it go with Agnieszka yesterday? Did she show you everything you wanted to see?”

“Yes, she did, thank you. And it's given me a clearer picture of how Clarissa fell.”

“Good, good. Isn't the house wonderful on the inside? It's a shame no one lives there anymore.” Then, as we turned onto Dawson Place, he said, “I'm taking you to meet Nancy Bell. She actually worked at the house as a maid at the time of Clarissa's accident. She started shortly after Mr. Vane died, so she saw plenty of the drama. And, by the way, she's another one who didn't get on well with Mrs. Underwood. Like me, she's lived around here since she was a child, so she knows all the neighborhood gossip. If she can't answer your questions, nobody can.” He smiled.

Nancy was waiting for us at the gates in front of the house. She was petite and quite old—about Mr. Rivera's age—but her memory was still sharp, especially when it came to the Vanes. “They were our very own reality show! Not that that sort of television program existed back then,” she said. “But if it had, they could have made one called
Dawson Place
. Drama, beautiful people, addictions, money, affairs—you name it, we had it right here,” she said as she pointed to the house. “Clarissa was lovely though. The day she fell was a sad, sad day.”

I got to work right away. “One of the former housekeepers, Mrs. Underwood, said that she ‘wasn't surprised' when Clarissa fell. Do you know what she could have meant by that?”

Nancy nodded her head rapidly. “I didn't like her, and I thought it was incredibly rude of her to talk like that with poor Clarissa not even cold in the ground. Anyway, let's hope justice has been done up there by now,” Nancy added with an upward glance at the sky.

“To be honest, everyone in the neighborhood knew that Clarissa liked to drink and sometimes took pills to make her happy. After losing her husband and a son within a few years of each other, is it any surprise? That old trout Mrs. Underwood had no sympathy for Clarissa. She passed her silent judgment on all of us, in fact.” I saw Mr. Rivera nod in agreement with Nancy's last sentence. “And she always said something would happen to Clarissa—”

I interrupted Nancy. “Specifically because of her addictions or for any other reason?”

Nancy was surprised by my question. “I never heard of any other reason but that one,” she said. “Her unhappiness and addictions, I mean.”

“Mrs. Underwood never explained herself?”

“Not that I know of.”

“So she could have been referring to something else?”

Nancy shrugged her shoulders. “If she was, I didn't know about it.”

“Mrs. Underwood was out when Clarissa fell, wasn't she? Did she normally run her errands at that time in the afternoon?”

Mr. Rivera and Nancy both said, “Yes,” before Nancy explained further. “Once the family and Jane had had lunch and things were cleared up, then Mary—Mrs. Underwood—would leave. She was normally gone for an hour and a half or so. Back then we didn't have these large delis and enormous supermarkets like we have now. She'd go from one small grocer to another. Markets too. Even to Fortnum & Mason to get tea. She'd take the Tube.”

“And were you still in the house when Clarissa fell?”

Nancy slowly shook her head. “No. I always left as soon as Clarissa disappeared upstairs for her nap. That lunchtime was the last time I saw her.”

This line of questioning had taken me about as far as it could, I felt. I decided to change tack while I still had both Mr. Rivera's and Nancy's attention.

“Mr. Rivera, yesterday you told me that Caro dashed out of the house shortly before her sister's accident but came back again not long after.”

Mr. Rivera nodded. “That's correct.”

“Can either of you remember any more details about that?”

Mr. Rivera shook his head. “No. It was as I told you—she was in a hurry, as if she'd forgotten something.”

“But in a hurry to leave or in a hurry to come back?” I pressed.

He shrugged his shoulders and stood thinking for a moment. “I've never thought of it that way, but I guess I'd have to say both. She rushed out, using the side door, but then hurried back in too—again using the side door.”

“Which was unusual?”

“For Caro and Clarissa, yes. They always used the front door. And like I said, she was dressed more casually to go out than usual. It was as if she'd left something somewhere and was dashing out to get it, if you know what I mean.”

I did know what he meant, but if Caro had rushed out to get something, then why did she rush back in? Unless she'd had a reason to return. An appointment perhaps? And then all her plans changed, of course, when she returned home and saw what had happened. But then why had she used the side door? I had an idea why, but I wasn't able to confirm it just yet.

“Hmm…thank you.”

Nancy hadn't seen Caro leave, but she had plenty to say about the argument between the sisters. “Caro was engaged to be married, though for the life of me, I can't remember the name of her fiancé. Anyway, when the fiancé met Clarissa he really fell for her. Needless to say this all happened long after Mr. Vane had died. Caro's fiancé was her first love, and goodness she was furious when he left her for Clarissa. Then again, who wouldn't be? And when Clarissa turned around and left the man, well, Caro was fuming. She couldn't get over it.”

“Hmm…” This echoed what Jodi had said about the sisters and what Sebastian had found in the newspapers. But now I needed answers to two more specific questions, questions that were important to my theory about the day she died.

“So Clarissa was definitely in her bedroom before she went down the stairs?”

Nancy nodded. “Yes, I believe so,” she said. “After she'd been through rehab, Clarissa always rested in her bedroom after lunch. Doctor's orders. I saw her go up before I left.”

“And how was she normally dressed when she was resting?”

“She always changed into a robe,” Nancy said. “She had some lovely ones. She liked to be comfortable because she'd either lie on her bed or write letters, and sometimes she'd sleep. I'd lay the robes out for her and then she would dress again before she went out in the evening—and she went out nearly every night, by the way.”

“And how was she dressed when she fell?” I asked.

“She was dressed to go out, actually,” Mr. Rivera answered. “I remember that because at the time I thought it was proper that the police saw her fully dressed.”