Part 30 (1/2)

”There's only one way to find out,” he said.

Before I knew what was happening, Noah grabbed the top rung, and in an elegant swoop, lifted himself up and over the gate, landing on the other side.

Wiping his hands on his pants, he let out a breath and stood up. ”Now you.”

He braced himself to help me climb up, but instead, I grabbed the bars and stuck one leg through, and then another, contorting my body until I had squeezed through to the other side.

There were stray cats everywhere. Creeping between the crevices of the foundation, crouching beneath the bushes, peering out from underneath the front stoop as we approached the front door.

”Are you just going to knock on the door?” I asked.

”Do you have a better idea?”

I didn't, but something about it made me feel uneasy. A cat darted across the lawn in front of my feet. I covered my mouth before the gasp came out.

Noah took my hand and squeezed it, and together we climbed up the steps. I braced myself against the railing as Noah pressed the bell.

Somewhere inside, a chime sounded, but no one came to the door. A calico cat rubbed its head against my ankle; I nudged it away. Just as Noah held his finger up to the buzzer again, we heard footsteps thud inside. The sound of locks being unlatched. And then the k.n.o.b turning.

The door opened a crack, and a woman appeared, peeking through the chain bolt. She was holding a shovel, its tip pointed at us through the gap. The foyer behind her was dark.

When I saw her face, I froze. ”Miss LaBarge?”

She paused before answering. ”Who are you?”

The calico cat slipped inside through Miss LaBarge's legs. ”It's me,” I said, unable to comprehend why she didn't recognize me. ”Renee. From philosophy cla.s.s last year?”

”How did you get in?”

”I squeezed through the bars,” I said, putting my hand on the door frame. Miss LaBarge jolted at my advance.

”What do you want from me?” she asked, wedging the tip of the shovel deeper into the gap.

I searched her face, baffled. Maybe she had lost her memory. Maybe that's why she was acting this way. ”I don't want anything. I-I didn't know you were going to be here. But now that you are, I just-I'd like to talk to you. Everyone thinks you died.” I lowered my voice. ”It was on the news. I went to your funeral. I watched my grandfather bury you in the ocean. But now you're here.”

She looked at me, and then at Noah. ”You're both students at Gottfried?”

”Lycee St. Clement,” Noah said.

”What are your names?” she asked.

”Renee Winters,” I said.

”Noah Fontaine.”

Miss LaBarge squinted at me, as if trying to see something she hadn't seen before. ”Winters? The daughter of Lydia and Robert?”

I loosened my grip on my bag. ”Yes,” I said, confused. ”You knew them.”

Without warning, she receded into the darkness.

”Wait!” I yelled, but it was too late. She had already shut the door.

I rang the bell again and then collapsed with a sigh on the edge of a cement pot by the railing. A black cat that had been sleeping inside hissed and jumped out. ”I don't understand,” I murmured, looking up at Noah.

He put a finger to his lips. On the other side of the door, I heard something clicking, and then just as abruptly as it had closed, the door reopened.

”Get inside,” she said, her eyes darting about the quiet street behind us as we shuffled past her.

The convent was dark and drafty. After bolting the locks, Miss LaBarge gave us a quick glance. She led us through a series of rooms, each one spa.r.s.ely decorated with little more than a table and a few chairs. There were cats everywhere-curled around the banister, stretching on the windowsills, yawning from beneath the radiators. A Persian jumped down from a mantel and followed us until we reached the kitchen. Miss LaBarge turned on the overhead lightbulb, which bathed her in a dingy yellow glow.

There she was: her plain brown hair, small nose, and ruddy cheeks that made her look like a farm girl. Leaning on the back of a chair, she opened her mouth to say something, but then changed her mind and walked to the stove.

Arrested at the sight of her in the light, I shuddered, my entire body growing cold. Something wasn't right.

This woman looked exactly like Miss LaBarge, but at the same time she didn't. Her features were the same, yes, but the angles weren't correct. Her cheekbones looked a little higher; her jawline looked a little heavier; the wrinkles around her eyes looked a little less defined, as if she were a grainy photocopy of the real Annette.

She removed the lid from a dented kettle, crossed to the sink, and filled the kettle under the faucet. ”Tea?”

I must have been staring, because Noah nudged me with his elbow.

”Yes, thanks,” I said.

Miss LaBarge moved too briskly about the room. I watched, horrified, as she sliced a lemon and squeezed its juice into her tea. Miss LaBarge always preferred cream.

”You're-you're not Miss LaBarge at all.”

The impostor put down the lemon and gave me a sad sort of look, like she pitied me. Wiping her hands on a dish towel, she pulled out two chairs at a plain wooden table. ”Please, sit down.”

Noah sat down at the end of the table, but I didn't move. I couldn't. I felt paralyzed and confused and angry, so angry. Who was this woman pretending to be Miss LaBarge?

Setting two mugs of tea on the table for us, she took a seat across from Noah. ”My name is Collette LaBarge,” she said. ”I'm Annette's younger sister.”

I nearly spilled my tea. ”What?”

”Annette is dead. She died in August. I'm her younger sister.”

All at once, everything suddenly made sense. I hadn't been seeing Miss LaBarge this year; I had been seeing her sister. It seemed too easy and too dreary to be true.

She frowned. ”You look disappointed.”

”I thought-”

”You thought she was still alive. You wish I were someone else.” Collette's eyes had a coldness to them, and her hands were balled into fists, as if she were ready to fight. She leaned back in her chair. ”I'm sorry.”

”So there's no way she's still alive?” I uttered, only realizing then that somewhere within me I had reserved the smallest hope that Miss LaBarge had survived.

Collette lowered her eyes. ”No.”

”But then why are you here?” I asked. ”Why are you in hiding? No one knows about you. You didn't even come to her funeral.”