Not another committee. It all seemed like a ruse to steer people's attention away from the awful things that had happened in November and December. Lauren cast a sideways glance at Phoebe, Nick, Patch, and Thad. They all looked bored.

Later, over refreshments-sugary punch and stale b.u.t.ter cookies-she talked to Phoebe. "What do you think about all this?" she asked.

"I guess going along with this is part of our keeping in line?" Phoebe said.

"Something like that."

Claire came up to Lauren. "How are you, Lauren? It's nice to see you here."

Lauren nodded.

"I was so sorry to hear about the little incident at Giroux this week. It must have been a mistake, right? I mean, when I was talking about it to Sebastian, I told him I know you, and there is no way you would ever steal a pair of earrings!"

She gave Claire a frigid look, but it didn't stop Lauren from reddening. "Sure, whatever, Claire. Thanks for having my back."

Phoebe pulled Lauren away, rescuing her. "Let's go talk to Nick."

Lauren gritted her teeth. "Claire just makes me so angry, sometimes I feel like I could kill her."

"I know, we all do," Phoebe said. "She's a loser; you can't let it get to you."

They walked up to Nick, who was drinking a gla.s.s of punch.

"You really sure you want to be drinking that?" Phoebe said.

"If I die of cyanide poisoning, I guess we'll know what happened," Nick said.

Lauren and Phoebe gave him blank looks.

"Sorry, bad joke," he said.

At that moment, Patch joined the group. "Nick, there's something I need to show you."

"Now?" Nick put down his gla.s.s on a side table.

Patch nodded. "Right now."

Chapter Twenty.

Before grabbing Nick, Patch had been roaming around the portion of the Egyptian wing that had been kept open while the last part of the renovations were being completed. In the main room, there were large placards along the wall that explained the history of the temple and how it came into existence. The story centered on the area of northern Nubia, along the Nile, where the Temple of Dendur was built. The temple, removed from its original site in Egypt in 1963 and opened at the Met in 1978, was considered a smaller temple, though it was still thought to be one of the prime examples of Egyptian architecture in the world. The temple had been erected in the year 15 B.C.E B.C.E. to honor Isis, Osiris, and two brothers, Pedesi and Pihor, who had drowned in the Nile during Roman times.

But this wasn't what Patch wanted to show Nick.

"You've got to see this," Patch muttered to his friend. "Just don't be too obvious about it."

Nick followed as Patch led him to a skirted table that was displayed with a sc.r.a.pbook, invitations, photographs, and clippings from Dendur b.a.l.l.s in years past, specifically the last one, which took place in 1992. Claire's mother had said the display was there to provide some background and get everyone excited about the party.

"It's just a bunch of New York socialite stuff," Nick said.

"Right, well, look at this," Patch said, pointing to a picture of a woman.

There was a spread from the New York Times New York Times's social pages, a grouping of pictures by Bill Cunningham, the well-known photographer. At the center was a picture of a woman, identified as Esme Madison Evans. She was wearing a simple column dress and was staring straight at the camera, her eyes wide, a strange combination of an otherworldly spirit and a deer caught in the headlights. Her photo was next to those of prominent socialites of the time, names Patch recognized as important social leaders, the types of women who chaired committees and would find their names, along with those of their husbands, carved above the doorways of the Met's galleries.

"It's my mom," Patch said. "From before I was born."

"Wow," Nick said. "She looks beautiful. I mean, I always knew your mom was beautiful, but I-well, to be honest, I don't remember that much of her, since she, you know-"

"I know," Patch said. "Neither do I." What he did recall was mostly from after her breakdown: when they had to shave her head to keep her from pulling her hair out, and the baggy hospital-issue clothing that she was forced to wear. His mother had probably spent the last ten years wearing nothing more glamorous than a stained nightgown.

"Look," Nick said, pointing to another spread from a magazine. "Here's a picture of my parents."

It was a picture of Georgiana and Parker Bell. Patch marveled at how young and innocent Nick's parents appeared in the photograph.

As he looked at the picture, Patch felt a tap on his shoulder. He turned around to find Mrs. Chilton standing behind him.

"Patchfield," she said warmly, as he nodded. "I'm wondering if you can help us out with something. I've heard that you're quite wonderful on the-I don't know what the kids are calling it these days. Disc jockey? On playing music?"

"Sure, I can spin," Patch said.

"Would you be willing to provide the music for the Dendur Ball? It is so important that every dollar we make goes to the museum, and you wouldn't believe what some of these so-called professionals charge! It would be such a treat if you would donate your services. You just tell our deputy chair exactly what you need in terms of equipment, and we'll provide it for you."

Patch nodded. "Um, sure, that would be great. I can do that."

"And we need a name for the invitation. I mean, we can't just write 'DJ Patchfield Evans,' can we? What would your parents think?"

"My parents are, um, they're not around."

Mrs. Chilton ignored this. "What would your name be? Something fun, right?"

Patch thought about it for a second. His vlog was called PatchWork, and though he hadn't been posting to it regularly since the television option, people knew the name-he did, after all, have tens of thousands of followers on his Mys.p.a.ce and Facebook pages. "How about 'DJ PatchWork'?" he asked. "Is that ridiculous?"

Claire had come by to stand next to her mother.

"I think it's adorable," Mrs. Chilton said.

"So cute!" Claire agreed.

"Yeah," Nick ribbed him. "Totally cute." cute."

"I guess so," Patch said. Strangely, the only thing on his mind was, what would Lia think about this? He wasn't really sure.

Still, it was a good gig, and if it got his name out there, it might lead to other jobs that actually paid. He could be on his way to making the five thousand dollars he would need to buy back the rights to Chadwick Prep Chadwick Prep.

Mrs. Chilton turned to Nick. "And dear, I hope you'll be able to promote this evening to all your nightclub contacts-we really want to attract a young crowd. Claire's told me all about the parties you've been having."

Nick stood there awkwardly. "I've actually sort of gotten out of that. Ever since Jared died. It's been hard."

"Well," Mrs. Chilton said with a plastic smile, "I'm sure you can muster up the energy to do it for charity."

"Of course," Nick said, clearly straining to keep his sarcasm in check. "Patch and I will do absolutely anything anything for charity." for charity."

After waving good-bye to Nick and Phoebe on the steps of the Met, Patch walked across the street to his apartment building. Nick and Phoebe had to go to Southampton to execute the first part of Nick's plan, though Nick had been vague about the details. Patch didn't mind-he was tired of being the one who was always investigating everything. Besides, he still wanted to sort mentally through everything he had experienced today. For starters, the picture of his mother and her connection with the Dendur Ball. He knew his mom had been social and that his parents had been friends with the Bells, but seeing a picture of her in a newspaper clipping made it concrete. Before this, his primary image of Esme had been as a crazy person. In the black-and-white newspaper photograph, though, she looked so composed, so beautiful. Like someone he had never known.

Patch was also incredibly frustrated by his chat with Simone and the prospect of buying back the rights to his show. The possibility of DJ gigs in the future might help, but it would take a lot of bookings to make five grand.

While he felt distracted by everything going on, he was also amped up about Lia. After his visit to Simone's former offices, he had met Lia for a coffee date at the Pink Pony on Ludlow Street. She was the only girl he had ever met who knew more about music than he did. He liked, though, that she didn't lord it over him the way she could have-for the most part.

As Patch ducked under his building's awning, he saw Parker Bell get out of a town car that had been idling at the curb. He looked at Patch, as if surprised to see him.

"Patchfield, it's nice to see you. Are you just back from the meeting?"

Patch was momentarily surprised, as Parker was not usually so nice to him. The last interaction he'd had with him was at the initiation on a remote island in Maine.

Patch nodded as Parker handed his briefcase to the doorman and asked that it be left in his foyer.

"Will you walk with me for a moment?" Parker asked. "I'd like to confer on a few matters with you."

Patch nodded, figuring that out on Fifth Avenue he wasn't in any immediate danger. He still didn't trust Nick's dad after everything he had been through in December.

"What's up?" he asked.

"I just wanted to see how you were adjusting to Society life. You've entered our group in a rather unusual way, and I want to make sure that you feel fully acclimated. Of course, I know you are already friends with some of the members, my son included."

"I've been fine. I know some of the other kids. It all seems pretty straightforward." Patch knew this was a lie, but he wasn't sure what else to say. "They told us about the Dendur Ball tonight. Sounds pretty cool."

"The Dendur Ball." Parker seemed almost wistful. "It's amazing that they're reviving it after all these years. You'll have fun that night. The event is black-tie. Do you have a dinner jacket?"

"I think I have one that used to belong to my dad," Patch said, thinking of the threadbare, moth-eaten tuxedo his father had. He would probably need to have it altered, but it still wouldn't look right.

"I want Nick to take you to our tailor. He will make one for you. There's nothing to make a young man look more handsome than a bespoke dinner jacket."

"I don't think I can afford-"

"You're to put it on our account. You understand?"

Patch nodded. He wasn't sure he was comfortable accepting something like this, but it would be nice to look sharp for the ball instead of having to wear hand-me-downs.

"Sir, can I ask you something?"

"Of course."

"Why are you being so nice to me?"

Parker Bell smiled. He was a handsome man, tall and trim, with silvery gray hair. Patch had always seen him as foreboding, but there was something about him tonight that seemed friendly. Patch understood how Nick could have such mixed feelings about his father. The man was like a chameleon.

"Patch, I care deeply about my children. About their future and about their happiness. I care about who they spend their time with. You have always been close to Nick, and I know that he values your friendship. What happened between the two of you last fall was regrettable. We should have realized that you were Society material from the start. I am sorry for that choice, and I hope that we can make amends."

Patch nodded, and there was a silence between the two. As if by unspoken agreement, the two of them turned around and started walking back toward the apartment building. Patch didn't know what else to say. As Patch put one foot in front of the other, the thoughts swirled around in his head: This is a man who is evil. This is a man who killed people. This is a man I cannot trust. This is a man who is evil. This is a man who killed people. This is a man I cannot trust.

PART II.

INFIDELS.

Chapter Twenty-One.

Twenty minutes after the meeting at the museum ended, Phoebe and Nick were headed east on the Long Island Expressway toward the beach. The weekend had finally arrived, and they could focus on Palmer's challenge from the previous Sunday. Nick was driving his old beat-up Jeep Cherokee that he parked at a garage on 106th Street with the rest of his family's cars. The garage's location amused Phoebe; it was right on the edge of where the Upper East Side turned into Harlem, and yet the Bells parked their cars there for one simple reason: the prices were cheaper. Garage rates in Manhattan were notoriously exorbitant, and parking their cars twenty blocks away had never struck them as an inconvenience.

As they left the city behind them, Phoebe was pretty sure they were breaking some kind of New York State law about driving without an adult present, but Nick didn't seem to care. It was more important that they figure out Palmer's riddle. Besides, Nick looked older than his age, he was a savvy driver, and he even had an illegal radar detector so he knew to slow down when cops were nearby.

"I feel like we should have done this five days ago," Phoebe said as Nick pa.s.sed several cars. "We should have driven out the day your grandfather told us about it."

Nick shook his head. "It wouldn't have made sense. We had the first day of school coming up. And then everything happened with you and Lauren and Thad."

Phoebe gave a half smile. "Well, at least the way you drive, we'll be there before midnight." She sat back in her seat. For the first time in weeks, it felt like they were on the right track. Phoebe had also noticed a lightness in Nick's step as they were walking to the garage. It was the happiest she'd seen him since the day that they had officially started dating.

Nick picked up a soda and Phoebe opened it for him so he could keep his eyes on the road. After taking a gulp of root beer, he reached over to stroke her knee. "It's sort of an adventure, right? I mean, no one knows we took the car, no one knows we're going to the house."

"I like it," Phoebe said. "We should do it more often."

"Under better circ.u.mstances," Nick said.

They were silent for a few minutes, and Phoebe watched the sea of red taillights ahead of them. She thought she might doze off, she was so exhausted, but she fought to keep her eyes open.

"This is going to sound weird," Nick said, "but do you think we would have ever met if it wasn't for the Society?"

"You tell me."

"I think we would have. I noticed you, that first day, when I handed you the flyer."

Phoebe laughed. "Yeah, right! Amidst the ten thousand other people you were inviting to your party."

"Do you think we would have met if we didn't go to the same school?"