Slits of light once visible through the slats of the cellar door were long gone. Tante Perle hadn’t returned. Meg was trapped. The oyster shell, the fake tears; it had all been a trick! Meg pulled the shell out of her apron pocket and felt the ridges between her fingers in the darkness. She told me if we ever found the other half, we’d be friends forever. Yeah, right! Meg bet Tante Perle had just grabbed the oyster shell off the beach along with the rest of the junk in that shack of hers upstairs. Meg strained to listen for something, anything that could tell her she was not alone. The only sound was the drone of the ocean in the distance. If Tante Perle was back in her shack, she was being quiet about it. Why had her great-aunt abandoned her like this? What could she be thinking? I’m sure a night in the cellar will convince you. Convince Meg of what? That Tante Perle was a raving lunatic? There was no doubt in Meg’s mind about that now. And if Nève was there, she would understand why Meg had joined in with Mireille earlier.
