Page 15

I intend to head directly to my room to take some time to decompress, but as soon as I step into Exhibit One, Elena accosts me. “Ah, Mary. I’m glad to see you.”

I nearly jump out of my skin. Elena is smiling at me, but it looks as though her lips are pulled back in terror, not friendliness. Considering what I’ve just heard from Claudia, I don’t blame her. I imagine Elena is very interested in what I’ve heard from Claudia, which is why she’s confronting me now.

"Dr. Rousseau," I reply. "Elena," I remember Sophie and flinch again. "Oh! I'm so sorry. I forgot to tell you that Lukas Meyer took Sophie to lunch for a playdate with Luc. They'll return before dinner."

“That’s perfectly fine,” Elena says, flipping her hand. “I figured as much when I saw them in the foyer.”

I wonder if she saw the way Lukas paled when he heard about the presence of an Interpol detective. “If you’d like, I can go find them and keep—”

"Oh no, no, I trust Lukas. He is a gentleman, but he is still a good man."

I frown, not sure how to interpret that odd statement. Before I can think of something, Elena says, "Anyway, I was wondering if you'd keep me company for a while? We have a guest, and I'm sure you'll enjoy what she has to say. She has a deep knowledge of this Museum's history."

I don’t answer right away. My mind is already spinning. What is this new development now? “A guest?”

My question is answered when a strange voice announces, “All right, everyone, thank you for coming.”

I look up and see that the exhibit is full nearly to bursting. There must be nearly fifty people just in this room. They crowd all available space and look toward the back of the room, where a plump woman with rosy cheeks and dark, beady eyes smiles benignly. Apparently, there is some kind of event happening at the Museum again.

I prepare to excuse myself, but Elena takes my arm and holds it firmly as though trying to prevent me from running away. Which is exactly what she’s doing.

That’s odd, though. If she wants to ask me about my conversation with Annie, she should take me where no one can hear…

Damn it. My conversation with Claudia. Claudia, not Annie.

"I'm Dr. Ameila Fournier," the plump woman says to the crowd. "I am a Professor of Modern History at the University of Geneva and a member of the board of… Well, you don't care about all of that."

There’s polite laughter, and then Amelia continues. “If this is your first time attending one of my guest lectures, let me start by saying the rumors about me are entirely true, but don’t worry. Dr. Rousseau is a friend of mine, so I’ll keep it brief. Ordinary person brief, not Professor Fournier brief.”

There’s more polite laughter, including some from Elena. I can’t imagine why I’m here listening to a history lesson, but this is the least crazy thing that’s happened to me today, so I might as well go along with it.

“I just want to say a few words on behalf of the Chronomasters Museum and its proprietor, Dr. Elena Rousseau, who, as usual, is hiding behind the crowd in the back of the room.” Elena laughs, and a few of those close to us smile at her.

Amelia sighs wistfully and gazes over the heads of the crowd. The meat and potatoes of the speech are coming soon. “Time is a wonderful thing. It is the crust which we fill with the fruit and cream and sugar of history. We focus on the fruit and cream and sugar, of course, because that is the sweet part. That is the richness of history, but without a crust, a pie would lack definition. It would be sticky and messy—sweet, yes—but less concrete. One knows when one has begun a slice of pie and when one has finished.

"Time is much the same. Without it, history would lack definition. It would be messy. It would be jumbled. It would run on, and much would be lost to confusion. This Museum is dedicated to preserving the machines by which we as humans measure that most valuable of resources, the crust without which we could not truly understand our history."

Dr. Fournier is not much of a speaker, and already, I see her losing the crowd. The analogy is not awful, I suppose, but it certainly isn't the most intriguing one. Compotes exist, as do cobblers trifles pud, dings, and many other crustless desserts made from ingredients similar to pie filling.

But I’m grateful for that because her voice drones just loudly enough for me to fixate on desserts and not on the multitude of mysteries surrounding me. She bores me just enough that I am able to calm down.

When my heart rate has lowered enough that I feel comfortable approaching the problems I face with a somewhat objective mind, I try to summarize them. First, there is the Interpol-slash-Mossad investigation into Nazi artifacts. I have a difficult time believing that any of the ancient timekeeping devices in this Museum could have belonged to Nazis. Perhaps the pocket watch since it's concealable, but the others Claudia alluded to probably aren't spring-driven automata clocks from the sixteenth century that weigh four hundred pounds or old grandfather clocks that aristocrats kept in their palaces.

But the story Sophie told me about spies who used to pass messages through hidden compartments in these old clocks fits. Perhaps the clocks were used as envelopes of sort. That could interest Mossad, I suppose.

And some people have acted fishy since the watch went missing. Elena seems barely at the edge of self-control. Margot Keller, the socialite who argued with her at the gala, hinted at a secret she could betray which would ruin Elena’s reputation. And Lukas practically collapsed into a puddle of fright when he learned of Claudia’s investigation.

So people are hiding something here. What specifically, I don’t know, and with everything else going on and Sophie to think about, it might be better for me to simply do as Claudia asks and listen rather than investigate actively.

And that brings me to the second problem facing me. Who is Claudia Becker? Is she my niece? Is she Annie’s daughter? Am I only imagining the resemblance, and my fixation is just another sign of my deteriorating mental state?

No, that’s not it. She absolutely looks like my sister. I admit that I’ve not been the most reliable witness to my own life, but I remember Annie as clearly as I remember my own reflection. Her face is as sharp in my mind as it was the day she left.

That doesn't mean she's related, but that, combined with Laura's journal and the letter I find at my last house announcing Annie's plans to move to Geneva, tells me this is at least working. I should have asked her today, but the shock of seeing her short-circuited my mind a little. I'll talk to her next time now that I've overcome the initial surprise.

A shadow catches my eye. I follow it and see Dr. Hans Weber standing on the porch. He’s talking to someone, but the second figure is hidden by the door from where I’m standing. Judging by Hans’s vehement gestures and red face, the conversation is not particularly pleasant.

I frown, and I’m just about to excuse myself and see what’s going on when Elena suddenly cries, “No! That’s it. Thank you, Doctor.”

I turn back to the front to see Dr. Fournier blinking her beady eyes in surprise. “I don’t mean to offend you, of course, Elena. But it is true that this Museum was once used as a post office of sorts for German spies."

I raise an eyebrow. So it’s true, then. Mossad believes that there is Nazi memorabilia here. Perhaps some was contained in the stolen pocket watch and that is why Elena is so upset at its loss.”

Elena sighs. She smiles, but it looks more like a snarl. “Let’s focus on the positives, Dr. Fournier. There’s no need to remember such unpleasantness.”

Dr. Fournier frowns. “I’m not sure I agree, Dr. Rousseau. While it can be difficult to face the darker aspects of our past, just as a burnt piece of pie crust can be difficult to swallow, we should always—”

“Thank you very much,” Elena says firmly. “Let’s hear it for Dr. Fournier, ladies and gentlemen.”

She claps loudly and firmly, staring daggers at the stunned and uncomfortable audience until they return a hesitant clap of their own.

“But Elena—”

Elena grabs Dr. Fournier’s arm and leads her firmly toward the door. I remember Hans and look back to see if he’s still there.

He’s not there, but Lukas Meyer, Luc and Sophie are. The two children are laughing and talking a thousand miles a minute. Sophie grabs Luc’s hand, gives her grandmother a brief greeting, then shoots past her. The two children work their way through the crowd until they reach the staircase, then laugh as they climb to the upper floors.

Lukas sighs and smiles ruefully at Elena, but that smile fades when he sees Elena pushing Dr. Fournier past him. The heavyset Fournier stumbles a little and protests, but her protests fall on deaf ears, and she is unceremoniously pushed outside.

Elena turns around to the stunned crowd and snaps, “Forget about me. Look at the clocks. Explore, learn, have fun.”

The guests share uneasy looks and disperse. Elena looks at Lukas, who coughs and starts to speak. “Elena, could we—”

“Another time, Lukas. Why are you back so early anyway?”

Lukas blinks. “It’s afternoon, Elena.”

“You said before dinner. It’s hours until dinner.”

“Well…”

“Elena, darling!”

Elena sighs heavily, then plasters a fake smile and turns to the approaching Margot Keller. “Margot! Lovely to see you.”

Lukas and I share a look. He smiles and says under his breath, “I believe I’ll try to arrange to be somewhere else right now.”

“Good idea,” I concur.

I leave to find the children. The adults are too preoccupied to take care of them, and while I am dying to find answers to the question I now know to be at the center of this mystery, I can’t leave the children to their own devices.

The question of Nazi spy memorabilia, along with the question of Claudia Becker's true identity, must remain a mystery.