The Liberation of Alice Love - Abby McDonald [130]
She sighed, trying to quell the impatience that raced through her. The most frustrating part was, she didn’t even need Carl to confirm her theory. She needed him for access to his flat and whatever anecdotes or background he could offer to explain why his sister had decided to leave her old life behind and become the woman Alice knew as Ella; but as for the proof itself? All the photos and clippings she needed were probably stashed away in some shoebox under his bed or framed in small prints in the flat. His currently unoccupied flat.
Alice paused, the idea taking shape with breathtaking speed. Carl was gone for the weekend, and so were all his flatmates. Thanks to her early experiments in the subtle art of stalking, she knew where the spare key was kept, and who was to say she’d even need to stay that long? She could simply slip in, find some photos of Kate, and slip out again. Ten minutes, perhaps, to secure the firm answer she needed. Otherwise…Alice thought of weeks more spent gaining Carl’s confidence, probing him about all the distressing details of his sister’s possible death. This was surely the better, more decent option, she told herself. She would prevent so many more lies.
A small part of Alice reminded her that this was breaking and entering she was considering. But if this were Italy and she were Angelique, she wouldn’t be hesitating for a second, so why hold back now, when answers were so close to hand? She just had to plan this properly. And Alice, she knew, was nothing if not an excellent planner.
She reached for her notebook and a felt-tipped pen.
***
Just a short while later, Alice had everything she needed. Almost. Skipping downstairs, she detoured to Flora’s studio.
“Hey, can I ask a favor? Well, two,” she corrected herself.
Flora looked up, guilty, from the angry slashes of red paint she was sweeping across the canvas, but Alice barely reacted to the painting.
“Wow, I love that color,” she remarked. “Anyway, the favors? I need to borrow your car—just for a couple of hours.”
“Sure.” Flora seemed dazed, as if she weren’t fully present, but she always got that way when she was immersed in a project, so Alice waited a few moments for the distracted look in her eyes to fade.
Flora took a few breaths. “The car?” she repeated finally, as if only just registering the request. “That’s fine. The keys are in the hall.”
“Thanks.” Alice smiled gratefully. “There is this one other thing…”
“What?” Flora crossed to the basin in the corner, scrubbing at her paint-stained hands.
Alice bit her lip. “I…Um, I was here with you. All evening. If anyone asks, all right?”
Flora looked up. “What’s going on?”
“Nothing,” Alice reassured her quickly. “It’ll be fine, I promise. I just, I need you to cover for me. So if someone calls, say I’m in the shower, or something. Can you do that?” She watched Flora with a flicker of nerves, but instead of interrogating her, Flora just nodded.
“Of course,” she said simply. “Call if you need anything.”
Her lack of curiosity was strange, but Alice had too much else on her mind for now to dwell on it. As she drove carefully toward Bellevue Road, she tried to think if she’d forgotten any vital detail. She’d been tempted to wait until the cover of dark, but instinct told her that she would appear less suspicious in daylight. A nondescript woman letting herself into a house one evening wouldn’t raise alarm, in even the most well-patrolled of neighborhood-watch zones. Similarly, for all the black catsuits that the heroines of various movies used for their attire, only a burlap sack marked “SWAG” slung over her shoulder would be more conspicuous.