The Book of Lost Fragrances

Twenty-five

PARIS, FRANCE

WEDNESDAY, MAY 25, 3:45 P.M.

When Jac and Griffin arrived back at the workshop-so he could show her photographs and read her his translation of the story on the pot-Inspector Marcher was waiting.

“I’ve received a call from the police in the Loire Valley,” he said without preamble.

“Yes?” Jac asked. She hadn’t realized how much tension she’d expressed with the single word until she felt Griffin gently take her arm.

“Your brother’s wallet and his shoes were found by the shore of the river,” the inspector informed her in an even, unemotional voice, as if he were describing the weather.

Jac had been standing; now she found the first place to sit and crumpled into the chair in front of the perfumer’s organ. “What does that mean, exactly?”

“Nothing definitive. Someone might have stolen these things from him and thrown them in the river.”

“Stolen his shoes?” Trying to ward off the rising panic, Jac took a deep breath. Then another. And despite the fact that they were discussing the disappearance of her only brother, Jac’s attention was averted by her sudden awareness that she was again inhaling the same mysterious scent that had so transported her earlier in the day. A scent that hovered in a cloud around the organ. That faint wave of dizziness she’d experienced before returned.

“Why would someone have stolen his shoes?”

“We don’t know what happened yet. That’s why we are actively engaged in doing a search of the whole area,” the inspector explained.

Jac was looking at the tiny glass bottles gleaming in the afternoon sunlight. There was no dust anywhere. Robbie kept everything here so clean.

“His wallet and shoes? Are you certain they are his?”

“I’m sorry, but I am sure.”

Some of the labels on these bottles had been handwritten by her grandfather. Others by her father. Robbie must have written some of them too. He’d been working here for the last three months. Surely he had brought in some new synthetics. But she couldn’t find a single label with her brother’s handwriting. There was no proof of his existence in the place where he’d last been.

“Are you saying that you think he’s drowned?” She took another deep, deep breath. The air was getting stuffy again. “He can’t be. My brother is a very good swimmer.”

Griffin came up behind her and put his hands on her shoulders. For an instant, it felt as if he were the only thing keeping her from floating up and disappearing into the scent cloud.

“The river is famous in that area for its strong currents. I’m hoping he’s nearby, perhaps only slightly hurt. If he’s there, we’ll find him. We have teams searching from above the point where we found his items all the way down to where the Loire opens to the sea.”

Jac rubbed her eyes. One summer, their grandmother had taken Robbie and Jac to stay in a cousin’s chateau in the Loire Valley near Nantes. Despite the beautiful countryside and the ambling river, Jac had been unusually restless. Physically uncomfortable. During their first night there, she suffered terrible nightmares. Woke up with Robbie shaking her. “It’s only a dream,” he reassured her. “Only a dream.” That night he sat with her, talking, keeping her distracted until the sun rose. At breakfast, he convinced their grandmother they should leave earlier than scheduled. “Something about this place and Jac didn’t like each other,” he’d said at the time.

“Where in the valley?” Jac asked now. “Where exactly were his things found?”

“In Nantes.”

Jac understood what Marcher said, but it was too confusing. Nantes? It was such a peculiar coincidence.

She needed to let in the fresh air. She stood and started toward the French doors. But before she got to them, the scent drug started to pull her away.

The last thing she remembered, from a distance, was Griffin’s voice.

“Jac, are you-”