The Girl Who Remembered Snow
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San Francisco magician Emma Passant is puzzled by her grandfather's cryptic will. He writes that she is to "take her place at the helm and turn the wheel on the legacy that I have kept hidden from her". As Emma ponders these elusive words, a friend of hers is fatally shot--by the same gun that was used to kill her grandfather. The mystery begins to come together, however, upon the disappearance of a model boat--the replica of a boat her grandfather had sailed on years before. Emma departs in search of the real vessel, and finds herself in an adventure and into the shocking truth about her family's past.
isolated death, maybe. But how could it be a coincidence —Henri-Pierre Caraignac being killed with the same gun?” The lawyer stood, and walked to his desk, his hands clasped behind his back, his face inscrutable. “This I do not know,” he said finally. “I told the police last week everything I can think of, which is nothing. Nobody would have wished to harm dear, sweet Jacques, and I have never heard of this Caraignac person.” Emma looked down. She was still clutching the strange bone in her
don’t have a lot of other options.” “I have a cousin who might drive you,” said Celia. “But he works at a job during the week and you would have to wait until Saturday. And I do not know for sure that he would be available. He sometimes must work on the weekends, too, if they need him.” Emma nodded, knowing too well what it was like to have to work weekends to make ends meet. It was Monday now, however, and she was hardly going to sit around the pool for four more days, waiting for a cousin who
plastic umbrella looked like the best bet. She apparently had to take something for the sake of his pride, but didn’t need a toaster and sure as hell wasn’t going to buy any tires. “You have wood carvings from Indians?” said Timoteo, coming over chewing a peach, his mouth full. “She looks to buy carvings.” “Ah,” said Fimo happily and dug back into his pile of tires. What he held up after a moment next to his smiling black face sent a chill down Emma’s spine. It was about nine inches high—a
Ed, leaning forward and fixing her with his big earnest puppy-dog eyes. “I beg your pardon?” “Synchronicity. It’s like fate, see? Only more scientific. You know how sometimes you’re thinking about somebody and the phone rings and it’s that very person? Or you hear some funny word in a conversation and for the rest of the day you keep running into it?” “Yes?” “Well, that’s synchronicity. Happens all the time. Happens to everybody. And that’s what we got here, our running into each other like
island, sometimes even by satellite.” “Oh, for God’s sakes.” “Now, I don’t know what that old snake Zuberan told you, Emma honey, but you can be dead certain it wasn’t the truth, the whole truth, and nothin’ but the truth. The man’s a world-class liar. Why, he’s got one of the biggest banks in New York City believing that a certain company in Colombia makes forty million dollars a year cash money selling papaya juice to tourists.” “Then my grandfather didn’t do anything wrong?” “Nothing that