They were in the Titanic Exhibit gift shop. There were necklaces for sale, with pendants made from supposedly genuine pieces of coal brought up from the Titanic’s wreckage.
“That seems rather tasteless,” Cairo commented.
“That shit’s probably haunted,” Sable said.
“All right,” Sable said. “Moment of truth.”
Cairo picked up the hotel phone, flipped the yellowed calling card over, and dialed the number she’d jotted down ten years ago. Sable leaned in close to hear since they weren’t going to risk putting the call on speaker and being overheard.
The phone rang once. Then again. Then the click of connection.
“Good morning, Miss Laurendeau’s residence,” a woman’s voice answered. Cairo knew this woman was definitely not Bijou. Bijou had a comically affected transatlantic accent. There was still a remote possibility that Bijou still lived there, if this woman was just answering her phone.
“Hello. May I speak to Bijou please?” Cairo chanced.
The woman on the other end was silent for a moment, then said, “May I ask who’s calling?”
“Oh, my apologies,” Cairo said, having forgotten to introduce herself before . “This is Cleo.”
“Cleo…?” the woman trailed, prompting for a last name.
“Just Cleo.”
“I see. May I put you on hold?” the woman asked.
“Yes, of course.”
They waited. A moment later, an older woman’s voice asked, “Hello? Bijou speaking.”
Sable nearly choked in surprise at how this woman just answered so readily to her codename, not knowing who was on the other end of the line.
Read on…
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