Death by Denim Read Online Free PDF Page B

stood at one end of the property, surrounded by an ornate fence. I imagined the running paths had once been meant for horses.
    I kept a close eye on my mom’s bouncing head several strides ahead of me, pulling farther and farther ahead with every step. She wasn’t jogging; she was flat-out running. It would have been easier to keep up with her if the park wasn’t such a popular destination. The track was clogged with runners and cyclists and people simply out for a lovely summer stroll. Of course, I’m sure that’s why Lévêque had chosen that particular park to meet. Among the throngs of other joggers, they would practically be invisible as they ran side by side, sharing information. But it made it harder for me to keep my distance, still keeping her in sight without being obvious about it.
    When we rounded a curve in the path, I had to slow for a woman with a jogging stroller and then again for some guy running with his dog. A group of older men were walking four abreast, and I had to slow my stride again to wait for an opening so I could get past them. Still, I managed to keep pace.
    But then a group of little kids dressed in matching outfits ambled onto the path, herded by a pinched-faced teacher. Boys and girls alike wore crisp, white tunics over navy blue shorts, with round straw hats on their heads that had little ribbons dangling down the back. They were cute, but in my way. When I slowed down to avoid running them over, Mom pulled even farther ahead. I veered to the left of the group and tried to pass them, but one little boy dropped the toy boat he was carrying and stooped right in front of me to pick it up.
    I stumbled to a stop. The teacher jumped forward to pull him out of my way, gushing apologies. “Pardon, mademoiselle! Désolé.”
    “Ne t’en fais pas,” I murmured. It’s okay. But it wasn’t quite, because when I looked up, my mom was gone. I flew down the path, feeling like that little kindergart ner again. Only this time it was worse because my mind slipped back to the last time I had lost my mom in a crowd. That incident had ended with me watching her partner die.
    The logical part of my brain knew it was highly unlikely for the same thing to happen again. Still, I half expected to round the bend and find M. Lévêque sitting at one of the park’s small, round tables, reading his newspaper, reaching for his coffee the way her partner, Joe, had done . . . right before he keeled over from being poisoned.
    I shook my head to chase the thought away. The only thing I needed to be worried about was finding my mom. It seemed unreal to me that I could have lost her so quickly. I had been distracted for only a moment.
    And then her voice echoed in my head, so urgent, reminding me to go to the station.
    I drew in a shaky breath, a weight settling on my chest. Maybe I wasn’t so sneaky after all. She had probably seen me following her and ditched me. But why? What was it about this meeting that was so different from this morning? I thought of how she had been so shaken when she read the note. This meeting with M. Lévêque must be dangerous if she didn’t want me there, but if it was too dangerous for me, it would be just as dangerous for her.
    Suddenly, I was unsure of what to do. Should I try to find her? She might need help. I started down the path again, but stopped before I had gone three steps. I could just imagine what she would say if I went against following the procedure she had taken such pains to spell out to me. Especially if by doing so, I messed up whatever it was she was planning. She had made it very clear she wanted me to go to the station and wait for her there.
    Mom had always said to trust my instincts . . . but what if my instincts told me two completely different things?
    In the end, I decided to go to Saint-Lazare as I had promised. She had made it clear that she didn’t want me with her. I slogged back to the Metro, defeated. On the map outside the gate, I was able to find