Marie Antoinette, Serial Killer by Katie Alender Read Free Book Online

hug. “No way, no way , are you serious?”
    Hannah backed out of the embrace. “No, I’m joking. Of course I’m serious. It’s Saturday night, and it’s a costume ball, and we’re going to have a limo come and pick us up at the hotel — I mean, whatever French people consider a limo.”
    Pilar stared at her, open-mouthed.
    Hannah turned to me. “Well, Colette? You usually have something to say for yourself.”
    “It’s … it’s going to be amazing.” I was still in shock. My voice sounded like someone had let the air out of it. “I can’t believe it.”
    Hannah, gratified by my reaction, deigned to give me a warm smile.
    “And only for my besties,” she said. “Remember that. Because you guys are special.”
    Hidden in her compliment was a buried threat. Specialness, in Hannah’s eyes, was something that could be taken away as easily as it had been granted.
    One thing was for certain — I was going to spend the week on my best behavior.
    We continued through the Hall of Mirrors. Knowing we would be coming back to Versailles for a gala event made every gleaming surface glow that much brighter. My skin prickled with excitement.
    At one point, I found myself alone in a quiet stretch of the room, apart from Hannah, Pilar, and the tourist groups. I stopped and looked into the mirror, wondering how many countless people had stared into it over the centuries. I let my eyes focus on its clouded surface rather than my own face, and was overcome for a moment by a dizzy, disoriented feeling.
    A flash of movement behind my reflection brought me back to the present, and I caught a glimpse of a woman in full period costume among the crowd. Her pale-pink dress was almost ridiculous in its proportions — wide from the front and narrow from the sides. It was impeccably adorned with ruffles and bows and gathers and lace. Her hair was piled high on her head, small tendrils hanging down, with a jaunty little V-shaped hat placed in such a way that three massive white feathers arced over her right shoulder.
    “Wow,” I whispered, turning to get a better look at her.
    But when I scanned the room, she was gone.
    Then a massive wave of tourists approached like a wall of water. I could imagine the poor woman trapped in the center of the group, mobbed by people eager to add Picture with costume character to their list of French accomplishments, as if this were Disney World.
    Pilar called my name from the exit doorway, and I hurried to catch up.
    I couldn’t stop thinking about the woman as we continued through the rest of the main palace. And even though I knew Hannah would tell me to forget about her, I kept checking behind us to see if she’d reappeared.
    I was desperate to see her up close. Not just because of her clothes, which I would love to get a closer look at …
    But because of what I was almost positive I’d seen around her neck …
    A medallion, just like mine.

    The lush green grounds were as impressive as the palace itself. They stretched on as far as the eye could see. A wide gravel path ran down the center, bordered by trees whose branches were groomed into impossibly straight vertical lines. The view was broken up by spraying fountains and enormous ponds reflecting the sky.
    Hannah, Pilar, and I stopped for lunch at a little open-air restaurant next to the reflecting pool. I ordered a ham-and-brie baguette, creamy cheese and salty ham sandwiched between two pieces of bread so crusty they scraped the roof of my mouth. As we ate, we saw the rest of our group pass by us and start down the side road that led to the Grand and Petit Trianons — the king and queen’s private residences.
    “I’m gonna hit the ladies’ room,” Hannah said.
    Pilar stood up, too. And then they waited for me, as if we were chained together.
    “I actually need to ask Madame Mitchell something,” I said. “I’m going to try to catch them, okay? Then I’ll double back.”
    “They must be halfway there by now,” Hannah said.