SYNTHESIS
follows "Bookmarks"

Postlude

➤➤ alexandra.v.eames@xfinity.net

➤Inbox
∇ Sent Items
➤Saved
   ➤Family
   ➤Business
   ➤Dark Crystal
➤Junk
➤Trash

. . . . .

Date: April 17, 2023

To: Renata L. Sandoval (renatasandoval@creatwoodschool.co.uk)

Subject: Renata, It's Min — Please Open!

From: Alex Eames (alexandra.v.eames@xfinity.net)

Bon soir, Renata–

It's Min. I WON'T HAVE TO LIVE WITH MADAME AFTER ALL! Maman wrote a will and asked her friends Mr and Mrs Goren--I'm calling them, "Mama" and "Papa"--to be my guardians. They are very nice but I still don't know them well--I've met them only twice. They are American and live in the state of Connecticut, in a little house. There is a collie named Sam and a budgie named Bandit, too. They both used to be detectives like your favorite M. Poirot! My new aunts and uncles had a party for me when we got home. I was told Papa has about a million books but haven't seen them yet.

I thought it would be too sad to have Mama and Papa call me "Mignon" because I would always hear it in my mother's and father's voices, so I asked them to call me "Olivia". I think the American girls will tease me less, too, because I don't want it being like my first week at Creatwood last year. Thank you for being my friend from the first. I don't mind if you still call me "Min".

Mama says she'll give me my my own e-mail address tomorrow so my next message should come from "Olivia Pepin".

Please say hello to Miss Bradford-Smith and Mr Desrosiers and the rest for me.

Love, Min (Olivia)

. . . . .

Date: April 17, 2023

To: Laurent Francois Pepin (Laurent.F.Pepin@duplantix.com)

Subject: Laurent, It is Mignon — Please Open!

From: Alex Eames (alexandra.v.eames@xfinity.net)

Mon frere Laurent,

This is your little sister telling you I am safely at my new home. The plane ride was very long. Mama and Papa—I am calling Mr and Mrs Goren that—let me sleep on their laps. We all slept most of the way home. We drove home over a big bridge that goes over the Hudson River and it is called by a Dutch name, the Tappan Zee, and when we got to my new home there was a party for me! There was cake and I met my new aunts and uncles, and they bought me bedroom furniture, and some children about my age, even a boy named Noah who is très beau but he doesn't live near us.

I thought it would be too sad to have Mama and Papa call me "Mignon" because I would always hear it in Papa Marcel's voice and Maman's voice, so I have asked them to call me "Olivia". So when Mama makes me an e-mail address tomorrow don't be surprised when you hear from "Olivia Pepin".

I am very tired and will tell you more tomorrow.

Love,

petite soeur Olivia

Evangeline Pepin was still at work at three-thirty a.m., her fountain pen scratching as she continued signing and notating documents. The curtains of the morning room were drawn closed now, and, ever frugal about things that did not involve the business or her collections, she worked by the single light of a vintage green-shaded banker's lamp.

The door to the morning room opened and closed soundlessly, but she did not look up as she said, "Yes, Laurent?"

"Mignon is safe in her new home, Maman," he said, his voice blurred. "Will you be going to bed anytime soon?"

She finally spared a glance at him, seeing the expression on his flushed face. "Go up any time you like, Laurent. I have much work to do now with your father gone."

"I've had an e-mail from her. I thought she'd forget, but she didn't. My little sister, she is very faithful. She said that her new aunts and uncles, and a group of Madame et Monsieur Goren's friends met them at her new home. There was a cake welcoming her, and a party, and even a group of children to help her feel at home. Her aunts and uncles bought her new bedroom furniture." Laurent sank into the padded chair next to his mother's desk.

Madame turned to him. "Laurent? Have you been drinking? Because you smell like a distillery."

"Just some of Papá's brandy," he said, leaning his head back. "Oh...and she's asked to be called 'Olivia' now."

"The child? C'est bonne nom," Madame shrugged. "But you see then? What did I tell you—"no need to fear for her. I did have the Gorens thoroughly investigated."

Laurent's eyes were cynical. "Was it necessary to kill Papá to get rid of the odious Miss Wallace?"

His mother put down her pen. "What makes you think that happened, Laurent?"

"Perhaps it was the large payment that appeared on our books made to a Jules Defreine, a name I've never heard in association with the business?" he responded. "Or the fact that no 'Gunther Thorin' is being held by the gendarmes? Or that suddenly M. Defreine has gone to Spain to live, in a very nice little villa on the southern coast?"

A smile broke her usually collected face. "Why, Laurent, one might think you were a former police officer like one of the Gorens—or that dogged but charming Detective St.-Clair. But you do look tired, cher fils; why not go up to bed? You'll need to get your rest now. In six months, when will you find the time? By then you'll be running Duplantix on your own, which your papá said you'd never do. And preparing for your wedding to Philomène!"

A resigned smile appeared on his weary face. "I suppose you are right, Maman." He stood up, then asked, "Maman? Is Luisa Carvallo's sister really ill?"

His mother eyed him. "Of course she is, Laurent. Why would you think otherwise? However, that does remind me that she requires an excellent severance pay."

Laurent drew a breath. "Very well, Maman. Good evening."

"Good night, Laurent."

And her pen went on scratching into the wee hours.