“How are you today?” he asked. “Tired?”
I looked at him in alarm — did he know we’d snuck out last night?
“The second and third days are usually the worst for jet lag,” he said.
“Oh,” I said. “A little. But I had three cups of coffee with breakfast. That should keep me going for at least another hour.”
He smiled.
You couldn’t deny he had a nice smile.
After the whole group finished with the Mona Lisa, we moved through the rest of the halls, which were lined with paintings. Jules walked ahead to deliver his spiel, but I noticed that he kept glancing at me, as if he wanted to see if I was listening.
And I was.
When we paused to choose one of the cafés to eat lunch in, I looked around at the paintings nearby.
“Oh, hey!” I said, to nobody in particular.
On the wall hung a portrait of a young man sitting at a desk. He wore a black jacket, white ruffles showing at his collar and wrists. His face had that round, glowy look I’d seen in countless portraits that day — but what drew my attention was the cuff he wore on his forearm.
It was a burnished silvery-gray, like it was supposed to be metal. And clearly visible on its surface was an engraving of a key, with small pointy cutouts in it that went all the way through the metal.
“Le duc d’aubusson,” Jules said, appearing at my side and looking at the little label next to the painting. “Philippe Roux.”
I pointed at the cuff. “That’s a cornflower, right? Do you know what the key means?”
Jules squinted and leaned closer to look. “It seems to be a mark of some organization or affiliation.”
“Like a club?”
“Perhaps,” he said. “Or a family alliance. The nobility of France were very closely connected to one another. This was painted in the 1780s, just before the Revolution.”
My heart pounded. Could my medallion date back that far? I’d left it in the hotel suite that day, deciding it didn’t go with my outfit. But as I stared at the man’s luminous face, I wished I had it with me to compare with the symbol in the portrait. One thing seemed certain — the medallion had something to do with this duke.
Holy cannoli. What if I was secretly a French duchess? Even Hannah, with all her father’s connections, couldn’t claim to be nobility. Mr. Norstedt once joked that his grandfather had a reindeer farm in Sweden.
And could it go even further than that? I thought of the spiky cornflower I’d seen in Marie Antoinette’s bedroom. If I had seen the queen’s ghost — was it because I was a part of an alliance that had something to do with the royal family? And if Armand knew about the medallion, did that mean he knew about the club it stood for? Was that why he thought I was special?
I felt a little breathless as we entered the cafeteria — maybe this trip really would change my entire life.
On the walk back to the hotel, I found myself next to Jules. “What are we doing this afternoon?”
He held his hands up. “Whatever you like. It’s a free afternoon. You could take a nap.”
“A nap?” I repeated. “I’m in France…. I’m not taking a nap. Got any better ideas?”
Was I imagining things, or did he shoot an approving look in my direction? “If I were you, I would spend some time in the city. Get to know the real Paris. Walk around, see the architecture and churches….”
I had a hard time imagining Hannah and Pilar consenting to a walking tour. “My friends might not be completely on board with that.”
“Do you have to do everything your friends do?” he asked. “You left them today, didn’t you?”
Yes, but … “I’ll see how they feel about it, I guess.”
“I will make a deal with you,” Jules said. “If you decide to go out walking and your friends won’t go, I will go with you.”
“Really?” I asked, surprised. “But don’t you have the afternoon off?”
“Yes,” he said. “So I can do as I please. And that’s why I said if your friends won’t go with you.”
He was smiling.
“All right,” I said. “But I think I’ll be stuck.”
“Like the courtiers at Versailles, right?” he said. “Bored and quiet.”
His words wriggled under my skin and itched at me. “Give me a second, okay?”
I made my way to the back of the group … and then fifty feet farther than that — and found Hannah and Pilar practically dragging their feet.
“So … what do you guys want to do for the rest of the day?” I asked.
Peely yawned. “I need sleep. I was up all night.”
“That’s because you drank about a gallon of café noir last night,” I said.
In the midst of the most amazing city in the world, Hannah managed to look bored. “I’m tired of wandering around like a loser. I’m going to rest until Armand calls.”
“Did he say he would?” I asked.
She gave me a displeased little smirk. “Colette, give me some credit.”
“What about you?” Pilar asked.
I tried to replicate Hannah’s bored look. “Well … I’m not that tired. I guess I’ll find something to occupy myself with.”
“Have fun,” Hannah said, in a voice that said I could fall into the Seine, for all she cared.
I ran upstairs to the suite, changing into a pair of walking shoes and grabbing my medallion. I wondered why Jules had offered to show me around. Was it possible that he liked me? Like, liked me liked me?
Boys were a bit of an enigma to me. I’d been out on a few dates over the years, but as Saint Margaret’s Academy was an all-girls school, it wasn’t like we were constantly awash in a sea of eligible guys. I spent some time around my brother’s friends, but they hardly counted. While I wasn’t a prize catch, I knew that my social tier at least exempted me from having to stoop to finding romantic companionship in the Chess Club.
When I asked Madame Mitchell if I could go walking with Jules, she raised her eyebrows but said it was fine. Then I went out to the front of the hotel, butterflies in my stomach. What if Jules tried to hold my hand? Should I let him? Did I like him?
Would I really even consider someone like Jules if Armand was interested in me?
Newsflash, Colette: Armand didn’t exactly spend the evening wrapped around YOU. Actions speak louder than words, and Hannah was getting the action. I just got a few mysterious words.
“Hi,” I said to Jules, feeling shy. “Are you ready?”
“In just a moment,” he said. “I hope you don’t mind, but I invited someone else.”
Before I had time to react, I saw Audrey stroll out of the hotel, backpack on, wearing a blue-and-white Saint Margaret Snowy Owls sweatshirt over a white polo and massive athletic shoes on her feet. Her giant camera hung from a strap around her neck. She couldn’t have looked more like a tourist if she’d tried.
I could barely contain my horror. Jules had invited Audrey to walk around and see the city with us? I tried to force myself to be expressionless as she trotted over.
“Hi, guys! Thanks for letting me tag along.”
And then he smiled at her — the same smile he’d used on me.
I felt a flare-up of wounded dignity. For a second I considered letting them do their little Paris walkabout alone. Then I realized that the alternative was to sit around and watch Pilar sleep and Hannah pout. As insulted as I felt, I wasn’t going to sacrifice my time in France just to spite someone else — even if they deserved a little spiting, in my humble opinion.
“Would you like to do anything special?” Jules asked.
Audrey shrugged. “Whatever you want is good with me. I just needed to get away from Madame Mitchell for a while.”
I tried to hide my surprise. I thought girls like Audrey couldn’t get enough of teachers.
But I guess my face gave me away, because she sighed and said, “Every single thing we do or see, Madame Mitchell has to talk about all of the other times she’s seen or don
e the same thing. ‘I was here two years ago and it was raining!’”
Jules laughed. “I noticed that. Yesterday, when she told the story about losing her scarf … I think she missed the entire Hall of Mirrors.”
“I know!” Audrey laughed. “I’d like to spend one day of this trip living in the moment, if possible. Well, a half day.”
I was mildly jealous that they had an inside joke between them, but I tried to dismiss the feeling.
Jules turned to me. “What about you, Colette?”
“Actually … I do kind of have something I’d like to do. If it’s okay with Audrey.” I fished the medallion out of my purse and held it out for them to look at. “I’d like to learn more about this.”
Jules gently took it from me and turned it over. “That’s the symbol from the painting of the duke. This is very nice. Where did you find it?”
“It belonged to my dad’s family.”
Jules handed it to Audrey. “The noble and loyal are bound together through time,” she murmured.
“Is that what it says?” I asked. “I couldn’t read it.”
“It’s in Latin.” She flipped it over. “How beautiful, Colette. It looks so old.”
“Thanks,” I said, slightly mollified by their admiring words. “I thought it might be cool to learn more about it. I know the flower is a cornflower, like the ones in Marie Antoinette’s bedroom in Le Petit Trianon. And Jules thinks it might symbolize a club of some sort. But that’s all I know.”
“All right,” Jules said. “Let’s see what we can find.”
“Cool,” Audrey said, smiling goofily. “We have a mission…. I feel like Nancy Drew!”
And I sort of felt like I should give up everything I’d been working for and join the Chess Club.
WE ENDED UP in the library at Jules’s university. Audrey pored over an old, illustrated guide to French family crests, while Jules paged through a giant book called L’Alliance Noble. I sat at a computer, pretty much at a loss. I’d tried googling Iselin, along with key, cornflower, and queen. But nothing of interest had turned up in the results.
I randomly clicked on a link that took me to a local news site — and my breath caught in my throat. The huge headline was in French, but I could understand it, more or less — it was about the murders. Apparently, there’d been a new victim, a glamorous-looking girl named Rochelle DuBois.
As I stared at her photo, a creepy feeling of déjà vu settled over me. Why did I feel like I’d seen her curly red hair and deep blue eyes before?
After a minute, I shook it off and decided to try more research. I typed Armand Janvier into Google. I came upon his Facebook page, but not much else.
Jules appeared from around the corner. “Your name is Iselin, correct?” he asked. “That’s French.”
I liked the way it sounded with his accent: ees-eh-LAHN. His pronunciation was unique and fancy. Most people in America pronounced it like Iceland without the d.
“Yeah,” I said. “My dad’s parents were born here.”
Jules peered at the screen before I could minimize the window. He frowned. “Armand Janvier? Why are you searching for him?”
I looked up at him. “You know Armand?”
The frown deepened. “Unfortunately, yes. We go to university together. Do you know him?”
Before I could answer, Audrey came over with her notebook and set it down next to me, open to a page with a bunch of small sketches. “I’ve found a bunch of family crests with cornflowers and a bunch with keys. But none with both cornflowers and keys.”
Her drawings were done in ink, with sketchy lines. They were evenly spaced on the page, and each one had a French surname scrawled below it.
“Oh, wow, those are adorable,” I said. “It looks like something from Anthropologie.”
“It’s more like genealogy,” she said. “But thank you.”
“No, I meant …” Had she really never heard of the store? “You could frame that. It’s like the ultimate souvenir.”
“They’re just copied out of books.” She pressed her lips together in a shy smile. “You can have it, if you want.”
One of the thrift stores I went to all the time had a cool selection of old picture frames. I could paint one shiny red and hang the sketches on the wall in my new bedroom.
“Seriously?” I asked. “Yeah. Make sure you sign it.”
She looked pleased as she leaned down, signing Audrey L. Corbett in her tiny, neat handwriting. Underneath that, she wrote the date and Paris, France. “Ta-da,” she said. “You weren’t just messing with me, were you?”
“No,” I said. “Why would I do that?”
“I don’t know,” she said. “I guess maybe you wouldn’t. But Hannah would.”
“No, she wouldn’t,” I said.
Audrey cocked her head. “Anyway, you’re not like Hannah.”
I’m not?
And then it occurred to me that Audrey thought that was a compliment.
She turned away and checked the time on her watch. “I need to get going soon. I told my mom I’d video-chat with her before she leaves for work.”
I followed her and Jules through the streets, past little pâtisseries with their windows full of colorful pastries, brightly colored flower shops, hole-in-the-wall bookstores …
You could see why people called it the most romantic city in the world.
But following behind Jules and Audrey, who laughed and pointed to things and talked about history like it was a reality show they were both totally into, I felt utterly alone.
When we reached the hotel, Audrey gave us a cheerful wave and hurried inside.
Jules called, “Au revoir!” to her and then looked at me.
“Well … au revoir,” I said. “Merci beaucoup and all that.”
He nodded and half-turned, like he was going to start walking away. Then he swung back. “What now? More research? Or do you need to go see your friends?”
“They’re probably still asleep,” I said. “I’ll hang out in the café and read or something.”
He seemed vaguely uncomfortable. “Would you like to keep walking? Unless you’re tired.”
“Aren’t you tired?” I asked. “I mean, tired of being a tour guide?”
Jules smiled. “Walking around isn’t being a tour guide. It’s just being a person.”
So we walked. We must have covered five or six miles. We went down by the river, and past Notre Dame Cathedral. We walked through Le Marais, a neighborhood full of old stone walls with doors painted bright red or cobalt blue, hanging lanterns, intricate iron scrollwork on the gates and under the windows, and window boxes overflowing with sumptuous flowers.
We passed corner cafés whose signs were almost overgrown with ivy and tiny shops selling everything from toys to bicycles to wigs. We stopped at a street vendor to buy crêpes, steaming hot thin pancakes covered in cinnamon that somehow manage to simultaneously melt in your mouth and fill it with a thousand crunchy sugar crystals.
And we talked the whole time. Jules told me about his classes and asked about our school. He’d led enough tour groups to know how American high schools work, but I’d never heard anything about high school in France. It sounded insanely hard, with really long days, lots of classes, and a big, terrifying test at the end.
“There must be a lot of pressure on you,” I said.
“Mostly I think the pressure comes from myself,” he said. “What about you? Is there a lot of pressure?”
“Sort of. Not the same kind. The school part is easy compared to the rest of it. I mean, I know I’ll get into a decent college. It’s just managing things in the meantime that gets hard.”
“What kind of things?”
I hesitated for a second. “Well … my friends. Trying to make sure I don’t say or do something wrong.”
“How can you say the ‘wrong’ thing to your friends?”
“That’s just how it works,” I said. “You want people to like you, so you worry about what happens if t
hey don’t.”
“And what does happen,” Jules asked, “if they don’t?”
“Then you’re alone. And miserable.”
“I don’t understand,” he said. “Is it worth being friends with someone like that?”
How could I possibly explain what it was like to navigate a school day without any allies? To face someone like Hannah every day with no backup save Pilar, who was also looking out for herself?
“And why are you worried?” he went on. “I always see you with Hannah and Pilar. You are safe, no?”
“You’re never completely safe. There’s always a risk.”
“You make it sound like a spy movie,” he said, smiling.
“If only it were that simple.”
We were passing a tiny park, a circle of benches surrounding a fountain. I plopped down on one of the benches, suddenly feeling like I needed to rest.
“I know it probably sounds stupid,” I said. “But I still have a year and three months of high school left. Spending that much time without friends would be horrible.”
“Just because you don’t have those friends doesn’t mean you don’t have any,” he said. “What about Audrey? She’s very nice.”
“Yeah, she is, but …” My voice trailed off. “We did actually used to hang out a little. We were on the Academic Games team in ninth grade.”
“Academic Games?”
“You’re a team and you compete against other schools…. It’s for, like, math and science.”
“That sounds like a lot of pressure,” Jules said.
I smiled. “No, it’s fun. I mean, we didn’t always win, but it wasn’t the end of the world.” I sighed. “But then when I started to hang out more with Pilar, I kind of ran out of time.”
“You ran out of time for fun?”
I shot him a sharp look, but his eyes were twinkling. He was teasing me. “I ran out of time for clubs and things.”
Jules shook his head. “I have to say, Colette … I like Audrey. I think she would be a better friend than the other girls.”
Technically speaking, having a friend like Audrey, who was loyal, funny, and not afraid to be herself, was better than having a friend like Hannah, who was a ticking time bomb — or even Pilar, who was so paralyzed by her need to fit in that she would sell you out in a second if she had to.
Marie Antoinette, Serial Killer Page 7