I frown at him. “The only mystery currently in our life. Sandra von Meller.”
He shakes his head slowly. “No,” he says. “That’s not right. There are two main mysteries we’re dealing with right now. Aren’t there?” He seems to be talking partly to himself. “I agree that they’re probably connected somehow, but there are definitely two. So which one is it?” He redirects hisattention to me. “Are you trying to find your father, or are you trying to find who killed Sandra?”
I blink at him as my racing thoughts shudder to a stop.
He’s…right. He’s completely correct.
Those are two different questions.
And I’ve been trying to answer both of them—at the same time and with the same bits of knowledge we’ve been able to find so far.
But that’s not going to work, is it? I’m missing in-depth details from both mysteries because I keep throwing out the tidbits that don’t answer both questions.
“Like a woman interviewing for two separate jobs in two separate fields,” I say to myself, trying to straighten these thoughts out. “She prepares for the job interviews by studyingonlythe questions that she’s likely to receive frombothinterviewers. And in the end she doesn’t get either job, because she didn’t prepare for the specifics of either one.”
“Yes,” Aiden says, leaning back and looking satisfied. “Exactly. So I’ll ask again: Which mystery are you trying to solve? Which question are you trying to answer?”
“Sandra,” I say. I sit up straighter in the absurdly comfortable desk chair. “I want to know about my dad, but Sandy is more important right now.”
“I agree,” he says, nodding sharply. Something glimmers in his eye, a grim determination. “In that case, the person we need to talk to is not Rocco Astor,” he goes on. His gaze clashes with mine, sending a thrill down my spine. “It’s Tonya von Meller—Sandra’s mom.”
* Jump to the Bonus Content section in the back of the book for this scene from Aiden’s point of view!
* There is, and helovesit.
17
IN WHICH AIDEN’S HEART DOES INCONVENIENT THINGS
“All right,” Juniper says the next day, fixing me with a steely gaze. “I have a cover story. But you’re not going to like it.”
Something about the look in those blue eyes has me on instant alert. “I reserve the right to veto any and all proposed cover stories,” I say. Then I turn my attention back to my book. Today was a half day due to a teacher development meeting we had earlier, so now I’m home, seated in my favorite wingback chair, next to my shelf of classics and the bust of Shakespeare. Normally when Juniper interrupts me here, she crouches down by me, but today she just stands there, hovering from above.
“Youcould,” she says, drawing the word out slowly, “except…”
This solidifies my attention. I close my book with a snap, my eyes flying up to find hers again. “What did you do?” I say. “I’m getting the kind of ominous feeling that never bodes well, especially when you’re the cause.”
Juniper clears her throat, looking uncomfortable. And I can tell that she’s right: I’mreallynot going to like this.
“I’ll fill you in on the little details tomorrow,” she says instead of answering my question. “What I’m asking is just that you keep an open mind.”
“Why tomorrow?”
“Because I need to pick something up from your sister first?—”
“Nope,” I say immediately. “If Caroline is involved, I’m already out.”
“You absolutely are notout,” she says, putting her hands on her hips. “I need your help. This is important. Are you going to abandon me and make me talk to Tonya von Meller all on my own? You don’t even know what my plan is yet.”
“I know you don’t want to tell me, which means that it’s nothing good.”
She ignores this very well-reasoned point. “I need to borrow an outfit from Caroline. That’s the only involvement she has.”
“Nothing of Caroline’s is going to fit you,” I say, returning lazily to my book.
“You don’t know that,” Juniper says, and even though I’m trying not to pay attention, I can practically hear her rolling her eyes. “You don’t know our sizes?—”
“Caroline is probably a ten or a twelve,” I say. Then I let my eyes trail over Juniper, taking in the shape of her, displayed fairly well in tight jeans and a time-worn t-shirt. “While I would guess you’re somewhere around a size…four? Six?”
