Prince of Air by Ann Hood Read Free Book Online Page A

his twin?” Felix asked her.
    â€œAmy Pickworth.” She shook her head sadly. “She disappeared in the Congo or somewhere when she was only sixteen.”
    â€œAnd they never found her?” Felix said.
    Their mother shook her head again. “Sad,” she said, collecting the empty mugs.
    She yawned. “Some of us have work tomorrow,” she said.
    â€œOn Saturday?” Felix said, trying not to whine.
    â€œThe Holbrook case,” their mother said.
    Maisie narrowed her eyes. That meant Bruce Fishbaum again.
    â€œBut you’re coming to the Talent Show, right?” Felix asked.
    Their mother smoothed his cowlick. “Wouldn’t miss it,” she said.
    In that moment, Felix chose to believe that his mother and Bruce Fishbaum really were just friends, colleagues, and workers on the Holbrook case. But when he met Maisie’s eyes, he knew his sister didn’t believe that. Not one bit.

    A buzz ran through the crowd in the Anne Hutchinson Elementary School auditorium as Felix, Maisie, and their mother arrived with Great-Uncle Thorne and Great-Aunt Maisie for the talent show. Thorne and Maisie Pickworth were legendary among so many of the Newport families there. Stories about them—their eccentric father, the grand parties thrown at Elm Medona, even the rumors that Elm Medona was haunted—still swirled around at cocktail parties and fund-raisers in certain circles.
    Great-Aunt Maisie cut quite a figure in her vintage navy-blue Chanel suit, her back erect, her head held high, a flat-brimmed boater sitting at an angle atop her white hair. Behind her, Great-Uncle Thorne rhythmically tapped his walking stick with the replica of Elm Medona on it along the polished hardwood floor. He wore a violet three-piece suit with a lavender-and-white-striped shirt and a bow tie covered in every shade of purple polka dot imaginable.
    â€œFop,” Great-Aunt Maisie had said to him when they got in the car.
    â€œPrig,” he’d said right back to her.
    â€œDandy!” she’d shouted.
    â€œStop, you two!” Maisie and Felix’s mother had ordered them, just the way she would have ordered Maisie and Felix. “Honestly,” she’d muttered.
    Unlike Great-Aunt Maisie, who kept her blue eyes focused straight ahead as they moved down the central aisle of folding chairs, Great-Uncle Thorne made eye contact with just about everyone who dared make eye contact with him. His bushy white eyebrows wiggled, and his head bobbed back and forth.
    Felix felt embarrassed to have everyone watching them. He was nervous enough about his magic act. Now he had to have just about the entire audience whispering about the Pickworths and wondering how old these two must possibly be and where they’d been for so many years. He glanced up at Maisie, but she had a bemused, almost happy look on her face as if she enjoyed all the attention.
    Finally they reached the front row where three pieces of printer paper with R ESERVED P ICKWORTHS written on them in black marker sat on the three center seats.
    â€œReserved?” their mother asked, confused.
    She walked last in their little group, following Great-Aunt Maisie’s lead.
    â€œOf course,” Great-Aunt Maisie said haughtily. “The Pickworths always have their seats reserved.”
    â€œIn the front row,” Great-Uncle Thorne added.
    That was probably the first thing those two had agreed on since he’d shown up at Christmas.
    â€œCenter,” Great-Aunt Maisie said, sitting in the center seat of the three reserved ones as if to finalize her point.
    â€œWell, it’s just a middle school show,” Felix and Maisie’s mother said dismissively. “Honestly. No need to put people to so much trouble.”
    Great-Aunt Maisie shifted in her seat and held up the printer paper she’d sat on.
    â€œJennifer,” she said, her voice icy, “I hardly think anyone was put out by taking some paper,