Chapter 13
“My apartment?” Her words stun me into stillness, and I take off the glasses.
“Yes, the unit on the end that’s always empty. I’ve been watching the place.” She pauses, shadows passing behind her eyes. “Because my sister discovered something while she was there.”
Her somber tone sends a chill down my spine. “What do you mean? What did your sister tell you?”
“Nothing. She didn’t get a chance.” Alice stares at me for a moment and leans forward. “Rose is missing, and the last place anyone saw her was the mansion.” She curls her hands into fists. “With those people.”
Those people.
The Marteaus.
Words tangle in my mind and lodge in my throat, but I finally break some free. “How long has your sister been missing?”
“Five months.” Alice sits straight as a board, but then she collapses, slumping forward to rest her elbows on the table.
The server returns with my drink, her expression neutral but strained. I’m sure she’s picking up on the tension. It fills the air around us, thick as molasses.
She asks Alice if she’d like something, but Alice shakes her head.
After the waitress leaves, I sip the hot coffee and study the woman across from me. I can’t imagine what she wants from me.
“What did the police say?” I ask.
“The police.” She barks out a harsh laugh and shakes her head, her features hardening again. “The police didn’t follow up. They didn’t do anything at all. The Marteaus made sure of it. One word from them and the police shut me down. They accepted whatever those people said.”
“Which was what?”
Even her shrug reeks of anger. “That my sister left the mansion. Nothing else. And I have no proof of anything different.” Her jaw clenches, and she levels me with her stare. “But I know something happened to her.”
Brow furrowed, she starts twisting a ring on her finger. “The truth is, Rose and I weren’t speaking at the time. When she was living here in Paris. So I knew something was wrong when she called me from the apartment. It was a video chat, and I could tell she was freaked out. Scared.”
I squeeze the warm cup in my hand, thinking of the mansion’s disturbing reputation.
Maison de la Morte.
Alice leans in, lowering her voice as if she’s afraid we’ll be overheard. “Rose said she’d found a book in the apartment. Some kind of journal. She was waving it around the whole time she talked.”
Alice exhales, her breath shaky. “She wanted to tell me about something she’d read in it.”
“What?” I lean forward, mirroring her body language.
“I don’t know.” She jerks her face up, her wild eyes meeting mine.
“She only said, ‘It’s so horrible. You won’t believe it.
’ All of a sudden, she stopped and looked over her shoulder.
Like she’d heard something. Maybe someone knocking at her door?
” Another shrug. “She said she had to go but would call me back.”
Alice swallows, like she’s choking on emotion. “She never did.”
Needing to process what she’s saying, I take another drink of my coffee. Ten minutes ago, she was following me, stalking me. Now she sounds like the first episode of a true-crime podcast.
I need to parse out the details. “So you have no idea what she read in the journal?”
“No.”
“Then you can’t be sure it had anything to do with the Marteaus.”
“It must have. They wouldn’t let me into her apartment after she went missing. They wouldn’t even talk to me. Why wouldn’t they talk to me?” She reaches over and grabs my arm. “I’m telling you, they know something.”
“Okay, okay.” I shoot a glance at the waitress, longing for a third-party presence. Keeping my voice steady, I ask Alice, “Are you sure you don’t want something to drink?”
“I’m fine,” she says, though she’s clearly not. She releases me and folds her arms into a tight knot. “The Marteaus told the police Rose left on her own, and it’s not their job to keep track of renters.”
It sounds exactly like something Chantal or Vincent would say, conceit dripping from every word. I doubt they concern themselves with anyone else’s problems, especially people they deem inferior. But that doesn’t mean they would hide information about a missing woman.
“I don’t know the family well,” I say, “so I’m not sure what I can do to help you.”
She goes still, her features tense as she holds my gaze. “There is something you can do. You’re on the inside. You’re in her apartment.”
She holds out her hand but stops just short of grabbing me again. “You can try to find the journal.” She’s talking faster now, excited at the prospect. “It’s dark blue, a navy color.”
My hesitation must show on my face, because she presses on. “Please, do this for me. A small favor. One look around the apartment. It’s all I’m asking.”
“I guess I could look, but it’s possible Rose took the journal with her.”
“No, Rose didn’t—” She breaks off and presses her fingers to her temple, frustration sharpening her words. “Rose is missing. And the police won’t listen to me unless I give them a reason. I’m certain this journal is the proof I need.”
Her tears form as she stares at me. “Please, I have to find her. The police won’t help. The Marteaus won’t help. Rose has stopped using social media and her phone always goes to voicemail. Like it’s turned off or . . . dead.”
At the word dead, she shudders.
And I don’t think she’s imagining the phone.
Alice is clearly suffering. Her pain is a physical presence, vibrating around her like a force field. But by her own admission, she and Rose were having personal problems. They weren’t speaking to each other.
Maybe Rose still isn’t speaking to her, and Alice doesn’t know it.
Whatever the truth, I can’t turn her away, the way everyone else has. I can try to help, even if I’m searching for a book that will never be found. It’s the least I can do.
“No promises,” I say, “but I’ll try to find the journal.”
“Thank you.” Alice releases a heavy sigh, relaxing all over like someone pulled a plug. She rubs both hands up her face before pressing her palms to the table. “Okay, when Rose was younger, she kept her secret things hidden. Under loose floorboards, window seats, or in her stuffed animals.”
I picture the many nooks and crannies in the apartment. The journal could be anywhere. If it’s on the property at all. But I offer her an encouraging grin and wait for her to finish.
“Here’s my username on Instagram. You can message me there.” She pulls a scrap of paper from her pocket and slides it across the table, already prepared in case I agreed. “Please, contact me as soon as you can.”
“I will.” I put the paper in my purse.
She rubs her hands together and licks her lips. “Sorry, I didn’t get your name.”
“Brooke.” I don’t add my last name, because it’s the same as my stage name.
She nods slowly, studying me like she’s trying to puzzle something out. “You look familiar. Have I seen you on a reality show?”
Panic flutters in my chest and warbles in my voice. “No.”
“I swear.” She squints. “Your face . . .”
My mouth goes dry. “I get that a lot.”
“Are you an influencer or something?” For the first time, she smiles. “I know I’ve seen you somewhere before.”
The waitress brings my food, and I use the sandwich as an excuse to keep my face lowered, hoping she’ll move on from asking who I am.
Alice taps her fingernails on the table. “Why did you think I was a reporter?”
I stare into the depths of my coffee, feeling cornered and uncomfortable. “A friend of mine is going through something at the moment, and tabloids have no boundaries.”
It’s not a complete lie.
“Hmm,” she murmurs, unsatisfied with my answer.
But when I glance up, her expression is flat. “Listen, all I care about is finding Rose. If you’ll do this one thing for me, it could be a big help.”
“I’ll do what I can and be in touch.” Picking up my knife, I slice my croque madame.
“Thank you.” Alice sits there for another moment, but finally she stands and walks away. Before she turns the corner, she gives me a wave.
I smile but don’t wave back.
After she’s gone, I stare a few seconds longer, the smile slipping from my face.
Alice says her sister is missing, and I don’t see the harm in searching for the journal. But if I’m honest, I have my own reasons to find the book.
Rose was afraid of someone in the family.
She lived at Maison Marteau.
And my apartment was the last place she was seen alive.