by Angie Kelly
"Ask too omit!" he practically shouted.
"Bravo, Gervais, bravo!" The frizzy haired woman started clapping. Gervais farted, scratched his armpit, and continued sleeping.
"Okay," I said, giving up. "What's his deal?"
"I'm sorry," she said. "This is your first time here so you don't know the rules."
"What rules?"
"The rules of the association." She cocked her head to one side and gave me a confused look.
"What association?" Now, I was confused.
"The RAA: Royal Anagrammatist Association. We're," she said, gesturing to the fat man, "the Versailles branch. The rules state members must greet each other after an introduction with an anagram of their name. Gervais is our best anagrammatist. Three anagrams of your name in under a minute and in English! Isn't he brilliant?"
"Uh, yeah, cool," I said, still wondering why Father Crozier had sent me to this place. "Well, what about Black Cat Research? Aren't you a business?"
"Yes, of course. I research property listings for Americans who want to buy or rent homes here in Versailles and Paris. Le Chat Noir Recherchez is an anagram of my name. I'm Heather Clench Crozier," she said, holding out her hand. "And Gervais is my husband."
"You're related to Father Crozier?" I shook her hand and my spirits deflated.
"You know my brother-in-law Alain?"
"Sort of," I replied, feeling stupid. I'd thought Father Crozier had sent me here for information about Father Billon. But he was just sending me to get his family.
I told her about the break in at the church and Father Crozier being attacked.
"Oh, dear! Oh dear!" she said, waving her hands in alarm. She ran into the next room and I could hear her on the phone.
If Gervais had been listening to what I'd just told his wife about his brother, I sure couldn't tell. He kept right on snoring. I went over to the nearest window. Across the street below, Bald Guy and Track Suit Guy were arguing in front of the patisserie. I couldn't believe it. How did they keep finding me? I couldn't tell what they were saying, but Track Suit Guy kept waving something in Bald Guy's face and pointing across the street to the building I was in. Yikes!
The thing in Track Suit's hand was either a cell phone with an old fashioned antenna or a walkie-talkie. When they got closer I realized what it was, a handheld GPS locator. They were tracking me. But how? Where could he have planted a GPS device on me? I thought about it and realized it hadn't been me he'd been after. It was the journal he wanted and it was in my backpack. And he'd touched my backpack.
I searched my backpack inside and out and found a tiny round transmitter, smaller than a penny, stuck to one of the front pocket flaps. I peeked out the window again; they were still arguing. Bald Guy was pointing at the buildings on either side of the one I was in. I hoped it meant they didn't know which building I was actually in. I had to get this thing away from me and shake these guys fast. They were still arguing but had stepped off the curb like they were about to cross the street. I had to think of something. I peeled off the transmitter and quickly scanned the room. There was a restroom right next to the room where Helen Clench Crozier was still on the phone. I rushed in and flushed the transmitter down the toilet. Then I ran back to the window. The two goons were standing in the middle of the street. After a minute I saw both their heads jerk towards the GPS. The transmitter must have made its way into the sewer and was floating off to wherever sewage in France went because Bald Guy and Track Suit Guy went running down the street. Whew!
Helen Clench Crozier was a lot less freaked out when she got off the phone. She was putting on her coat.
"Then I suppose you're not here for the meeting? And I was so hoping you were going to be a new member. It's not easy being an association of two."
"Sorry," I said. I didn't know what else to say.
"Not at all young lady, and thank you for letting me know about poor Alain. I've just spoken to the hospital and he's been admitted. I must go! Please close the door on your way out." And then she was gone, leaving me alone with Gervais, who was still asleep.
There was no reason for me to stay, especially since the coast was clear outside, and I was headed out the door. Since there was nothing chocolate, I grabbed a pear from the platter of food on the tray. Something sitting on the table made me stop. It was a stack of pamphlets about the Royal Anagrammatist Association. There was a picture of a man with shoulder-length black hair, a mustache, and a goatee. He was dressed in a suit of armor and held a sword. It was Louis XIII. I picked up the pamphlet and started reading about the history of the RAA and a name popped out at me and made gasp. Thomas Billon, who'd been appointed by King Louis XIII as his royal anagrammatist, had founded the Royal Anagrammatist Association. His job had been to entertain members of the royal court with amusing anagrams of their names.
Could Thomas Billon have been an ancestor of Father Jean Billon? Wow. This was major, because if Father Billon had inherited his ancestor's talent for anagrams, then it could only mean one thing. I needed to find out just how good an anagrammatist good old Gervais was to prove what I was thinking. I already knew he could turn people's names into anagrams. But could he turn an anagram back into the original words? I crept close to him as he continued to snore like a bear, then I leaned down and whispered in his ear, "Renee LaFaussi."
Gervais immediately stopped snoring. He sat up and stared at me with bleary eyes still heavy-lidded with sleep. He yawned so wide I could see his molars, and then he uttered three words and I gasped. I had to find Alex and Lily.
"Merci Monsieur Crozier," I yelled over my shoulder as I ran out of the room.
Once I was out of the building, I went the opposite way Bald Guy and his buddy had gone, hurrying past an alley. I was trying to figure out where Alex and Lily may have gone, when someone grabbed me from behind and slammed me against the alley wall, pulling my right arm up painfully behind me. Not again. Fear is so bad for my psyche.
"You’re hopeless!" said Lily's voice in my ear. "How many times have I told you to pull your head out of the clouds and pay attention to your surroundings? I could have been a mugger or worse, one of McFarland's flunkies."
"Chill out! You almost gave me heart failure!" I pulled out of her grasp and rubbed my arm. The last thing I was in the mood for was one of Lily's teachable moments. "Where's Alex?"
"Isn't he with you?" she asked. "And why haven't you been answering your phone?"
"No. I thought he was with you." I quickly explained what had happened since we separated, and Lily got a look in her eyes. The look she gets when she wants to punch someone. "We need to get back to Versailles, Lily," I said, tugging on her sleeve and pulling her out of the alley.
"Why? And what about Alex?"
"I'm sure Alex is okay. He can take care of himself better than any of us."
"Uh-oh. You've figured something out, haven't you?"
"I know who… uh… I mean I know what Renee LaFaussi is!" I said with just a hint of smugness. "Come on! Let's go!"
Part Three:
Devon and the Angry Nuns
Chapter Eight
Devon "The Diva" here. And yeah, I know about Tomi's little nickname. Think I care? Believe me, I've got too much to worry about to be bothered by some silly nickname. Besides, I'd rather be a diva than a dork or a dweeb any day. And I'm not saying Tomi and Lily are dorks or dweebs. Those two know I would do anything for them. Mia, however, is another matter. She seriously gets under my skin. I know it's not her fault she got stuck with us. But it doesn't make it any less tragic. So, you can call me anything you want. But just stick around and you'll soon see I am not the villain of this story.
The cobblestoned courtyard of the Palace of Versailles was as crowded as I was mad. Something important was riding on this mission. And I'm not just talking about tracking down some stupid necklace. I'm talking life and death important, something the others don't know about and I can't tell them. Today was the day it was all going down. So what could possibly happen to
ruin everything? Getting stuck with the new girl.
I may be only twelve, but I take my position with the society seriously. I'm not like the others. I don't do what I do to carry on Dr. Tarpley's legacy like Mrs. T. I don't do it for kicks like Alex. I don't do it for the history like Tomi or to please my grandfather like Lily. I do this because it's the right thing to do. Like when we found a hoard of art and treasure in Brazil the Nazis had stolen from Jewish people during World War II. It took us months to track down the original owners; lots of them had died in concentration camps or from old age. But returning stuff to those families and seeing the looks on their faces was worth it. I like righting wrongs, probably because I can't right the biggest wrong of all, my mom's murder.
It's no secret. Google the name Jordan Sharp and murder, and you'll find lots of news stories about how thirty-four-year-old, hardworking single mom Jordan Sharp was found murdered in the home she shared with her nine-year-old daughter. I was at school when it happened. Mom dropped me off at my school's front gate, and it was the last time I saw her alive. Two police detectives showed up at school and I got called into the principal's office. The counselor was there. After they'd told me mom was dead, what happened next was a blur.
I don't remember much of the funeral, or the cops asking me tons of questions about my mom's friends and if she had a boyfriend. Mom didn't have time to date. She was too busy working two jobs to support us. And she had few friends. One of them was Mrs. T., who showed up and took me home with her after the funeral. My mom's murderer is still out there and I hope the piece of trash knows one day Jordan Sharp's daughter is coming for them. Now, I had a chance to save someone else I cared a lot about, and I wasn't about to let anyone get in my way.
Speaking of which, Mia was wandering around with her mouth hanging open and her eyes wide like some five-year-old who'd just arrived at the Magic Kingdom. The students of St. Alban's Academy were filing through the gold palace gates, about to get into one of the long lines forming at multiple entrances to the palace. We needed to keep hidden so we could get at the back of the line unnoticed. But where was Mia? Staring at the black and white tiles of the marble court at the center of the courtyard like some tourist. I knew this was a bad idea. She had no idea what the word stealth meant, meaning I was going to have to teach her. I quickly grabbed her by the back of her blazer and pulled her into one of the arched doorways and out of sight. Did I yank her harder than I should have? You better believe it. It's exactly what she deserved for using me as a mechanical bull. And if I find one bald spot on my head, it'll take more than Alex to pry me off of her.
"What's your problem?" she said, shaking me off.
"My problem is we're supposed to be blending in with the students of St. Albans so we can get in with their group. What are they going to think, Einstein, if they see two strangers wearing St. Alban's blazers as soon as they walk through the flipping gates?"
"Okay, okay, I get it. Sorry," she said, and at least had the decency to look embarrassed.
"Just stay close to me and don't wander off," I snapped, and she gave me a snarky salute.
There were about seventy-five students from St. Albans, along with six adults I figured were teachers and parents. Two of them were older nuns. Most of the girls were talking and laughing. But I could tell some were bored out of their minds and a few others were busy texting. All of them were wearing the blue St. Alban's uniform blazer with the gold school crest on the right front pocket — exactly like the ones we had on. They got into line and I nudged Mia to follow me as I crept around a large Italian tour group listening to their tour guide and casually got in line behind the last St. Albans girl in line. Lucky for us she was rocking out to music on her iPod and didn't pay any attention to us.
"Don't you think they're going to notice we don't belong?" whispered Mia.
"They're a bunch of sixth, seventh and eighth graders. Do you honestly think all the girls in this group know each other?"
"But don't they usually do a head count or have all the student's names on a list or something? What are we going to do when they find out they have two extra people?" she continued. She had a question about everything and it was pissing me off.
"I've been doing this a lot longer than you have. Stop bugging me with your stupid questions before someone hears you. Then we'll be in trouble."
"Whatever," she mumbled and rolled her eyes. But at least she shut up.
I could have told her I hacked into the email account of the person in charge of this trip and intercepted e-mails from the parents of two girls who weren't able to come to Paris. I added their names back to list so the final count would still include them. But why tell her when it was more fun letting her twist in the wind? I'd even made a couple of fake St. Alban's student ID's. Their ID’s weren’t the kind that had photos, so if anyone asked, Mia and I were Shannon Dunlevy and Portia Goodwin. We'd be okay as long as no one knew Shannon Dunlevy was a chubby redhead and Portia Goodwin was six feet tall. Good thing this was a summer trip; Shannon and Portia were both new and wouldn't be starting St. Albans until the fall. I considered this a good sign and maybe I'd actually be able to pull off what I needed to do today. I was just waiting for a call with instructions telling me what to do next. I had my hand in my pocket wrapped around my cell phone waiting for it to ring. So far it had been dead as a doornail. I checked it again to make sure I hadn't missed a call. Nothing.
"Uh-oh," said Mia, nudging me in the ribs and nodding towards one of the old nuns.
The nun was coming down the line, stopping at each student and asking them to show her something. I quickly shoved one of the fake ID in Mia’s hand. When the nun got to iPod Girl, whose music was so loud the nun had to snap her bony fingers in her face to get her attention.
"Daria," she yelled, "If you could please take a break from ruining your hearing, I need to see your museum pass." Daria sighed, and pulled out her ear buds flooding the courtyard with loud rap music making some of the tourists jump. Then she fished inside her blazer pocket and pulled out a pass and flashed it at the nun.
"Thank you, dear. Now, I'll take this for safe keeping until after the tour," she said, reaching out and snatching the iPod out of Daria's hand.
"Hey! No fair! What about them?" Daria said, pointing down the line at the girls, texting away on their cells.
"Once we get inside those phones are to be used for picture taking only. And if I see one girl using her phone for anything else, I will confiscate the phone and the owner won't get it back until we get back to the hotel." She said it loud enough for all of France to hear.
"But. . .” The nun gave Daria one of those "shut up or else" looks Mrs. T. is so good at. Daria just glared at her.
Then it was our turn. Of all the things I'd thought of, museum passes weren't on the list. I figured since the palace tour was already arranged before they arrived, it had already been paid for. Guess it's what I get for thinking. Mia was fidgeting nervously next to me.
"No one ever gave me a pass," I said smoothly. "Did you get a pass?" I asked Mia.
"Um… er… uh," she sputtered until I bumped her with my shoulder. "No. I never got one, either," she squeaked.
"What are your names?" The nun demanded, squinting at us.
"Portia Goodwin," I said, without missing a beat.
"Shannon Dunlevy," said Mia, waving the ID and giggling nervously like a dork. The old nun was completely annoyed.
"Sister Catherine!" she called, turning towards the front of the line. "Sister Catherine!"
A younger woman who'd been talking to a group of students at the front of the line walked down to where we were standing with the old nun. If I'd seen her out on the street I wouldn't have guessed she was a nun. She was wearing a St. Albans T-shirt with jeans, trainers, and a baseball cap like a perky gym teacher.
"Sister Catherine, Shannon and Portia claim they were never given a museum pass. I was under the impression you were in charge of this excursion. Please explain."
&n
bsp; Sister Catherine stared at us like she'd never seen us before, which, of course, she hadn't. "I was so sure everyone had been given a pass at the hotel this morning, Sister Ruth."
She pulled a clipboard from her tote bag with a list of names attached to it and began scanning it with her finger. I took a quick peek at the list on the sly and didn't see a Shannon Dunlevy listed on the first page with the D's, which meant there probably wasn't a Portia Goodwin on the list, either. I screwed up big time. I should have known there would be more than one person in charge of handling this trip. Now they'd find out we were frauds, and we wouldn't get inside to find a picture of the necklace and all my plans would be ruined. And the worst part was, Mia had been right. She was just about to get to the D's when Mia suddenly blurted out.
"We lied, Sister Catherine!"
What was she doing? The other girls in line had turned around to see what was going on. Some of them were whispering, their brows creased in concentration, trying to figure out who in the world we were.
"I'm so sorry," continued Mia. "Portia gave me her pass to hold for her this morning and I forgot both of them. She was just covering for me. Now we won't be able to do the tour, and it's all my fault!" Mia started crying. And when I say crying, I mean she was blubbering like she was going for gold in the Crybaby Olympics. It was actually kind of impressive, if I was in the mood to be impressed.
"Calm down, child," exclaimed Sister Ruth rolling her eyes and looking disgusted. "We're hardly going to make you walk back to Paris. But you and Portia can keep each other company back on the bus while we're inside the palace. You can rejoin the group once we come out to tour the gardens since it won't involve an additional cost."
Oh great! So much for Mia, the amazing crying machine. We still weren't going to get inside the palace. Mia burst into tears again, but I think this time the waterworks may have been for real.
