Die Once More by Amy Plum Read Free Book Online Page B

you around.”
    Ambrose grabs an overstuffed suitcase—Gold has sent gifts for the couple and books for Gaspard. I pick up my own bag and reach for Ava’s.
    â€œI’ve got it,” she says crisply, and, taking the bag from me, follows Ambrose and Faust out the door.
    Charlotte raises her eyebrows at me and whispers, “Are all New York girls tough like her?”
    I put my arm around her, bury my nose in her hair, and breathe in that spring-fresh Charlotte smell. My sister. My kindred. “I don’t know about tough,” I say, “but they’re scary as hell.”
    We pull up to La Maison. The high walls and solid metal entry gates block the view of what lies inside. Then Ambrose buzzes them open, and it’s like we’re driving into a fairyland. The garden’s trees are decorated with tiny glimmering lights, and white and green garlands have been hung atop the massive double front doors.
    â€œWelcome to Wedding Disney,” Ambrose jokes, but his expression is one of pure enjoyment. He parks the car next to the fountain, where someone has crowned the angel statue with a flowered head-wreath.
    â€œThere’s still almost two weeks till the wedding,” I say, gesturing at a newly built pagoda with a mountain of chairs stacked inside.
    â€œThey got started a month ago. It’s mainly Kate and Gaspard going crazy with the decorations, although he pretends he’s not as excited as he is,” says Ambrose, throwing a love-struck glance toward Charlotte, who is beaming.
    I clap him on the back. “Man, I’m really happy for you,” I say, and mean it with all my heart. Ambrose and Charlotte found love. Like Vincent and Kate. I never thought I’d say it but they . . . they are the lucky ones.
    The doors fly open, and Jeanne bursts through, arms wide, heading straight for me. “Mon petit Jules,” she cries. “You have come back.”
    â€œJust for the wedding,” I say, but can’t help melting in her maternal arms. Jeanne is the one human presence in La Maison. Her grandmother was the housekeeper when I arrived, and then her mother cared for us as if we were her own. But it is Jeanne who stole my heart. Who acts like a mother hen although I’m a half century older than her.
    â€œYou left without saying good-bye,” she scolds, and then, when I can’t find an easy reply, gives me a look of pity that suggests that she knows exactly why I’ve stayed away. She’s probably known this whole time.
    She lowers her voice, although no one is listening. “I had her go run some errands. That will give you some time to get settled before you have to see her,” she confides.
    Yep. She’s known this whole time.
    â€œThank you,” I respond, not even pretending that I don’t know what she’s talking about.
    Jeanne nods with satisfaction. She knows that I know that she knows. Which means she can take care of me. Which is exactly what she wants.
    Charlotte is leading Ava and Faust into the house, and I follow. Jeanne bustles in behind us, organizing everyone. “Jules, dear, you have your old room, and Mademoiselle Whitefoot and Monsieur Molinaro can stay in the east wing,” she instructs.
    Gaspard appears at the top of the double stairway, wearing an ancient silk waistcoat and a cotton shirt with enormous open cuffs over a pair of high-waisted dress pants. “Jeanne, I really don’t think period dress is necessary except for the bride and groom,” he calls, as he fiddles with a cufflink. And then he looks up and sees us.
    His crazy gray-threaded black hair sticks up as if electrified—as per norm—and an uncharacteristic broad smile spreads across his face. “You’re here,” he says to me, and makes his way down the stairs. “We didn’t expect you for another half hour. Traffic must have been light.”
    â€œNo, but Ambrose was driving,” quips