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Before we ran to Robes Vintage , I suggested Robert call the police and maybe let his artist friends know we were going to the shop to find Ada. Having watched many TV mysteries, I knew there was a possibility of danger. Danny would have been a great back up too, but he had made it clear he would see me back in Heatherbridge and would not be available. With no time to find out why my aunt did not know she was presumed dead, my priority was to find her. Questions were hovering like vultures, but I just knew what I had to do. I wore my running gear and a peak cap to disguise myself as a tourist because I needed to go back under cover.

When we reached the shop, customers were searching through the racks of clothes outside and a breeze jostled with the fabric of the dresses. I merged into the crowd, then followed a group of tourists into the shop to search for the changing rooms. Busy with customers, Claudette pointed at the changing rooms, located down a cold dusty corridor I knew led to the apartment. A nerve twitched in my face as I got nearer and ensured no one was around. It was risky, but I just knew my aunt was in there - it was as if she was sending me vibes. I told Robert to chat with Claudette about the possibility of media coverage where she would be identified as Bella because I knew she would revel in her dream coming true.

Curtain rings scraped across the metal rail and dust released from the fabric. I hung the dress on a single coat hanger and slipped back outside down the corridor, turning around to ensure the corridor was empty. My legs wobbled a little when the stairs creaked. A musty smell overwhelmed me as I reached the door. I turned the brass knob but it was locked. ‘Hello,’ I whispered, lightly tapping on the door. ‘Aunt Ada, are you there?’

Silence.

I pounded three times on the door and heard three taps echo the rhythm of the knocking. Kneeling down on the dusty carpet, I tried to look through the gap beneath the door. ‘Hello. Bonjour . Is anyone there?’

There was a knocking sound again, so I pushed the door with my shoulder. Then someone grabbed the back of my T-shirt.

‘Go. Allez .’ I recognised Claudette’s voice instantly. ‘You trespass.’

‘Let go of me Claudette.’ I tapped her hand, and she lost her grip. ‘I know the truth. You’re not Bella. There is someone in there. Is it my aunt?’ Walking up a couple of steps, I moved closer to the door.

‘This not true. I am Bella.’ The tone of her voice was cold and mocking. She took hold of my ankle.

I used the handrail to steady myself and gave her a little kick, but I worried she might fall backwards and held out my arm for her. ‘Here, be careful.’

But Claudette grabbed my wrist tightly, so I snatched it away, standing up to face her.

A policewoman ran up the steps, gripped Claudette’s shoulder and spoke to her so quickly I struggled to understand with my schoolgirl French. They both disappeared into the apartment.

The door was ajar, so I pushed myself inside, sneaking into the tiny one-roomed apartment. There was no sign of my aunt, suggesting it had all been another crazy Maisie moment. What had possessed me to connect the knocking above the shop to my aunt? With both hands over my face, I wanted to blank out the moment because I feared I would be held in Paris for wasting police time. I sighed in anticipation of another failed investigation. Grant had warned me about my amateurish sleuthing instincts that had begun after reading Secret Seven when I was about seven. ‘Beam me up, Scottie’ I whispered out loud, looking up at the ceiling. The knocking seemed to have ceased. Honestly, I needed to use the vivid imagination to write some stories and maybe that was why my aunt had passed on the pen name to me.

But the police officer removed her truncheon and rapped on a trapdoor in the ceiling. My hopes lifted when I heard a sound in the loft. The truncheon released a door and then the officer pulled down the ladders. ‘ Voila ,’ she announced, smiling at me.

Stranded in the tiny room, I did not know what to do other than glare at Claudette to ensure she did not leave.

Hands on her hips, Claudette looked at me with such hatred in her brown eyes that a newfound hope ignited.

Narrowing my eyes, I smirked at her and cocked my head to one side, catching sight of a neatly stacked manuscript on the sofa. My curiosity made me want to approach the pile of papers to see if it belonged to my aunt, so I edged forward to read the title page. It surprised me to read Claudette’s name on the front. Though deflated, I refused to let my shoulders drop in disappointment and simply studied her with an intense stare, forcing myself not to blink to show I was reading her and there was nowhere for her to hide. Mime skills developed during the drama component of teaching practice were not wasted - at least.

‘It’s mine. I am a writer.’ She pointed at herself, and I watched her bright red lips form into a perfect pout.

Annoyed with her arrogance, I said, ‘Anyone can write a title page and put it on top of a pile of papers. It doesn’t prove anything.’ I watched as my words wiped the pout from her face.

‘Maisie, Maisie,’ called Robert. ‘Can someone open the door?’

I flicked opened the latch of the apartment door and Robert stood in front of me. He hugged me so tightly I thought I would cry. My heart was pounding rapidly but the knocking on the ceiling had stopped. When I glanced over to the ladder, I realised the police officer had disappeared into the loft space.

‘I contacted Henri, the artist friend you met today, whose daughter is a police officer. He asked if she could call at the shop because he knew she would be in the area. I said there might be trouble and mentioned Claudette’s boyfriend as he is a known thief.’

Claudette looked down at the ground and seemed to have shrunk in size since Robert entered the room.

‘Also, Henri was sure he spotted your aunt’s campervan abandoned in a street nearby and had already reported this to the police.’ There were muffled voices upstairs, followed by some movement.

Claudette looked down at her purple stilettoes and then adjusted her scarf. ‘Mon fiancé, he made me do it.’ Hands together, she said, ‘Please forgive me.’ The look in her eyes had softened now.

But it was not in my gift to forgive her, particularly when I did not know what she had done, so I shrugged my shoulders and attempted a little pout of the lips but felt a bit put out when Robert smiled at me.

A slight woman dressed in a kaftan emerged from the loft, and a faint whiff of Chanel perfume tugged at memories. There was a gold scarf wrapped artfully around the woman’s head and she took Robert’s proffered hand. She looked like one of Robert’s artist friends.

Robert kissed the slight woman and then she rushed towards me and held out her arms to reveal a collection of green bangles on her wrists that matched the design of a large green pendant hanging on a thin leather necklace. Her skin was pale and her cheeks hollow, but I recognised the green eyes like emeralds shining at me. The room dissolved around me. Though I attempted to say her name, the words became lodged in my throat until I coughed. ‘Aunt Ada, I knew it.’ With my arms around her, I felt the protruding bones of her shoulder blades. ‘Aunt Ada.’ Caught between joy and a sense that something was wrong, I waited and listened to my heart beating.