I sighed. “Of course it is. No one’s just named Bob anymore.”
“He was the person who last had the coins. Your parents handed them over to him in Washington, DC, years ago.” Angelo glanced out at the busy intersection, his face thoughtful. “We all knew each other back in Paris, many moons ago. He was a colleague of your parents even before they joined the Collective.”
It was always hard to imagine my parents having a life before me. I mean, I know they did, I’m not that selfish … but still. It was difficult to imagine them and Angelo in Paris together. Without me.
“How come they never mentioned Dominic before?” I asked. “Is it because he’s the personification of human evil?”
Angelo smirked a little. “Subtle, Maggie. And your parents and Dominic have gone their separate ways, obviously. They have always had different … viewpoints, for lack of a better word, on how the Collective should be run.”
I crossed my arms over my chest so that Angelo wouldn’t see my hands turning into fists. I already hated Dominic Arment. “So where is he now?”
“Apparently here in New York. He has a home … and then he has a home.” Angelo raised an eyebrow at me.
“The place where he takes his mistresses?” I guessed.
Angelo tapped his nose in response, looking a bit disgusted. He’s big on moral character, respecting women, all that.
“What a dirty birdie,” I replied. “So the gold coins are probably behind Door Number Two.”
“We think.”
“We think?”
“Darling, this isn’t one of our usual cases. We don’t have a lot of information. The Collective normally supplies background intelligence for us.”
I thought for a few seconds. “Do they know that you know all this about Dominic?”
Angelo just smirked at me. “Your job is to look for the coins, if you so desire.”
“I so desire. I’m looking for these coins. That’s a done deal. Do we have an address?”
Angelo pulled a piece of paper out of his pocket and showed it to me. “Do you see it?” he asked me.
22 Pomander Walk was written on the paper in Angelo’s elegant scrawl.
“Yes.”
“Good.” Then he crumpled it up and tossed it through the bars of a sewer grate.
“Subtle,” I said, mimicking him.
He gave me a wink, but his face soon sobered. “This is your biggest case ever, my love. Are you sure you’re ready?”
“Are you?” I challenged, trying to lighten the mood even though my heart was pulling a Fred Astaire and tappity-tapping away in my chest. “You trained me, after all.”
“Ah, I see. The teacher becomes the student and vice versa.” He chuckled and straightened one of his shirt sleeves. “Know this, Maggie. I have always had complete faith in you.”
For some reason, that sort of made me want to cry, but I shook it off and wrinkled my nose at him. “This has been a really uplifting conversation, by the way. The Collective wants people to think that my parents are thieves, the Secret Service wants these coins as much as I do, my parents actually know the bad guy, and that pigeon is getting closer!” I stamped my foot and it scuttled away. “Ugh, disgusting.”
“Things are not as bright as one would like them to be,” Angelo admitted. “But the sun is out, the birds are singing—I said birds, Maggie, not pigeons, you don’t have to make such a face—and we’re having a lovely morning in Central Park.” He glanced over at the green trees, then offered me his arm. “Stroll with me?”
I took it because I can never say no to a stroll with Angelo.
And I never will.
Chapter 7
“Who in their right mind would need to prep for the SATs three days a week during the summer?” I pulled my hair into a ponytail and held it off my neck while I watched an amateur guitarist start strumming in Washington Square Park.
“Stupid people,” Roux replied. She was sitting next to me, guzzling her way through a Coke before our mid-morning break was over and we had to go back into the classroom.
“Morons,” she continued. “People whose parents try to get rid of them for three months under the guise of caring about their education.”
I waved my makeshift ponytail, trying to fan myself and failing miserably. “Your parents care about you—” I started to say, but Roux just laughed.
“Yeah, right.”
“But didn’t they come home two days ago? Family bonding time, yay!”
Roux pulled her sunglasses down her nose just far enough so that I could see her unamused glare, then pushed them back up. “They left again this morning. Something in Bangkok, I think. Or maybe it was Beijing? Biloxi? I don’t know. We went to dinner last night but I was too busy ignoring them to listen to what they were saying.”
I looked down at my feet. It was always awkward when Roux talked about her parents. Yeah, mine were unconventional and weird and dorky, but at least they were around. “Well, at least now they won’t annoy you all the time,” I said, trying to cheer her up. “Maybe I could come over. Slumber party!”
“Mags, I love you dearly, but you are the worst slumber party attendee ever.”
“I think you’re being a little drama—”
“Ever.”
“Why? I’m fun! We watched movies and ate raw cookie dough.” Several months ago, Roux had been horrified to discover that I had never had what she called “a normal rite-of-passage experience for every teenager residing in the Western Hemisphere.”