“Aha.” I nod. “We will examine zem….” I pick up Twice, and Suze picks up the multicolored one. “Let us study zem in ze light….” I move away from Raymond, and Suze follows. “Aha. Zis one, it remind me of…a potato.”

Suze was right. Potato is a really, really bad code word. But it works. In one seamless movement, Suze and I hold the sculptures above our heads.

(Suze’s looks much heavier than mine. I feel a bit bad. But, then, she’s got strong arms.)

“All right,” I say, in my most menacing voice. “Here’s the truth. I’m not Pauline Audette. My name is Rebecca. Graham Bloomwood is my father. And I want to know the truth about what happened on your road trip. If you won’t tell us, we’ll smash the pieces. If you fetch help, we’ll smash the pieces. So you’d better start talking.” I break off, breathing hard, wondering whether to add “buster,” then think better of it.

Raymond is clearly one of those very slow, think-everything-through types. It feels like about half an hour that we’re standing there, our arms aching, our pulses racing, waiting for him to respond. He scans from me to Suze. He blinks. He screws up his face. He opens his mouth to speak, then stops.

“We need to know,” I say, trying to prod him into action. “We need to know the truth, right here, right now.”

Again, Raymond frowns, as though pondering the great mysteries of life. God, he’s frustrating.

“You’re not Pauline Audette?” he says at last.

“No.”

“Well, thank God for that.” He shakes his head in wonder. “I thought you’d gone crazy.” He peers more closely at me. “You look like her, though. Just like her.”

“I know.”

“I mean, that is incredible. You’re not related?”

“Not as far as I know. It is incredible, isn’t it?” I can’t help unbending to him a little. I knew I looked like Pauline Audette.

“Well, you should google that.” His eyes brighten with interest. “Maybe you have some ancestor in common. You could go on one of those TV shows—”

“Enough of zis chitchat!” barks Suze, sounding like a Nazi kommandant. “We need the truth!” She frowns disapprovingly at me, and I see I’ve let myself get sidetracked.

“That’s right!” I say hastily, and hold Twice up even higher. “We’re here for a reason, Raymond, so you’d better give us what we need.”

“And don’t try any funny business,” adds Suze menacingly. “The minute you call the cops, your two pieces of pottery will be in smithereens.” She sounds like she can’t wait to get smashing. I didn’t realize Suze had quite such a violent side.

There’s another minute or so of silence—which feels like half an hour—as Raymond digests this.

“You’re Graham’s daughter,” he says at last, staring at me. “Don’t look like him.”

“Well, I am. And he’s gone missing. We’ve been trying to track him down and help him out, but all we know is, he’s trying to put something right. Do you know what that is?”