by Blake Pierce
No wonder she felt queasy this morning. With any luck, she’d slept through the worst of the effects, and the nausea would now wear off. Hoping that a drink of water would help, she went to the bathroom and drank two full glasses.
Then Cassie lifted her chin, summoned her resolve, and marched down the corridor toward Pierre’s bedroom, suppressing a shiver as she approached the closed wooden door.
Raising her hand, she gave a firm knock.
“Pierre?” she called, pleased that her voice sounded steady and strong.
She waited, but heard no reply.
“Pierre, it’s Cassie. I need to speak to you urgently. Are you awake?”
Still no reply. She was certain that her knocking would have woken Pierre or Margot if they had been asleep. It would be just her luck if today of all days they had left early to go out.
Well, if that was the case, she would leave a note in his study and call for a cab to come and fetch her. If Pierre wasn’t there, she wouldn’t let it derail her plans. In fact, it would make leaving easier.
Cassie opened the door, trying not to think about the “third time unlucky” mantra that was ringing through her head as she touched the cold metal handle.
The bedroom was empty and she saw, to her surprise, that the bed was made, even though the coverlet was mussed, as if someone had sat on it. The room was freezing, because the big French door was wide open. The lace curtains were blowing in, wafted by the icy morning air. From the open study door she heard papers rustling and she paused, wondering if Pierre was in there, but realized it must be the wind.
Cassie closed the door behind her, which settled the draft slightly.
She shivered. This felt spooky. She’d really wanted to give her notice formally, and not scurry away behind their backs, but they clearly weren’t here, so she had no choice.
She’d just have to make sure the note left no room for doubt or misinterpretation. Spoken words were one thing, written words were another.
The study was in chaos; the wind had blown a pile of papers off the desk and they were lying in disorder on the floor. As she watched, another page fluttered off the mahogany surface.
Cassie hurried back into the bedroom and went to close the French doors.
The sun was rising now and it was already light. The day was perfectly clear, though breezy, and she looked out over the exquisite tapestry of the countryside, visible for miles from this high vantage point. The rolling hills, the majestic forests—though from here, they looked small—the colorful checkerboard of fields and vineyards. She wished she’d had more time to experience the beauty of this area, and in a more pleasant way. If only things could have been different.
But they hadn’t been.
One of the wrought iron chairs next to the balcony rail had fallen over. Cassie stepped outside, bracing herself as a chilly gust sliced through her, blowing stray strands from her ponytail.
She bent down to pick up the chair and as she did, something caught her attention, far below. It was a bright splash of turquoise, vivid against the ornate paving stones. Puzzled, she leaned over and looked down.
Clutching the balcony, her hands slippery with sudden sweat, Cassie realized what she was seeing.
That beautiful, expensive coat, those sprawled limbs, a single lime green shoe lying on its own, dislodged during the fall.
“Oh my God,” Cassie whispered. She stared down at the appalling sight for endless seconds as her brain fought to accept the reality of what was there.
Then, as her stomach churned harder, she turned and staggered inside on cotton-wool legs. She only just made it to the opulent bathroom before she was violently sick.
CHAPTER TWENTY
Hot, sour vomit burned Cassie’s throat. She retched into the white porcelain toilet, vividly recalling the horror she’d seen outside.
Margot’s body had been sprawled on the paving stones, unmoving. One of her legs had been bent at a hideous angle.
Margot must surely be dead… but perhaps, by some miracle, she was still alive, but unconscious or comatose.
Cassie spat into the toilet bowl and wiped her mouth. Despite the coldness of the room, clammy sweat had broken out on her forehead and armpits. She felt even dizzier than before, and when she left the bathroom she headed toward the balcony again, disoriented, before turning the other way and hurrying, on shaky legs, to the bedroom door.
“Pierre?” she shouted, as she ran down the corridor. “Pierre, where are you?”
Where was he? And, more importantly, where had he been when this happened?
Feeling nausea churn her insides again, Cassie wondered if she should be asking herself the same question. After all, she’d had that weird, unsettling dream where she’d seen a body. Was it possible she could have sleepwalked into Pierre’s bedroom and looked over the balcony without realizing it? Although since it would have been totally dark, she couldn’t have seen anything so far below.
In that case, though, why had the memory of pushing Jacqui over the edge of the ravine been so vivid?
Cassie called again for Pierre, and bedroom doors swung open. She saw Antoinette, dressed in her peach nightgown, standing in her doorway with guarded curiosity in her eyes. Marc shot from his room like a bullet, clutching a toy dinosaur.
“Where is Papa?” he shouted. “Papa, Cassie is looking for you!”
He thundered past her but she managed to grab him before he could run downstairs. Cassie turned back to Antoinette.
“Please, Antoinette, will you and Marc go back into your bedrooms and stay there. It’s important and very serious. Don’t leave your rooms. I’ll explain why in a minute.”
Luckily, the urgency of her tone was enough to convince Marc, and he returned to his room without argument.
Cassie went down the stairs, clutching the banister and stumbling as she ran.
She arrived in the kitchen, breathless, and the maid taking a tray from the oven looked up curiously.
“Where is Marnie?” Cassie was sobbing, tears blurring her eyes. There was Marnie, rushing over to her in concern, putting down the basket she was carrying to grasp Cassie by the shoulders as she swayed.
“What is it?” she asked. “What has happened, Cassie?”
“Call the ambulance, call the police, quickly,” Cassie choked. “Margot is lying outside. She must have fallen from the balcony and I think she’s dead.”
“Oh my God,” Marnie said. She closed her eyes briefly. Cassie saw she had turned very pale.
“Where is Pierre?” she asked.
“I don’t know. He wasn’t in the bedroom. He must have gone out somewhere.”
Marnie nodded. “All right. Show me where she has fallen.”
Cassie didn’t want to go anywhere near that sprawled body, but she knew it had to be done.
Summoning all her strength of will, she walked with Marnie out of the kitchen. They went through the scullery door and around the back of the chateau, descending two more flights of outer stairs. It was only now that Cassie realized what a steep slope the home was built on. That incredible vista from the master bedroom’s balcony meant there was a three- or four-story drop to the paving below.
Marnie caught her breath when she saw the sprawled body on the ornate flagstones. She approached hesitantly, with Cassie close behind.
Cassie felt her bile rising and wanted to throw up again, even though there was nothing left in her stomach. She could see this was undoubtedly death. Margot’s mouth was open, her eyes staring sightlessly upward. The pool of blood behind her head had spread and congealed on the silver-gray stones. Her skin was blue-white, and Cassie saw in horror that this made the livid bruising around her exposed neck even more visible. She could clearly see the finger marks in each purple stain.
Cassie thought Marnie muttered a prayer as she knelt and grasped the woman’s outflung wrist.
“No pulse,” Marnie confirmed, a tremble in her voice. “I will call the police; there is no need for an ambulance. Please
can you stay with the children for now? It will be best if they remain upstairs until the police have done their work. I think you should go back to them quickly, as they may become curious.”
Cassie nodded and hurried back the way she had come. She arrived upstairs just in time, because Ella was already heading down the passage toward Pierre’s room, her hair mussed with sleep, calling, “Papa?”
“Ella, come back.”
Cassie picked Ella up and carried her back to the little girl’s bedroom, deciding it would be safer if all three children could stay together in one room.
“Please wait there, Ella,” she said firmly, before going to fetch Antoinette and Marc. A few minutes later, they were all gathered in Ella’s bedroom.
Cassie found she had no words. She stared at their expectant faces in silence. They had seen Margot’s abusive behavior and the fight last night. That would be their last memory of Margot.
Cassie remembered how she’d grabbed hold of the long wooden mask when Margot attacked her, and how she’d thrown it at her, aiming for her face. She’d wanted to hurt Margot, because she’d thought maybe pain would make her see reason. In fact, she’d wanted to hurt Margot for what she’d said, even though she’d justified it as self-defense.
She recalled how she’d run up behind Margot with rage boiling inside her, those taunting words seared into her mind. She’d known that in those heels Margot was tall enough and the parapet was low enough, so she had shoved her hard. She thought Margot had tried to scream, but she’d managed no more than a whimper as she’d toppled and fallen into the emptiness below.
“No!” Cassie said aloud.
That hadn’t happened. She was confusing the memory with her dream. After so much stress and accidentally overdosing on the wrong meds, it was no wonder the boundaries between imagination and reality felt blurred today.
She remembered how Antoinette had aimed and viciously swiped at the back of Margot’s knee. When she broke the news to them, she must be sure to watch Antoinette.
“There has been an accident,” she told them.
“What has happened? Is Papa all right?” Ella asked anxiously.
Antoinette said nothing.
“It’s Margot. She fell last night.” Cassie swallowed.
Was it her imagination or was Antoinette hiding a smile?
“Did she hurt herself?” Marc asked.
“She—she went over the balcony. She did not survive the fall. She is dead. We have to wait here until the police arrive.”
She stared at the children’s faces.
Ella burst into tears at the news, but in contrast, Antoinette showed no emotion whatsoever. She stared calmly back at Cassie.
Marc frowned. “What will the police do?” he asked.
“They will examine Margot and take her away,” Cassie said.
Her knowledge of such matters was too sketchy to offer anything further. A knot of dread tightened in her stomach. What exactly had happened last night? The overdose of meds had left her memory fuzzy and there were gaps she couldn’t fill. She barely remembered packing her bags. She thought she had gone to Ella’s bedroom—or had that been the previous night? Had she really sleepwalked, or had that been part of her dream?
Cassie knew she had better try her hardest to piece together a coherent picture of the night before, because the police would undoubtedly question everyone. After all, the stone balcony was waist-high, and it would have been impossible for Margot to fall over it accidentally.
“I hear Papa,” Marc said, brightening.
Cassie opened the bedroom door and picked up a babble of voices from below. Pierre’s was indeed among them.
“Can I go to Papa?” Ella asked, climbing off the bed.
“No, no, definitely not. Not now.” Cassie closed the door again. “He’ll be very busy for the next while. I am sure the police will arrive any minute.”
“Can we have breakfast, Cassie?” Antoinette asked. “I am rather hungry.”
Cassie stared at her in shock. Food had been the last thing on her mind, and she’d assumed the children would be too upset to want to eat. But clearly, the news of Margot’s recent demise had not affected Antoinette’s appetite in the slightest.
Or else, she thought suddenly, the request for food might be a ploy to get Cassie out of the room, if Antoinette was dreaming up some mischief.
“Can you wait a little while?” she asked.
Antoinette sighed. “I suppose so.”
Cassie heard the front door bang again and a fresh chorus of voices. The police must have arrived. If she’d been in her own room, she would have seen the cars approaching, but the children’s bedrooms overlooked the gardens and fields at the back of the house.
Footsteps tramped up the stairs and then passed by, heading for the main bedroom. The police must be inspecting the scene, to see where Margot had fallen from. Perhaps they were also looking for clues within the bedroom itself, which would tell them what had happened.
She must remember to mention that she’d picked up the fallen chair on the balcony.
“Shall I read you a story?” she asked the children, trying to sound cheerful.
They agreed reluctantly, and Cassie chose a book she hadn’t read to Ella before—it was a fairytale that she hoped would appeal to the other children as well, and keep their minds occupied. Distracted and unsettled, she found herself stumbling over the words, suddenly unable to understand the basic French that was usually like everyday language to her. Antoinette was clearly not concentrating on the story, and stricken-faced Ella was trying to listen to what was happening outside.
About half an hour later, Marnie knocked on the door.
“The police want to talk to you,” she said, and Cassie saw a lean, sandy-haired man, dressed in a suit and tie, standing behind her. He looked serious and not in the least sympathetic.
Marnie was carrying a basket of snacks, and she handed out fruit and pastries to the children. Cassie wondered if she should eat something—she wasn’t hungry at all, but her dizziness was getting worse, and she thought food might help to settle it.
There wasn’t time, she decided reluctantly. The police officer was already walking downstairs. Following him, Cassie saw the dining room was being used as the interview room. It was only after stepping inside and closing the door that the police detective introduced himself.
“I am Detective Granger, and this is my colleague, Detective Bisset.” He spoke in excellent English.
Cassie smiled nervously at the young woman in a navy blue trouser suit who was setting up a tape recorder.
“We have interviewed your employer, Mr. Pierre Dubois,” Detective Granger explained. “We would like to hear your version of what occurred last night and this morning. Do you prefer the interview to be conducted in French or English?”
“French is fine,” Cassie said in French, hoping that it would win her some favor with the two stern-looking officers. Although she guessed that Pierre must be the primary suspect—and she was certain he had committed this crime—she guessed she was under suspicion, too. The gaps in her memory were distressing, and they were making her feel very nervous. She didn’t want to say the wrong thing, or appear to be hiding anything.
“Good. So now we begin. Take a seat here, opposite Detective Bisset. And tell me your name, date of birth, and home address for the record, please.”
The first few questions were routine. Where she was from, the agency who had hired her, how long she had been with the family. Cassie noticed that Detective Bisset looked surprised when she said she had arrived only three days ago.
They talked her through what had happened that morning, asking her what she’d found when she had entered the bedroom. Cassie mentioned the knocked over chair on the balcony, and that she’d righted it and then noticed the body below.
“And why did you go into the bedroom?” Detective Granger asked.
“I wanted to ask if I could use the phone. It’s in the study,” Cassie said.
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br /> She didn’t want to mention she’d been going to call a cab with the intention of leaving. That would surely seem suspicious. Then she realized that early morning in France would be midnight in the States, so she couldn’t say she was trying to call anyone back home. Perhaps she could say she was trying to contact Jess, the au pair she’d met on the plane.
Luckily, the police didn’t ask her any more about the phone call. She was relieved, but not for very long, because the questioning soon took another, more difficult, turn.
“Tell us what you have observed about the relationship between Mr. Dubois and Mme. Fabron,” Detective Granger asked.
“I only knew her as Margot,” Cassie said. “I didn’t know her last name.”
How much should she say? She found herself worrying at the tablecloth with her fingers and hastily stopped, in case this would be interpreted as a sign of guilt.
She could speak about the violent strangulation she’d seen play out in their bedroom, and the bondage equipment in the secret drawer, but that would mean explaining how she’d found it, and might lead down a dangerous road. The police would rightly ask why she’d been trespassing in her employers’ private rooms. The story of the stolen passport sounded farfetched, and could only be confirmed by Ella, whom she wanted to protect.
It was all so complicated and she felt suddenly nauseous again.
“Could I have some water, please?” she asked. “I’m sorry, I threw up after seeing the body. I’m feeling very dizzy still.”
“Of course.”
Detective Bisset got up from her seat and brought Cassie a glass of water, and also a cup of black coffee.
Cassie spooned three sugars into the coffee and sipped it, grateful for the sweetness.
“They seemed to have a volatile relationship,” she said. “Pierre and Margot, I mean. There was always an undercurrent of conflict in the house. I heard them arguing a few times when I got up to use the bathroom at night.”
“Please continue,” Detective Bisset encouraged her. She sounded so understanding that Cassie found herself saying more.
