Ripped From the Pages

Giving up the search for now, we decided to stop by Trudy’s to visit and commiserate. Robson had arrived a few minutes before us, and shortly after we got there, my mom and dad walked in. Mom was carrying her briefcase, so I had a feeling we’d be witnessing another purification ceremony at some point. I had no problem with that. It would be fun to see her work her magic on someone besides me. And any little ritual that would help Trudy cope with the loss of Amelia was okay with me.

 

I was happy to see Elizabeth doting on Trudy. I had to admit I liked the woman, although my suspicions prohibited me from getting close to her. I seriously hoped she had nothing to do with the attack, but we wouldn’t know for sure until Derek’s facial recognition people were able to figure out if she was anyone other than who she claimed to be.

 

Derek had managed to take a good picture of her during the memorial reception earlier and had instantly texted it to his assistant at his office in San Francisco. She would forward it to their London office, and he was certain we would hear back from them within a few hours.

 

Mom and Dad had brought some of the leftover desserts and several bottles of wine from the reception, so we had a little commemorative party in Amelia’s honor. Mom worked her magic, conducting a wonderfully bizarre cleansing ceremony that made Trudy laugh and cry, declaring it the most life-altering thrill ride she’d ever experienced.

 

But none of it shook up Trudy’s memory, and I wondered if she would ever recall the face of the person who’d tried to kill her. Or even if she should try. Because maybe, just maybe, her amnesia was all that was keeping her alive.

 

 

 

 

 

Chapter Fifteen

 

 

 

 

The first thing I saw on my phone the next morning was a message from Claude from my chat room. He included his translation of the first paragraph of Marie’s letter and apologized for taking so long.

 

“If you send me the rest,” he wrote, “I can probably get it done within a day or two. Last week you caught me in the middle of a three-day continuing education class. OMG! Boring!”

 

Claude went on to explain that the language was exactly as he’d thought, mainly a combination of schoolgirl medieval French and Chouadit, the long-extinct Jewish language he had mentioned in our first chat room talk.

 

I wrote down what he’d translated. The first few sentences were the usual chitchat and news sent to a friend concerning different family members, the weather, and her health.

 

As I looked at the original letter, I was reminded that it was written by Marie, Guru Bob’s grandmother, to Camille, who was Marie’s sister-in-law and Trudy’s mother. I hadn’t paid much attention to the date when I first saw the letter, but now I did. It read 4 April 1946, and I realized its significance.

 

Jean Pierre Renaud’s ticket for passage on the ocean liner was dated April 12, 1946. So this letter was written the week before.

 

I assumed that both women were living in Sonoma with their husbands. According to Trudy, they and their families had all moved here from France during the war. They probably didn’t have telephones at the time, but they couldn’t have lived far from each other. Why didn’t Marie simply ride her bike over for a visit? Was there something in the letter that couldn’t be said out loud?

 

The last sentence Claude translated was troubling: “Oh, dear sister, I have witnessed something so terrible that I’m almost afraid to tell you about it, but I must get it off my chest.”

 

I wanted to know what Marie had seen. What was so terrible that she had felt the need for a confession of the soul?

 

I showed the translation to Derek and voiced my thoughts.

 

He sipped his coffee. “There must be something in this letter about Monsieur Renaud.”

 

“Shall I send Claude the rest of the letter?”

 

“Absolutely,” he said. My face must’ve betrayed my fears, because he put his cup down and wrapped his arms around me. “Are you afraid your friend Claude might be Amelia’s killer?”

 

Derek really did know me much too well. Yes, my brain had actually considered that very idea before dismissing it.

 

“No, of course not,” I said. “And when you say it out loud, it sounds even more ridiculous.” I pressed my cheek against his chest. “But the timing is still disconcerting.”

 

He leaned back and tilted my chin up to meet my gaze. “If it means anything, I am absolutely certain that your chat room friends are not responsible for Amelia’s death.”

 

“I know you’re right,” I said, pouting a little. “Claude lives in Indiana and can barely afford to take the bus, let alone fly out to California to go on a killing spree.”

 

“There, you see?” He smiled, but then sobered up to add, “I hope it hasn’t escaped your attention that if someone in the chat room did kill Amelia, you would be in even more danger now.”

 

I thought about that for a few seconds. “But I’ve never seen any of them in person.”

 

“But they would know you,” he reasoned. “They would have to get rid of you because of the chat room connection. You would be a threat to them.”

 

“I suppose that’s true.” I shook my head in defeat. “Luckily it’s too ridiculous and convoluted to contemplate, which means you were right in the first place.”

 

“I never tire of hearing that.”

 

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