Page 21

I freshen up and then dress to go out. I believe I’ll take Sophie for a walk. It gets dark early in Geneva in January, but we’ll only pop over for a strudel and a quick stroll before coming back home. The neighborhood is well-lit, and I dragged a suitcase through almost all of Old Town the night I arrived and was left unmolested.

I just don’t want to be indoors right now. The journal sits open on my table, but I don’t want to read more of it yet. It’s a lot to deal with, and while I am eager to know for sure, I’m not as eager to know at this exact moment. I need to prepare myself for that.

As for the Nazi clocks, that's another can of worms I don't feel like digging through. I want the answer to that mystery, too, but right now, I just need to relax and reset.

I’m overthinking this, I know, but the fact that I need a convoluted explanation to justify my need to calm down just proves that I need to calm down.

Fate has other plans, though. Sophie might be onto something with her speculation that everyone’s choices are ultimately the product of choices others have made before them, because when I leave my room and see Elena and Sophie dressed to go out, the old pull to uncover secrets and lay them bare takes me. This might be the best chance I have to do just that.

“Oh, Mary,” Elena says, “I’m going to take Sophie out. It’s been some time since the two of us had a chance to spend some time together, and I miss her.”

Sophie smiles slightly when her grandmother says that, and a smile spreads across my own face as well. I sincerely hope that Elena isn’t culpable in any sort of crime. She’s so good to Sophie. I would hate to see Sophie lose her, especially since she might lose Luc.

“I think that sounds wonderful. Where are you two going to go?”

Sophie brightens. "We're going to the café you took me to. Grandma's going to try the strawberries and cream crepe I got."

“I hear it’s delicious,” Elena remarks.

“That’s the word on the street,” I reply. “Well, I hope you two enjoy your meal. I’ll see you both later.”

"See you later, Mary!" Sophie takes her grandmother's hand and leads her to the elevator. I see the smile on Elena's face as she looks down at her granddaughter and hopes again that she won't turn out to be a criminal.

But I have to know. I have to find the answer.

I head to the kitchen to make myself some tea first. That will allow some time in case they realize they've forgotten something and need to come back. The tea will also help calm my nerves. Not as much as walking would have, but enough that my mind can remain sharp while I look around.

Another benefit becomes clear as I sip my tea. I have time to plan. Rather than wandering aimlessly among the clocks and trying to catch more accidental clues which is what I first wanted to do, I decide that I’ll look for the broken mantel clock that spills out a Nazi letter.

Elena claims that she’s taken it for repairs, and she’s probably telling the truth. I don’t think she took it to the storage rooms, though. The way she looked at me when she realized I might have seen the letter tells me that this is one of the valuable items, one she fears being stolen or damaged. She would want that clock close to her.

And how much closer can it be than in her own bedroom?

I finish my tea and head for the room. My heart pounds with the old excitement I always feel when I’m looking for hidden answers. I smile ruefully. Claudia called me Miss Detective Wilcox. Sean teases me regularly about being a detective disguised as a governess. I suppose they’re not wrong. I didn’t intend to be a detective, but I have a pretty good track record at it. Maybe that luck will hold today.

Elena’s room is only slightly larger than my own. Most of that space is occupied by the bathroom, which has a full bathtub and not only a shower like my room. Rather than a wardrobe, it has a closet, which opens up the floor space a little more as well.

I don't see anything suspicious at first glance, and I don't see a filing cabinet or desk anywhere, so I head for the closet. It's not a large closet, certainly not a walk-in, but it's spacious enough for her to fit several changes of clothes along with coats, scarves, boots, hats, and other accouterments.

And on the floor, tucked not quite out of sight in a corner behind a long overcoat, is the clock.

I carefully pull it from the closet and carry it to the bed. There’s a table too, but I don’t want to risk scratches or scuffs that would alert Elena to the fact that I’ve been spying.

The clock is heavier than I expect, and it takes some effort to move it. The face and hands are of brass, and the case is thick ebony. That’s why it didn’t shatter when it was dropped.

When I reach the bed, I look around for the door that popped open, but I see no sign of it. It is a truly well-hidden compartment.

I set it on the bed and feel around for an opening or a depression that might indicate where the door is. I recall it opening near the bottom, but when I fell there, I didn't detect any irregularities in the wood. I feel the underside, and still nothing.

Growing slightly worried, I lift the clock and shake it a little. There’s a slight whirring sound, but nothing that tells me how to open it. I don’t want to drop the clock on the floor and hope that it pops open again, but I’m running out of ideas.

I set it on the bed and sigh in exasperation. I don’t want to drop it, but it was that force that caused the clock to open. Maybe it requires a little bit of force.

I slap the wood lightly. Nothing happens. I slap it again, a little more forcefully. Still nothing.

I sigh and try to think back to exactly how the clock fell. It slid off of the display and tumbled once before landing on its head and falling onto its back.

Hmm… It’s worth a shot, I suppose.

I slap the head of the clock. There’s a small ching , and the rear panel of the clock pops open. Letters spill out, and I pump my fist in exhilaration.

I look at the first letter. It’s written in French, a language I speak passably but read quite poorly.

I don’t need to read it to see the swastika in the lower right corner, and Heil Hitler is a phrase that, unfortunately, is known worldwide.

The rest of the letter is far more interesting.

We have among our sympathizers several council members from Bern and Fribourg and the Mayor of Zurich. They are quite skittish and prefer to remain in the background for now. Perhaps this is not the best example of Swiss bravery, but considering that we sit on the border of a nation that will once more become the host of the deadliest campaigns of the war before too long, I am confident that we can use fear to pressure them into going public with their support. Raising an army to support the Fuhrer is probably a pipe dream, but we can aid in the information war, and we can probably convince the more rural cantons to allow quarter for the Fuhrer's armies when he readies his push into France to counter the Allied advance. There is much work to be done still, but I am confident it can be accomplished. Until then, Heil Hitler.

Adrien Rousseau.

I gasp when I read that. Rousseau. So that is why Elena is so worried. Her family were not simply facilitators of communication between Nazi sympathizers. They were Nazi sympathizers themselves. No, they were active Nazis.

That is why she's worried about the family's reputation. If word got out that the Rousseaus were a family of Nazis, then they would immediately become a pariah. It wouldn't matter that for three centuries, they were among the premier clockmaking families of Geneva. They would immediately be remembered only as Nazis.

That could explain Mossad’s interest. It’s not just that Nazi memorabilia is showing up on the black market. It’s possible that the descendants of Nazis are profiting from it.

The other letters are equally damning. In one of them, Adrien calls for an attack on the hospital in Geneva and suggests they blame it on the Allies to stir up anti-Allied sentiment. There are photographs, too, of statesmen that Adrien wishes to assassinate. This was not sympathizing. This was underground warfare.

Why would Elena keep these? If I had proof that one of my ancestors was a Nazi, I would burn that proof and destroy any records of their involvement. Hell, I would change my name.

So why doesn’t she distance herself? I could understand keeping the name and associating it with the great clockmakers of the past, but why keep memories of her family’s involvement with the Third Reich?

Unless…

I hate to think it, but I don’t know what else to think. Could it be possible that Elena is the one selling the memorabilia? I hate to think it, but it’s the only answer I can come up with.

But money is a powerful motivator, one for which people will excuse many wrongs. The museum is busy, but that doesn't mean there aren't debts I don't know about. Maybe she's doing her best to stay afloat, but she needs the money to keep the doors open.

Either way, it confirms the opposite of what I hope for. Elena is a criminal.

Oh, poor Sophie.