Luthier's Apprentice, The (3 page)

“Yeah, but it was Monsieur Dupriez who always lit it.”

Mom sighed. “It’s hard being alone.” Her voice sounded distant, so distant that it forced Emma to look at her. “She’ll have to get used to it, just like the rest of us.”

Emma was silent. Her mom was alluding to her husband’s—Emma’s dad’s—death, fourteen years ago. Emma didn’t remember her father. There were no memories to light up her thoughts of him. Yet, her mom’s remark struck her as odd. She sounded as if she was resigned to Monsieur Dupriez being gone forever instead of it being a temporary situation. But then, the first three kidnapped violinists were still missing.

Madame Dupriez came into the sitting room, carrying a large tray, which she placed on the coffee table. Soon the aroma of Earl Grey filled the room. Madame Dupriez often scoffed at the English, but she adored their tea. She even drank it the English way, with milk.

“Will you have milk with your tea, Elizabeth?” she asked, pouring the tea into a delicate china cup. “What about you, Emma?”

Emma would have rather had a Diet Coke, but she knew Madame Dupriez detested fizzy drinks, believing they caused gall stones.
Guess I can chug it down with enough sugar. It won’t be too bad.
But she didn’t feel like drinking it now. Her stomach was in tight knots.

After the tea was served and sweetened, Madame Dupriez settled herself on an armchair across from them.

“It’s cold for this time of the year. Do you have enough wood for the fire?” Mom asked. “Please let us know if you need any help with anything. We would love to help. We wouldn’t want you to think you’re alone.”

“
Merci, ma chérie
,” Madame Dupriez said. She took a sip of tea. “I’m fine, really. I have plenty of wood, and I know how to light a fire if I have to… It’s the habit, you know. Marcel was the one who…” Her lip quivered. She took another drink of tea.

But Emma noticed that her hand remained perfectly steady as it held the cup.

“This is such a bizarre situation,” Mom said. “What have the police said so far? Do they have any suspects yet?”

Madame Dupriez sighed heavily. “
Non, non
, they have nothing. It’s really discouraging. It’s beyond their scope. I had a visit from an Interpol investigator as well. As you know, Marcel is not the only violinist who has disappeared.”

“Yes, I know,” Mom said. “I’ve been following the story since the German violinist vanished. It is quite an enigma.”

“Why would anyone be interested in abducting violinists?” Emma said, more to herself than to them. “Not for the money. None of the violinists were rich.”

They both stared at Emma.

“
Ma pauvre chérie
,” Madame Dupriez said. “You must be so upset about all this. Marcel loved you like a daughter. You were his favorite student.”

Loved? Were? Emma stiffened. She was already referring to him in the past tense!

“Madame Dupriez, can I ask you something?” Emma said.

“
Oui
?”

“Did you notice anything different about Monsieur Dupriez lately? Anything unusual?”

“The detective asked me the same question. No, nothing at all. On Saturday evening, after his last lesson, we had dinner as usual. Then he retired to the study. Lately he had been working on a revision for the first volume of his method, which is supposed to go into second printing this Christmas. He put new logs into the fire, and settled at his desk to work. At about nine o’clock he asked me for a small snifter of brandy.” She shook her head. “This was his one and only vice, that little snifter of brandy at nine o’clock.”

“Didn’t he usually keep the brandy in the study with him?”

“Emma, please,” Mom scolded. “You shouldn’t bother Madame Dupriez with such questions.”

Before pouring more tea into her cup, Madame Dupriez threw Emma one of her keen, catty glances. “That’s quite all right,
ma chérie
.”

The glance only took a second, yet it unsettled Emma. It was at times like this that she disliked Madame Dupriez. The woman had the power to intimidate her, and Emma hated to be intimidated. That cunning glance, together with that delicate manner, made an eerie combination.

“I think he was afraid if he left it in the study with him, he would over drink,” she answered. “He liked brandy too much. The fact that he had to ask me kept his need for it at a comfortable level. Not that he had a drinking problem, I’m not saying that. He was a most responsible and measured man.”

“What’s going to happen to his book now?” Mom asked.

“I really haven’t thought about that yet. We’ll have to wait and see. I have a meeting with his publishers later this week.”

“What happened after you brought him the brandy?” Emma asked.

“I came here to watch TV, as I always do. I fell asleep on this chair. When I woke it was eleven fifteen. I know, because I looked at the clock.” She pointed to a grandfather clock on the wall. “I went to the study to check if he was still working. It surprised me to find the door locked.”

“He never did that before?” Emma asked.

“
Non, non
. Why would he?”

“Then what happened?” Mom asked, putting her empty cup on the table.

“I did what any other person in my position would do: I knocked repeatedly and called his name. When he didn’t answer, I panicked. I went outside the house to check the study windows. They were locked and the curtains were drawn, so I couldn’t see inside. By that time I was in quite a state.
Je suis devenue folle
, so I called the police. Fifteen minutes later they were here. They had to break open the door. The study was completely empty. The windows and door had been locked from the inside. There’s no logical explanation for what happened. Just like in the other cases.”

Madame Dupriez sighed heavily. “I’m sorry, but I think
I’m
the one who needs a glass of brandy now. This English tea, delightful as it is, doesn’t help.” She rose to serve herself a snifter of brandy from a small bar set against the wall. “Elizabeth?” She lifted a glass in offering.

“No, thank you, I’m fine,” Mom said.

“They checked for fingerprints, but found only Marcel’s, mine, and various others from students. Normal, considering he conducted his lessons there.” Madame Dupriez took one more sip of the brandy.

“Was anything missing?” Emma asked.

“Only his violin, as you probably know from the papers. It was a fine instrument,
bien sur.
Your grandfather made it. But certainly not priceless, nothing worth kidnapping for.”

Emma nodded. It was just like in the other three cases.

“Your visit has been much helpful,” Madame Dupriez said, as if putting an end to their conversation. “I really appreciate your kindness, Elizabeth. And yours, too, Emma.”

After a pause, her mom made a gesture for Emma to rise. “I think we’d better leave. You must be tired, Madame Dupriez, and should rest. I also need to pack. I’m leaving on a trip tomorrow. My sister is sick. I don’t know how long I’ll be gone.”

“Oh, I’m sorry to hear that.” Madame Dupriez put the brandy on the table. “Is Emma going with you?”

“No, I’ll stay with Grandpa,” Emma said.

“I’m sure he’ll be very happy to have you with him. He’s a marvelous luthier. One of the best, according to Marcel.”

“I’ll be sure to tell him that.” Mom smiled, but the smile didn’t reach her eyes.

As they left the room, Emma glanced toward the study, across the foyer. The door was closed and yellow ‘crime scene’ ribbon blocked it.

“No one is permitted to go in there for the moment. Only the police,” Madame Dupriez said, as if reading Emma’s mind.

Disappointed, Emma gave a faint nod. They walked to the front door and put on their coats.

“Please don’t hesitate to call Emma or my father if you need anything,” said Mom.

“You’re most kind.” Madame Dupriez opened the door.

Before stepping out into the cold, rainy evening, Emma turned to the old woman. “Madame Dupriez?”

“
Oui, ma chérie
?”

“Maybe there’s no logical explanation for what happened to Monsieur Dupriez because the explanation isn’t logical.”

Both Madame Dupriez and her mom stared at her.

“What if something supernatural is going on?” Emma said, surprising both herself and them.

The expression on Madame Dupriez’s face was unfathomable. “Supernatural?”

“Well, yeah—like magic or something. If there’s no logical explanation...” Emma couldn’t believe the words had popped out of her mouth. But she thought about her new strange abilities and she knew why she’d said it. Because she believed it.

Madame Dupriez’s green eyes narrowed. “Magic? What nonsense is this!”

Emma felt her mother’s cool hand touch hers as if in warning.

“Don’t mind her, Madame Dupriez,” Mom said. “She’s a crazy fan of
Charmed
and Sherlock Holmes—you know, him being an amateur violinist and all. She has a wild imagination.”

“No, I don’t.” A wave of heat rose to Emma’s cheeks. “It makes sense. How else can someone disappear just like that from a locked room?”

“It’s healthy to have a wild imagination,” Madame Dupriez said, ignoring Emma’s question. “Though sometimes it can lead to trouble.”

Mom cleared her throat. “Well, thank you for the tea, Madame Dupriez. Again, please call us if you need anything.”

“Thank you,
ma chérie
. I will.”

“Come on, Emma. We better get going before the rain gets worse.” She pulled Emma by the hand.

Once outside, Emma jerked back her hand. “Why did you say I have a wild imagination? You embarrassed me and made me look like an idiot.”

“Hey, watch that tone.”

They hastened across the street.

“What’s gotten into you—talking to her about magic?” her mom said as they jumped inside their car. “She has enough to worry about as it is, don’t you think?”

Emma sighed. “I was just trying to help.”

“By suggesting her husband disappeared due to supernatural reasons? What on earth did you mean by that, anyway—that he was abducted by a sorceress, perhaps?” her mom scoffed.

“You said that, not me.”

The rain pelted against the windows. Emma was startled to see Van Ketts, the owner of the kiosk, watching them from the interior of his shop. She scowled. He was always so freaking nosy.

But her mom’s silence made her forget about him.

She was studying Emma. There was something troubled and scrutinizing about her eyes. “Why this sudden interest in magic?”

Emma shrugged, avoiding her probing gaze. “Did you notice the way Madame Dupriez said a wild imagination can sometimes lead you into trouble? It sounded like a warning. Her eyes were so clear, too. I doubt she’s cried at all.”

“Now you’re being paranoid. And would you please take that fingernail out of your mouth?”

Emma sulked. Magic or not, paranoia or not, she was determined to find out what had happened to Monsieur Dupriez.

And the first thing to do was to find a way into his study.

H
ER MOM TOOK A TAXI TO
the airport early the next morning and Emma moved in with Grandpa.

After school, while Grandpa laboured downstairs in the workshop, Emma spent the next hour unpacking, doing her homework and settling into her new room with Blackie. She didn’t know how long her mom would be gone, or how long she’d have to stay here. Not knowing made her anxious. To make matters worse, her mom had said not to call her cell phone because there would be no reception where she was going. Okay, so Aunt Lili lived in the middle of the Hungarian mountains, but still... It didn’t feel right.

Grandpa’s little shop,
Adagio,
was over two hundred years old and was situated in a beautiful tree-lined avenue in Woluwe St. Lambert, the same suburb district as Emma’s school
.
It had passed on to him from his Italian father, and his father before him. Lutherie, the craft of making violins, had been in their family for generations. At the back of the shop was the workshop—where Grandpa made his violins. Above the shop and workshop were the living quarters; and above these, the mysterious attic that was always locked.

Grandpa worked only on specially commissioned violins. Each one took weeks to create. Each one was a distinct, fine work of art. He worked alone, had for years, never wanting assistants to help him—that is, until Emma had become his apprentice at age eleven, five years ago.

Every autumn Grandpa went on his own to gather special wood for his violins. Sometimes it took him days to come back, and he would return looking physically exhausted, as if he had traveled miles and miles on end. He had told Emma the wood was the most important factor in the making of a violin. A rich, beautiful tone depended on the wood. At seventy, Grandpa was a gifted, skilled woodworker. Because he worked on specially commissioned violins and repair work, there were hardly any instruments showcased in the shop, but he sold strings, bridges, shoulder rests, metronomes, music stands and musical scores.