“Wait here.”
She disappeared into an adjoining room. The minutes dragged on. Finally, she reappeared, wearing the victorious smile of someone who has successfully completed a challenging mission.
“Here you are, the information you’re looking for. Milo Brunelle’s mother. Laetitia Marlot. Wife of David Brunelle.”
Gérard scribbled down the information on a piece of paper in his folder. He smiled at the young woman in gratitude.
“Thank you, Amélie. You’ve been hugely helpful.”
“What are you going to do with the information?” she asked, curious.
“Not much...I just wanted to check a detail.”
“No, what I mean is, if you’re trying to find her, there’s no point.”
Gérard looked up from filing the sheet of paper away in his folder. “Really? Why not?”
Amélie gave him a broad smile that betrayed her pride in her efficiency.
“Because she died. Eight years ago. Suicide.”
Chapter 24
Inès had more or less recovered from her humiliation, and over the past three days she’d been trying to put the insult into perspective. Maybe she’d shown up at a bad time and Milo, taken by surprise, hadn’t known how to react. Boys could be awkward, she’d noticed, and they didn’t necessarily feel the way their behavior suggested. After she’d gotten over her anger she decided, with her great goodness of heart, to give him a second chance. At least that was how she liked to think of it.
She left school on Friday afternoon determined to try a different tack. She headed straight home and, as she expected, found Nassim in front of his PlayStation and Tiphaine sitting at the kitchen table reading the newspaper. Tiphaine greeted her warmly, folded up the paper, and offered her something to eat, which Inès gladly accepted. Tiphaine made them each a cup of tea and brought out a plate of cookies, and they sat and chattered about school, life, the neighborhood, and the weather. Then Inès turned the conversation to the topic she was really interested in.
“And Milo? He’s doing okay?”
“I think so,” Tiphaine replied, taking a sip of tea. “You know, he’s at the age where you don’t tell anyone much about what’s going on in your life, let alone your mother.”
“I don’t really know him, but he doesn’t strike me as the type to talk about himself much to anyone.”
“Why do you say that?” Tiphaine asked with curiosity.
“I don’t know. It’s just the impression I get.”
They sat in silence for a few moments, then Inès said, “Will he be home by now, d’you think?”
Tiphaine looked at her watch. “He should be, yes. Why?”
“No reason.” Inès bit her lower lip. She could feel she was getting it all wrong, and it was obvious Tiphaine wouldn’t be any help.
“Why don’t you go and ring the doorbell?” Tiphaine suggested. “I’m sure he’d be delighted to see you.”
“Do you think so?” said Inès, surprised to hear Tiphaine finally telling her what she wanted to hear. “Wouldn’t I be disturbing him?”
“Of course not! I’ll call him, if you like.”
“No, don’t worry. Do you have a message you want me to give him?” Inès had already stood up from the table and was heading for the entryway.
“You could ask him to empty the dishwasher.”
The girl winced: it wasn’t exactly the kind of message she wanted to give Milo, but she’d settle for it. She bolted out of the house and into the street. She took a deep breath before smashing her finger against the doorbell of the house next door. On the sidewalk across the street, Madame Appleblossom was sitting on her folding chair with her suitcase beside her. Inès looked at her with a mixture of compassion and repulsion. Who was that crazy woman? What was she waiting for?
Milo opened the front door.
“Hi!” she said, before he had time to react. “Your mom’s over at my place, she told me I could swing by. Can I come in?”
