The Stuttgart Hauptbahnhof was frigid the next morning and I couldn’t get inside fast enough. Unfortunately, Novak was no hurry. I think he’d been planning on ditching his train to Paris and going somewhere else, anywhere else than to his waiting mother, who planned to be in Gare de l’Est to pick him up.
“Why are you walking so fast?” he asked as he crept through the impressive main hall of the station with its 1930s architecture intact. He kept trying to divert to McDonald’s or a pretzel seller or the enormous Christmas tree set up in the center of the hall. Novak acted like he’d never seen a Christmas tree before. Give me a break.
“Your train leaves in ten minutes,” I said. “If you wouldn’t have been so slow before we wouldn’t have to rush now.”
“I didn’t need such an early train,” he said.
“Yes, you do and so do we,” said Grandma. “Aaron’s culinary class is second period at the high school and this is the only direct.”
“You could’ve dropped me off.”
“Fat chance.” I got behind him and steered him out the door to the platforms where it was significantly colder. “You’re trying to get on the wrong train.”
“Wrong is relative,” said Novak.
“Not in this case,” said Grandma. “I promised your mother.”
“You promised.”
Grandma took his arm. “Mother to mother. It’s a done deal. Now stop your whining.”
“I’m not whining.”
“He said in a whine,” I said. “Let’s see you’re on track—”
“Seven,” Novak said.
Nice try.
“Thirteen,” I said. “They changed it.”
He muttered something in what I presumed was Serbian and we frog-marched him down to the correct track.
“Here we go. First class,” said Grandma. “You’ll be well looked after.”
Novak made a great show of hugging us and I had to smile at his last desperate try. He didn’t know my grandmother. Granted, I didn’t know her that well either, but I was getting the picture.
Janine Watts pushed Novak, the six two hacker, onboard and followed him right on.
Startled, Novak said, “You don’t have to—”
“Hush up. I wasn’t born yesterday.” Grandma steered him left into his car and I could hear the bickering as they put his luggage on the rack.
Moe laughed. “That woman. He’s no match.”
“He really thought he could go in one door and get out another without us noticing,” I said.
We walked down to look in the windows to see Grandma physically push Novak into a seat, buttonhole a porter, and give him a good talking to about his passenger’s condition. The chances for escape were nil. “He was going to give it the old college try.”
“He doesn’t know us Watts at all,” I said.
“Especially, since you’re not Watts,” said Moe.
I gave him the side-eye and asked, “What are you talking about?”
“All that stuff about Elijah Watts and the mansion last night. Who knew who? When did they know who? Janine hasn’t figured it out yet, but she will. She’s sharp and it won’t take long.”
I watched Grandma tip the porter, kiss the top of Novak’s head, and hustle toward the exit as the warning buzzer went off. “I’m interested in family history. That’s all.”
“Fats told me about the Bled stuff.”
Dammit.
“She had no right to tell you anything,” I said.
Moe took my arm and kept his eyes searching the crowd. “I needed to know all the information. You’re more than you appear, so the threats are too.”
“Don’t say anything to Grandma.”
“I won’t, but you’ll have to.”
Grandma stepped off the train a second ahead of the final warning and the doors started to close. A portly man came running down the platform and banged on the door as it locked tight. He cursed in French and banged on it in frustration.
“Too late, my man,” said Moe under his breath.
“So irritating to miss the fast one,” said Grandma.
The man kept yelling as the train jolted and started moving. I turned my gaze back to Novak’s window. His corn-rowed head was still in place, not looking at us, but with a jolt, I realized someone else was. A man was standing up and leaning over the next row of seats, looking straight at me. Our eyes met and he jerked back. The train moved him away out of the station and I was running alongside. Me and the old guy. He was still banging on the side. I was trying to look in that window. Dark hair. Handsome. Tall. Well-dressed. Gone.
Moe caught up to me. “What on Earth are you doing?”
“He was on the train.” I bent over panting.
“Who?”
“Him. The one that pushed Novak.”
Moe looked back at the disappearing last car and said, “How do you know that?”
“He was looking out at me. He saw me. It was him.”
Grandma came up and Moe told her what I said. “But Mercy, you don’t know what he looks like. It could’ve been a fan or God help us a stalker.”
“No. I saw the way he looked at me. He was shocked in a bad way, afraid and angry. I know that look. It was him.”
“Son of a...” Moe trailed off. “He got away.”
“Novak’s on that train with him,” said Grandma, frantically reaching for her phone.
“It’s fine,” I said. “It was never about Novak. He was going for an empty room to search for what we know.”
“Still. We have to tell him,” said Moe.
I called Novak and told him who his traveling companion was. He said it was almost worth the trip.
“Can you see him?” I asked.
“No. He’s left the car,” said Novak.
“Naturally. It can’t be easy.”
“Oh, it’s easy. I’ve got money and Janine made friends with the porter. I will get it done.”
“Pictures would be ideal,” I said.
“How about a name?”
“I assume that will be fake.”
“He’s not a genius,” said Novak. “You never know.”
We hung up and I shivered.
Grandma took my arm and snugged me up to her side. “Are you upset?”
“I think I’m shocked.”
“Well, he can’t get off that train,” said Moe. “No stops.”
I nodded. “We’ll need a tail in Gare de l’Est.”
“Come on,” she said. “We have three and a half hours to arrange it. Novak has friends. It will get done.”
“I hope he doesn’t try to do it,” said Moe.
“That man is not the action type,” I said. “Besides, his mom will be there.”
“Thank goodness for that,” said Grandma. “Let’s get out of here. Aaron is waiting. I hope they didn’t make him move.”
The Polizei hadn’t made Aaron move out of the drop off spot, but they were trying. If I had to guess, his oddity worked in our favor. They’d talk and he’d act like he didn’t know what was going on. He might get arrested on suspicion of being on mind-altering substances, but they wouldn’t get him to move.
“Here we go,” said Moe. “Better hurry.”
A Polizei moved to the driver’s side of the Mercedes and reached for the door. Grandma sprang into action. She dashed over, talking a mile a minute about Aaron and parking and the trains and who knows what all.
The Polizei ended up holding his hands up against the barrage from a little old lady and eventually started smiling. Aaron got a pass and the Polizei opened my door for me.
“Merci. Salut,” I said, beaming a smile at him and I got a surprised look in return as he recognized me or at least recognized Marilyn. Grandma had had her way with my makeup again. I was quickly learning not to fight it. Or…
“Was that French again?” I asked Moe as he got in the back with me.
“What do you think?”
“For crying out loud. I need an MRI or something.”
“You’re fine,” he said. “He didn’t even notice. Too busy looking.”
“That’s the good shock. Not like the guy on the train. Totally different,” I said.
“I believe you.” He checked his watch. “Will Spidermonkey be awake?”
“Maybe, if he’s on a roll with the financial trail.”
Grandma turned in her seat and said, “Call him. He’d want to know about that man on the train.”
I was reluctant to wake up my elderly hacker, but Grandma was right. Spidermonkey would want to know. I called and he answered on the first ring.
“Great minds think alike,” he said.
“In this case, a great mind and a so-so one,” I said. “What’s up, Oh Mighty One?”
Spidermonkey chuckled and then got somber in a flash. “I got through it all. Well, almost all of it.”
“And?”
“She was robbed.”
“We know that,” I said.
“No. Madison was robbed,” he said.
I sat back and pulled off the poofball hat Grandma had allowed me to wear under duress. “How? What? Who robbed her?”
“I should’ve seen it instantly, but it looked legit.”
Spidermonkey explained that one of the massive issues with cyber currency was that it was cyber, which sounds kinda stupid, but there’s no physical building you can go to about your money. It’s all online. You can follow a solid recommendation for a company, a good reputable company, and end up on an imposter site. Madison clicked a bad link, deposited her money, and it was gone. Stolen.
The fake site gave stats for her account for a few days and then claimed a sudden drop in the market made her investment worthless. Madison had sent frantic emails about the money and got automated responses saying that there was a warning before she made her investment that nothing was guaranteed.
“She was pretty hysterical,” he said.
“I bet. Excuse me while I fail to weep for her,” I said.
“You might find this interesting. In her third email, she says ‘This was my mom’s money for retirement. Please help me figure out what to do.’”
“Her mom’s money that she stole.”
“It is, but it got me thinking,” said Spidermonkey.
“It’s got me thinking she’s a piece of crap,” I said.
Moe muttered, “No doubt.”
“Hear me out. I got to wondering where she got this site. Madison isn’t exactly a savvy investor. Her mother did everything with the 529 plan. I can’t find that Madison did anything with it. Lisa took the money out to pay the tuition and books. Madison never even went in and checked the amount or funds allocation.”
“So?”
“So where’d that girl get this bitcoin idea in the first place?”
“The boyfriend,” I said. “Has to be.”
“That’s my thought. Handsome, successful older man says invest here. He tells her she’ll make a mint so she steals her mother’s money and does it.”
I balled up my hat and unclenched my jaw. “Did she research sites at all?”
Spidermonkey made an approving noise, the kind I loved getting. “I wondered that, too, and the answer is no. She didn’t look at any other sites. She went straight to the imposter site. He gave it to her.” Spidermonkey explained that the legit site had normal spelling in the URL and the fake one had slang. Think Litcoin instead of Litecoin. That kind of thing. I could totally see how it happened and how he covered himself. If she happened to catch on that it wasn’t a legit site by some miracle, he could easily say it was a mistake. He said the right name. She misheard. It wasn’t his fault she did it wrong.”
“I can’t believe it. The boyfriend stole Lisa’s money from Madison,” I said. “Hello, karma.”
“Yes, but I have a feeling it’s not that simple.”
“You think she’s an innocent little flower that got taken advantage of?” I asked. “Oh, come on. She went through some hoops to get that money. It wasn’t an accident.”
“There’s more to the story,” said Spidermonkey. “I get feelings, too.”
“Granted, but in the end there’s no excuse and when the money was gone she blackmailed Anton,” I said.
“I know that, but I think the boyfriend was the driving force. It comes back to him.”
“More to the story? Puhlease. You old softy.”
“Speaking of more to the story,” he said. “Can you talk?”
I glanced at Grandma chatting away to Aaron about menu planning and getting an explanation of what mochi is. I guess the kids would be making mochi.
“I think so,” I said as Grandma inquired about the right kind of rice for mochi. I knew from experience with Aaron this wouldn’t be a short conversation nor a simple one.
“I got a chance to look into those records you were interested in,” said Spidermonkey.
“You have been busy.”
Moe raised an eyebrow at me and I gave him a hold on look.
“You nailed it. Giséle Donadieu was arrested in November 1910.”
I couldn’t believe it. Too crazy. I was right. “How in the world did you find that out? It’s not like it’s online.”
“There was a newspaper article on said arrest.”
“There was a whole article on it? What did she do? Break down the door or something?” I asked.
“She returned several times to each of the Bled houses trying to get them to talk to her. She was refused and they finally called the cops,” said Spidermonkey.
“What did they charge her with? Tell me it wasn’t anything to do with prostitution.”
“It wasn’t. The charge was harassment. The article said she wanted a job at the brewery and was denied.”
“That’s not so bad,” I said. “She didn’t go to jail, did she?”
“There were no articles after the fact and the original was just a little paragraph. It would never have made the paper if it hadn’t been for the Bled involvement.”
“So we don’t know what happened?”
“Of course, we do,” he said with a laugh. “Don’t you know me at all?”
“I take it back,” I said. “But how did you figure it out?”
“Pretty sure the charges were dropped.”
“Why? Harassing the Bleds had to be a thing,” I said.
“Since she married the arresting officer a few weeks later, I’m sure she got off easy.”
“No way.”
“I figured that was how she met Thomas, but I didn’t think it would be that easy.”
“Kind of romantic in a way,” I said. “And they lived happily ever after.”
“It looks that way.”
Grandma turned in her seat. “What’s romantic?”
“How Madison’s boyfriend turned on the charm,” I said. “She didn’t stand a chance.”
She ground a fist in her palm. “Just wait till we get ahold of him.”
“Very threatening, Janine,” said Moe with a smile and I have to admit she was pretty adorable when she said it, not a bit threatening.
“I was trained in weaponry. I’m a crack shot.”
“You are a woman after my own heart.”
“You’re such a naughty boy, Moe Licata,” said Grandma.
“Getting nauseous,” I said. “Aaron food. What are we having?”
Aaron started in on choices of pork for sausage. Not scintillating to me, but Grandma was literally taking notes. God knows why. There wasn’t going to be a quiz after.
“Are you still there?” Spidermonkey asked.
“Yeah, just having a bit of an issue with the old folks,” I said.
“Who are you calling old folks?” Moe asked.
“You were in Vietnam for crying out loud. You’re no spring chicken.”
He wasn’t impressed with my logic, but I got a laugh out of Spidermonkey.
“Anything else for me?” I asked.
“Thomas was married once before and as you suggested I think he was infertile. Twelve years married. No kids. Her name was Mary and died when she got hit by a streetcar.”
“Well, that’s terrible.”
“It was and it happened five years before Giséle turned up on the scene,” said Spidermonkey. “I think he and that beautiful young French woman came to an arrangement.”
“That sounds bad,” I said. “Like she had to do it.”
“There weren’t a lot of options for ladies in her predicament, but I prefer to think it worked out for both of them. He got a son and she got status that no out of wedlock mother would’ve gotten. From how Elijah turned out, it was a happy life. Thomas certainly didn’t control Gladys with her going into business and doing charity work. I read her as independent.”
“I hope you’re right. Anything on the…um…background?” I didn’t want to say anything about France in case Grandma suddenly dialed in.
“So far, a dead end. Her passage says Paris as does her paperwork at Ellis Island, but I’m not seeing anything with the right particulars in Paris.”
“There’s no hurry on this stuff,” I said.
He yawned and then said, “I almost forgot. Your timeline is getting tight.”
“Tell me about it. I saw the Instagram posts. My mom was all over that stuff.” Quite a few posts had come out of my look the night before. Some complimentary. Some not so much. So I wore a baggy sweater. Get over it.
“There’s nothing from Gareth. The boy stayed true to his word.”
“I will reward him,” I said. “Anything else?”
“None of the posts have made it to the high school that I’ve seen, but other people are now discussing why you’re in Stuttgart.”
“I’d think that would be obvious.”
“It is and it’s started to spread with the usual theories and conspiracy theories. Watch yourself and get it done quick.”
“Roger that,” I said.
“All military already,” said Spidermonkey.
“Moe taught me.”
“Roger that.”
The driveway up to the school complex was packed. Just getting on post took forever with the busses and people coming to work. The line to get into the parking lot stretched all the way under an overpass and into the regular part of the post. It was the second to last day before Christmas break and cars appeared to be full of party supplies, projects, and more than a few stressed out kids. The military kids had a different school schedule so they weren’t having finals, at least. But it took me back and not in a good way. Christmas parties in my younger years weren’t always the greatest.
My dad never showed up, of course. Mom tried to come, but you’d be surprised how many cases Big Steve had going in the run-up to the holidays and since she was his paralegal she had a hard time escaping the pile of motions and briefs on her to-do list. I’d like to say I had no shows when it came to parties. That would’ve been preferable to Uncle Morty showing up with what he called dog barf dip and looking disturbingly like the serial killer BTK. Sometimes The Girls came and that was wonderful, but not always possible. I got Isolda once and that was the best year ever. We got gourmet cupcakes, sparkling apple cider, and tales of the world. Isolda was once peed on by a Moroccan man who decided that urinating out of his kitchen window was appropriate. She was full of stories like that and we laughed for two hours. Uncle Morty smelled like musty old pizza, talked about bloody crime scenes, and basically spent the time doing the school party version of get off my lawn. It was not awesome.
I totally felt for the kids with glum expressions trudging into the elementary school with their mothers in tow, waving and chatting everyone up. My mom was the one that the dads showed up to get a gander at and that was almost worse than smelly Uncle Morty. People got mad at me. I couldn’t help what my mother looked like. That was just her face. I had no idea at the time that I would have the same problem on steroids. Mom was at least demure. Demure wasn’t an option for me. Nature and circumstance conspired against me in that regard and that day was no different.
Grandma insisted that I “look nice,” which meant I looked like me with no hat as concealment. When we got out of the car, people pointed. Not ideal, and I hustled for the school much the way my mother had, eyes down. Making eye contact would encourage actual contact. That wasn’t good in a world with cell phones everywhere and the less people knew about my presence the better in terms of Jake. Spidermonkey had provided his bus schedule. He’d be arriving after us and still showed no signs that he knew I was in the area thankfully. His lack of social contacts was helpful in that context and sad in every other. Still, someone could mention seeing me and it was making me nervous.
“Hey!” yelled Moe. “Where are you going?”
I grimaced and turned around to find him at the popped trunk offloading his weaponry. I dashed back and dumped my purse with the Mauser inside. “I totally forgot.”
“Good catch,” said Grandma, beaming at Moe. “Very smart. We don’t want to cause any issues.”
“There’s an issue.” Moe pointed at Aaron, who was heading for the high school as fast as his little legs could carry him. We had to run to catch up and slipped in the door with the students to get visitor badges from the school secretary. She tried to give directions to the culinary class, but Aaron was already out the door. Grandma chased after him, smiling and saying hello to all the students.
“I’m actually supposed to be meeting with the counselors,” I said.
“Really?” she asked and then lowered her voice to a whisper that wasn’t a bit effective since the office was filled with kids and parents asking questions but with one ear on us. “About Mr. Thooft?”
“In a manner of speaking,” I lied, “I’m supposed to pick up some more belongings for his sister.”
“Didn’t you already clean out his room?”
“I guess there’s something else.”
She wasn’t convinced but gave me directions. Moe and I made a beeline to the counselors’ offices and were surprised to find the little waiting area packed.
“Miss Watts,” said Principal Newsome, “it’s a pleasure to meet you. Donut?”
“Don’t mind if I do,” I said, picking a glazed raised. “We didn’t have time for breakfast.”
“Sir?” he asked Moe, holding out the box, but he declined.
“Shall we sit down?”
Hobbes said nothing, but there was a big vein throbbing in his neck and Meredith kept licking her lips. The other two counselors just looked slightly confused and curious.
“Sure,” I said, and he went to put up a sign saying counseling was closed for the time being and locked the door.
We sat in the waiting area and everyone looked at me. I looked at the principal until he shifted in his seat and reluctantly began. “Do you have information on one of our students that we should know about?”
“I do. Has Hobbes filled you in on what I’ve been doing?” I asked.
“He has, but I’d like to know where you got the information.”
“Confidential.”
“Not illegal, I hope.”
Hugely.
“Confidential.”
“So you think Jake Purcell is in trouble?” asked Meredith.
“I know he is and it’s about to get worse,” I said. “He’s involved in what happened to me. I suspect as a witness, not as a participant given his increasing depression, but I could be wrong. Did Hobbes fill you in on the SCPs?”
The principal wasn’t convinced it was the indicator I thought it was, but he was going to take it seriously. I told them about Jake being present at the blackmailing by his sister in the café and the mood got a whole lot more serious.
“Why would Madison Purcell do that to Anton or you for that matter?” Jackie, Ethan Elbert’s counselor, asked.
I told them about the money and where we thought it went. The group went silent until Hobbes got out his laptop. “Jake has English and calc this morning.”
“Is he there?” I asked. “In class, I mean.”
Hobbes checked and said Jake had been marked as present. I breathed a sigh of relief that everyone noticed, but nobody commented on.
I suggest we pull him in at lunch,” said Hobbes.
“I agree,” said Meredith. “I’m really worried. He’s a sweet kid and we have to get ahead of this.”
“You’re already behind,” said Moe.
“What do you mean?” Principal Newsome asked, bristling.
“Jake Purcell is already in a hole. He’s not getting ready to fall in.”
Newsome nodded and poured us all a second cup of coffee. “We’ve never dealt with something like this before.” He looked at me, his high forehead wrinkling. “Will the FBI be involved? These are international crimes.”
“Yes,” I said. “But keeping Jake safe is my priority right now. We have the location of Madison’s accomplice and bringing Madison in for questioning won’t be too much of an issue as long as she’s surprised.”
“We won’t tell her,” said Hobbes. “How are you going to do it? Go to her house?”
“I’d say bring in Jake’s mom at lunch and ask that Madison come as well. Once they’re all three here, you can separate Madison from her mother and Jake. I’d like a word with Madison to see what I can get, but then it’s all you.”
“Us?” Meredith asked.
“Well, the MPs and the Polizei. I’m just a PI. Info gathering is my thing. I’ll probably be able to get Madison to admit it. If not, I’ll ask her mother to check her accounts in front of her. If that doesn’t break the dam, we’ll know that Madison has more of a criminal turn of mind than I’m thinking right now.”
“Couldn’t she be innocent?” Jackie asked.
“She is not innocent. She stole the money and set up Anton. She knew what she was doing,” I said. “The question is why and where the money is now.”
“Can you find it?” Hobbes asked.
“If we—”
My phone buzzed and Novak had texted, “We got him.”
I stood up and said, “I have to take this.”
Hobbes told me to take his office and I dashed in there, dialing as I went.
Novak answered on the first ring and said, “Bastard was in the bathroom.”
“Seriously? This whole time?”
“Yep. That’s what took so long. My friend, Frederic the porter, went looking and searched the entire train to no avail. Another porter said a bathroom had been occupied for thirty minutes.”
“So either somebody has a serious problem or…”
“They’re hiding,” said Novak. “This happens a lot apparently. People sneak on without a ticket or steal something and hide out.”
“It’s been over an hour,” I said. “Where was he the rest of the time?”
“He’s smarter than I thought. He moved from toilet to toilet for the first half hour, but then he couldn’t move because the other ones were constantly occupied so he hung out.”
“Did you get a picture?”
“Frederic got several and even better, a name,” said Novak.
“Sweet. Lay it on me.”
“Our guy is Sebastian Nadelbaum and he used his own credit card to book his ticket.”
“A real credit card?” I asked.
“Like I said not a genius. It appears to be legit and the booking site had all his information. I’ve got a friend working on it. We should have everything within say an hour.”
“Christmas came early.”
“It did indeed,” said Novak. “Do you want a picture?”
“Oh, so very much,” I said.
He sent me a couple of shots, front and side views, and Nadelbaum was as Ethan Elbert described him, tall, handsome, about thirty, and well-dressed. In the case of the train, he didn’t look out of place like he did in the club. Nadelbaum was appropriate and I looked closely at his face. Yes, I could see how Madison could fall for him easily. He was just the right amount of handsome, not over the top. His nose was a little bulbous. Shadows on the dark eyes and the jawline wasn’t perfect. It was believable. Madison might be on the young side, but she was in his league.
“Do you recognize him from the hotel?” I asked.
“He’s familiar but nothing more,” said Novak. “He’s got the right look for sure.”
“Are you doubting that he’s our guy?”
He chuckled a little. “Not a bit. He saw you and me and hid in bathrooms for an hour. It’s him.”
“Can you get a reception committee for him in Gare de l’Est?”
“Already arranged. The train will be covered.”
“What’s he doing now?” I asked.
“Sitting in his seat. Frederic insisted. He’s four rows behind me.”
“He might try the bathroom thing at the station.”
“Frederic will have them searched. It will not work out for him,” said Novak with a yawn.
“How are you feeling?” I asked.
“Better now that we’ve got him. I’m going to enjoy introducing him to my mother.”
“Oh, yeah?”
“She kicks.”
We both hung up laughing and I came out of Hobbes’ office to find everyone literally on the edge of their seats.
“What happened?” they asked in chorus.
“Anybody recognize the name Sebastian Nadelbaum?” I asked and they shook their heads.
“A German, I assume,” said Newsome.
“Looks like it.” I showed them Nadelbaum’s picture and nobody had seen him before.
“He looks too old for Madison,” said Meredith. “I can’t imagine her mother was happy.”
“I doubt she knew the particulars,” I said. “But we’ll find out.”
Hobbes ran his hands over his head and said, “I can’t believe this. Madison and Jake. I don’t know what I’m going to say to their mother.”
“Let’s just get them here,” said Meredith. “You should call her.”
He typed something into his laptop and took a breath. “Alright, lady. This is when your life turns to shit.” He dialed his phone, stood up, and went into his office.
“That is not going to be a good time,” said Jackie. “So glad it’s not me.”
“I second that,” said Meredith. “The depressed ones scare the crap out of me. I never know what’s going to happen.”
“You haven’t had any suicides, have you?” Moe asked.
“No, but with the kids, they’re so impulsive. I worry all the time. They just take action when they should stop and think.”
Hobbes came out. “Well, that was easier than I thought.”
“What did she say?” Newsome asked.
“She’s been worried. Jake’s not sleeping or eating. He won’t talk to her. She was thinking of calling me for help, but I beat her to it. I’d say she’s relieved.”
That won’t last long.
“What about Madison?” I asked.
“She’s calling her, but she thinks she’s probably still asleep,” said Hobbes. “Oh, and she didn’t want to wait until lunch. She’s taking the duty bus over from Patch. She should make it for second period.”
“What do you think?” Newsome asked me.
“It’s fine, but I better tell Aaron that I’m not going to be front and center for the chef show.”
A huge smile replaced Newsome’s frown. “I have to admit I’d never heard of your friend but then Chef showed me his YouTube channel and I was hooked. That guy’s amazing.”
“He is,” I said, standing up.
“Our Culinary 2 students are thrilled to have him. They will be in a competition this spring and Aaron’s going to give them a lot of confidence.”
I never thought of Aaron as giving confidence. I wasn’t even sure if he was confident, just incredibly focused on food or Dungeons and Dragons or whatever he was doing.
“I hope so. If nothing else, he’ll probably give them ideas. He’s chock full of them,” I said.
“He barely talks in the videos,” said Meredith.
I laughed and it felt good, a tiny bit of stress disappearing from my chest. Aaron had that effect on me. “He barely talks in real life, except about hot dogs and gaming.”
“Hot dogs?”
“He’s passionate about hot dogs.”
“Why?”
“Beats me,” I said.
Newsome shook my hand and didn’t release it for a moment but not in a creepy way. “I should’ve said right off how sorry I am for what happened to you.”
“Thanks. I appreciate that.”
He patted my hand and said, “Thanks for bringing Aaron with you. The whole school is buzzing about him. It’s a nice distraction.”
“I didn’t bring Aaron. He just comes with me,” I said. “But I’ll tell him how happy you all are.”
“Too bad he doesn’t have time for Culinary 1,” said Jackie. “They’re missing out.”
“Oh, no,” said Hobbes. “Jake is in Culinary 1. I’m glad he’s not in there.”
“I thought Chef was thinking about inviting the first years to a tasting at lunch?” Meredith asked.
“Was she? I didn’t know that,” said Jackie. “We should check with her.”
“We’ll already have Jake in here with us, so it’s okay,” said Hobbes. “Actually, I’m not sure he’d go anyway. He’s been so shut down. I’d be shocked if he knew who Aaron was.”
The thought of Jake put the heavy right back in my chest and I excused myself to go to Culinary. Moe trailed me out, his forehead furrowed. “I hope the meeting with the mother goes well.”
“I’m not sure there is a way for it to go well,” I said.
“But there’s a way for it to go very bad.”
“Aren’t you just a bowl of sunshine?”
“I’ve seen men crack up. It’s not pretty.”
There’s wasn’t a good response to that, so I just walked with my bodyguard through the halls, getting lost twice, until we ended up at the culinary class. I’m not sure how we passed it, but once we got turned back around we could see through a door into a classroom where Grandma was sitting at a desk talking up a storm with five girls who were excitedly pointing at pictures in magazines and at their phones.
I walked in and said, “So what’s all the excitement about?”
Half the class was in there and I got blasted with questions with everything from cosmetic surgery to Chuck. That’s right. They knew about the hot boyfriend. Gen Z doesn’t have much of a filter and they asked all kinds of things I didn’t expect before we got to food. It was a bit of a battle, to be honest.
“Are you excited about cooking with Aaron?” I asked.
Another furious blast of questions came at me and it was all I could do not to duck. Seriously, I’m not kidding.
“Does he ever talk a lot?”
“Why does he smell like hot dogs?”
“Did you ever go out? Because that would be weird.”
Yes, it would.
“Does he make mochi for you like all the time?”
“Can Aaron make those hand-pulled noodles like they do them in Asia?”
“Would he do that today?”
“I want to learn that. It’s so crazy.”
“Can you ask him? He’ll do it if you ask.”
I looked at Grandma and she said, “They’re excited. It’s not often you have a celebrity chef in the house.”
“Aaron’s a celebrity chef?” I asked.
That caused an eruption of epic proportions. Didn’t I know who my friend was? Apparently not, but in my defense it was freaking Aaron. He never talked about himself, even when I asked. I was lucky to know he had sisters. Who they were remained a mystery.
I held up my hands. “I will ask him about the noodle thing.”
“Now?” asked a girl named Madison. There seemed to be an inordinate amount of Madisons in Gen Z.
“Sure. Now, do you want to do it or just get a demo.”
“Do you think he really knows how?” one of the two boys asked. “I heard it takes years to master.”
“It’s Aaron, so I would guess he does.” I turned around, looking for the kitchen.
One of the two Madisons in the room came over and said, “You can go through that door there right into the kitchen prep area or go out in the hall and go in the other door to the pantry area.”
“Prep area it is.” I vamoosed as fast as possible before they asked about cheese making or my favorite mascara. They’d proven to be interested and unfocused at the same time.
I walked through the door into a kitchen that surprised me. Tons of stainless steel, very industrial, and well-appointed. I wished I’d had culinary in high school. Home economics on an ancient Sunbeam stove just didn’t compare.
And there was my little partner holding court, if you want to call it that, at a giant island. One half was stove and the other prep. About ten students were chopping veggies and three were working at the burners, whisking, tasting, and salting in a concert of creativity. Aaron was talking and it made my eyes mist. Compliments, directions, and criticism came quietly and often all in the same breath.
“Aaron,” said a girl, bending over a stockpot. “I think it needs something.”
He leaned over and sniffed. After a second, and without tasting, he said, “Saffron. Mercy?”
“I’ll get it,” I said automatically as I did when we were cooking in my apartment or the mansion or Kronos. I use the term we loosely by any standard. My knife skills were decent, but how you could sniff a need for saffron was beyond me.
Aaron looked up because I hadn’t moved, his glasses steamed, and I did an about-face to go toward where one of the Madisons had said the pantry was. I didn’t get far. Only to the edge of the island where the dicing and slicing was fast and a little bit worrying. There were so many young fingers and a lot of sharp flashing steel.
He saw me first, a boy in the doorway, his arms filled with stacks of bowls, each stuffed full of produce, spices, and tools. I felt his eyes before mine left the bowls with spices. I’d been wondering if there was saffron in there. I never found out because I looked up to ask and the face from the café’s window stared at me with much the same expression as it had then. I didn’t move. I was afraid to. His face was so pained. So tight in its struggle that even breathing seemed a dangerous thing to do.
Jake Purcell’s eyes slid to the left. There was a counter with piles of bowls, cutting boards, and multiple knives caked with veg and bloody bits of meat.
“Don’t,” I whispered, and it was a mistake.
He dropped his burden in a spectacular crash and darted out of sight. It happened so fast I wasn’t sure that he didn’t grab a knife as he spun around. He could’ve. There were plenty to choose from.
“Moe!” I screamed as I ran through the mess to the other door and slid into the hall on rolling peppercorns and shards of glass. I banged my cast on the door jamb and pain jolted up my arm.
Moe came running as I slipped around. “What? What?”
“Jake!” I pointed down the hall at the boy running toward the office.
Moe took off. I cleared the debris as Grandma yelled, “Mercy!” But I was gone, running down that long empty hall, hoping to God someone would stop him and if they did, no one got hurt in the attempt.
But no one turned up, Jake banged out of the front bank of doors, sprinting with long legs. Neither of us could match him and when we burst out of the doors, we found the quad area between the schools empty.
“Where’d he go?” I asked. “Did you see?”
Moe grabbed my arm. “He turned right. Parking lot.”
We ran for the lot that was completely filled and devoid of people. The area was fenced in with the extra measure of razor wire on top. Jake couldn’t go running off into the woods or something. He must’ve run toward the road.
I ran for it, looking through the rows of cars with Moe panting beside me.
There was a sturdy guardrail at the edge of the lot and I slammed into it to lean over and look for Jake running under the overpass, but he wasn’t there. He was fast, but not that fast. He couldn’t have cleared the parking lot that quickly. Of course, he couldn’t.
“He’s…still here,” I said to Moe, who nodded.
We started to work our way through the cars to see where he was hiding when an engine roared to life. A newish Volvo station wagon backed out of a spot and was jammed into drive. Jake floored it to race down the row of cars.
“Come on!” Moe was at our car and backed out before I got there.
I threw myself in and he hit the gas. “Don’t have an accident!”
“Do you want to catch him or not?”
“Yes!”
“Buckle up!”
We left tire marks at the end of the parking lot and raced under the overpass.
“There he is!”
The Volvo narrowly missed a minivan and made a wide turn, bumping up on the sidewalk next to the bowling alley.
“Where the hell is he going?” I asked.
“The other gate,” said Moe.
“There’s another gate?”
Moe did a better turn than Jake and we saw him barreling down a short stretch, bypassing cars coming toward us and rolling up on the sidewalk to pass others on our side. He was getting through. It didn’t seem like he could, but somehow he did and we were right behind.
“They’ll stop him at the gate, ri—” I screamed as Jake sideswiped a car and nearly hit a woman on the sidewalk.
“No,” said Moe. “They won’t.”
They didn’t. We raced past a small commissary and over a little hump in the road. Jake had taken the sharp left turn at too great a speed. The guards dove for cover and were on the cobbles. Jake took out a pillar of the tent structure that was erected over the small gate and hit a second car that was coming in. The structure groaned and began to topple forward toward us.
“Go!” I yelled. “We’ll lose him.”
Moe got us under the falling tent and to the main road so fast I didn’t blink. Jake had left a trail of destruction behind him, sideswiping a car that had been turning into the gate and a fender bender in the other direction. Moe drove us around the mess and yelling drivers to get behind the Volvo that was gaining speed.
“I have to call someone,” I yelled. “Who do I call? Who do I call?”
“You’re asking me?” asked Moe. “I’ve never called the authorities in my life. I’m the reason people call the authorities.”
“Not helpful!”
“Driving!”
“MPs or Polizei? MPs or Polizei?”
“Koch!”
I patted myself down. No purse, but my phone was wedged in the seat under my butt. “Where is the damn traffic? There’s always traffic!”
“Clear today,” said Moe as we merged onto the A81 without incident and started working through the lanes and cars with a brisk efficiency I recognized.
“Did you learn from my dad?” I asked.
Moe smiled, his bulging eyes trained on the road. “He learned from me. You gotta get fast to catch Moe Licata.”
“Did he?”
“Close, but no banana.”
That was a good description of the Volvo. We couldn’t quite get to him. The boy could drive. I called Koch. The Polizei could cut him off. They were known for efficiency.
“Hallo,” said Koch in a breezy way that I was about to banish.
“We’re chasing Jake Purcell!”
“Mercy?”
“Who else would call you about chasing people?”
Koch stammered and then asked what was happening. I told him, using as few words as possible. Not enough as it turned out.
“Who is Jake Purcell?”
“The kid from the café. He’s suicidal. I think he is. I don’t know.”
“Scheiße!”
“I know. Send somebody. We’re on the A81,” I said.
“Let him go!”
“I can’t let him go. He might have a knife or hurt himself.”
“You’ll have an accident!” Koch yelled.
Moe shook his head. “We’re not having an accident and the kid is doing okay.”
“We’re okay,” I said. “And Jake isn’t doing badly.”
“Where’s he going?” Koch asked.
“How the hell should I know?”
“Why did he run?”
“He saw me at the high school,” I said.
“And he ran? What did you do?”
I felt like throwing the phone out the window for all the help Koch was being. “I frigging stood there and he ran. Send somebody to slow him down.”
“I’m coming,” said Koch.
“Where are you?”
“Stuttgart Süd.”
“Is that close?”
“Close enough.” A car engine roared to life and Koch yelled to someone, “Get in!”
“Mercy,” said Moe. “He’s slowing down.”
I told Koch and he asked where we were.
“Passing Vaihingen,” I said.
“He’s going to exit,” said Koch. “Probably at the university.”
“How do you know?”
“There’s an easy access overpass.”
I went ice cold and turned to Moe. “He’s getting off at the University so he can jump off the overpass.”
“No,” said Moe and he put on speed.
“I’m coming,” said Koch and he hung up.
I dropped the phone and gripped the dash. “Maybe this is the wrong thing? He’s terrified.”
“We’re committed,” said Moe. “And he was already terrified.”
Please help us.
The Volvo exited right where Koch said it would, but there was some traffic that Jake couldn’t get around. We were one car behind bumper-to-bumper with a BMW that wasn’t too happy with us. Cars were passing on the overpass. The cars in front of Jake weren’t moving.
“He’s going to run for it,” I said.
“Wait!” yelled Moe, but I was out, running up the ramp. Jake was out of the Volvo before I cleared the BMW. He got to the half-moon of pavement above the highway and grabbed the railing.
I stopped where the curve began and touched the railing with the fingers sticking out of my cast. I needed it to steady myself, but I couldn’t get a grip while I hoped to God inspiration would strike and I would find the words to make a seventeen-year-old boy not jump off a bridge.
Horns were honking. People were yelling. Traffic came to a stop under the overpass. Drivers got out, waving and shouting to Jake as he sobbed so hard his body was quaking with the spasms. He didn’t look at me, but he knew I was there. I could feel it and somehow I think that gave him pause. Me. My presence. Maybe it was just another person being on the bridge, but I didn’t think so.
“Please don’t,” I said. In the end, the words just came with no thought or planning at all. I was guided. By whom, I couldn’t say.
“You don’t know,” said Jake without looking at me and the wind kicked up, making the loose legs of his jeans flap around his thin legs. We were both shaking. I couldn’t tell if it was cold or the fright, but I almost thought I would be pitched off that bridge right along with Jake should he choose to go.
“It wasn’t your fault,” I said.
He put a foot on the lowest rung of the guard rail and swung the other leg over. “It was.”
“I forgive you!”
Jake stopped mid-movement and looked at me, his face full of surprise and denial. “You can’t.”
“I certainly can, Jake,” I said, wanting to edge closer but knowing it was a bad idea. “Don’t forget I was the one in that trunk, so I get to choose, don’t I?”
He swallowed hard and I watched the Adam’s apple in his throat bob up and down. It made him look so delicate, so fragile. “Why?” he asked.
“Why do I forgive?”
“Yeah.”
Several Polizei arrived from the direction of the university and stopped, cutting off all cars and getting out to approach us. I held out a hand and to my surprise, they froze.
“Because I know what really happened now. It’s bigger than me or you or even Madison. Much bigger,” I said.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” said Jake and he shifted his weight forward, just an inch, but it was enough to send my heart rate through the roof.
“Let me tell you then. I just found it all out and I will tell you everything I know,” I said. “I won’t lie or hold anything back.”
“I already know,” he said, and a fresh wave of tears coursed down his face.
“You don’t. You couldn’t, unless you’ve got serious hacking skills. Do you?”
Jake came back an inch and I could see the officers beyond him take a breath and say something in their walkies.
“You have a hacker?”
“Several, actually, and they found out things even Madison doesn’t know,” I said. “Let me tell you about it.”
“Tell me now.”
Crap on a cracker.
“The money wasn’t lost. It was stolen.” Because I had to say something, I said, “We can get it back.”
“Mr. Thooft is still dead,” said Jake.
Did we have to go there?
“Kimberly will forgive you,” I said.
“Who?”
“Anton’s sister. She wants to know everything and only you can tell her. Surely you can do that for her. She’s such a nice person.”
“Mr. Thooft was a nice person,” said Jake with renewed sobbing.
“It wasn’t your fault, but you can still tell her you’re sorry,” I said. “That’s important. You’re sorry for what happened to me, aren’t you?”
He nodded but couldn’t speak.
“You should tell her and your mom.”
Jake jolted forward at the mention of his mother and tipped forward. A blast of screams came up from below us. “I can’t.”
He was going. It was happening.
“Death can’t make amends. Only life can do that,” I said.
“I can’t tell her.” He went up on the ball of his foot and was so precarious a stiff wind could’ve taken him over.
“I’ll do it. I’ll tell her and make her understand. Then we’ll get the money back.” I wasn’t sure about the money, but at that point, I would’ve said just about anything.
“Madison said it was gone. My mom’s retirement. Everything our dad left us.”
“It’s not and we know who has it.”
Jake focused back on me. “Who?”
“Madison’s boyfriend. He used her and stole that money. His name is Sebastian Nadelbaum and he’s on a train to Paris right now. We’re going to catch him. Please come down and help us.”
Just for a second, I thought he was going to go anyway, but then Jake Purcell made the other choice and swung his leg back over the railing. A cheer went up and I ran over wrapping my arms around his thin, shaking body.
“Thank God. Thank God,” I said.
“Why do you care?” Jake whispered.
“I couldn’t live with it.”
He hugged me back and softly said, “I don’t know if I can. It’s my fault about Mr. Thooft. I told my sister his secret. I did it and now he’s dead.”