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.
My Hotel Peculiar
It was much later that night, but I still couldn’t fall asleep. I was hungry and too excited. I wanted to go back downstairs to see the decorations and what was left of the food.
Finally, I heard my mother’s voice. She was upstairs, calling down to a servant with instructions. Then I heard her heels clacking down the hall toward her bedroom.
When the house fell quiet, I knew it was time.
I sneaked out my door and hurried toward the stairs, my bare feet slapping on the parquet floor. I passed thehorloge de parquet. No. I mean the grandfather clock. (I looked up the word, and it’s always best to write both the English and the French. For better memory.)
The grandfather clock told me it was after one in the morning. I began to tiptoe down the main stairs, but I changed my mind. That would be too obvious, and if I got caught again, I was really going to be in trouble.
So instead, I took the secret stairs. If I passed a servant on the way, they would never tell, because I could make them lose their job. And they all knew it.
I made it downstairs without any problem and pushed out of the secret panel. I stepped out into the blue parlor. The soundof clattering dishes came from the kitchen, so I crept over and looked out into the hall.
Seeing none of the caterers, I ran to the room where the food had been served. Most of it was still on display.
My eyes grew wide, and my stomach growled. The desserts had been picked over, but there were plenty left. And all so pretty with their blue-and-white icing or chocolate swirls.
I tried a macaron, and a mendiant, and a strawberry truffle. I had a vanilla square in my hand when I heard a voice. My father’s voice, answered by a woman’s laugh.
I recognized the potato-in-the-mouth sound from before.
Their voices grew louder, headed my way.
Throwing down the sweet square, I dove under the nearest table, letting the long white cloth hide me from view.
The laugh came again, growing louder, until two sets of feet walked by in the hallway. My father’s black dress shoes, and the woman’s thin ankles in sparkly high heels.
The same woman my father had been dancing with. The one who my mother said was in her cups.
But why were they walking in that direction? Toward the back? She should be going out the front doors like everyone else.
Dropping my treat, I slid out on my belly and sneaked to the door. They weren’t in the hallway anymore.
I padded quietly down the hall in the direction they’d walked. I peeked around the next corner, and there they were.
My father was walking beside her with one hand on her back. The way he touched her made me feel hot and itchy. Not right.
When they got close to the kitchen, my father hurried ahead and shut door. Maybe he didn’t want her to see the mess?
They kept going and turned the corner.
Careful not to make too much noise, I ran down the hall but stopped short at the corner.
When I looked around, I saw them in front of a small door. It slid open, and they stepped inside.
This time, I didn’t follow. Because the door only led to one place.
