“If you think of anything,” he started, slipping a card through the narrow opening, “you know who to call, yeah?”
“Right.” I hastily plucked the card from him, and he removed his shoe, allowing me to close and latch the door.
As soon as I heard his footsteps descending, my first free breath was nearly a sob. I leaped for the telephone, rustling through the cards before I found the one for Arkady’s studio, then I pulled the dial until I heard the call trill to be put through. My leg bounced fast, the tapping of my heel pecking at the floorboards.
Ultimately, the call went unanswered.
My fist ached as it repeatedly pestered the wood of the door.
I heard footsteps from inside, a pause, then the door was unlatched with a squeak.
I was shaking, and it wasn’t just from the rain drenching my clothes.
“Petronille?” Félice answered, more alarmed than confused at the state of me.
“I need help, is Father home?” I pushed past her, the wet walking suit heavy on my shoulders as the drips scattered over the glossy hardwood.
The living room was the first thing I saw. Cosette startled when I stormed through, nearly dropping her after-meal tea.
“What is going on?” Her eyes darted to Félice, who shook her head. “Did something happen?”
“I thought the commissioner was still on the books?” I said breathlessly. “Why was he at my home?”
“How should we know?” Félice’s brow twitched. “What sort of trouble did you cause if he’s at your door?”
The looks on my sisters’ faces were both alarmed, annoyed, and all around tired. I felt small again, like I did most of the time. Minuscule, the youngest child, the burden next to the two model daughters.
“Petronille.” Félice’s tone was sharp. She sounded exactly like Mother, eerily so.
I took a step back, my chest rising and falling, still catching my breath after the haste of walking here.
“Petronille.” She grabbed me by the shoulders, giving them a light shake. “What happened?”
“I killed Vincent,” I blurted.
“Well, you still have the body, right?”
I shook my head.
Her eyes grew wide, then they darted above my head. The blood from her cheeks drained, but there was a sympathetic look in her gaze when it returned to mine.
“What is this?” The deep, stern voice came from the parlor archway.
I turned to face my father, bracing myself. But nothing in his demeanor showed any haste, not even an iota of concern.
“I need help.” The words nearly caught in my throat.
“Oh?” His eyes held more interest than he’d ever shown for me.
The thing about my father was that he loved to be helpful. Help from my father meant striking a deal, and owing him even past paying your debt. My debt was endless, so what was another favor?
My sisters began to gather their things quietly.
“No.” Father’s voice cut through the room, enough to make them wince. “Stay, I’m sure this will be a lesson learned for everyone.” He smiled, taking another puff of his cigar before his eyes slid over to me and he raised his brow for me to continue.
“I ...” I shifted my weight from one leg to the other, unable to control the blood dropping straight to my feet. “I don’t want the commissioner visiting me.”
“Why would the commissioner be visiting you?” It was a question, but not because he didn’t know the answer.
