Luthier's Apprentice, The (6 page)

“Oh, yeah... Monsieur Dupriez mentioned you, too.”

“So what are you playing in the competition?” he asked.

“The Beethoven.”

His eyebrows shot upwards. “Cool.”

“You?”

“Brahms.”

Hmm. Really? Brahms? Big deal. Okay, so she was a little bit jealous. It was a tough concerto to play well. But so was Beethoven’s.

“‘I have seen too much not to know that the impression of a woman may be more valuable than the conclusion of an analytical reasoner,’” Corey quoted in a stuck-up British accent again.

Heat rose to her cheeks. “What?”

“From
The Man with the Twisted Lip
.”

Either he was a nutcase, a total show-off, or a genius. It certainly took a special talent to memorize lines so well from a book. It also took a great deal of self confidence to recite them to people he’d just met. Who did he think he was? So what if he was incredibly hot? He annoyed her. She was crazy about Sherlock Holmes, but the only line she could quote from him was “Elementary, my dear Watson,” just like the rest of the world. Oh, and, “The game is afoot.”

“We’re wasting time,” Emma said, not impressed. “Let’s stick with what we came here to do.”

“
Okay.
” He seemed amused. He put one hand up, palm out, and stepped out of her way. “You have a quick temper, don’t you?”

“I’ve been accused of that,” she retorted.

Emma searched around the room for something, anything that might offer a clue, while at the same time she tried not to feel self conscious under his presence. Then she stared at the carpet.

She bent down and started rolling the carpet, displaying the floor beneath.

“Let me help,” he offered.

“Thanks.”

They pushed the roll of carpet aside. The oak boards were marred with tiny dents, scratches, and some discoloration, but the floor looked normal.

Emma kneeled down and knocked on the wood. “Seems solid.”

He also went on his knees and together they knocked all over the floor looking for hollow sounds.

His hand moved across a part of the floor that had been damaged. “What’s this?”

“Discoloration. The varnish is gone.”

“It seems more than discoloration.” He touched his nose to the wood and sniffed. “It smells like it’s burned.”

“Burned?”

Emma was about to smell the area in question when they heard voices from outside approaching the front door.

A jolt of panic raced through her. “She’s back. Quickly, roll back the carpet!”

I
N ORDER TO KEEP AN EYE
on Madame Dupriez, Annika followed her to the open market and offered to carry her bags on the way back. They had just returned and Annika wondered if Emma was still inside the house.

“Well, here we are,” Annika said. She scanned the windows for signs of Emma.

“I can take my bags now,” Madame Dupriez said grudgingly. She was still mad about the roses.

“Oh no... I’ll bring them to your door.”

“
Trés bien
.” Madame Dupriez headed to the entrance.

Standing in the front yard with the bags in her hands, Annika froze when Emma pushed the window curtain aside and motioned her to keep Madame Dupriez from coming inside.

“Madame Dupriez, wait!” Annika called after the old woman. “Um, er, do you want to look at the roses one more time? Look, more of them have turned orange.”

Madame Dupriez turned away from the front door. “What are you mumbling now? I think you should go home and take a little rest. You look pale and anxious. You might be coming down with something. Have you eaten any chicken lately? It’s not safe to eat chicken anymore. It affects the brain.”

Annika’s stomach twisted into a knot. “But the roses!” she urged, glancing at the study.

“Why are you so obsessed with my roses?” Madame Dupriez asked, exasperated. “I told you those roses were spray painted, probably by some criminal kid. There’s no way they could have turned orange on their own. I’ll take care of it. I should call the police, too. That’s what I should do. If it weren’t because I’m sick of them already...”

“But—but….”

“Put the bags here at the door and go home.” Madame Dupriez faced the front door, key in hand.

“Madame Dupriez!” Annika insisted.

The old woman inserted the key in the lock.

“No—wait!”

At that moment the door swung open and a tall boy in a dark green hoodie appeared.

“Oh… there you are, Corey.” Madame Dupriez sighed. “Did you finish with the windows?”

“Not yet,” he said. He looked at Annika pointedly and gave her a crooked smile. There was something odd about his manner and expression, as if he were trying to tell her something.

“
Mon Dieu
, how much time do you need? You’ve been here all morning.” Madame Dupriez turned back to Annika. “You’re still there?”

“I was just leaving,” Annika said. She put the bags down and backed away toward the sidewalk.

The green hoodie guy winked at Annika from the doorway. Annika blinked, wondering if she was hallucinating. Who was he? Why was he in the house?

“Let me help you with those bags, Madame Dupriez,” he said.

“When are you going to cut that hair, Corey?”

“Jesus had long hair, Madame Dupriez.”

“Tsk, tsk, tsk.” The old woman stepped inside, finally closing the door.

Whistling nonchalantly, Annika stepped onto the sidewalk.

A moment later the door re-opened and Emma sneaked out, gingerly closing the door behind her. In giant steps she tiptoed across the yard and joined Annika.

“What happened?” Annika grinned. “Who’s the hottie?”

Emma had a hand on her chest. “Don’t start.”

“But who is he?” Annika insisted.

“He’s a Sherlock Holmes fan named Corey Fletcher.”

“What?”

“I’ll explain later. Let’s go to Grandpa’s.” Then she stopped.

“What is it?” Annika asked.

Emma nudged Annika’s elbow. “Don’t look at Van Ketts’ shop now, but he’s watching us from the window. Don’t look, just walk!”

“Okay, okay! How long has he been standing there? Do you think he saw you inside the study?”

“I’m not sure, but I didn’t like his expression.”

“Let’s get out of here,” Annika said.

They hurried to Stockel Square and took the metro to Grandpa’s shop.

W
HERE WERE YOU?” GRANDPA ASKED THE
minute they’d returned, ignoring the fact that Emma was not alone.

“I was with Annika, Grandpa.”

“I can see that, but where?”

“We went to the market, Mr. Donatelli,” Annika said.

“And you come home empty handed?”

“We just looked around,” Emma said. “We didn’t buy anything.”

He looked as if he didn’t believe them. Emma wondered if he was just being overly protective or if something else was bothering him.

“Have you heard from Mom?” Emma asked.

“No.” He made a grimace of pain as he massaged his lower back with both hands.

Since her mom had left, she’d called only once to announce she had arrived safely. That probably meant there must be a working telephone at Aunt Lili’s, even if there wasn’t reception for cells. Why hadn’t her mom given her the number so Emma could call?

“Are you okay, Grandpa?” Emma asked.

“
Sto bene
,” he muttered.

“Isn’t there a phone at Aunt Lili’s?”

Grandpa avoided her gaze. “No.”

He’s lying.

“I’m going to work,” he said. “There are sandwiches on the table. I want you at the workshop by three o’clock.” He turned and left.

Emma and Annika exchanged troubled looks.

“Don’t mind him,” Emma whispered, making sure he wouldn’t overhear them. “It’s his back.”

“It’s okay. Really.”

“He won’t even admit when the pain is killing him.”

“How can he work like that?”

Emma shook her head slowly. “I really don’t know.”

“I think he loves you very much, but he doesn’t show it.”

“Really?”

“Sure.”

Emma sighed. “I’m hungry. Let’s eat.”

“I’m all for it. My stomach is grumbling.”

They climbed the stairs to the first floor. From the hallway they simultaneously glanced at the attic door. They exchanged looks.

“Any more strange noises?” Annika asked.

“Not since the first day I moved in.”

Over peanut butter sandwiches and steaming instant cappuccinos, Emma told Annika everything that happened at Madame Dupriez’s house, once in a while casting furtive glances toward the door to make sure Grandpa was nowhere near.

“What happened after you saw me from the study window?” Annika asked.

“Corey and I tried to arrange everything as it was, then I hid behind the sitting room sofa until he led her into the kitchen. While he distracted her there, I managed to sneak out.”

“Wow,” Annika said, excitement coloring her pale, freckled cheeks. “This is unexpected… this Corey guy, I mean. Why did you call him a Sherlock Holmes fan?”

Emma rolled her eyes while chewing a piece of her sandwich. “He’s always doing impressions of him, with a snobbish British accent and everything.”

“Are you serious?”

“Nope.”

Annika grinned. “He’s totally hot.”

“You think so?”

“Uh,
yeah
.”

“I didn’t notice. I was too busy trying not to get caught.”

“Yeah, right.” Then Annika asked, “Why do you think that part of the floor beneath the carpet smelled burned?”

“I don’t know. If it had been fire or some sort of explosion, how come the rest of the room was fine?”

“You have a point.” Annika’s blue eyes sparkled. “So when are we seeing this Corey?”

“He said he would find a way to get in touch. We didn’t even have the time to exchange numbers. Everything happened so fast. Like I said, he took Monsieur Dupriez’s notebook. That might give us some clues.”

“What school does he go to?” Annika asked.

“I don’t know. We didn’t have time to talk about that either. But his English is almost perfect, so my guess is the British or American School, the ISB or one of the other European Schools.”

“Does he have an accent? He looks kind of east European.”

“Yeah, he does, doesn’t he? He has a very, very slight accent that I can’t place.”

“Probably a diplomat kid,” Annika said, meaning “another diplomat kid like us.”

Emma nodded and lifted the cappuccino to her lips. “Probably.”

Brussels was full of diplomats and kids with multiple citizenships from parents of mixed nationalities. Emma’s mom worked at the European Commission and her American dad had worked at NATO before his death. Annika’s dad worked at the Commission, too.

Annika finished eating the last of her sandwich and leaned back against the chair. “I can’t believe he’ll be competing against you.”

“If he can memorize notes as well as he memorizes Holmes, I’m as burned as that study floor.”

After they cleared the dishes, they went to Emma’s room and Annika played with Blackie while Emma practiced Beethoven’s concerto. She enjoyed having Annika around while she played. Annika had played a bit of piano when small and had a fine ear for music. She could detect quickly when Emma was off tune.

Emma was in the middle of the first movement when they heard a noise coming from upstairs.

They froze.

“Oh-no. What was that?” Annika said, holding Blackie in her arms.

Emma put the violin and bow on the bed. “Let’s take a look.”

Annika placed Blackie back inside his cage.

Outside, the hall was empty. From the workshop downstairs came the sound of sawing. They looked up to the attic door. It was a heavy oak door... and the stairs led straight up to it.

Emma and Annika tiptoed up the stairs. Emma tried to turn the knob, but it wouldn’t budge. They pressed their ears against the door.

“It’s so quiet now,” Emma whispered. “Not even the sawing downstairs.”

Annika crouched. “Is there a window inside this room? Look, there’s a draft coming from underneath the door.”

Emma crouched and felt it, too. “You’re right. Where’s the air coming from? There’s no window in there. I’ve never been inside but you can see from outside the house that there’s no window.”

A harsh voice came from the bottom of the stairs. “
Per l’amor di Dio
! What are you doing there?”

E
MMA AND ANNIKA JUMPED TO THEIR
feet. They had concentrated so hard on the attic door, they hadn’t heard Grandpa coming upstairs.