She went inside, looking around for the reception area among a sea of ferns and other indoor plants. The ceiling was low to begin with, and the many plants and dark-paneled walls gave the place the overwhelming feeling of being in a deep, dark jungle. She pushed aside the fronds as she pushed through and nearly tripped on a cat on the way to the reception desk.

A man with a Rolex was staying here?

At first, she was sure she had the wrong address; but when she found the old man sitting at the reception desk and asked, “Bonjour. Do you have a Willy Laughler staying here?” she was surprised when he nodded.

“Would you be able to call his room and tell him I’d like to speak with him?” she asked.

The old man’s face pinched into a scowl. “Why. You a friend of his?”

“No. I’d just like to—

“You his mother?”

Mother? So he was younger? Or did she look that old? “No, I don’t actually know him, and he doesn’t know me, but I’d like to—”

“That boy is nothing but trouble to me. You police again?” Before she could answer, he said, “I do everything right. Take care of this place. Never bothered by the police. Then he comes to stay, and they’re always here, bothering me. Americans.”

“He’s American?”

The man nodded and motioned vaguely, “I think he went next door to get food.”

“Oh. Thank you.”

She navigated her way through the minefield that was the lobby again, and went to the small place next door. When she stepped inside, the spicy scent of Thai food made her mouth water. It’d been a long time since her coq au vin, but she placed a hand over her rumbling stomach, trying to focus on the patrons. There was a tall kid with long, shaggy hair at the front of the line, next to a blonde girl who was substantially shorter than him. He looked nothing like the type of man who’d own a Rolex or go to a ball, but other than him, there was a woman with her kids, and a couple of women eating at the tables.

When he turned and started striding toward her, she took the chance and jumped in his way. “Mr. Laughler?”

He had a long, pointed nose and acne scars, wore a rumpled Rip Curl t-shirt, and wasn’t particularly attractive in any way. His girlfriend, on the other hand, was beautiful and reminded Diana of Vidal. “Yeah?”

“Were you at the Versailles ball?” she asked him.

He nodded, “Yeah. Wait . . . you from the palace? You find my watch?”

“No, I’m not. I’m—”

“Hey, you’re American?”

She nodded. “Yes, I was at the ball, too, and—”

“Hey!” He held out his fist. She knew what a fist bump was, but she’d never actually given one to someone. She did it, carefully. “We Americans got to stick together.”

“Right. Well, I was at the ball too, and—”