A Place of Hiding

“Someone must have. Because the party was arranged...the museum party...”


“Yes. I see that. But Brouard appears to have led a number of people to believe that the design he’d chosen was going to be Bertrand Debiere’s. That tells us that your arrival—your presence at Le Reposoir— was something of a surprise to everyone but Brouard himself.”

“He must have told someone. Everyone confides in someone else. What about Frank Ouseley? They were good friends. Or Ruth? Wouldn’t he have told his own sister?”

“It doesn’t appear that way. And even if he had done, she had no reason to—”

“Like we did ?” China’s voice raised. “Come on. He told someone we were coming. If not Frank or Ruth...Someone knew. I’m telling you. Someone knew.”

Deborah said to St. James, “He might have told Mrs. Abbott. Ana?s. The woman he was involved with.”

“And she could have passed the word along,” China said. “Anyone could have known from that point.”

St. James had to admit that this was possible. He had to admit it was even likely. The problem was, of course, that Brouard’s having told anyone about the eventual arrival of the Rivers begged the question of a crucial detail that still needed sorting out: the apocryphal nature of the architectural plans. Brouard had presented the elevation water colour as the genuine article, the future wartime museum, when he’d known all along that it was nothing of the sort. So if he’d told someone else that the Rivers were bringing plans from California, had he also told that person the plans were phony?

“We do need to speak with Ana?s, my love,” Deborah urged. “Her son as well. He was...He was definitely in a state, Simon.”

“You see?” China said. “There’re others, and one of them knew we were coming. One of them planned things from there. And we’ve got to find that person, Simon. Because no way are the cops about to do it.”

Outside, they found a soft rain had begun to fall, and Deborah took Simon’s arm, tucking herself into his side. She liked to think he might interpret her gesture as one made by a woman seeking shelter in the strength of her man, but she knew it wasn’t in his nature to flatter himself in that way. He would know it was what she did to assure herself that he didn’t slip on a cobblestone made slick by water and, depending upon his mood, he would humour her or not.

Humouring her for whatever reason appeared to be his choice. He ignored her motives and said, “The fact that he said nothing to you about the ri ng...Not even that his sister had bought it or had mentioned buying it or had mentioned seeing it or anything of that nature...It doesn’t look good, my love.”

“I don’t want to consider what it means,” she admitted. “Especially if her fingerprints are clearly all over it.”

“Hmm. I did think you were heading in that direction towards the end. Despite the remark about Mrs. Abbott. You looked...” Deborah felt him glance at her. “You looked...stricken, I suppose.”

“He’s her brother, ” Deborah said. “I just can’t stand to think her own brother...” She wished to dismiss the very idea, but she couldn’t. There it resided, as it had done from the moment her husband had pointed out that no one had known the River siblings were coming to Guernsey. From that instant, all she’d been able to think of was the countless times throughout the years when she’d heard of Cherokee River’s exploits just this side of the law. He’d been the original Man with a Plan, and the Plan had always involved the easy acquisition of cash. That had been the case when Deborah had lived with China in Santa Barbara and listened to tales of Cherokee’s exploits: from the rent-a-bed operation of his teens in which he allowed his room to be used on an hourly basis for adolescent assignations, to the thriving cannabis farm of his early twenties. Cherokee River as Deborah knew him had been an opportunist from the first. The only question was how one defined the opportunity he may have seen and jumped upon in Guy Brouard’s death.

“What I can’t stand to think of is what it means about China,”

Deborah said. “About what he intended to happen to her...I mean, that she should be the one...Of all people...It’s horri ble, Si mon. Her own brother. How could he ever...? I mean, if he’s done this in the first place. Because, really, there has to be another explanation. I don’t want to believe this one.”

“We can look for another,” Simon said. “We can talk to the Abbotts. To everyone else as well. But, Deborah...”

She looked up to see the concern on his face. “You do need to prepare yourself for the worst,” he said.