“Daniel bought it for me to celebrate my finally getting my French passport,” she says. “I’m a dual citizen now, but, mon dieu, did it take a long time.”
“I had no idea you were doing that.”
She reaches around me and seizes the passport holder, her movements fluid and graceful. I catch a glimpse of her manicured nails, painted a subtle ballet pink. “Oh, I submitted everything about a year ago and simply forgot all about it. You know the French, with their paperwork.” Her laugh tinkles like crystal. “It’s been a little dream of ours to spend more time in Provence, and everything is so much easier when you’re a citizen. You know how it is.”
I nod, though I don’t. Miguel and I haven’t been out of the country in years, not since Zach started college. Our passports gather dust in a drawer while our savings account dwindles with each of Zach’s tuition payments.
“What’s going on? Daniel said you wanted to see me.” Jo walks to a wide drawer and pulls out two glasses, the movement practiced and precise. “Lemonade? Sparkling water? I have a bottle of rosé open in the fridge.”
“Plain water is fine.”
Jo goes to the fridge and fills two glasses from the filter. “Olives? Cheese?” she offers, playing the perfect hostess. I recognize her constant motion now for what it is—an evasion tactic, a dance to keep distance between us and the truth.
“I’m fine. Let’s sit. We need to talk.” My heart hammers against my ribs.
“Oh?” She raises one sculptured eyebrow, the only part of her forehead that seems capable of movement. “That sounds serious.”
“It is.”
I walk over to the table and pull out a chair. From here I can see the two other full dining room sets Jo has in her house—the formal one in the dining room under a crystal chandelier, and the long teak table and benches on her patio, visible through the floor-to-ceiling windows. I count absently, realizing there’s a ratio of six dining chairs for each member of the household. The excess makes me dizzy. Will she buy three more sets for her house in Provence?
Jo places the glass of water on a coaster in front of me, the movement deliberate, controlled. “Is everything all right, Caren? It’s not your head, is it? I know a terrific neurologist. Dr. Freeman at Sibley.”
“No, it’s not my head.” I look directly into her eyes, searching for humanity behind the perfect mask. “It’s about Van.”
The change is immediate in Jo. She stiffens, her spine straightening as though someone has yanked an invisible stringattached to her crown. Her chin lifts a fraction, her shoulders pull back. It’s the posture of someone preparing for battle, a general surveying the field before the first arrow flies.
“I see.” Her voice is cool, devoid of emotion. “What about Van?”
I take a sip of water to steady myself. “As you know, I run the yard sale with Kenya every year.” I pause, watching her face for any reaction, any crack in her façade. Does she know where I am going with this? That I am about to accuse her precious Van of being a thief? But Jo’s expression remains as placid as the still waters of a lake. No ripples of doubt, no creases of concern. Of course, it could just be the Botox. “Well, it’s come to my attention that one of the items we posted online was stolen. And it’s also come to my attention that Van was, well, he was breaking into homes two years ago.” I hold up a hand. “Please don’t deny it. I’m not here to get him in trouble.”
Her lips quiver slightly, as though she might smile, but she doesn’t. “Sounds like you know everything.”
“So he did steal that bracelet.”
A small nod. “Satisfied? You must be thrilled to learn that Rachel is not the only teenager who has had problems.” Her fingers tap once, twice against the table’s surface before she stills them. “You must be loving this.”
I lean forward. “I’m not here to judge you or Van.”
“Then why are you here?”
It’s a good question. I’m here because I want to know if Rachel was with him on these escapades. Rachel said no, and her calendar seems to back that up. But Yumi said yes. “I know someone was with him,” I say. “I want to know who.”
Jo brings her glass of water to her lips, and I see it—theslight tremor in her hand, making the water ripple against the crystal. There are some places on this woman’s body that Botox can’t reach. After she replaces the glass, she looks me in the eye, her gaze hard as flint.
“Why does that matter?”
“I think you know why.” My heart pounds so loudly I wonder if she can hear it.
“Actually, I don’t.”
“Was it Rachel who was with him when he broke into those houses?”
Her eyebrows shoot up. “Rachel? Is that what this is about?” She lets out a sharp laugh. “Good lord, no. You really have no idea what your daughter gets up to, do you?”
I’m so relieved by her authentic reaction to the idea that Rachel was involved that I let the insult slide. Whoever it was, it was not my daughter. Maybe Yumi saw another girl with Van that night—it could easily have been Eloïse. They’re the same height and build, with long brown hair. Yes, that was it. Two Allard siblings getting into trouble. No wonder Jo is so tense. Yumi didn’t lie to me, she was just mistaken.
“Anything else?” Jo asks. “I really have to get back to packing.”