Read Online Confessions: The Paris Mysteries by James Patterson - Free Book Online
Authors: James Patterson
Tags: Romance, Contemporary, Mystery, Young Adult, Juvenile Fiction / Family - Siblings, Juvenile Fiction / Love & Romance, Juvenile Fiction / Mysteries & Detective Stories, Juvenile Fiction / Social Issues / Self-Esteem & Self-Reliance
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him, and yet I doubted him still.
After dinner had been cleared away, Jacob mooched around the downstairs rooms, watching the news, taking his computer for a spin, effectively blocking the entrance to the cellar, where unread papers called out to me.
Yes, Jacob had said he would tell me about Katherine, but I wanted answers I could verify before having a chat with my Israeli commando uncle.
Harry said he had some thinking and composing to do, and after he secluded himself in the back garden, I climbed the stairs to my room. I opened a closet and found a silk nightgown and matching robe made of cerise silk. As I put it on, the silk drifted over my head and floated around my shoulders like it had been lonely for me. I got into bed and thought about Katherine and Dominick’s doomed love story, and frankly, it didn’t track.
I do believe it’s possible to be rear-ended and not see the vehicle that struck you from behind. I believe it’s possible that in the inferno that followed, other drivers had been shocked and horrified by the flames and had missed seeing the guilty driver who, after rear-ending Dominick’s motorcycle, sped away.
But why had Uncle Pig threatened Dominick?
Why wasn’t he more concerned for Kath’s boyfriend, the other victim in this accident? Why hadn’t he waited for Dominick to recover and maybe helped him pursue legal matters arising from the accident? That would have been humane. And why hadn’t Dominick been allowed to contact my parents and tell them about Katherine’s last days?
That might have been a comfort to us all.
Instead, we’d had Katherine’s funeral without the boy who loved her. What could be sadder than that? Had Peter been at the funeral? I couldn’t remember.
After our parents died, I’d caught Peter smuggling documents out of my father’s office. He had said the papers belonged to Angel Pharmaceuticals and, therefore, to him.
Now I wondered if those papers were all about Katherine. Was there a connection between Katherine’s drug protocols and her death?
I had to find out.
I have a track record of solving crimes, starting with the deaths of our parents and continuing from that day, so that I even get respect from the NYPD.
So I say this not as a snotty teenager, but as a proven investigator:
Uncovering the mystery of Katherine’s death would be the most important investigation of my life.
That was my last conscious thought before I dropped into a black hole of sleep.
I had to swim up from the depths of my slumber to finally understand that Jacob was knocking frantically on my door.
“Tandy! Open up. It’s an emergency.”
“What time is it?”
“It’s late. Get dressed, Tandy. Harry is in trouble.”
I bounded out of bed in my borrowed peignoir and threw open the door.
“What is it? What happened?”
“Someone is
dead
. Harry has been arrested.”
Monsieur Morel surprised me.
I was slammed against the backseat as he floored the Mercedes, cutting through early-morning traffic and whizzing through intersections against lights, without incident or accident.
Hugo clung to me in the backseat as the car lurched and swayed and shot through the streets of Paris.
We couldn’t go fast enough for me.
My heart ached for Harry. Was he terrified? Had the police already decided he was guilty of something heinous? It had happened before, to Matty when his girlfriend had been found stabbed to death. The media had played judge and jury before the trial even started.
Before I could get swamped in bad memories, Monsieur Morel braked the car outside the Commissariat de Police. Car doors flew open, and with Jacob in the lead, Hugo and I nimbly skirted a long row of bike racks and iron fencing, edging through a line of police cars at the curb.
The police station was gray brick, lit from within with a stark, bluish-gray light, looking quite ominous under the circumstances.
Jacob held the glass doors for Hugo and me, saying, “Don’t worry, kids,” in a way
After dinner had been cleared away, Jacob mooched around the downstairs rooms, watching the news, taking his computer for a spin, effectively blocking the entrance to the cellar, where unread papers called out to me.
Yes, Jacob had said he would tell me about Katherine, but I wanted answers I could verify before having a chat with my Israeli commando uncle.
Harry said he had some thinking and composing to do, and after he secluded himself in the back garden, I climbed the stairs to my room. I opened a closet and found a silk nightgown and matching robe made of cerise silk. As I put it on, the silk drifted over my head and floated around my shoulders like it had been lonely for me. I got into bed and thought about Katherine and Dominick’s doomed love story, and frankly, it didn’t track.
I do believe it’s possible to be rear-ended and not see the vehicle that struck you from behind. I believe it’s possible that in the inferno that followed, other drivers had been shocked and horrified by the flames and had missed seeing the guilty driver who, after rear-ending Dominick’s motorcycle, sped away.
But why had Uncle Pig threatened Dominick?
Why wasn’t he more concerned for Kath’s boyfriend, the other victim in this accident? Why hadn’t he waited for Dominick to recover and maybe helped him pursue legal matters arising from the accident? That would have been humane. And why hadn’t Dominick been allowed to contact my parents and tell them about Katherine’s last days?
That might have been a comfort to us all.
Instead, we’d had Katherine’s funeral without the boy who loved her. What could be sadder than that? Had Peter been at the funeral? I couldn’t remember.
After our parents died, I’d caught Peter smuggling documents out of my father’s office. He had said the papers belonged to Angel Pharmaceuticals and, therefore, to him.
Now I wondered if those papers were all about Katherine. Was there a connection between Katherine’s drug protocols and her death?
I had to find out.
I have a track record of solving crimes, starting with the deaths of our parents and continuing from that day, so that I even get respect from the NYPD.
So I say this not as a snotty teenager, but as a proven investigator:
Uncovering the mystery of Katherine’s death would be the most important investigation of my life.
That was my last conscious thought before I dropped into a black hole of sleep.
I had to swim up from the depths of my slumber to finally understand that Jacob was knocking frantically on my door.
“Tandy! Open up. It’s an emergency.”
“What time is it?”
“It’s late. Get dressed, Tandy. Harry is in trouble.”
I bounded out of bed in my borrowed peignoir and threw open the door.
“What is it? What happened?”
“Someone is
dead
. Harry has been arrested.”
Monsieur Morel surprised me.
I was slammed against the backseat as he floored the Mercedes, cutting through early-morning traffic and whizzing through intersections against lights, without incident or accident.
Hugo clung to me in the backseat as the car lurched and swayed and shot through the streets of Paris.
We couldn’t go fast enough for me.
My heart ached for Harry. Was he terrified? Had the police already decided he was guilty of something heinous? It had happened before, to Matty when his girlfriend had been found stabbed to death. The media had played judge and jury before the trial even started.
Before I could get swamped in bad memories, Monsieur Morel braked the car outside the Commissariat de Police. Car doors flew open, and with Jacob in the lead, Hugo and I nimbly skirted a long row of bike racks and iron fencing, edging through a line of police cars at the curb.
The police station was gray brick, lit from within with a stark, bluish-gray light, looking quite ominous under the circumstances.
Jacob held the glass doors for Hugo and me, saying, “Don’t worry, kids,” in a way
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