فصل 72

I realized that telling the truth might be the ammunition I needed. “She reminds me of someone too,” I said. “I have a younger sister.”

It worked. Her head snapped to me.

“You do?”

I nodded. “She’s nearly sixteen now, like the Polish girl. My father sent her up north near the Danish border for safety. I haven’t heard from her in over three years. I’m going to find her.”

Her expression softened.

“Are your parents still alive?” I asked.

Her hands stopped. Her fingers rested lightly on my chest. She stared off into the corner. “I hope so.” She sighed.

Family. I had hit the nerve. I was exactly where I needed to be to convince her, but suddenly I felt bad. She was genuinely a nice girl. And why did she have to be so pretty? Why couldn’t she have a mustache like that giant, Eva?

“I try so hard not to think negatively,” she said. “My mother is in a refugee camp in Germany, but my father and brother are still in Lithuania. Mother thinks they’re fighting in the forests. I’ve heard that Stalin has done unspeakable things to Lithuanians. And then I think of the family upstairs at that estate.” She paused. “Are you absolutely sure they were all dead? I keep thinking that maybe one of the children was alive, that I could have helped.”

I didn’t want to describe it for her. “They were dead.”

She looked straight at me. “I did something stupid.”

I stared back at her, waiting. The curtain to her guard was sliding down. Her truths were there for the taking. A soft curl slipped from beneath her ear onto her cheek. That curl. It was killing me.

“I wrote the family a note, saying that I borrowed their sewing kit. It didn’t feel right taking something of theirs. That was before I knew they were all upstairs, of course. I signed my name on the note and left it in the kitchen. Now my full name is in that house. What if the relatives return to find the dead family and my name?”

“Sure, you slaughtered the family and then left a borrow note for a sewing kit. That’s a real calculated killer.” I laughed.

The curtain flew back up. I had pushed too far. “Killers aren’t always assassins. Sometimes they don’t even have blood on their hands.” She gathered her bag, leaving my shirt open.

“Your stitches should be removed in a couple days. I don’t know if they will accept me on a ship. If they do, I may think about vouching for your ear and your wound. But I have to know more. I can’t take the risk. Either give me your name, show me your papers, or tell me what you’re hiding in your pack.” She stood up and looked down at me.

I raised myself onto my elbows but said nothing. I really wanted not to like this girl, but was failing miserably.

“You think you’re sly,” she said, shaking her head. “I know you took something from my suitcase. I want it back, by tomorrow.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about. Maybe you’d better check your suitcase again.”

“Oh, you’re good, but you’re not that good,” she said. “And trust me, you’re not the only one with secrets. Good night, Prussian.” She closed the door.

I lay back down on the cold tile floor. I reached into my pocket and pulled out her note about the sewing kit. What sort of girl leaves a promissory note in the midst of a bloodbath?

An honest one.

I stared at her pretty handwriting, memorizing it and tracing over her signature with my finger. I had slipped the drawing back into her suitcase. Yes, I was that good.

Good night, Joana.