Queen of the Hide Out

by Alice Quinn

“The paintings are here, so let’s leave them . . .”

  “Impossible. This house doesn’t belong to me now. The new kid on the block will find them all.”

  “Yes, he’ll inherit them, won’t he?”

  “If you think that will make me feel better, you’d be wise not to open your mouth, Rosie Maldonne. I thought you had more sense than that.”

  “OK, OK. Let’s take them to Beauty and the Beast’s castle. How’s that for an option? Then you can go off to some strange and foreign land, and when I work out what in the hell happened here—and the killer is safely behind bars—I’ll send them to you. Then you can cut whatever deals you want to cut with whatever collectors you know—that’s your problem. The rest of it has nothing to do with me. It’s your issue if you’re OK risking a lifetime in prison.”

  He seemed pleased with this plan even if it was half-assed (like all my plans—neither one thing nor the other). We got out of there with the rolled up canvases, which weighed a lot more than you’d expect. We threw them into the trunk of the Jag and sped off into the night.

  When we got back to Gaston’s, not a single light had been left on. I checked on the twins (sound asleep) and then treated myself to a long hot shower. I sure as hell needed one. My Prince Charming joined me under the covers of my big bed (under which we’d stashed the paintings, next to my stolen evidence and my Big Pink. He must not have seen it. He might not have known it was worth over a million even if he had, and I wasn’t about to tell him.).

  I didn’t let him stay with me the whole night. OK, so there might have been a bit of fumbling, but no more than that. I didn’t want him to take me for some easy chick. Plus, my babies were softly snoring in the bed right next to us!

  Wednesday: I Know, You Know, He Knows

  69

  Wednesday morning started out strangely.

  All night, I could hear a telephone ringing—one of those old-fashioned ones you see in the black-and-white movies—along with Stevie Wonder singing about calling to say he loved me! To say he cared!

  Stevie Wonder. A strange choice for my mother. What did she want me to do? Did she want me to say the three magic words to Théodore? Or get him to say those three words to me?

  OK then. Sabrina was already over at Véro’s apartment, so I didn’t need to worry about how she’d get to school. When Théo woke up, he was in a mood. Why had he made a bed for himself in the living room when there were so many bedrooms in the house? Maybe he was in a huff. As I stood by the window, stirring my coffee, I observed him, my mother’s song playing in my mind. When his brother came downstairs, it was as if he’d shifted even deeper into his miserable, silent state. Maybe he thought I was packing it in.

  We’d all somehow managed to get ourselves into a temporary routine in the mornings. Everyone had their own jobs to do, but I didn’t have the energy. I couldn’t get the song out of my head. I convinced myself that the only thing I had to understand from my mother’s message was the bit about the telephone. My mother must have wanted me to call someone. Who, though? Borelli?

  It came to me in a flash. That guy . . . the one . . . I don’t know who . . . I phoned him from Max’s place when I called the last number dialed from his phone. The minister. The minister’s headquarters, wasn’t it? But I’d quickly hung up. Luckily, I’d noted down the phone number. This could be another lead for me. I didn’t know why I hadn’t explored it yet.

  I went over to Gaston’s desk, picked up the phone, and punched in the number. The office was in Paris. The same impersonal voice from last time answered on the first ring.

  “Minister’s office, good morning. How may I help you?”

  “Hello, I’d like to speak to the minister, please.”

  “Do you mean his secretary?”

  “No, I mean the minister himself.”

  “Weeeelllllll . . .”

  I heard a stifled giggle. This broad was taking a jab. I bet she was just some little bitch on an internship. Who did she think she was?

  “You’re mocking me, aren’t you? Huh? Put me through to the minister. He’s expecting my call.”

  “Oh really?”

  “Yes.”

  “And who should I say is calling?”

  “Tell him it’s Max Pinson and I’m calling long distance. Very long distance. It’s urgent.”

  “Max Pinson?”

  She was still laughing. She was having trouble holding it back. I was scared that the minister would put me on speakerphone. Politicians always did that in the movies. But I had to know what was going on here. There was a force pushing me to see this through.

  She suddenly stopped giggling and said in a surprised tone, “Please stay on the line. The minister will be with you shortly.”

  Click, click, click . . . Beep.

  A voice—top-notch, high-class—picked up. “Who is this?”

  “Max.”

  “Max is a man’s name, sweetheart, and we both know Max can’t call me from where he is right now.”

  “There! That’s something we can both agree on before we’ve even started. Obviously, I’m not Max. I’m calling on his behalf.”

  “What do you want from me?”

  “Give me a break here or I’ll spill everything, understood?”

  No answer. Then the dial tone.

  Hmm . . . I must have hit a sensitive spot. I hadn’t really gotten much farther ahead, though I’d advanced a couple of steps.

  I needed to sit back and think this one through. I went to the kitchen and decided to grab something quick to eat. I opened up a can of tuna and a can of beans and tucked into them standing up. No washing up to do—I just ran the fork I’d used under the faucet. Then I made some crepes with some of the groceries Humbert had bought. They’d do for a midafternoon snack for the kiddies later.

  That afternoon, our numbers were strengthened with the addition of Véro and the three little ones. Véro kept glancing at her watch literally every twenty seconds. The sun had decided to show its face—not a lot, just a touch—so I thought it might be a good idea to take my twinnybobs out into the garden for a breath of fresh air. The grounds at Gaston’s place were immense. At one point, around fifty years ago, one of the finest perfumeries in the region had stood on this land. There was the castle itself, outer walls, barns, hangars, an old factory building, warehouses . . . The grass and plants hadn’t been cut or managed for what appeared to have been an age. There were old pieces of machinery and engine parts scattered about the place.

  I got the babies dressed, and Sabrina asked if we’d wait for her because she also wanted in on the fun and games outside.

  “Yes, my sweetie. Hurry up, though. What is it you have to do?”

  “Nothing, jutht a thmall thing I need to get, Mommy. Thimon? Let’th go and get that thmall thing and then we’ll go play. Are you coming, Thimon?”

  In two or three little gallops, they’d both disappeared down the hallway. A few minutes later, she returned with Simon trotting behind her. She’d put on her coat and boots and grabbed ahold of the stroller.

  “Hurry up, Thimon! Everybody ith waiting for you! Where are we thuppothed to be going, Mommy?

  “Just exploring. That’s all.”

  We walked across the lawns by the side of the house over to the old factory buildings. We’d only just reached the corner of the first building when Sabrina dug her hands into her pockets and pulled out a cell phone.

  I almost lost consciousness.

  “What’s that, my big girl? Where did you get that phone?”

  “It’th Lani’th thell phone. I’m not a liar! You thaid I wath a liar! I’m not! You know it, Mommy, you know I never tell lieth!

  The twinnies wanted to run. I could see it in their excited little faces. I took them out of the stroller and let them go for it. We couldn’t have gone any farther with the stroller in the long grass, anyhow.

  It was true then. Lani had been keeping a secret. She’d been hiding this from me all along. A phone. It was so odd. I’d s
een her get rid of it when I’d tossed mine. This must have been a second phone that she’d hung onto. She wasn’t taking any risks. As long as it wasn’t in her name, nobody would be able to track her through it. Maybe she’d found one—maybe she’d found it in Gaston’s place. She’d hardly been anyplace else. But why hide it? What was her secret?

  I sat down on some stone steps. I had to be careful because they were all a big crumbly mess, and half of them had fallen away. If I were a smoker, I’d have enjoyed lighting one up right there. But I don’t smoke. Not all that much, anyhow. Not at all really. OK . . . I didn’t have any on me! I don’t bite my nails either. I pluck my eyebrows a lot, but this wasn’t the time or the place. Apart from a little plucking, I didn’t know how to soothe my anxiety or control my intense thought processes.

  I had no solution. I simply sat there like an idiot with nothing to say to my little Sabrina, who ran off to play with her little sisters and Simon, skipping the whole way (gloating, I thought!).

  “Don’t go too far, kiddos!”

  I was surprised to notice that my mother was still having her say in things. It’s pretty clear, thanks, Mom! I know about the goddamn telephone! It wasn’t a message about love you were sending me . . . It was about Lani’s cell. My mom had had more trust in Sabrina than I had. She knew that Sabrina was telling the truth about the secret phone.

  The twins were on the ground, foraging around in the long wet grass for worms. This place looked a little bit like where our trailer was parked. There were more plants here, though—it was wilder.

  I carefully examined the cell phone. I wanted to flick through the contacts and read any text messages, but something stopped me. My principles maybe? Question of the day: Was I the sort of person to meddle around in the affairs of people I hardly knew? After all, what in the heck did Lani’s little secret have to do with me? Was it my business? OK, I felt like she’d cheated me. But I’d been through worse types of cheating . . .

  I decided to pull myself out of my troubles for a while and collect the troops to head back. That’s when I realized I was on my own.

  70

  I called out to the kiddos. I searched, I panicked . . . Oh shit! I couldn’t handle the idea that I’d lost my own children.

  Pastis ran toward me, meowing triumphantly. He was coming out of one of the doors of the abandoned warehouse. The place was in ruins. When he saw I was following close behind him, he gave me a satisfied shake of his tail.

  He took me to a side entrance. When we stepped inside, we found ourselves in a long stone passageway. It was dark and dank with only a little light coming through some small windows at the very top of the walls. The path descended into the earth. I couldn’t hear any of the kids’ voices. I was surprised. I thought this was why Pastis had brought me here.

  I continued to walk, getting more and more worried which each step I took. Out of nowhere came a screeching noise. At first, it sounded strained, but then it got louder the farther down the corridor we went. I walked several hundred feet and felt like Jean Valjean in the sewers. I hoped my story would wind up better than his did. When I reached the end of the path, I found myself in a kind of fenced-off wilderness. It bordered a street.

  Civilization! Shops, people, stuff happening!

  I pushed the grill that opened out onto the scrub of land and got (only a little) fright when the kids jumped me. They’d been hiding there to surprise me. They were laughing and roaring like little maniacs. I let out a huge scream of terror. They were delighted. I let them run around for a while, hide in the garden, and feel a sense of freedom.

  How weird it all was, though. I must have walked down that street a hundred times a day, and I’d hardly ever noticed the place. I remember seeing an abandoned bit of land with litter and weeds, but never would I have imagined that an underground tunnel went all the way from there to Gaston’s castle.

  We took the same tunnel back. The kids ran, but I took it easy for a change and just kind of sauntered. When we got to the other end, I picked up the stroller, and we all headed back to the castle. I reached the front door at the same time as Ismène. It was getting dark—pretty normal for a December afternoon.

  Ismène hardly noticed me. I don’t think she even said hello. She had eyes only for Véro. She’d brought some pains au chocolat with her. She couldn’t have made a better choice. The babas squealed with happiness. I warmed up the crepes I’d made earlier in the oven. Lani and Humbert put the kettle on and made some tea. Everyone except me sat down at the kitchen table and filled their bellies. Théodore invited me to join them, signaling with his eyes. Weirdly, the two brothers didn’t seem to be pissed with each other anymore. There’d been a truce.

  I stomped over to the table melodramatically (which I immediately regretted) and threw the cell phone at Lani. She jumped. Humbert glowered at me. Lani let the phone drop between her knees. She had another huge crying fit, her face looking as hot as fire irons.

  “What is all this business now? What sort of bullcrap story have you imagined here?” Humbert asked me. “You really are a dreadful woman!”

  “If you don’t like me, then you’re free to get the hell out of here,” I responded without even taking a breath. Maybe, despite everything he’d said, it was he who’d given Lani the phone.

  Whatever. He quickly shut his cakehole and put an arm around Lani to comfort her.

  “What are you playing at, Cricri?” asked Ismène.

  “Nothing. I’m not playing. It’s just that Lani here said she didn’t have a phone and made out that my Sabrina was a little liar. That’s all there is to it. I don’t like stuff like that.”

  “Well, there’s no need to make such a huge deal,” Ismène said.

  “It doesn’t seem whacked to any of you that the two of us were supposed to have dumped our cells so we wouldn’t be traced, and now she’s managed to pull one out of thin air? I didn’t want a wire on our butts.”

  I was pretty impressed that I’d managed to get the word wire into the conversation. I knew how much Ismène loved that series.

  “So what does that mean? Is the phone bugged? Is she an FBI agent? Or maybe it’s not even her phone. Who does this cell belong to, huh? Anybody?” I asked.

  Silence. All we could hear were Lani’s snuffles. She was making me feel kind of sorry for her.

  “It doesn’t take a genius to work it out! It’s the killer’s phone! There you go!” I said.

  Everyone in the room started whispering and mumbling. Apart from Humbert, everyone was watching Lani, clearly wondering whether or not she could be trusted.

  “No kill. No kill,” whined Lani, standing up from her chair and launching into a confusing explanation about how she’d found the cell in Max’s office before going down to the cellar to hide. She said she thought it would come in handy and believed it was safe to keep it on her because the police would never trace it to us.

  “Why did you deny it then?” I asked.

  She tried to reason with me by announcing that she had made a big mistake by not admitting to having the phone, that she’d been an idiot, and that she was afraid, always afraid, of everything. She whined that she was so scared I’d throw her out of our hide out and that she wouldn’t know where to go and that she thought she’d wind up behind bars.

  It took her a long time to get to the point—she went on and on through a deluge of tears and had all of us crying by the end, me included. Me first, in fact. Sabrina, who never, ever missed a trick, jumped into her arms to give her a forgiving hug. I wasn’t completely convinced by her story, but I thought it better to let the whole thing lie, and more importantly, to try to believe her so I could put my own mind at ease.

  When it was time for Ismène and Véro to head home, we thought it was a good idea for Théodore and Humbert to follow them. We all felt we needed to up our game in terms of security measures. And maybe the two brothers needed some fresh air and a little private time away from the rest of us to talk over their personal worries.

/>   After putting the two little ones to bed, I logged on to Gaston’s computer to check his e-mail. There was an unread message. His way of getting back to me was to write to himself. He knew I’d be checking his inbox. He was so clever.

  My little Roro,

  Please find attached 4 e-tickets for a train to Amsterdam (1 adult and 3 children). You’ll change at Paris. The train leaves on Thursday. I’m so delighted to be spending the holidays with you. I’m sure you have so much to tell me, and I can’t wait to hear it all.

  Your devoted and loyal friend,

  Gaston

  There it was. My way out. I printed out the tickets, checked our IDs, wrapped everything up securely in a folder, and strolled into the living room to join Lani.

  She was sitting at the card table, shuffling cards with surprising speed. She’d become a real expert recently. The cards were in a fan one second, flying through the air the next, skillfully slipping through her fingers, twisting, flipping . . . I couldn’t help admire how great she was at it. Just then, I heard a loud banging noise outside.

  “Oh, I forgot to close up the shutters,” I said. I stood up as if on automatic pilot.

  As I made my way to the kitchen, I got the feeling something wasn’t right. I tried the front-door handle. It had been locked from the inside, and I couldn’t see the key anywhere.

  71

  At that very moment, a telephone rang. And it wasn’t Gaston’s. I ran back to the living room to see Lani stand up. She looked scared out of her wits. She was holding the infamous phone up to her ear and blubbering into it.

  “Datu, Datu . . . Oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh . . .”

  Silence.

  “Ah.”

  She hung up and eyed me in a way I didn’t like at all. Deeply sad. Apologetic. Shit, what was going on now?

  I soon understood when a man suddenly darted through the door from the hallway. How long had this guy been in the house without my knowing it? He was Filipino. OK! I see! We were finally getting somewhere. Now I’d actually get to learn something new for a change. What was up with this guy?