years. “Her name is Phoebe Jane Quincy.”
Celine took a very long drag, then the current butt joined the others in the lid.
“Phoebe is only thirteen. She disappeared while walking to dance class.”
Celine’s hand paused, then resumed mashing the butt. “You got a kid?”
“No,” I said.
“Me neither.” Celine stared at the jar lid, but I don’t think she saw it. She was looking at a place and time far removed from the little table in Le Passage Noir. “Thirteen years old. I wanted to be a ballerina.”
“This is Phoebe.” I slipped a picture from Ryan’s envelope and placed it on the table. “It’s her seventh-grade class photo.”
Celine considered the image. I watched for a reaction, but saw none.
“Cute kid.” Celine cleared her throat and looked away.
“Ever see her here?” I asked.
“No.” Celine continued gazing off into space.
I replaced Phoebe’s photo with that of Kelly Sicard.
“How about her?”
This time there was a twitch in her lips and movement in her eyes. Nervously, she rubbed her nose with the back of a wrist.
“Celine?”
“I’ve seen her. But like you said, it was a long time ago.”
I felt a ripple of excitement. “Here?”
Celine looked over her shoulder and around the bar.
“Mr. Bastarache has a place in Moncton. Le Chat Rouge. This kid danced there. But not for long.”
“Her name was Kelly Sicard?”
“Doesn’t click.”
“Kitty Stanley?”
A fake pink nail came up. “Yeah. That was it. She danced as Kitty Chaton. Cute, eh? Kitty Kitten.”
“When was this?”
She gave a bitter smile. “Too long ago, sunshine.”
“Do you know what happened to her?”
Celine tapped another cigarette from her pack. “Kitty hit the lottery. Married a regular and got out of the business.”
“Do you recall the man’s name?”
“It’s not that kind of business.”
“Can you remember anything about him?”
“He was short and had a skinny ass.”
Celine lit up, idly waved the smoke from her face with one hand. “Wait. There is one thing. Everyone called him Bouquet Beaupre.”
“Because?”
“He owned a flower shop in Sainte-Anne-de-Beaupre.”
Celine’s gaze was steady now, her mouth skewed with the hint of a grin. “Yeah. Kitty Kitten got out.”
Looking at the woman, I felt an unexpected sadness. She’d been pretty once, might still be save for the overdone makeup and bleach.
“Thank you,” I said.
“Kitty was a good kid.” She flicked her ash to the floor.
“Celine,” I said. “You could get out, too.”
She shook her head slowly, eyes suggesting the abandonment of all illusion.
At that moment, Ryan appeared.
“Found something curious.”
34
C ELINE AND I FOLLOWED RYAN THROUGH THE ILLUMINATED
