His slumped shoulders, glum expression, and dimpled chin were enough to convince me, along with the fact that he didn’t match the physical description of the murderer.
“One more thing,” I said. “Did you buy jasmine shampoo from Harrods recently?”
“No, I don’t think so,” he answered. “Jasmine is a bit girly, if you ask me. The lads would take the mick out of me if I started smelling like flowers.”
“Harrods has your name and card on file for the shampoo.”
His brow furrowed. “Do they? I’ll have to let the bank know—oh,” he said suddenly, as if recalling a memory. “My sister borrowed my card for lunch when she came to visit. She accidentally locked her wallet and keys in her car that day. She must have bought the shampoo.”
My teeth clenched together as I watched another lead go down the drain. I mustered a smile. “All right, Henry. Thanks for talking to me. I appreciate it.”
“Sure thing. I hope you catch the guy. He deserves a bit of torture.”
With that, Henry Alcott—and all my hunches—disappeared into the dormitory building.
Back at Bill’s Restaurant and Bar, Dad and Nadine hadn’t moved from their table, but their smiles and happy chatting had been replaced with low whispers and worried looks. When Dad spotted me, his scrunched brow relaxed.
“There you are,” he said. “What happened to you? You’ve been gone for ages.”
I grimaced and clutched my stomach. “Guess lunch didn’t agree with me.”
“I checked the toilets for you,” Nadine said. “You weren’t in there.”
“I went for a walk,” I added. “The fresh air did me well. I’m feeling much better.”
Dad gave me a cumbersome one-armed hug. “Stay here. I’ll pull the car around so you don’t have to trek all the way back to our parking spot. Nadine, it was great to see you. Hopefully, it won’t be so long until the next time we meet.”
They hugged goodbye, and Nadine kept her smile intact until my father had left the restaurant and walked past the windows. Then she came down hard on me.
“As much of a pleasure as it was catching up with your dad, I would love to know what’s going on,” she said firmly. “We did not have lunch planned today, and I don’t appreciate being messed around.”
“I’m sorry.”
She crossed her arms. “You didn’t have a stomachache, did you?”
“I did,” I assured her, “but it wasn’t as bad as I made it sound. I needed to talk to a friend, but I didn’t want my dad tagging along. It was personal, so I used you as an excuse. That’s all.”
Her manner softened ever so slightly. “Your dad mentioned you had a hard time adjusting after your mother died. Is that true?”
I looked away from her prying eyes. “It’s true of most any child who’s lost a parent. Wouldn’t you think?”
“I’m not asking other children. I’m asking you.” She sighed when I didn’t answer. “You were always a bright kid, Jack, but you had a knack for getting into trouble. Please don’t tell me you’ve carried that knack into adulthood. All this Ripper talk—”
“Dad told you?”
“He touched on it,” she clarified. “I guessed that you buried yourself in it. After finding your blog, it was pretty obvious you were channeling the pain of losing your mother into these crazy investigations of yours.”
At Nadine’s superior tone, a flash of anger rose within me. “No offense, Nadine, but I don’t need your assessment of my mental health. I know what I’m doing.”
I spun on my heel, intent on leaving her in the dust, but she caught me by the elbow. On a paper napkin, she used one of her new pens to write a number.
“If you want to put a stop to all this nonsense, call this number,” she said, handing me the napkin. “Don’t throw that out. You’ll regret it if you do.”
“Whose number is it?”
“Find out.” She shrugged. “Or don’t. But if you want answers, and maybe some peace, you should call. Life shouldn’t have to be as hard as you’re making it for yourself, Jack.” She swiftly kissed my cheek as she shouldered her purse. “I hope to see you soon, love.”
18
In the days that followed our trip to Oxford, life gradually returned to some semblance of normality. Marie grew bored with the cramped flat, the constant gray drizzle, and the general lack of excitement in London. She and Evelyn bickered often, and I spent more time in the café across the street to avoid their petty arguments than I did taking care of Evelyn.
One morning, Marie emerged from the bedroom with her bag in hand. She wore her travel outfit: tight jeans, a white button-up shirt, and a heavy coat for all weather occasions. Unlike me, who preferred to fly across oceans in my pajamas, Marie dressed to impress the flight attendants and whoever else might see her.
“I’m off,” she announced, plane ticket in hand. “The airline was able to upgrade me to first class. Isn’t that swell?” She kissed my cheek, leaving lipstick reside behind. “Take care of her, will you? She’s stubborn. Then again, so are you. I suppose I shouldn’t depend on either of you tossers.”
“I’ll make sure she’s okay,” I promised. “Don’t worry.”
“I always worry about Evelyn,” Marie said. “She has a knack for getting into trouble.”
The words hung in the air like heavy fog. Nadine’s voice echoed in my head, repeating the exact same phrase. Perhaps Evelyn and I were friends for more than one reason.
I walked Marie to the door. “Have a safe flight.”
She bent in half to give me a quick hug. “Come to my wedding. Evelyn’s going to be a drag, but she won’t be as horrible if you’re
