“She suspects,” he says with a wink.
“You’re not worried?”
“She’s very old, Selah. She gets confused. A little mixed up, if you know what I mean.”
I risk a quick peek.
Her beady-eyed stare is aimed right at us.
I take a drink of mulled punch—a gulp, more like.
Rafe leans so close, his breath tickles my ear. “At least, that’s what her family thinks. Something tells me she’s as sharp now as she ever was.”
The servers bring out the main course—plates of beef tenderloin cooked medium rare. Pancetta, it turns out, is something like bacon without the smoky flavor. And haricot verts are very slim green beans that taste better than any green bean has a right to taste.
Conversation is warm and lively on the pauper’s side of the table, performative on the other. Like me, poor Dr. Arjun Kapoor, who is very down-to-earth for a cardiologist, is trapped on the elite side, while his wife, Priya, tries to bounce back and forth. Mayor Ridley does the same. He asks Kate about the high school’s production ofInto the Woods, which was recently announced and even more recently cast. She’s playing the baker’s wife. Her boyfriend, Harrison, is playing the baker. On the other side, talk has turned to the estate’s restoration, and Opal Bogaard—who has yet to speak a word—seems to have had enough.
She points her fork at Mr. Everly, who has been bemoaning the decline of true craftsmanship. “Yes, yes, Henry,” she says in a reedy voice that is surprisingly loud. “They simply don’t make things like they used to. Take this table.” She raps it sharply with her bony knuckles, effectively collecting the room’s attention. “Is it an original?”
Isabel nods warily.
“So this is where they were sitting when they just—” Opal makes apoofinggesture with her fingers. “Vanished.”
Twig coughs, his mouth full of food.
Dad thumps him on the back.
Ignatius gives his grandmother a stern look.
She stares back at him with a thin, satisfied smile, like she wouldn’t mind if he vanished, too. “Funny how everyone thinks these new disappearances are connected to the one that happened here.”
“Grandmother,” Ignatius warns.
She waves him off with her fork, then points it at me. “I’d like to know what you think.”
“Me?” I ask, taken aback.
“You and your coughing friend down there.”
Twig looks at me with watery eyes. It’s obvious he’s just as confused as I am. Why in the world does Opal Bogaard care what either of us think?
“I’ve been waiting for you to talk about it onyour podcast,” she says, and I could not be more gobsmacked.
“You listen to our podcast?” I ask.
“My great grandson here told me all about it.”
Beside her, Sterling’s pale face turns beet red.
“Ignatius doesn’t take me out enough. There’s not much to do when you’re my age. So I gave it a thorough listen and I’d like to know what you think.”
The whole table has gone quiet.
Isabel looks scandalized.
Cosette, appalled.
Mr. Calloway, entertained.
