Left to Vanish (An Adele Sharp Mystery—Book Eight)

you,”said a soft voice near the fireplace. “Is there anything he might have toldyou?”
Adele’s lips felt numb and shebrushed her blonde hair from her eyes, her gaze hazy as it moved from the coldfireplace up to where Brigitte Henry watched her. She’d never met Robert’sniece before the funeral. Now with it over, she wasn’t sure she ever wanted tosee the young woman again. Brigitte had the same eyes as her uncle, oddlysolemn and mischievous all at once. A searching, knowing gaze. An exposinggaze.
And Adele felt exposed,standing in the study of her old mentor’s mansion, before a cold fireplace, onehand braced against a leather chair.
“I don’t mean to trouble you,”murmured Brigitte, attempting a smile, but then seemingly deciding this wouldn’thelp matters, so she left it and just watched Adele. “Only, yesterday, when Iasked if you’d be willing to help settle some of this, I didn’t realize Unclemight have changed the will.”
Adele winced, shrugging again. “Ireally don’t know. I’m very sorry.”
Brigitte sighed, turning to face apile of cardboard boxes where some of Robert’s books had been stowed. Adele hadoverseen this task personally. The books had been Robert’s favorites. Very fewthings were valued by the man as much, and she was determined to see thempacked properly.
Adele felt her fingers against theleather spine of another tome. Some third volume in a historical treatment ofthe Roman Empire. She glanced down at the nearly indeterminable golden scrawlon the front of the cover and tried her best to smile.
She couldn’t manage it, though.
What was the point of memorieswithout the source of them? It felt like warming in the sparks of an alreadydoused fire.
“Hmm?” Adele said, looking awayfrom the book toward Brigitte. “Sorry, what was that?”
Robert’s niece did smile thistime—a soft, sad smile. “The lawyer is talking with my father in the other room,”she repeated. “Did you want to join us? Amendment or not, you’re in theoriginal will.”
Adele breathed slowly, closing hereyes in thought. Robert had left her something?
Did she deserve it?
Did it matter?
She felt a flash of guiltrealizing how very little she wanted anything to do with tokens or heirlooms,sentimental or otherwise. Yesterday, the funeral had been difficult enough. Shehadn’t allowed herself to cry. She’d refused.
Tears wouldn’t bring him back.Tears wouldn’t bring him justice.
She glanced out the window, intothe garden beyond, her eyes tracing the single marble statue of the angel. Themarble features had been washed with a hose now, clearing the mud from theangel’s eyes. She shivered, remembering that night three weeks ago.
Remembering how she’d found Roberton the floor.
He’d died horribly.
“I… I… sorry,” she said,reflexively. “I just… I’ll be there in a moment if you don’t mind. Just…”
Brigitte hesitated, one footturned toward the open kitchen, where Adele could hear voices as the estatedetails were being settled by lawyers and relatives. “Thank you,” Brigitte saidat last, quietly.
Adele frowned. “For what?”
“I know how much Uncle cared foryou… We, well, when we moved—three hours away and, well, just… I didn’t visitas much as I would have liked.” Brigitte winced, shaking her head. “I know hecared for you.”
“I moved too,” Adele said softly. “Andnot just east of Paris.” She thought of her sojourn to California, working forthe FBI. It seemed a lifetime ago now. She remembered Robert’s many letters,his invitations to visit. It had taken her years to summon the courage toreturn.
Years she’d left behind. Years whereshe could have spent time with him.
Years she might have used to findthe bastard who’d done it.
She felt another cold prickle alongher back and glanced out the window again.
He was out there still… somewhere,biding his time. Her mother’s killer had targeted Robert because of her. Thatmuch was obvious now. She hadn’t seen it coming. Maybe she hadn’t wanted to.What sort of investigator missed something this obvious? Robert had beentortured to death because of her. Because she’d been too slow…
She closed her eyes, still facingthe window. Perhaps the mud splashed in the marble angel’s eyes had been amercy. See no evil?
And yet Adele hadn’t been affordedthat same courtesy. She’d seen again and again what the man they called theSpade Killer had done. Her mother, now Robert… His other victims had fared justas horribly.
Worst of all, she knew the killerwas still nearby… probably even in Paris. But she didn’t know how to find him.She had no leads. Anyone close to her was in danger—that much was obvious. Atask force of a sort had been assembled back at the DGSI—at least, so she’dbeen told. Of course, she’d been left out of the line-up as well as anyoneconnected to her. Probably good, anyway. When the task force inevitably failed toturn up anything new, at least she wouldn’t know the source of the inevitablefailure. The Spade Killer was a ghost. She’d gone through those files more thananyone, gone over them again and again. Everything they had on the murderer.
Nothing new. Nothing new ever cameup. They were stuck. The path forward was murky at best, invisible at worst.
Even at this thought, she took ahesitant step away from Brigitte, more reaction than anything. She thought ofhow she’d treated John at the funeral yesterday. He’d tried to talk with hertwice, and both times she’d given him the cold shoulder. It was for his owngood. At least, that’s what she wanted to believe.
She remembered the last textmessage to her father. Lie low for now. Lock your doors. Get a patrol car towatch your house.
At least in Germany, her fathermight be afforded some level of safety. But that was no guarantee where theSpade Killer was concerned. She’d considered asking Renee to do the same, butshe’d known John would never comply with such a directive.
“Adele?” Brigitte’s voice pokedthrough her overcast thoughts. “We’re just sorting the last details out. Mr.Ozil is asking for you.”
“The lawyer? I’ll… be right there.You go on. Just finishing up.”
Robert’s niece nodded politely,dipping her head, then she turned, moving behind the red leather chair, pastthe cold fireplace and into the kitchen.
Adele slowly lowered the leather-boundbook into one of the boxes, setting it neatly on top of its cousin volumes. Shelooked toward the open kitchen doorway, listening to the soft murmur of