The Trust_ A Secret Society Novel Part 13

"This is Kurt," Thad said, introducing the cute guy. "His parents are professors at Princeton. He's just in the city for the night. We're going to grab a nightcap somewhere. You want to join us?"

Lauren shook her head. "I think I'd better be getting home."

"Let us walk you home," Thad said.

"I'm fine," Lauren said. "I think I just want to enjoy the evening. Being out in the snow reminds me of when I was a little kid."

Thad nodded. "You sure?"

"You go ahead."

As Lauren bundled her coat and scarf around her, Claire walked by her. "Lauren, you can't possibly be going home alone."

Lauren looked up. "Yes, Claire, I am. Do you have a problem with that?"

"Oh, no," Claire said as she surrept.i.tiously plucked a cigarette from the pocket of her coat while nervously watching the steps, probably to make sure her parents couldn't see her. "I just always imagine you surrounded by tons of boys. Like last semester."

Lauren paused. Claire was so annoying, and so rude, and it stung, hurt like a fall on the icy sidewalk. She knew it shouldn't affect her, as Claire was everything she didn't want to be. Lauren composed herself after a moment, cinching the belt on her overcoat and facing in the direction of Park Avenue. She knew she shouldn't say what she was about to say, but she had taken enough from Claire, and she didn't care if her mother was their decorator.

"That's funny, Claire," she said over her shoulder. "Because I always imagine you rotting and alone."

Chapter Thirty-Six.

The next morning was Valentine's Day, and Patch woke up early. Unlike the others, he hadn't been drinking champagne the night before, since he was working, at least until the necklace debacle. He had been excited about the DJ gig, and even though Claire had been a complete pill, he was disappointed he hadn't been given the chance to finish off his set list. He'd also wanted to impress Lia with his taste and skill.

Patch padded into the kitchen, and as usual, Genie was already up, doing the Sunday Times Times crossword puzzle. crossword puzzle.

"I hear you had quite a night," she said.

"How do you know that?"

She held up a copy of the Daily News Daily News. "Freddy downstairs gave me his," she said, referring to the doorman on the early Sunday morning shift.

The headline on the cover read: "Oh, G.o.ddess! Ancient Jewels Heisted at Socialite Ball." Inside, the story recounted all the facts that Patch already knew from having been there himself. There hadn't been much time for actual a.n.a.lysis; that would come online and in the later editions of the paper.

In the Daily News Daily News spread, there was a close-up of the original necklace, a file photo provided by the museum. spread, there was a close-up of the original necklace, a file photo provided by the museum.

"I think you should see this," Genie said. She held up an old, yellowed news clipping from W W magazine, one Patch hadn't seen before. It was similar to the photo that had been in the magazine, one Patch hadn't seen before. It was similar to the photo that had been in the Times Times nearly twenty years ago, of his mother at the last Dendur Ball, but this one was a close-up. nearly twenty years ago, of his mother at the last Dendur Ball, but this one was a close-up.

His mother was wearing a necklace that looked like the Scarab of Isis. The caption noted that she was wearing a rare replica of the necklace. The original had been on loan to the museum and was being shown in New York for the very first time.

"They made replicas for everyone twenty years ago as well?" Patch asked.

"No, no, that wasn't it," Genie said. "Far be it from Esme to do something that wasn't unique. She's wearing something that someone gave to me. Well, I suppose you can know. She's wearing something that Palmer gave to me."

"Palmer Bell?"

"Yes, while we were engaged. He had been on a trip to Cairo, and he was very taken with the necklace when he viewed it at the Museum of Egyptian Antiquities. He had a copy made, based on photographs. He gave it to me on the night of our engagement. It may have been a copy, but it was one of a kind."

"And you gave it to my mom?"

"Yes. I had no attachment to it anymore."

Patch wanted to learn more, but he knew better than to pry. Genie would sometimes clam up completely if she thought he was getting too nosy about the past.

"Where is the copy now?" Patch didn't even know why he was asking this, but somehow it seemed important to know about something that belonged, ever so briefly, to his mother.

"Esme smashed it during one of her fits. She said she dumped it in the park."

"Genie, why are you showing this to me? I'm not sure I understand."

She frowned. "There's something suspicious about all of this. All you kids serving on that committee. They make replicas for the girls to wear. And then it's stolen?"

"Are you sure you're not drawing too many conclusions?"

"Do you know anything about that necklace? Do you know what they say about the G.o.ddess Isis?"

Patch shook his head.

"She was one of the most important Egyptian G.o.ddesses, the G.o.ddess of magic, motherhood, and fertility. The ancient Egyptians believed the Nile flooded each year with tears of sorrow for her husband who died, the G.o.d Osiris."

"What does this have to do with the necklace?"

"Only that it's a terribly important artifact. It would be a shame if it were never recovered." She paused. "And that, to me, the necklace is a symbol of grief."

Patch nodded. "Do you think the Society has anything to do with this? I mean, the event last night was overrun with Society members."

"I can't say." She glanced down at her newspaper. "I really should be getting back to my puzzle. If I don't finish it in one go, I never get it done."

Leave it to his grandmother to muddle up his Valentine's Day with a mystery. And Isis? Osiris? Tears of sorrow? What did that have to do with anything?

His phone buzzed with a joking text from Lia:

HAPPY V- V-DAY, s.e.xY. I IF YOU'RE GIVING ME THAT NECKLACE TONIGHT, YOU KNOW I I DON'T REALLY LIKE JEWELRY. DON'T REALLY LIKE JEWELRY.

Patch smiled. He had a big evening planned for the two of them, but first he wanted to try to figure out what had happened last night at the Met.

Chapter Thirty-Seven.

At Nick's apartment, no one could talk of anything but the jewelry heist. The theft was all over the papers, and more information and reports emerged gradually during the day. Upper East Side gossip circles, of which Nick's mother was an integral part, were relishing the scandal, and different and often conflicting accounts of what happened to each guest were traded back and forth like war stories. Some speculated about various guests who were present at the ball; among the suspicious parties were a pair of too-slick, oft-photographed socialites rumored to be the daughters of a Moscow crime boss. Others said the necklace theft could only be the work of Middle Eastern terrorists. One woman claimed that she had spotted a woman walking her pugs down Fifth Avenue and wearing the necklace that morning.

Nick was relieved when he got a text from Patch asking to meet him across the street. They took a walk around the back of the museum, avoiding the police cars that were barricading the inst.i.tution, which had been closed down for the day. The theft was a major one, as the necklace was valued at nine hundred thousand dollars, and the police, museum officials, and insurance investigators had an interest in making sure it was found. The entire incident was also an embarra.s.sment for the museum, which prided itself on its security. In one of the articles Nick had read, the museum's director of security was quoted as saying, "When we as an inst.i.tution start to feel too safe, we're actually the most vulnerable."

As they walked, Patch's breath was visible in the cold air.

"I need to show you something," Nick said. He pulled out the card from the previous night, and Patch read it.

"'Table 1603.' Where'd you get this?"

"It was my escort card from last night. What do you think that means? Do you think it's a clue?"

Patch shrugged. "I don't know what to think anymore. My grandmother has this idea that the whole necklace thing is connected to your grandfather." He told Nick about everything that Genie had said that morning about Palmer's obsession with the necklace, and how he had made a copy of it for Genie.

"That's crazy," Nick said. "My grandfather's still in the hospital. How could he have anything to do with the theft?"

Walking with Patch, in this rare moment of privacy, Nick felt a chill. He had been hiding something from Patch for more than a month now, the secret his father had told him on New Year's Eve. Every day he didn't reveal what he knew, it became more and more awkward to tell his best friend.

That was the thing about secrets: they ate you up inside until there was nothing left, a hollow cadaver of a person. Nick tried to ignore his feelings and not let on what he was thinking, his fear that once again, he would lose Patch's trust. Nick had to believe the information would be revealed at the right time, in a way that wouldn't jeopardize their relationship. But now was definitely not the right time. Nick tried to focus on what was in front of them.

Patch nodded. "I think we should focus on the clue you got last night. I don't think it was a mistake. I mean, it's so far off in terms of numbers; the tables only went to forty or so. There's no way it wasn't meant for you." Patch paused. "Let me try something." Patch pulled out his iPhone.

"What are you doing?" Nick said.

"Well, it might be a combination-which, like your key, really doesn't help us, but it also could be an address."

Patch punched in the numbers 1603 to the map feature on his phone.

"You think it's just going to pop up an address?" Nick asked.

Patch waited until the page had loaded. "It is an address. In Copenhagen."

"Copenhagen?"

"Yup." Patch grinned. "In Denmark."

"Why are you smiling?"

"This is so insane. I mean, Palm Beach is one thing, but they expect us to go to Denmark? Forget about it. We don't even know what we're looking for!"

They had circled around to the south side of the museum, exiting near the Three Bears Playground.

"So you're just going to give up?" Nick asked as they paused on the sidewalk.

"It's not giving up," Patch said. "I think we need to know that some leads are worth following, and others aren't."

"And you've deemed this one to be worthless."

"Keep the numbers, Nick. The answer will come. I have a feeling it's closer than we think."

The police cars were still swarmed in front of the Met, and the two boys kept a wide berth to avoid getting caught up in the melee.

"I've got to go," Patch said. "Date tonight."

Nick nodded. He would be seeing Phoebe, too, but something about trying to celebrate a trivial holiday with her felt lifeless and dull. Until he could figure out what his grandfather had been trying to tell them, that would be his real pa.s.sion.

Nick touched the key that was around his neck, the key he had been guarding. Never before had he felt so close to an answer, yet also so far away.

Chapter Thirty-Eight.

That evening Patch rushed to the corner of 59th Street and Fifth Avenue, where he had asked Lia to meet him for the Valentine's Day he had planned. He cursed himself for running late when he saw her standing at the corner where all the horse-drawn carriages and their drivers congregated. She was ignoring the tourists and tacky souvenir stands and looked mildly annoyed, as if she had expected something more exotic from Patch on Valentine's Day, like a concert downtown or pa.s.ses to a speakeasy club on the Bowery.

After greeting Lia with a kiss, Patch walked up to one of the drivers, a scruffy guy in a thick flannel coat, whom he recognized from a ride he had taken a few days ago. On Thursday afternoon, he had talked to a few different drivers, finally meeting one who agreed to help him out.

"Come on," Patch said to Lia, motioning her over. "Meet Chester."

Lia looked up at the horse, a gold and cream palomino. "You're joking," she said. "Are we really?"

Patch nodded. "Yup. Get on up."

Lia laughed. "I can't believe this."

"Oh, it gets better."

He handed an envelope to the driver. In it was two hundred dollars in cash, much more than the cost of a ride through Central Park.

"Kid, if anyone says anything, you're taking the blame for this, you got it?" the driver said.

"I understand," Patch said.

"Wait, I I don't get it," Lia said. "What's going on?" don't get it," Lia said. "What's going on?"

Patch climbed up into the driver's seat and motioned for Lia to sit next to him. The driver got out of the carriage and gestured for Patch to get going before anyone noticed.

"Where are we headed?" Lia asked.

"We're going to see a bit of the city," Patch said.