Chapter 4: The Cake Table

I dropped flat behind the couch and held my breath.

My bare shoulder was against the wall, and I could hear Pru Aldrich's shoes on the ladder.

"It's me, Aunt Pru," Lark called, in a perfectly normal voice.

She had pulled the quilt up over the couch and sat on it with her knees up, fully dressed.

I don't know how she managed it so quickly.

Pru's head rose through the trapdoor, silver hair first.

"Lark Delacroix, it is half past midnight."

"I couldn't sleep. I came up to look at the old bay."

"You came up with a flashlight and a tin of pastry."

Pru swung her beam over the galette tin on the floor.

I stopped breathing completely.

"I took it from the kitchen," Lark said. "Don't tell the caterer."

"The caterer has a name, and it's Noor."

"I know her name."

"Do you?" Pru said.

The beam stayed on the tin, and the loft was very quiet.

"Lark," Pru said, in a lower voice. "You're my brother's girl. I promised him I'd look after you."

"I know, Aunt Pru."

"This family has one law, and I don't want to say it twice in one weekend."

"Off limits," Lark said. "Like a cousin."

"Good. Bring the tin down and go to bed."

The light swung away, and the ladder creaked as Pru went down.

We stayed frozen until the boat bay door scraped shut.

Then I crawled out from behind the couch with my shirt in my fist.

"You lied beautifully," I whispered.

"I've been practicing for thirteen years."

"Thirteen years of what?"

"Being the good niece."

She was smiling, but there was something thin in it.

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