The Paris Secret (11 page)

“I hardly think they’d go to so much trouble to hide the damned book for it to end up in plain sight on a retired professor’s bookshelf.” I walked over to the bookshelf.

Each book lay on the floor underneath the spot on the shelf from where it had been pulled. As I read the titles, images from the weird dream I’d had came back to me. There was something so familiar tugging at my memory. What was it? Was it the smell of beeswax or the brightly colored purple paper? The book. What was the title? Something about a voyage?
Le Voyage de Fontainebleau?
It had been a message. Yes! The book was a message.

“Maybe he wasn’t really looking for anything,” said Simon. “What if Garland did this to make it look like a robbery or something?”

“Or maybe he didn’t do this at all,” I said slowly. “Maybe Dr. Hewitt did this herself. Do you notice anything about these books?”

He looked down at the floor and then at me. “What are you talking about? It just looks like a bunch books on the floor.”

“Yes. But check out the titles.” I knelt next to a leather-bound copy of
Les Liaisons Dangereuses, Dangerous Liaisons,
the famous French novel about a devious marquise and vicomte who play games using sex to manipulate and wreak havoc on those around them.

The other books were Shakespeare’s
King Lear,
Robert Louise Stevenson’s
The Strange Case of Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde
and Dashiell Hammett’s
The Maltese Falcon.

“They’re all books I was forced to read when I was in school?” said Simon.

“Not that,” I said impatiently. “They’re books about sex, greed, ambition, violence, betrayal, murder and insanity. Now, who do all of those words describe?”

“Vincent Garland and Juliet Rice,” he said, nodding his head like he finally understood.

“Exactly. I bet she knew she was about to die and pulled these books off the shelf as a message, or a more like warning.” I pulled a pen and a scrap of paper out of my bag and scribbled down the titles.

“But a warning to who?”

“The other society members.” I stood “I just want to know why Garland came here if he wasn’t looking for the crucifix or the book.”

“I don’t know but we really need to get out of here. Come on.” Simon grabbed my hand and led me back down to the first floor where Agnes still held vigil by her master’s body.

“I hate to just leave her like this. Can’t we at least cover her up?”

“
Non.
We need to leave everything just like we found it.” He wiped his prints off the CD player and the doorknob with his sleeve before we left.

Once we were back outside he looked at me and said, “I think we should make sure they get it.”

“Get what?”

“Dr. Hewitt’s warning,” he replied. “I think we need to track down the other society members. If we tell them about Dr. Hewitt’s murder maybe one of them will be rattled enough to tell us where Juliet could have hidden the crucifix.”

“Sounds like a plan.”

Simon and I headed across the Pont St. Louis to the Ile de la Cite and a beautiful little park near Notre Dame called Square Jean XXIII where Simon said he could get wireless access. We sat on a bench underneath a large tree and Simon fired up Francoise’s laptop and looked up information on Juliet Rice’s dissertation committee starting with Bernard Fouquet. Apparently, Dr. Hewitt hadn’t lied about Fouquet being dead. Simon found his obit online showing that he’d died on March 20, 1997, of a heart attack. Next we tried Dr. Anna Schroder and found out she’d died recently of stroke in Cambridge, England.

“Talking to her is out of the question. What about Dr. Oliver Renard?”

Simon plugged Renard’s name into a search engine. There were several Oliver Renards but only one who was a professor of history at the Sorbonne. There was also a picture of him that showed him to be a stern-looking man in his sixties with a comb-over, a thin mustache and thick glasses.

“Wonder why he didn’t like Juliet?”

“Look at him. He doesn’t look like he likes anybody. I bet a good fuck would do him a world of good,” said Simon.

“He must have had something going for him if Juliet had an affair with him. Maybe he’s hung like a horse.”

“Or he’s rich. For a woman like Juliet Rice, he could be hung like a mosquito as long as he has money,” he said, making me laugh. He squeezed my hand.

“It’s good to see you laugh, Maya. We’re going to get through this.” He brought my hand to his lips and kissed my fingers. I smiled and gently pulled away. We needed to focus on finding Dr. Renard and Simon’s kisses were too distracting.

“So now what? Do we go the university to see him?”

“Too risky. We need to find out where he lives.”

“How’re we going to do that? I work at a university and believe me, they’re very strict about giving out personal information on faculty and staff.”

“Ah, but you are forgetting we have a first-class hacker at our disposal. Francoise could hack into the university’s personnel files and find Renard’s address in no time flat,” he said, clapping his hands.

“Are you serious? Decrypting a flash drive is one thing. Hacking into a university’s personnel files is something else entirely. It’s against the law. Don’t you care whether your goddaughter gets into trouble?”

“What I care about is saving man’s life, Maya. Garland could be targeting the committee, wiping them out one by one to make sure Juliet didn’t tell them about him. If she had a change of heart about handing over the crucifix to Garland, then maybe she also confessed to them about what she’d done. Either way, they’re in danger. And Francoise is good. She never gets caught. She’s the one who hacked into the computers at the coroner’s office and got me a copy of my brother’s report before it was officially released.”

I stood and looked down at him.

“What?” He threw his hands up in exasperation. “If she gets caught I’ll take the blame. I’d never let her get into trouble.”

“It bothers me that you’ll use anyone to get what you want regardless of the consequences.”

“And it bothers me that you’re so damned uptight,” he snarled at me. “In case you haven’t noticed we’re wanted for murder. I’ll do what I have to and use whatever connections are available to me to save a life and to clear my name. And if you don’t like it, maybe you should just turn yourself in and let me go warn Renard on my own. I certainly wouldn’t want to offend your impeccable sense of justice,” he concluded stiffly.

He turned his attention back to the computer on his lap. I reluctantly sat back down next to him. I didn’t want to admit he was right. Between Francoise getting caught and Renard getting butchered by Garland, I knew what the lesser of the two evils was.

“Fine. You do what you have to. I just didn’t want to see another innocent person mixed up in our mess.” He leaned over and kissed me on the cheek then got busy emailing Francoise with the details of her new job.

Less than an hour later we had an address. As it turned out, it was good thing Simon had contacted Francoise for help. Oliver Renard was not currently teaching at the university. He was on sabbatical. Francoise even emailed us the details of Renard’s leave of absence. He was currently taking a year off from teaching to write a biography of Louis XIV’s second wife, Madame de Maintenon.

“What’s this info going to cost you?” I asked while we waited for the metro.

“I have to take her to her favorite veggie restaurant and to see some teenaged boy who sings like a dying frog in concert next month.” He looked anything but excited.

“Isn’t vegan French food an oxymoron?”

“The only moron is me for agreeing to eat bean sprouts and tofu and having my eardrums punctured by loud music and a bunch of screaming girls. I think I’d rather be shot out of a cannon into a brick wall.”

I laughed. “Now who’s being uptight?”

Oliver Renard lived in Neuilly, a wealthy suburb of Paris, in a private four-story mansion on rue de la Renaissance. His wrought iron front gate was unlocked when we arrived and we walked down a stone path and through a garden to get to the front door.

“Wow,” I said, looking at a bronze sculpture of what looked like a Greek god holding court among the flowers and greenery. “The history professors where I work sure don’t live like this.”

“See, I told you he was probably rich. I bet it’s old family money.”

The front door was black and heavily carved. It was open just a crack. We heard moaning and rushed in to see a figure lying on the floor at the bottom of a staircase. But it wasn’t Oliver Renard. A young woman lay bleeding from a cut above her right eye. A ribbon of blood ran down the side of her face into her thick black hair. Her stocking was torn and her knee was bloody. A red pump lay in the middle of the staircase. The other was still on the woman’s foot. Simon knelt beside her and pressed two fingers to her neck to check for a pulse.

“Is she alive?” Her eyes fluttered open. They were large, blue and terrified.

She pushed away Simon’s hands. With a grimace, she forced herself to a sitting position, scooting backward like a fleeing crab until she hit the wall. She pressed herself hard against the wall as though she was trying to disappear into the woodwork.

“It’s okay.” I crept closer. “Don’t be afraid. We’re not going to hurt you.”

“What’s your name?” asked Simon gently. “Do you know Dr. Renard? Is he home?”

At the mention of Renard’s name, the young woman wailed, “Papa!” and buried her face in her hands. That wasn’t a good sign. I looked at Simon and shook my head.

“You stay here.” He sprinted up the stairs.

“Is anything broken? Can you move everything?” The woman just stared up the steps after Simon and didn’t answer.

“
Parlez-vous Anglais?
” I asked.

She finally nodded her head slowly. “
Oui…
I mean yes.”

“Is Dr. Renard your father?” I pulled a handkerchief out of my bag and gently dabbed at the blood on her forehead.

She simply nodded and her eyes filled with tears. “I’m Sylvie Renard.”

“Do you live here, Sylvie?”

“Yes. I’ve been away in Barcelona visiting my fiancé since last Friday. I just got home.” She gestured toward a large yellow suitcase sitting in the entryway next to the front door. “My father was supposed to pick me up from the airport but he never came. I knew he was probably tied up working on his book and I took a cab. When I got here I went up to let him know I was home and…” She started sobbing again and couldn’t continue.

“It’s okay.” I sat next to her.

“After I found my father I heard a noise in the hallway. I went out to the landing and someone pushed me down the stairs and ran out the front door.”

“Did you see who it was?”

She shook her head no.

Simon came downstairs and waved me over. The look on his face said it all.

“How bad is it?” I whispered, looking over my shoulder at Sylvie who looked like she was in another world.

“He’s up in his study with his throat slit just like Dr. Hewitt’s. You find out who she is?”

“She’s Renard’s daughter, Sylvie. She just got home from Spain and found him dead. Garland must have still been in the house when she got home. She said someone pushed her down the stairs and ran out.”

“That hardly makes sense,” said Simon, looking confused. “From the way it smells up there, Renard’s been dead for days. Why come back here?”

“I don’t know. But she looks pretty banged up. She needs to go the hospital. She could have a concussion or internal bleeding or something.”

“Who are you two? How do you know my father?” Sylvie suddenly asked, looking more alert.

She rose unsteadily to her feet and lurched forward. Simon rushed over and caught her before she hit the ground. She looked up at him with her big blue eyes and I could have sworn Simon blushed. He’d obviously noticed the same thing I had the minute I’d laid eyes on her. Sylvie Renard was a very beautiful woman. I could see nothing of her father in her.

“I’m fine,” Sylvie said as Simon helped her to sit on the bottom step of the staircase. I came and sat on the step directly behind her.

“We should get her to the hospital, Simon,” I repeated.

“I’m not going anywhere until you tell me who you are,” Sylvie insisted. She turned to look at me.

“We’re friends of Dr. Juliet Rice. We came to speak to your father about her. Do you know Dr. Rice?” I asked. I figured since Sylvie had been out of the country in Spain she hadn’t heard about Juliet’s murder.

“She’s an acquaintance of my father’s. They both belong to the same club.”

“Club?” said Simon looking at me.

“
Oui,
it’s a book club.”

“Is it called the Society of Moret?” I asked. Technically speaking, the Society of Moret
was
a book club, just a book club that was only interested in one book.

Sylvie nodded and winced. “It was started by my father’s late colleague Dr. Fouquet. They’re just a bunch of old academics that meet every year in Moret-sur-Loing to discuss some boring old history books. They’ve been doing it for years.”

“When was the last time you saw Dr. Rice?” Simon asked.

“She came to visit my father last Friday but they argued and she didn’t stay long.”

“About what?” Simon and I asked in unison.

“I don’t know. Why?”

“Can you please try to remember, Madame Renard? It’s very important.” Simon knelt in front of her and took her hands in his. Simon was a master at working that charm of his.

“I believe it was about something she took,” Sylvie said. “My father was very, very angry. He told her if she didn’t return whatever it was, there would be big trouble. Dr. Rice told my father she was the only one strong enough to do what needed to be done. My father called her a traitor. It sounded like he spat at her and she ran out crying. Then my cab came for the airport and I left.”

“Have you ever heard of a man named Vincent Garland?” I asked.

“The American ambassador’s son?”

“
Oui,
” replied Simon.

“What about him?” Sylvie looked confused.

“Do you know if he knew Dr. Rice?” I asked and then held my breath.

“Of course,” she said.

“And you know this for a fact?” I could barely contain my excitement. We’d finally be able to connect Juliet to Garland.

“I work at the U.S. Embassy as a translator. I introduced them at an embassy reception months ago when she was in Paris lecturing. Now, please, no more questions. My head is spinning.” She clutched her head in both hands.

“I’m going to call the emergency squad. Where’s your phone?” Simon got up and looked around.

“My car is in the garage. It will be quicker to drive.” I helped Sylvie up. “What about my father?” Tears filled her eyes again.

“We’ll call the police as soon as we get you to the hospital,” I assured her.

Simon drove us to the nearby American Hospital of Paris in Sylvie’s black Mini Cooper. As soon as we entered the emergency room, Sophie filled out a form and was whisked away by a nurse. Simon located a payphone and made an anonymous call to the police to report Renard’s murder and the attack on Sylvie Renard.

“She’s in good hands and the police are on their way. Let’s get out of here,” he said.

We were out of the hospital, halfway down the street, when it suddenly dawned on me that the American Hospital of Paris was the same hospital that Brian and Jarrod were in. I could warn them about Garland in person.

“You don’t even know what room he’s in,” protested Simon. “Are you going to just wander around the hospital looking in every room?”

“Why not? According to Francoise, I look like some old lady. I’ll just pretend I got lost.”

“That’s your plan?” he said, looking at me like I was crazy. “The police will be here soon, Maya. You’ll have to be more careful than that.”

“Don’t worry. I’ll think of something. You stay out here if you want. I won’t be long,” I told him then rushed off before he could protest further.

Once I got through the hospital’s main revolving doors, it was as if I stepped into the lobby of an upscale hotel. A long, highly polished wood information desk to my left was manned by a receptionist giving directions to an older couple. Fresh flowers were everywhere. I kept right on walking past the information desk and headed down the hall as if I knew where I was going. Luckily, once past the entry, a male nurse came my way, pushing a wheelchair down the hall.

“Could you please tell me what floor the cardiac care unit is on?”

“B Wing. Level O,” he told me. “You can take the elevator. It’s one floor down.”

When I stepped off the elevator, signs on the walls in both French and English pointed the way to the cardiac unit. But I was stopped by a nurse at the nurse’s station when I tried to go down the hall toward the rooms.

“
Peux je vous aide ma’, suis?
” she asked, then switched to English when I gave her a blank look. “May I help you?”

“I’m here to visit a friend of mine who had heart surgery this morning.”

“Name please?” she asked with a friendly, I’m-here-to-help smile.

I racked my brain to try and remember Brian’s last name as the nurse took in my odd appearance and her expression changed from friendly to suspicious. I didn’t exactly look like I had friends who could afford such a ritzy hospital.

“What is the patient’s name, please?” she asked again.

I was thinking back on the day I met Brian and Jarrod. The nurse kept looking at my poncho as if I might have a bomb under it. Her fingers were inching toward the phone when a name suddenly popped into my head.

“Mitchner,” I said, letting out a breath. “His name is Brian Mitchner.”

Satisfied, the nurse consulted the computer on her desk. “Monsieur Mitchner has been moved to recovery and is resting. I’m afraid he cannot have visitors.”

“Oh…well…what about his partner, Jarrod…ah…Perlman? Do you know if Mr. Perlman is here in the hospital?”

“I just came on duty,
madame.
But if you can wait, I’ll check for you.” She picked up the phone and pressed a button. After a short exchange in French, she hung up and gave me a tight smile that made me nervous. “The nurse attending to Monsieur Mitchner is not sure where Monsieur Perlman is, but suggests you check the snack bar.”

She gave me directions to the snack bar and I got back onto the elevator and looked back to see the nurse still staring at me oddly. The elevator stopped on the first floor and two uniformed police officers got on. I could have fainted, but I kept my head down, and tried to slow my breathing. Neither of them paid me the slightest bit of attention as they conversed in French. Thankfully, they got off on the next floor.

I got off the elevator on the next floor and ran right smack into Jarrod.

“Excuse me.” He pushed past me, looking like he had the weight of the world on his shoulders, even his gel-spiked blond hair looked limp.

“Jarrod,” I whispered. His head snapped around and he looked at me like I was crazy before recognition finally flashed across his face.

“Maya?” he said uncertainly.

“Not so loud.” I put my finger to my lip and looked around. There was a closed door behind me and I jiggled the knob. It was unlocked. I grabbed Jarrod’s arm and pulled him through the door of what turned out to be an empty office.

“Boy, am I glad to see you.” He pulled me into a tight embrace.

“I’m glad to see you, too. How’s Brian?”

“Groggy. But I’m assured that he’ll be sitting up and taking nourishment as soon as tomorrow.”

“That’s great. But I came to warn you. Has that man from the U.S. Embassy, Vincent Garland, contacted you again?”

“No. He was supposed to be calling
you,
why?”

“Don’t trust him. Do you understand me? He’s a very dangerous man. Just as soon as Brian is well enough, you need to go home, or at the very least, switch hospitals.”

Jarrod laughed nervously. “You’re not making sense, Maya.”

“Please trust me on this. He’s killed four people and you and Brian could be next.”

“A killer? That’s insane. He was nothing but nice to us. Did you know his father is the American Ambassador to Paris?”

“And he’s also a stone cold killer who set up me and Simon.”

“You actually saw Garland kill someone?”

“He tried to kill
me!
” I blurted out in frustration. Jarrod was stunned. I couldn’t tell if he believed me. I started to explain how Garland attacked me and tried to shoot us when a shrill chirp interrupted me. Jarrod pulled a cell phone from his pocket and flipped it open.

“Yes, I have that information now,” he said into the phone as he shot me a nervous look. “That’s right. Okay. I’ll be here. Send them over right away.” He ended the call and put the phone back in his pocket. But his hand was trembling.

“Everything okay?”

“Just my insurance company. They’re faxing some forms here for me to sign.” His voice sounded normal but he wouldn’t look me in the eye. Beads of sweat had popped up on his brow. He was lying.

“I should go.” I headed for the door but he blocked my path. Guilt and anguish distorted his features.

“Can’t let you do that.”

“Who was that on the phone, Bellange or Bernier?”

“They know about my criminal record, Maya. They’ve been harassing me since you went on the run, accusing me of aiding and abetting. Threatening me with criminal charges if I don’t help them catch you! They’re the ones who made me keep calling you, hoping to lure you here. I can’t take much more of this on top of what’s going on with Brian. This is your mess, not mine!” His voice cracked with emotion.

“Oh my God. I’m so sorry for getting you involved in this, Jarrod. But Simon and I are innocent, too.”

“Then you have nothing to worry about. Captain Bellange and his partner are on their way here now. You can tell them all about it.”

“No! Get out of my way!” I tried to get past him but he grabbed me by the shoulders and shook me hard.

“Don’t you realize how guilty all this running makes you look?” He opened his mouth to say more then stopped. He looked at me closely then gave a mirthless chuckle. “Now I get it. It’s written all over you. Bright eyes, glowing skin. You slept with that French guy, didn’t you?”

My face flushed hotly and I jerked out of his grasp. Could he really tell?

“Trust me, babe. I’ve been right where you are back when I was boosting cars with Jake, my ex, and I know you wouldn’t do any better in prison than I did. But it’s not too late. I can help you get a good lawyer.”

Was he insane? A lawyer got me into this mess. “It’s not like that, Jarrod! You have no idea what’s going on!”

If I couldn’t get past him then I’d just have to run over him because I was getting out of that office. I rushed at Jarrod and tried to tackle him but he shoved me again and the momentum sent me sprawling on my ass. Jarrod knelt in front of me.

“Can’t you see I’m just trying to help you? No man is worth spending the rest of your life in prison over.”

“I’m not dick whipped!” I shoved him hard and jumped up, making a break for the door, but Jarrod was on his feet in an instant.

He got a handful of my poncho and jerked me backward away from the door. I was struggling to get free when Jarrod suddenly let me go. He was wide-eyed and his mouth hung open in shock. All the color had drained from his face. And then I heard it, too. It was an announcement on the hospital’s PA system. “
Code Blue…level O…room 0518
.
Code Blue…level O…room 0518
.”

“Oh my God! That’s Brian’s room!” Jarrod paled and his knees buckled. I put an arm around his waist to steady him.

“Go to him! Now!” I shouted, opening the office door and shoving him out. He took off running down the hall and disappeared into the elevator. Talk about a close call. I sagged against the door jam, willing myself to stop shaking and praying Brian would be okay.

Once I got back down to the lobby, the two officers that had been on the elevator were talking to a nurse. They looked annoyed. I didn’t know what they were saying but could have sworn they said the name Sylvie Renard. I couldn’t hang around to listen. I had to get out of there. I knew Simon had to be wondering why I was taking so long. I started toward the lobby entrance when someone called out to me. To my right a nurse was rushing toward me.

“
Madame! Excusez-moi, madame!
” It was the nurse who checked Sylvie in at the emergency room.

Just then Bernier and Bellange pushed through the hospital’s revolving doors. They were deep in conversation, probably about me. How had they gotten here so fast? I turned toward the emergency room nurse and away from the lobby.

“Yes?”

“The young woman you brought in, Madame Renard, do you know where she is?”

“No, why?”

“I’m embarrassed to say that Madame Renard has gone missing. We put her into an exam room to be treated and when the doctor arrived—poof—she was gone. No one has seen her.”

So that’s why the uniformed cops were in the lobby. They’d had an anonymous tip about Sylvie Renard being attacked and came to take her statement, and now she was gone.

“You mean you lost her?” I tried my best to sound indignant.

“I’m so sorry for the mix-up,
madame.
I don’t know what could have happened.”

“You’d better find her fast. She’s in need of treatment.” Bernier and Bellange were getting closer. I could hear them laughing about something.

“There are some officers here. I’m sure they’d appreciate any information you could give them about Madame Renard.”

“Of course, but I need to go to the restroom first. Is there one nearby?”

She pointed down the hallway from where she’d just come. An exit sign glowed just beyond the restroom. I was steps away when a police officer called to me. The nurse I’d just spoken to was following him.

Stopping, I held up a hand. “
Un moment, si vous plait.
” I said and headed into the restroom.

Now what was I going to do? I had no intention of talking to him but didn’t want him chasing me if I ran. Unlike the cop in the metro, there would be nothing to keep him from catching me. And Jarrod was right. Running would just make me look guilty. There was one large window in the restroom. But it was too high up for me to reach and I didn’t want to take the chance of sounding an alarm if I tried to open it.

The door to the restroom swung open and I expected to see the nurse coming to see what was taking me so long. Instead, it was woman wearing a long white lab coat. I made a show of washing my hands as she took off her lab coat and hung it on a hook on the wall. As I was reaching for the towel dispenser, my bag slipped off my shoulder and fell onto the floor.

“I’ll get that for you,
madame.
” The woman quickly bent down to pick up my bag. “Here you go,” she said in that tone people used on babies and the elderly. Instead of handing it to me, she looped the strap over my shoulder and patted me gently on the back before entering a stall. And then it dawned on me that she thought I was an old woman—and so did the nurse and the cop!