Murder in the Latin Quarter (29 page)

T
he light was totally gone
from the sky. It would be another two months at least before it was light this late in the day. In St-Buvard, Maggie and Laurent could sit out on the back patio sipping wine and talking over the day until nine at night and still see enough light to watch the magpies dive-bomb the vineyard that surrounded them.

As the train neared the Montparnasse station in Paris, Maggie pulled the diary out of her bag and flipped through its pages. As she was about to put it away, she noticed the spine threads were coming loose. When she tried to press them back together, a tiny triangle of paper appeared. She gently tugged on it until she had pulled a folded, tissue-thin piece of paper out from behind the diary's leather cover.

She carefully unfolded the sheet and saw it was a letter written in French in an elaborate cursive hand. Her excitement mounted.
This was a letter written to Helmut from his French lover!

Maggie scanned the letter. The date on the letter was February 1945. Camille had been dead for more than six months. As love letters went, it seemed pretty standard. Lots of
missing you
and confidence that justice would prevail. Since the letter had obviously been sent to Helmut while he awaited trial, that made sense although it probably wasn't terribly encouraging to a man who was as guilty as Helmut Bauer.

Justice
would
prevail and it would see him swing.

In the last line of the note, Maggie caught the word
enciente
. Delphine was telling him she was pregnant.

Maggie sat back with the letter in her hands and stared at the passing scenery.

So that's that.

It proves it wasn't Camille.

Except…

Maggie picked up the diary and went to an entry where Helmut referred to his lover as “my dearest C.” She squinted at the letter.
Was
it a C? Now she wasn't sure.

She turned back to the letter which was signed “your angel.” She refolded the letter and put it between the pages of the diary. All Maggie had to do now was match the letter's looping cursive with a sample of Delphine's handwriting and the mystery would be solved.

As if she needed another nail in the coffin of Delphine's guilt.

Delphine
was the collaborator and she'd thrown her best friend to the wolves to save herself. Maggie's stomach turned at the thought. She had grown to love the old woman. While it was many years ago, the crime felt no less horrific for the passage of time.

To have sentenced your best friend to death to save yourself?

She shivered. No wonder Delphine wept at night. Victor was right about that. She could never find forgiveness in this life for what she did.

Crap! Victor.

Maggie pulled her phone out. Would anyone have told him about Delphine's passing? She found his number on her phone and put the call through. Victor obviously hadn't set up his voice mail. The phone just rang.

She hated telling him this over the phone. Maybe he'd already tried to contact Delphine?

No, it was cowardly to hope he would find out on his own. Maggie knew she needed to keep trying to contact him.

A
s Laurent watched
Noel negotiate his way through the crowded restaurant to a waiting taxi outside, he had to admit the day had been a surprise. Amazingly, in a day that saw Laurent become a wealthy man, the biggest surprise of all was the peace he'd gotten by talking about Gerard with Noel.

I will have to tell Maggie that she was right after all. Or maybe not.
He grinned as an image of his earnest and very American wife came to mind. He took out his phone to call her and saw her text. <
Coming home soon. See you then.>

Where has she been today?
he wondered. His eye was drawn to a flash of color in the front of the restaurant and he looked up to see Grace enter the restaurant with a man. Laurent frowned as he watched them take a table near the front window. The man was well dressed and effortless in his gestures toward Grace. He was nodding as Grace talked, but Laurent could see the man's eyes were darting around the restaurant.

Laurent felt a stab of annoyance that Grace had sequestered herself in her room for the last twelve hours and
now
instead of spending time with Zouzou she was out with a man.

A man who clearly did not care about her.

As Laurent signaled the waiter for the bill, he saw his phone vibrating with an incoming call. When he looked at the screen, it said
Unknown Caller
.

“
Oui
?” he answered.

“Monsieur Dernier? Laurent Dernier?” an officious voice asked.

“Who is this?”
And how did you get my number?

“I am Sergeant Detective Benet,” the caller said, “of the Paris Centrale Police Judiciare. I was told you requested a phone trace on the last phone calls made to your late aunt Delphine Normand?”

Laurent waved away the waiter who approached the table.

“Yes?” he said.

“We've found something you should know about.”

W
hen the train
pulled into the station, Maggie felt her energy seriously diminished. She'd started her trip this afternoon with such hope that she might find information that didn't point at Delphine. And honestly, if everybody was right and Maggie was wrong—not unheard of, she had to admit—then Delphine
did
just die of natural causes and whoever had a grudge against her did what most people in this world did with it—nursed it and made themselves miserable about it.

And never acted on it.

Even so, Maggie knew she had a rare window of freedom away from the children and she wouldn't waste it. She texted Beatrice that she would be another hour
at most
and then hurried from the train platform to the taxi stand outside.

She would slip into Delphine's apartment and grab something with Amelie's address on it—
surely it couldn't hurt to just talk to the woman.
Maggie already had plenty of samples of Delphine's handwriting on various notes and photographs back at Grace's.

Not that it mattered
, she thought.
Not at this point. Just loose ends is all.

The taxi ride from the station to Delphine's apartment took less than twenty minutes. Maggie watched the lights of nighttime Paris twinkle outside her window and wondered when she would come back again.

She'd promised her mother she'd spend the summer in Atlanta and then with Grace spiraling out of control the idea of coming back for a visit just wasn't attractive. She made a face. As if Laurent would even allow it without a major throwdown.

She passed the Jardin du Luxembourg and felt a flush of commitment and resolve. Paris would always be here. It would wait for her.

And I'll be back with the children—and with Laurent too—so we can create our happy memories. Yes, it's time to go home but we'll be back.

The taxi pulled up to Delphine's apartment. Maggie asked the driver to wait and hurried inside. She was sure the security code hadn't been changed. Who would do it, she wondered, besides Laurent? On the other hand Noel and Amelie probably owned this apartment together with Laurent now.

She glanced up at the video cameras in the hall above Delphine's door. Had they ever been turned on? Was someone watching her? Looking closely, she couldn't see any telltale red light to indicate the cameras were taping.

Too bad
, she thought as she inserted the key into Delphine's front door.
Would've helped answer a lot of questions about who was here yesterday.
She pulled open the door but it stopped halfway as if something was blocking it.

A sense of foreboding crawled up Maggie's spine, leaving her skin tingling.

Yesterday she had watched the medics load Delphine up before locking the apartment herself. She had definitely been the last one out.

Carefully, she pushed the door open and stepped into the foyer. Her hand hit the light switch on the wall and the foyer shot into brightness.

The first thing she saw was the pool of blood.

And then the body.

G
race hissed at André
. “You slept with my au pair! Don't deny it!”

She and André sat in the front window of her neighborhood brasserie. It used to be
their
place. She remembered it was the first place they'd come all those months ago after they first made love. She shook the memory out of her head. He looked at her now with a sad smile on his lips. His eyes no longer held for her what she had seen in them just two days ago.

In just two days? How is that possible?

André sighed. “I do not find jealous women attractive, Grace.”

Grace sputtered and then made an effort to calm herself. She actually felt a twinge of fear that she was appearing less attractive to him.

After everything I've done! After everything I've given up for him.

“Did you or did you not—” she started.

“Don't be absurd. I did not sleep with your au pair. You are embarrassing both of us to suggest it.”

The tension she held in her shoulders relaxed. Was she insane? Had she well and truly lost it? Of
course
he hadn't slept with Beatrice. She could see that now. It was absurd to think it. Beatrice was practically a child. And borderline simpleminded on top of that.

What is the matter with me?

“Why did you leave in the middle of the night?” If there was any coming back from this, she needed to distract him from how ludicrous her accusation had been. He had left in the middle of the night. That was surely strange behavior. She was entitled to some answers.

“I had another appointment. I am sure I mentioned it to you.”

André was scanning the restaurant as if looking for someone. Now that Grace watched him, she could see he was looking everywhere except at her.

Was this just a spat? Would they come back from this?

An appointment in the middle of the night?

“Look, André,” she said, forcing a tremulous smile to her lips, “I'm sorry if I made it sound like—”

“
Chèri
!” A young woman materialized beside André and kissed him on both cheeks. She was wearing an impossibly short miniskirt and a midriff-baring top showing off toned, taut skin. She glanced at Grace. “I thought you would be alone,” she said with a pout.

“I told you to wait for me,
chèrie
,” André said, his eyes glittering with amusement as he scolded the girl. “I told you I wouldn't be long.”

Grace's mouth fell open in stark astonishment.

L
aurent sat
in his booth with his cellphone on the table and his mind far away.

Is it just a coincidence? Surely the phone record the cops discovered could have no relevant connection to his aunt.

But knowing Maggie, she will want to know.

He picked up his phone and then, realizing it was too noisy in the restaurant to talk he wrote out a short text instead. Just as he was gathering his keys and wallet to leave, he heard Grace's voice shrill and piercing. He looked in her direction. In the time it took for him to talk to the police investigator and text a message to Maggie, it seemed Grace had been joined by another person at her table. A woman.

A very attractive young woman.

Without warning, Grace leaned across the table and slapped the girl's face. Other patrons near them moved their chairs away as silverware fell from the table. The girl stood up, her face red with outrage. In an instant, her painted talons outstretched, the girl launched herself at Grace.

Merde.

Laurent jumped to his feet.

M
aggie controlled
her breathing as she stared at the body. It was Michelle. She was lying on her back, her eyes open. Her throat had been cut.

Maggie's mind began to whirl. She knew she shouldn't step inside. She knew she should call the police. Her mind raced as she tried to imagine a new scenario where Michelle
dead
fit.

Could Amelie have done this? Why?

She rested her hand on the doorknob and then jerked it away. She shouldn't be here.

What was Michelle doing here? She must have made a copy of the key she gave to Noel. The key that was in Maggie's hand.

This is murder and there can't be any question about it
, she thought. Even the police will see it for what it…as she tried to fit the pieces together, her eyes went around the foyer.

The door to the storage room was open.

Maggie's breath was coming in rasps now, her body tense and shaking. She knew she'd locked that door. Without thinking, she stepped into the foyer and stood in the doorway of the storage room.

The interior was trashed as if someone had gone through it in a violent temper. Her stomach cramped painfully. The hidden panel was open. The door lay flung against the far wall.

Someone had found the hiding place. Someone angry and desperate and deadly.

A feeling of growing panic swept her arms and chest.

It's not revenge. It's the painting…

Maggie backed out of the room, her breath coming in short, labored pants.

…the painting I hid in Grace's apartment.

Where the children are.