left her drained. But most of her anger had been directed at her father. He had concealed evidence. Not much. A tiny clue. And yet, evidence all the same.
Adele stared at the back of the headrest in front of her. Part of her felt in order to justify her level of frustration with her father, she needed to make something of the clue. Candies.
But what?
She watched as an airline attendant moved between the seats, pushing a drinks trolley. Adele’s own plastic cup of ice sat, melting and condensing on her folded tray table.
She had kicked off her shoes, which were tucked beneath the seat in front of her. Her toes pressed through her socks against the rough carpet of the airplane floor. She leaned back, closing her own eyes, thinking.
Candies. Something about candies.
Adele thought back to France. She thought back to her childhood. Her mother had used to call her Cara. A pet name. Nothing much.
Candies.
It had to mean something. She thought the candy was poisoned. Or someone had switched candies. It didn’t make sense.
Switched. Adele went very still.
Candies. Switched. Funny? Someone was switching the notes. Funny?
Candies. Switching. Funny?
Adele’s eyes widened.
Her mother’s favorite candies, Carambars. They would always stop at the same shop on Adele’s walk home from school with her mother. They would pick up the Carambars, unwrap them, and read the jokes written on the notes inside. One of the fondest memories Adele possessed.
The candies were fine, but it was the jokes on the wrappers that were most the enjoyment. Adele felt a slow trickle of realization settle on her.
Someone was switching the notes. Candies.
What if someone had been switching the wrappers of the Carambars? Writing their own notes on the candies? What if someone had been stalking Adele’s mother, and had used her pattern of buying those candy bars as a way to communicate with her?
Adele gripped her tray now, her fingers pressing white against the gray plastic.
It wouldn’t have been the postman then. It couldn’t have been. No, they picked the candies up from the small corner store.
A store Adele knew; it was still owned and operated by the same older gentleman. She had visited the store just two weeks before for her first groceries in the area. Not only had she gotten an apartment in their old building, but some of the same habits had returned too. Her old school was still nearby. The jogging trails her mother had used were nearby. And the small corner grocery store that sold them the Carambars was nearby.
Adele stared at the back of the headrest, her pulse quickening, her fingers clenched against her seat. Now, all sensation of peace, gratitude at their moment suspended in the sky with nowhere to go and nothing to do, receded, fading in the face of the inevitable weight between the start of their journey and the inevitable landing.
They couldn’t land quick enough.
CHAPTER TWENTY SEVEN
Back in Paris. Feet on the ground. She had lied to John when he’d offered her a ride home. Somehow, she hadn’t wanted him with her for this.
Her holster was on her hip, tucked beneath her jacket, her gun unclipped. Easy to access. If she needed it, it would be there.
She strolled with purposeful steps, leaving the taxi behind her, out front of her apartment. She paid extra for him to wait. She hadn’t even gathered her luggage.
The taxi had seen her credentials, and she doubted the man would steal any of her stuff. Besides, she needed to make a stop. She strolled along the corner, down the sidewalk, moving past one bus stop, a second. A newsstand, a glass display with different ads for the movies playing in the theaters nearby.
But Adele ignored all of it, her eyes focused, her movements quick. She hastened along the sidewalk, turned the corner. She spotted the small grocery store at the very end of the section of sidewalk. Beyond, through the glimpse of trees on the other edge of the park, she could just see the first tower of the private school she’d gone to.
Elise had made sure her daughter had the best education possible, despite the difficulty of their situation.
Her pace quickened, her eyes fixed on the grocery store.
Gobert’s. White letters along a green awning drooped over the windows. Items were crowded on the shelves inside. She had stopped here many times before. They always carried Carambars.
Her pace quickened, and she moved toward the door. She knew the grocery store owner. An older man. No wife, no kids. Not fair,