Confessions: The Private School Murders (40 page)

“ ‘My darling son,’ ”
Jacob read. “ ‘I am still laughing at your delight in French pastries and small, silly dogs. My pampered life must seem so frivolous to you, and yet you seem to enjoy it. I must thank you again for the wonderful photos of you and your dear family. You have much to be proud of: a promotion and so many accomplishments at such a young age, and for being such a good son, brother, and soldier. I love you, Jacob, and could not be happier for you.

“ ‘Obviously, I’m writing to you to formalize our discussion of yesterday regarding my bequests to my heirs.’ ”

Jacob stopped reading and said, “If I may summarize here, your parents received the infamous one hundred
dollars, Peter got his inheritance in advance to start Angel Pharmaceuticals, and Hilda put my inheritance in a bank in Zurich. And now she goes on to speak of future grandchildren.”

“ ‘As we discussed, I cannot spend all that my dear Max left to me, if I live for a hundred years. Given my condition, the general unpredictability of life, and the likelihood of Maud bearing children, I have set up a trust fund.

“ ‘I’m appointing you executor of this fund, Jacob, because I trust you and because you already have the wisdom of a man twice your age.

“ ‘I am leaving my beloved town house in Paris to my grandchildren, with one condition. They must visit the house and decide whether they wish to keep it or sell it. Their decision must be unanimous.

“ ‘The trust fund to be divided by my grandchildren will mature twenty-five years after my death. The legal documents and account number are in your safe-deposit vault.

“ ‘Jacob, dear, I have few regrets in this world, but one of them is that I wasn’t with you for all your special childhood moments. But then, we have had our unforgettable, even luminous summers, a priceless treasure. Even though you only left yesterday, my house feels empty because you are gone.

“ ‘My love, as always, goes with you.

“ ‘Your mother, Hilda.’ ”

Jacob carefully returned the letter to the leather envelope. Then he looked at us.

“That day she speaks of. Well, it was a marvelous day,” he said, his voice cracking. “Not just the poodles and the éclairs, but we walked around the streets of Paris and laughed and reminisced about many things. It was the last time I saw her.

“She died a few months later of a heart attack at the age of seventy. That was twenty-five years ago today. The four of you are her only grandchildren. And, Tandy, now I can tell you why we’re on this ship and where we’re going.

“We’re going to see your grandmother’s house in Paris. It’s on the Right Bank in the Sixteenth Arrondissement. I would say that this area is comparable to the Upper East Side, but with wide boulevards and beautiful gardens and not far from the Arc de Triomphe. You could not pick a better home in Paris.”

I stared at Jacob, stunned. No one moved. No one spoke. No one breathed.

And then, all at once, everyone started talking.

“We’re moving to Paris?”

“How much money are we talking about here?”

“What about C.P.?”

“How much money, Uncle Jacob?” Hugo shouted.

Silence reigned. Jacob smirked.

“We’ll let the bankers and accountants work that out, okay, young man?” he said. “But it will be a lot. It will be quite a lot.”

Talk about surprises. Talk about one door closing with the force of a sonic boom and another opening as wide and as welcoming as angels’ wings. Screw Royal Rampling and his threats, his broken promises. The Angel family was going to be just fine.

That night we all trooped to the stern of the imposing
Queen Mary 2
. I unhooked the keys to apartment 9G in the Dakota from my grandfather’s key chain, and my siblings took their keys in hand.

With the wind whipping our hair into our eyes, we tossed our keys into the churning wake and said good-bye to the only home most of us had ever known.

91

Beautiful morning light
streamed through the glass doors of my room. I was enjoying the distant hum of the engines, thinking about my gram Hilda, formerly characterized as fierce and mean but now clearly our savior, when there was a knock on my door.

I called out, “Who is it?”

“It’s Jacob.”

I put on some sweats and went to the door. Jacob said, “Is this a bad time? I can come back.”

“No, no, please come in.”

I sat cross-legged on my bed as Jacob dragged over a desk chair.

“I want to talk to you privately,” he said.

He had another envelope in his hand, this one plain paper with the
QM2
logo in the corner.

“Another surprise?” I asked.

“Tandy, transatlantic crossings used to be called passages, and I think that, more than for your brothers, this trip can be a life-changing passage for you,” he said.

I drew my legs in closer, keeping an eye on the envelope. “I’m intrigued.”

“Three days ago, you were almost killed. You rescued your brother from a very probable life sentence, and you found a decomposing body in the Dakota, along with innumerable poisonous creatures. The months before I arrived were apparently rife with death and betrayal, and I’m pretty sure your first fifteen years weren’t exactly merry.”

“Merry?” I said with a laugh. “What does that word even mean?”

Jacob nodded, then went on.

“This ocean voyage is an opportunity for you to relax. I hope you will rest and heal, and that you will take pleasure in spending time with your brothers. You may never have an opportunity like this one again.”

I felt tears pooling in my eyes. I never in my life had heard my parents use the words
relax
or
heal
.

“Go to the spa every day. Get your hair done, have massages.
Swim. Go dancing. Savor your meals. And sleep, Tandy. Sleep a lot. If anyone is found dead on this ship…”

I started to laugh. For a couple of minutes, I couldn’t stop.

“Here’s my advice, girl detective,” said my good uncle, his eyes twinkling. “If someone dies on this ship, don’t interfere. Stay out of it. Do you understand me?”

“Yes, Uncle Jacob,” I said. “I understand.”

“Good.” He grinned. “Now I have something for you.” He tapped the envelope against his knee. “It’s an e-mail from someone you want to hear from, or at least, you did. Now it’s up to you.”

He handed me the envelope, and I tore clumsily at the flap until I’d ripped it open. I took out a sheet of paper, a printout of an e-mail, and saw Jacob’s name at the top.

Just below that, I saw the subject line:
For Tandoori Angel, Suite #9,023.

My eyes dropped to the signature.

My heart started slamming against my rib cage before my brain even recognized his name. But I knew.

I knew I was holding a letter from James.

92

Uncle Jacob rose to his feet.
I dragged my eyes away from the paper in my hands.

“How did you get this?”

“I have connections, Tandy. And I used them.” He smiled. “I’ll leave you to your letter.”

“Wait.” I jumped up and hugged Jacob with all my might. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.” Then he kissed the top of my head, and as I turned, I heard the door close. I sat down on the bed again and read the message from James.

Dear Tandy,

I can hardly believe I’m writing to you with the
confidence that you will actually receive this. For the last six months I’ve been at the Collège Belvédère du Pic, a boarding school in the Swiss Alps. When I say “in” the Alps, I mean at the pinnacle of the Alps, and although it’s the most expensive boarding school in all of Europe, it’s more like a prison. Leaving has always been out of the question, and there’s no way to communicate with the outside world without going through the headmaster.

Two months ago, I escaped and found out fast that I didn’t have the skills or the gear to survive the climb down this mountain. I was captured within hours, in a whiteout that should have buried me alive. I didn’t even manage to clear the shadow of the school, that’s how ill equipped I was to escape.

When my saintly father found out what I’d done, he threatened to have me charged with kidnapping you to East Hampton last year. He said he would testify against me.

He wasn’t kidding.

I’m going to spare you the rest of his threats, but let’s just say I knew I had to give up. So I’ve just been trapped in this mountain jail, worrying about what happened to you, wondering if you’re all right, and wishing I could talk to you, see you, hold you again.

Then, two days ago, I was driven to the Swiss border and released without explanation. The driver just handed me a letter and left me there. The letter was from Jacob Perlman, and there was a wad of cash inside.

He told me some of what was done to you, and I’m so sorry, Tandy. If I’d known what would happen, I would have found a way to protect you. We knew our parents wouldn’t like it, but I honestly had no idea what kind of torture they were capable of.

I’m writing this from the only Internet café for eighty miles in any direction, including up and down. I’ll make my way to Paris, by train, by thumb, by foot, and I’ll wait for you to arrive no matter how long it takes.

I want you to know that I love you as much as I did the last time I saw you. I’ll meet you at the Carrousel du Louvre near La Pyramide Inversée in Paris on Saturday. At 12 noon, if that works for you. God, I just can’t wait to see you again.

I read the letter again, then a third time, then a fourth. This couldn’t be real. In a few short days, I was going to see James? Actually see him, touch him, kiss him?

Yes.

I fell back onto my bed, clutching the letter, and wondered if the sheer brute force of anticipation had ever actually
killed
anyone.

Because it felt just possible that I might die from the excitement that overwhelmed me right then.

CONFESSION