Fleur De Lies(93)

            Bobbi pulled a face. “That’s not a lily. It’s an amaryllis.”

            “I think it looks like a snapdragon,” said Dawna.

            Cal grinned. “I’d give you iris or orchid, but snapdragon? Have you ever seen a snapdragon?”

            “Shoot,” jeered Bobbi. “Dawna doesn’t know the difference between a tulip and a tea rose. She probably just likes to say the word ‘snapdragon’ out loud. Ya know? Kinda like Krystal used to like to say ‘snakeskin.’”

            I tossed the Jollys a questioning look. “You’re not aware of any metalsmiths in the family?”

            Cal shrugged. “Beats me. Dad?”

            “How the devil should I know? And when would I have time to find out? Hell, I work full time.”

            “Then it might surprise you to learn that, prior to World War II, a metalsmith living in Solange Ducat’s village fabricated a ring that’s an exact replica of yours, right down to the broken petal. And the really weird thing is, he’s reputed to have made only one. So the only way it could have gotten into your hands is if the metalsmith had placed it there himself, and that’s kind of impossible, because according to the story Madeleine Saint-Sauveur told us on our home visit, he was one of the Resistance fighters who went missing after the failed mission at Pointe du Hoc. He and his ring disappeared from the face of the earth and have never been seen again. Until now.”

            Color leached from Woody’s face. He froze in place, eyes fixed, mouth rigid.

            “There’s obviously a simple explanation,” said Cal. “Tell her what it is, Dad.”

            Woody seemed unable to breathe. He bowed his head and gripped his hands together to ease a sudden tremor.

            Jackie slanted a look at him. “Is he okay?”

            “Dad?” Cal gripped his father’s shoulder and shook gently. “What’s wrong? C’mon, Dad, you’re scaring me.”

            “Are you suggesting that Mr. Jolly could be the same man who undertook the mission to Pointe du Hoc?” Virginia asked me. “Do you know what you’re saying? Because I heard Mrs. Saint-Sauveur as well as you did. If he was the man who lived through the mission, that would mean he’s the man the Nazis allowed to escape because he was collaborating with them. Are you accusing Mr. Jolly of being the traitor who sold out his village to the Nazis?”

            “I’d like to go back to my cabin now,” said Woody in a halting voice. “I … I’m not really hungry.”

            “Geez, Dad, will you say something? Tell them this is all a bunch of bull. Tell me it’s all a bunch of bull!”

            “I’m sorry, Cal.” Woody’s eyes welled with tears. “I’m … I’m so sor—”

            “Ehhh!” shrieked Virginia, pulling the oxygen tubing away from Victor’s face as a torrent of blood began spewing from his nose. Jackie whipped her napkin off her lap and pressed it against his nostrils.

            “Gimme your napkins! This is just like Krystal’s.”

            And we all knew what had happened to Krystal.





                     sixteen

            “Do you believe me now? First Krystal, now Victor? Aren’t you sorry for calling me paranoid?”

            “I never called you paranoid.”

            “Maybe not. But you were thinking it.”

            The ambulance transporting Victor and Virginia to the hospital had departed well over three hours ago. Normally, the restaurant manager wouldn’t have called emergency services for a mere nosebleed, but after we beat him over the head with the fact that another guest at our table had died after suffering a similar nosebleed two days ago, he succumbed to our pleas and relented. He could see for himself that Victor’s was no ordinary nosebleed.