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The children aren’t in Sophie’s room. I sign and put my hands on my hips as I look around at the mess. “Tomorrow, you’re cleaning this room before you go anywhere,” I mutter.

In the meantime, I should probably find the two of them before they get up to more trouble. I have an idea where they might try to find that trouble too. The journal is in my room, but they read enough to have an idea of where to find the hidden "treasures" in the Museum.

A thought strikes me. Perhaps instead of stopping the children, I should allow them to play their game. The “treasures” are no doubt the additional items Claudia is looking for. Maybe this is when I can keep my eyes and ears open and learn something that could help her.

I take the elevator back down to the ground floor and walk into Exhibit One. As I suspect, the children are there, but they’re not hunting like I expect them to be. They’re crouched down behind an old cabinet clock—not the automata clock they love so much but another one with a simple engraving on its cabinet in lieu of compartments and automata.

The room is empty save for them. I wonder why the Museum emptied out so fast until I hear the voices coming from Exhibit Two.

Margot and Elena are arguing again. I move quietly to the children but don’t distract them. I’m rather interested in what the two of them have to say.

“It’s bullshit,” Margot says. She’s dropped all pretense of class. “They act like it’s our job to fix wrongs that happened before we were even born. And what the hell does Israel want with them anyway?”

“Will you keep it down?” Elena hisses. “And what is it to you, anyway? They’re not looking for the money, they’re looking for the clocks. My clocks.”

“They’ll be looking for me soon enough,” Margot promises. “Why the hell did you let her into your house?”

“I didn’t,” Elena says, irritated. “Sophie did.”

“You’re ten-year-old granddaughter has a key to the museum?” Margot asks incredulously.

“She does in case of emergencies, but no, I mean Gustaf let her in and Sophie led her upstairs to me.”

Margot scoffs. “Gustaf. I don’t even know why you hired him.”

“Teenagers are cheap labor. And I didn’t think bloody Interpol would be looking for me.”

“I told you that you need to think about this stuff, Elena. Damn it. I swear to God if this comes around to me, I’ll drag you straight to hell with me.”

“Children.”

All three of us flinch and turn toward the voice. The children flinch again when they see me.

Lukas frowns quizzically at me as he approaches. “What are you doing here? It’s not polite to eavesdrop on other people’s conversations.”

From the exhibit next door, I hear Margot say, “Damn it. Now we’ve been overheard again. Really, this is just too much.”

Heels click on the floor as the two women return to the first exhibit. Sophie and Luc hang their heads in embarrassment.

“Come on, Luc,” Lukas says. “I think it’s time for us to go home.”

“Yes, I believe it is,” Elena says. She doesn’t sound angry, just exasperated. “And Sophie, I believe it’s time you went upstairs and left the museum to run itself for the day.”

“We were just exploring,” Sophie said morosely.

“And listening to grownup conversations that don’t concern you,” Margot snaps.

Elena whirls on her, and for a moment, I think she might actually strike her. I wouldn’t condemn her for it.

She uses her words instead. “Margot, it was lovely chatting with you again. I can’t wait for our next delightful conversation. Would you like some hot chocolate before you leave?”

Margot’s lip curls in contempt. “Your position isn’t as strong as you think it is,” she warns. “I wouldn’t be so dismissive of me if I were you.”

“You wouldn’t be anything if you were me,” Elena counters.

Margot stiffens, pales, then flushes. She takes a deep breath, pushes it out in a huff, then stalks toward the exit. The clicks of her heels echo through the exhibit when she leaves.

Gustaf and the female employee look inside, their eyes wide. I feel for them. From their perspective, their easygoing boss is having multiple nervous breakdowns, the governess is nearing one herself, guests are alternately fleeing or being thrown out, and law enforcement visits almost daily. It must be quite an adjustment.

Evelyn rubs her face. “Gustaf, is there anyone here? Any guests?”

“I’m not sure, ma’am.”

She rolls her eyes. “Could you check?”

Gustaf blinks. Then he catches on. “Right. Yes, of course.”

He shambles through Exhibit One and heads toward the elevator. Lukas clears his throat and reaches for Luc’s shoulder. “Luc. Come on.”

Luc gives Sophie a hug goodbye, then follows his father out of the door. Elena looks at Sophie and says, “Upstairs.”

Sophie pouts and stomps toward the back. I should go with her, but I’m interested in listening to Elena’s explanation of what she and Margot were talking about. So I wait until the door closes behind Sophie and ask, “What were you two arguing about?”

“None of your business.”

Well, all right then.

“What did you and the Interpol detective talk about?” Elena asks.

I'm sorely tempted to say, "None of your business," but I control myself and instead say, "She was just asking me basic questions: How do I like Geneva? How long have I been working for? Have I tried the strudels at the café, and so forth. I think she had a more thorough line of questioning planned for me, but once she discovered that I'm new here, she let it go."

Elena nods. “That makes sense. I’m sorry you have to deal with all of this. As you can tell, my life has picked this particular moment to fall apart.”

“Are you worried that Interpol can take your museum from you?”

“Interpol can’t do anything,” she scoffs. “The best they can do is threaten me. If they act on that threat, they’ll find themselves in trouble. That whole bit about Mossad is probably just a bluff. I’ll bet you anything she’s trying to confiscate historical items so she can resell them.”

Gustaf returns then, pale and trembling. “Doctor?”

“Yes, Gustaf?” Elena replied. “Are we clear?”

Gustaf swallows. “Well… There are no more guests, but…”

I have a feeling I know what he’s about to say. Elena still seems left in the dark. “Come on, Gustaf, out with it. What is it?”

“The Kaiser Wilhelm clock is missing.”

Elena’s eyes widen. At the same time, her shoulders slump. She rolls her eyes and throws her hands into the air. “Oh, God d amn It! Are you serious?”

Gustaf swallows again. “Well… It’s not on its display.”

“Fucking hell,” Elena curses. She pokes her head into the foyer, “Antoinette, close the doors and turn the sign off. Someone’s stolen another bloody clock.”

“I’ll pull up security footage,” Gustaf offers helpfully.

I think he just wants an excuse not to be around Elena right now. I don’t blame him. Elena is practically purple with rage.

“Yes, do that. God…” Elena grabs fistfuls of her hair and stiffens.

For a terrifying moment, I fear she’s going to rip it out of her scalp. I actually step forward to stop her, but she relaxes and lets her hands drop. “Well, that’s wonderful. Just wonderful.”

“What’s the Kaiser Wilhelm clock?” I ask.

“It’s a clock owned by Kaiser Wilhelm,” she says drily, “then by various others, then by the Chronomasters Museum and now by some whoreson thief.”

I purse my lips and look away. “I’ll go tend to Sophie.”

“Yes, do that. Just to warn you, I will be calling the police, and they’ll want to talk to you. I don’t think you’re a thief, nor do I hate you, nor am I a paranoid witch—something I hope is clear now. Please don’t get huffy when they talk to you.”

I only nod before leaving for the stairwell. Another theft? But how? And who?

My mind drifts back to Hans. What was he doing outside of the Museum talking so urgently with a stranger? Why didn't he come inside? The Museum was open, and Elena was here.

Did he hire someone to steal that clock? It seems ludicrous, but then he showed such a keen interest in the automata clock. Could he be looking for Nazi artifacts as well?

Hans, Lukas Margot, Elena, Claudia… Hell, even Sophie and Luc. It’s a Nazi treasure hunt.

I remember the journal and nearly head to my room to read through it instead of going to Sophie, but I’ve already told Elena I would check in on her, and anyway, the poor girl has been yelled at and dismissed enough over things that aren’t her fault. She could use an encouraging word, and I—at long last—could use a break from this.

I find her in her room, sitting cross-legged on her bed with her chin resting in her hands. She stares moodily at the TV, which plays a movie about a group of kids who find buried treasure in an old house and accidentally find themselves at odds with a group of mobsters as a result. It's a comedy movie, but the theme is remarkably dark when you strip the slapstick away.

“Hey, Sophie,” I say. “Rough day?”

She raises her eyebrow. “Actually, I’ve had a really good day. Up until Grandma had a meltdown again. What’s going on with all of this anyway? Why is she so worried? And what is Margot talking about with Israel and all of that nonsense?”

“I don’t know,” I reply. Which isn’t really a lie. “But that’s for grownups to worry about.”

She frowns. "Why do people keep saying that? How am I supposed to learn to be a grownup if every time I try to do grownup things, people tell me to stop doing them?"

“That is a mystery that has plagued the teachers and parents of the world since the beginning of history, and one that isn’t likely to be solved within our lifetimes. I’ll give you the answer my parents gave me. Just do your best.”

Now, that is a lie. My parents never talked to me about growing up or making adult decisions.

“That’s dumb advice.”

That's true, too. "Yes, it is. Would you like me to bring you some ice cream?"

She brightens and nods. Then she grins. “You’re still not terrible.”

I return her smile. “That’s good to hear. I try very hard not to be terrible.”

I take the stairs to the third floor. I’m actually excited to enjoy some ice cream with Sophie. Maybe I can convince her to watch a more uplifting movie than the one she’s watching now. We can live in our own little world and forget about the darkness in the real one for a while.

So naturally, my hopes are immediately dashed when I open the door and see Inspector Jacques Moreau. “Ah. Miss Mary. I’m glad to run into you. Could I have a word, please?”