“I know what I saw,” I tell him.

“The police scoured all the footage from the nearby security cameras. There was no sign of any man. There was no evidence of foul play.”

“The bullet wound in her chest seemed like pretty good evidence to me,” I say.

“You know there was no bullet wound, Grace. We’ve told you that. I saw the autopsy report myself, and the coroner’s findings were very clear.”

“But —” I start, but then my grandfather interrupts with a shout.

“It was an accident!” His face is red. I can’t tell if he wants to scream or cry. Probably both. I am talking about his daughter, after all. “It was an accident, Gracie. An accident.”

When he says the word one final time, it is almost a whisper.

“Think about it, Grace.” Ms. Chancellor’s voice is soft. She tries to smooth my hair, but I jerk away. “You’re still jet-lagged. I know you haven’t been sleeping well. You’re exhausted.”

“I know I’m exhausted! That’s why I didn’t say anything when —”

When I saw him in Iran, I think, but dare not say.

“When what?” Grandpa snaps.

“When I was at the party,” I finish meekly. “But now I know it was him. I know it.”

“Forget about the Scarred Man, Gracie. Make your peace. Let her go.” He tries to calm himself. At least his voice is softer when he turns to look out the window at the city lights, the small sliver of inky black sea. “I’ve had to let her go.”

I could protest. The words are rising up inside my throat. I want to throw open the window and yell out into the street — run around the wall, announcing the truth to the entire city. But no one will believe me.

“Can I go to bed now?” I ask. I try to smooth the skirt of my dress that was so pretty once. So lovely. But it’s ruined now. There’s no use in standing there, being reminded of it over and over.

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

The Israeli embassy looks different in the light of morning. The building itself sits farther back than the other embassies on the street, but the Israelis have built a new wall that juts up directly against the sidewalk. It is the only embassy on the row that has two.

“Hi,” I greet the guard outside the main gates. The guard studies me but doesn’t say a thing. “I’m here to see —”

“Grace?”

When I turn, I notice a small pedestrian-only gate along the side of the building. That is where Noah stands, looking at me through the bars. It’s like I’m visiting him in prison. Or more like he is visiting me.

There is a loud buzz and then Noah pushes on the gate, comes toward me.

“Well, hello, Cinderella,” he says with a roguish grin. “I should have known you would come back, looking for your slipper. The ladies always come back. But you’re too late. I’ll have you know the Dowager Countess of Capri was all over me last night after your untimely exit.”

“That’s nice,” I say.

“Not really. She’s my grandmother’s age. But feistier. Way, way feistier.”

Noah gives a whole-body shake like someone has just walked over his grave.

“So, where’d you go?” For once, Noah sounds serious.

“Back,” I say. I don’t tell him back to where. He doesn’t have to know I’m not talking about the embassy — that I’m talking about going back to the darkest corners of my memory. Going back in time.

“Can we go somewhere?” I say.

“I’m already going somewhere,” he tells me, holding up the backpack he carries as if it’s proof.

“Where?”

“Brazil. We’re staying at Dad’s tonight. Lila’s already there. Come on. Walk with me.”

“But is there somewhere else we can go? Someplace private?”

My voice doesn’t sound like my own. I keep looking at my hands. In the past twelve hours my cuticles have become the most fascinating things ever. I can’t look anyone in the eye anymore. I’m afraid of what else I might see.

“Grace, you’re scaring me.”

Slowly, I force myself to find his eyes, hold his gaze.

“That’s okay,” I tell him. “Because I’m terrified.”

I don’t know where we’re going. Not exactly. But when we cross to the other side of the wall, my feet seem to take me automatically to a place I haven’t seen in ages. Once upon a time it was probably lovely, but the years and the salty sea air have taken their toll. And now the carousel with its horses and knights and dragons sits abandoned, paint fading, its melody long since silent.

“What is it?” Noah asks when we get there. “What’s going on?”

He drops his backpack, and I step up onto the carousel, run my hands along the back of a white horse that no longer rises or falls.

“My mom used to play here when she was a little girl. It was her favorite place in the whole city. She would bring Jamie and me here at least once every summer. We’d pack a lunch and eat it over there — on that big, flat rock. Last night, in the receiving line, Princess Ann said she came here with us once when I was little. I don’t even remember. Isn’t that weird? There are some things about my mom that I think about every hour of every day, but some … it’s like I’ve blocked them out completely. That’s strange, isn’t it? I wonder if it’s always like that?”

“Grace, I —”

“I found him, Noah,” I say, and to his credit, Noah doesn’t ask who — he doesn’t demand answers. He must already know me well enough to know that I have to say this in my own time, in my own way. He must know me well enough to know that I’m afraid this truth might kill me.

“I found him,” I say again. “I found the man who killed my mother.”

At my words, Noah actually stumbles back. He trips a little over his own backpack, rights himself, and tries to play it cool.

“I didn’t realize he was missing.”

“I’m serious, Noah.”

“I am, too,” he says. “I mean … I don’t know … what happened? I thought your mom died in an accident or something. A fire.”

“That’s what they say.”

“But …”

“But I was there. I saw it happen.”