52. Duet

Bonnie woke the next morning to a vague feeling of discontent which she chalked up, at first, to the after-effects of some nightmare faded beyond her recall. Upon reflection, however, she realized she was suffering from a hangover. Not of the physical variety — she'd hadn't drunk enough alcohol at the karaoke bar for that. It was, rather, an emotional carryover, the irritation and grumpiness she'd felt the previous evening still niggling at her despite a good eight hours' sleep.

She rolled over fretfully, and yanked the covers over her head. She'd tagged along to the party with little expectation of enjoying herself, but then, against all odds, the night had started off really well. The campaign volunteers who'd turned up were mostly college-aged kids in exuberant spirits, ready, willing and eager to rock the night away. Apart from herself and Steve, everyone had jumped at the chance to take the mic, and the performances, while not always tuneful, had been delivered with such unfailing gusto and humor, it was impossible not to be charmed. Some of the singers had genuine talent, too, and watching them cavort on stage while belting out their go-to songs to appreciative cheers and whistles was nearly as good as being at a show.

Most of the songs were immediately-familiar recent pop hits, but there were also, surprising in a crowd so young, several classic anthems and golden oldies mixed in, including, to Bonnie's delight, a rollicking rendition of Hot Blooded, complete with head banging and air guitar riffs. Vanna, especially, showed a predilection for vintage music, girl-group Motown in her case, which she performed with verve and just the right combination of sweetness and sass. Between her vivacity and pitch-perfect singing, she held the room easily in the palm of her hand, eliciting hoots of encouragement, and even inspiring spontaneous background vocals. Bonnie joined in the loud applause at the end of Be My Baby and He's So Fine, and was tapping her toe to the catchy beat of One Fine Day when she intercepted a flirty look directed at their table, a look not intended for Steve.

Not sure what she'd seen, Bonnie watched more closely, and saw Vanna smile and wink liberally at others in the audience. She thought she discerned a subtle difference, though — an extra twinkle, a prolonged gaze — whenever Vanna turned Trev's way. Her suspicions were amply confirmed when, toward the end of the bridge, Vanna singled him out for what amounted to a playful serenade. "I'll be waiting," she sang, eyes glued on him, "and someday, darling, you'll come to me when you want to settle down." Bonnie had needed only to slant a glance at Trev to see he was eating up all the attention with a spoon.

It stuck Bonnie forcibly in that moment that Vanna's songs were all variations on a theme. She couldn't remember all the lyrics, but a few came back to her: From the day I saw you, I have been waiting for you… He's so fine, gotta be mine… You're gonna want me for your girl… The sentiment was too much the same, song to song, for them to have been selected at random, and yet Vanna's having showcased them intentionally didn't seem plausible, either. Vanna had been very clear about considering Trev no more than a friend, so her expressly choosing songs to signal her availability and romantic interest in him made no sense whatsoever. It was always possible Vanna had changed her mind, but to hint at it in so coy and roundabout a fashion would have been entirely out of character for her. No, Bonnie concluded finally, it had to be just a very odd coincidence she was reading too much into.

But then, Vanna called Trev up on stage for their duet, and by midway through You're the One That I Want, Bonnie's disquiet had resurfaced. It wasn't that they were murdering the song; she'd expected that. Rather, they were performing it almost flawlessly. There were a few notes Trev didn't quite hit, but apart from that, he more than held his own: he didn't miss a cue, come in late, or flubbed a single word. When Vanna improvised some saucy dance moves, Trev was quick on the uptake and answered with moves of his own. He was so very much in the groove, he even threw in some of the hammy gestures he'd learned back in high school. The two were in truly amazing synch, playing off each other with an ease and deftness that shouldn't have been possible on a first run-through. They managed, impossibly, to bring the song to a dramatic close in perfect unison, and finished, as far as Bonnie could see, without either of them having once consulted the screen for help with the lyrics, lyrics that Trev, at least, probably hadn't sung or even heard much in nearly a decade…

As they accepted their well-earned ovation, Bonnie spared a glance to gauge Steve's reaction, only to find him observing her with undisguised interest. He appeared not the least abashed to be caught staring, and returned her puzzled look with a bland smile and genial nod toward the stage. "Pretty damn good together," he volunteered, raising his voice slightly to be heard over the commotion. "Wouldn't you say?"

He watched her closely, so intent on her response that Bonnie felt more out of her depth than ever. She nearly blurted out, "What in the world is going on here?" but intuited from Steve's carefully neutral expression that he was unlikely to clue her in. Frustrated and annoyed, she took what small revenge she could, and smiled tightly for all reply before walking briskly away from the table.

She passed up the nearest rest room and searched out the one on the lower floor. Inside, she found a pandemonium of women crowding the sinks and mirrors, but, fortunately, one of the stalls soon became available, and she was able to lock herself away in relative privacy. Leaning gratefully into the jamb of the cool metal door, she tried to get her troubling thoughts in order. The crux of it all was, she simply could not bring herself to believe Trev and Vanna's duet had been a spur-of-the-moment thing. The timing, the confidence, the thorough knowledge of the song, all were inconceivable without some preparation and rehearsal. And, if they had practiced beforehand, that begged the obvious question why? Had it been in anticipation of this very evening? But, if so, why pretend going on to the karaoke bar was not the plan all along? Bonnie would, it was true, have tried to bow out if given sufficient warning, but why would they enact a whole charade just to ensure she join them? And, if they'd colluded against her after dinner, who was to say the "happy accident" of Vanna's running into her outside the Founding Fathers hadn't been part of the set-up, too? Perhaps Trev had pushed back the time of their meeting not because he was running late, but because, otherwise, Vanna could not arrive before him.

Bonnie could hardly believe she was entertaining such ludicrous suspicions, and yet, she couldn't dismiss them from her mind. Whether true or no, she had come to feel like the butt of an elaborate prank, and she was not inclined to put a good face on it. By the time she returned to the party, she didn't have to lie about having a queasy stomach and a pounding headache. Vanna was immediately all concern and regret, bending over her anxiously, while Trev wrapped a solicitous arm around her and promised to take her home without delay. Bonnie, foreseeing this, had phoned her SteerE from the ladies' room, and it was already pulling up to the curb when Trev escorted her out of the bar. "Feel better," he said, worry creasing his brow as he stepped back from the car. "I'll call you tomorrow."

A couple of aspirin and a night's rest had done wonders for the headache, but not much for her mood. She contemplated staying put until she could get up on the right side of the bed, but the murmur of voices and the cheerful clatter of crockery drifting up to her from the terrace below her window was enough to entice her from between the sheets. When, a short while later, she entered the kitchen, she was rewarded by the sight of her brother stacking fresh-off-the-griddle pancakes on a plate. "Hey, Rip Van Winkle!" Junior said, flashing her a welcoming grin. "You're in just under the wire. Another five minutes, and these little beauties would be packed away in the freezer. Go on! Get 'em while they're hot. There're forks and napkins out on the patio table."

Bonnie didn't need to be told twice. She collected her breakfast, and moving off toward the sliding screen door, called back, "You're my favorite brother, you know that?"

Junior snorted. "Yeah, yeah. Tell it to the Marines."

Out back, her other favorite brother was doing lazy laps in the pool while their grandfather looked on from the shade of the patio umbrella. He smiled to see her approach, and, just like that, what remained of her bad humor dissipated like low-lying mist burning off in the sun. She set down her plate, and, throwing her arms around his neck, kissed him soundly on the cheek. "Good morning, Gramps."

He eyed her with amusement as she dropped into the chair next to his, and pulled it smartly up to the table. "You're a regular ray of sunshine this morning, Sweet Tart."

"Well, the poet said it best, Gramps — pass the syrup, please?"

He obliged her. "Care to be more specific?"

"I believe the exact line is: Junior made pancakes, all's right with the world."

He chuckled indulgently. "Hard to start a day off any better. He learned to make them light-as-air from me, you know."

"I've heard that," Bonnie said, around a large mouthful. "Any coffee in that carafe?"

"Listen," he said, when he'd poured her a cup. "About the report from that de Clermont fellow. I read it over last night, and I noticed something that could be interesting."

She froze, knife and fork forgotten in her hands. "What'd I miss?"

"Maybe nothing. It's just a hunch I had." He reached into his shirt pocket, and withdrawing a page torn from a small-format notebook, refreshed his memory before holding it out to her. "Louise Michaud."

She frowned thoughtfully at the scrap of paper. Michaud was the maternal branch of Madeleine Lavallière's family tree, but her mother's name had been something more exotic than Louise. Then, it came to her. "Madeleine's aunt?"

He nodded. "There's some overlap between Madeleine's biography and what we know about that servant girl in the Lebrun household. You remember they had a housekeeper who brought in one of her teenage nieces to help with the chores when she got older. The girl was her sister's daughter, and — I checked that chapter on Lebrun again to be sure — one of a dozen children."

"That's right!" Bonnie tapped herself sharply on the forehead. "I should've seen that. Nice catch, Gramps!"

"It's not much to go on," he cautioned. "Large families were run-of-the-mill back then, I imagine, and what's more common than having an aunt or two? To be honest, Bonbon, I don't think there's much chance of Louise Michaud and the housekeeper being one and the same person, but as long as there's the possibility, however remote, it's worth checking out. You don't want to leave any stone unturned, even if it's just a pebble."

"I'm with you there, absolutely. I'll shoot an email off to Richard as soon as I've finished breakfast. I still have to thank him for all the research he's done so far. I really owe him."

"You owe your Grammy A, more like. I'll say this for de Clermont: he really knows his stuff. And, talking of experts, have you heard back from that Lebrun scholar?"

"Doucette? Not a word. I have no idea what's going on there. You'd think…" A single decorous ping launched itself from her wrist-phone, alerting her to an incoming call. She glanced down at the tiny screen-face: Trev. "Ignore," she said crisply into the microphone. "Reply: 'can't talk now.'"

"You could have taken that," her grandfather said, as the device resumed its default display. "I wouldn't have minded."

Bonnie applied herself to cutting up her pancakes. "I… don't feel like talking right now."

He considered her a moment, his brows gathered in a slight frown. "You two have a fight?"

"Strictly speaking, no."

"Going through a rough patch?"

She sighed, and, setting down her utensils, pushed her plate away. "It's stupid stuff, Gramps, really. You don't want to hear it."

"Try me."

She started off half-heartedly, but was soon confiding her confusion and grievances to him just as she had done times without number when she was a little girl. He listened gravely, letting her vent without interruption, and even appearing to sympathize with her indignation. When she had talked herself out at last, he said, "So… you want to know how I see it, Tootsie Pop?"

"You know I do."

He shook his head wryly. "That boy's in a tough way. He loves you, but he's not sure anymore where he stands with you. All that plotting and play-acting? It seems pretty plain to me he was trying to make you jealous. Sadly for him, it doesn't seem to have worked."