Almost Gone (The Au Pair—Book One)

by Blake Pierce

  “Pierre is very controlling, but he doesn’t seem to have a close emotional bond with the children,” she said. “On the other hand, Margot appeared to be very insecure. Possessions and status seemed important to her. She reacted terribly to criticism.”

  “Did you like her?” The question came from Detective Granger.

  Cassie hesitated. “No, I didn’t dislike her, but we weren’t friendly. I mean, I was only there to do a job, not to be her friend.”

  “I see you have a bruise on your face. And is that a graze on your arm?” Detective Granger leaned forward. “How did those injuries happen?”

  “I—I can’t remember,” Cassie said, deciding to play it safe although she felt her heart accelerate. “I’m rather accident prone.”

  “We were told that you had a fight with Margot last night,” Detective Granger said, and Cassie realized that the easy part of the questioning was over. She was in dangerous territory now because Pierre had already told the police his version of events.

  “Yes. I had to go and do some business in town. I was late coming back because I got lost, and Margot had been drinking. She was angry that she’d been left alone with the children, because Pierre had also gone out for a while.”

  “Pierre said it was serious. You physically attacked each other.”

  “She slapped my face because she was frustrated, but the fight only lasted a moment or two. Then Margot tripped over her heels and broke a shelf,” Cassie said, but she felt her face start to burn and knew the detectives must be noticing.

  “When we looked in your bedroom earlier, we noticed that your bags were packed. Were you intending to leave today?”

  Cassie stared at Detective Granger, horrified, wishing she’d had the presence of mind to unpack after this disaster happened. She should have realized they would check all the rooms.

  “I was going to leave this morning,” she confessed. “That’s why I went to the bedroom, to tell Pierre I was quitting, and to call a cab.”

  “Are you depressed, Cassie?” Detective Bisset spoke now.

  “No, I’m not depressed. I do suffer from anxiety though.”

  “Do you take any medication for it?”

  They knew what she took already, she could tell.

  “Yes, I’m on a few different pills. It’s nothing unusual, I mean, lots of people are able to cope better if their anxiety is controlled,” she said defensively.

  Cassie was sure that the doctor had informed Pierre about the meds she was on. Or would the police have gone through her luggage? Perhaps they had.

  She realized with a prickle of fear that the dispensing date was on the packets, and the police would have been able to see immediately that she’d exceeded the recommended dosage. This, too, they probably knew already.

  “We understand that after your fight with Margot last night, you were sent to your room. Did you leave your room during the night, Cassie?” Granger stared at her intently.

  “No,” she said. “I was there all night.”

  And then, with a jolt, she remembered she wasn’t. She had sleepwalked and had that vivid dream. She’d woken with her hand on the brass doorknob of Pierre’s bedroom. There was no way she could tell the police that. She would be admitting to them that she was at the scene of the crime, without any memory of what had really happened. She didn’t even know the real facts herself.

  “Are you sure you didn’t leave your room?” Granger asked.

  Cassie grasped at another fragment of memory. Earlier that night, she’d heard Ella crying. She’d gone to comfort her and seen the bruise on her neck, and had felt uncontrollably angry about it.

  “Wait, I’m sorry, I did go out during the night,” she gabbled, seeing the detectives exchange a glance and Granger begin scribbling on his notepad.

  “Ella, the youngest child, was having a nightmare and I went to comfort her. That was last night, of course. I’ve been so confused with all this stress. For a minute I thought it was the previous night. She’s had them more than once.”

  “More than once in three days?” Granger asked, but he didn’t sound disbelieving, just curious.

  “Yes. It’s part of the reason I decided I was going to leave,” Cassie said. “I didn’t think I was coping with the children well enough. On the first night I was here, Margot—”

  She stopped herself hurriedly. Explaining how Margot had confronted her, abused her, and slapped her face for not attending to Ella fast enough, would only convince the police that there had been serious animosity between them.

  But Detective Granger, his eyebrows raised, was waiting for her to continue.

  “On the first night, Margot told me I must always go to the children. As quickly as possible, no matter how tired I was,” she amended. “So even though I was told to stay in my room last night, I still went to Ella when I heard her crying.”

  The questions were starting to panic Cassie. She remembered Pierre’s threats to her. How he had promised that if she didn’t play his game, he would tell the police she’d been searching his room, and they would arrest her.

  She was seriously worried that he might have told the police about that already, in an effort to paint a picture of her as unreliable and dishonest. Or, an even worse scenario, that Pierre didn’t need to do that because he had a “good friend” in the local constabulary, just as the community’s doctor was his “good friend.”

  It was obvious to Cassie what must have happened. Pierre and Margot had been fighting last night. She’d been drunk and aggressive beyond reason, and must have provoked him to violence, which he’d taken too far. They’d fought, and he’d pushed her over the balcony in a fit of rage. Then he had left in a hurry, so that he could prove he hadn’t been home at the time.

  Pierre was wealthy and powerful, and Cassie knew that he had no scruples about using his wealth and power to get what he wanted. He had a huge amount of influence within his community; it seemed that even those people who spoke badly of him were reluctant to discuss the facts openly, and were afraid of repercussions.

  If Pierre had created an alibi for himself, Cassie knew he would need an alternative suspect, because somebody had to be accused of the crime.

  If the police hadn’t already arrested Pierre, that meant he was pointing them in another direction. Cassie could see already, from what he’d told the detectives, how his mind was working, and she felt sick with fear as she started to understand his plans.

  Who better to take the blame for this crime than the new arrival in the community—the unstable, insignificant, and entirely dispensable au pair?

  CHAPTER TWENTY ONE

  Cassie sat opposite the detectives, staring down at her clasped hands with their torn and bitten cuticles. She knew how badly she’d messed up the interview. Pieced together, the evidence painted a bleak picture. The fight she’d had with Margot, and her packed bags, told a story all on their own. Her excessive use of medication, and forgetting basic facts that a responsible au pair should have remembered, would convince the police she was unreliable and untrustworthy.

  She couldn’t have chosen a worse time to overdose on the incorrect meds. The gaps in her memory were incriminating her, and if the police learned about the disturbing dream she had—if it was a dream at all—it would add to the weight of evidence against her.

  She sensed that the writing was on the wall and she couldn’t think of a way to counteract the evidence stacked up against her.

  Her fears were confirmed by Granger.

  “We will need to interview you again, after speaking to the children. Please remain in the bedroom with them when you go upstairs.”

  The questioning of the children seemed like a mere formality, a box to tick before the processes swung inexorably into action. She could picture what would happen next. She wondered whether or not they’d handcuff her, and prayed they wouldn’t. She knew she wouldn’t be able to handle that without breaking down completely, and if Ella saw, she would be traumatized.

  As C
assie stood up, a reckless idea came to her, along with a sudden surge of hope. Perhaps she could simply run away. Would there be time? Could she leave the chalet, maybe even make it to the airport, before they noticed she had gone?

  As if he’d read her mind, Detective Granger cleared his throat.

  “We will require you to hand over your passport now.”

  Cassie’s right hand dropped automatically to her jacket pocket, where it was safely zipped in.

  She saw the detective had noticed her gesture. He knew she had the document on her. She couldn’t buy another minute of time.

  “For how long will you need it?” she asked.

  Her final flicker of optimism, that perhaps they just had to make a copy of the document, was snuffed out by his brusque response.

  “We’ll hold it until we have concluded the investigation.”

  Despair sitting cold in her stomach, Cassie handed it over, hoping she would get an official receipt for it, but that didn’t seem to be part of the protocol. Granger simply took it. That made her doubly nervous. She had no proof now that she was in the country legally, and also no idea where the passport would be kept. What if they lost it or it just disappeared?

  Granger accompanied her back to Ella’s room. Marnie, who had been supervising the children, saw Cassie’s stricken face. She gave her a sympathetic smile and squeezed her hand supportively as she left. The unexpected gesture of friendship had Cassie blinking tears away.

  “The crime scene team is still working in the house, so do not leave the room. Please would you come with me, mademoiselle.”

  Granger nodded to Antoinette.

  As Antoinette followed the detective out, Cassie wondered if the forensic team would take fingerprints in the bedroom. If so they would find plenty of hers there. She’d touched many surfaces in the frantic search for her passport. The presence of those fingerprints would confirm their opinion of her as dishonest.

  Even though she was shaky with hunger, she felt more nauseous than ever. She picked up the plate of food, but looking at the cream cheese croissants, fruit, and pain au chocolat that Marnie had brought made her want to throw up. She pushed the plate away.

  Marc was engrossed in a comic book, but Ella was watching her curiously.

  “Cassie, are you upset?” she asked.

  Cassie sighed. She wanted to protect Ella from the outcome that was likely to occur, but there was going to be no way of shielding her from the truth when Cassie was escorted to the police car.

  “Yes,” she said. “The detectives don’t know where I was last night. So that means I’m what is called a ‘suspect,’ and I might to go away with them just now. If I do, I don’t know when I’ll come back.”

  Ella’s forehead creased and her lower lip wobbled, but to Cassie’s relief she didn’t burst into tears.

  “Have a strawberry,” Cassie said, offering her the plate.

  She hoped the food would cheer Ella up or at least provide a distraction. Ella seemed calmer as she nibbled on the strawberry, but the frown didn’t leave her face.

  A few minutes later, Antoinette was back, and Granger marched downstairs again with Marc in tow.

  Antoinette looked poised and smug, as if the questioning had been a test that she’d easily passed. Looking at her complacent face, Cassie was jolted by the memory of Antoinette saying, “I could kill her.” That had been just a couple of days ago, after Margot had verbally attacked her during dinner.

  Cassie knew how vicious the blonde-haired woman could be. She hadn’t hesitated to say terrible things to Antoinette, even when others were present. What had she said last night, to reduce Antoinette to tears?

  Cassie wondered if a twelve-year-old could push a grown woman over a waist-high balcony. She didn’t think that Antoinette would have managed if Margot had fought back, but perhaps she hadn’t.

  She had a vision of Margot, alone on the balcony, leaning on the rail. Doing what? Perhaps throwing up, or smoking a cigarette, or maybe just pondering her life.

  A determined shove from behind could have sent a drunken woman headfirst over the parapet, especially if she wasn’t expecting it.

  It would have been a lucky coincidence, but Cassie knew all too well about Antoinette’s knack for taking advantage of a situation.

  Given this ability, she was sure Antoinette would have told the police all about the fight between Cassie and Margot. Antoinette might even have exaggerated how serious it had been, which would cast further doubt on Cassie’s version.

  “What did the detectives ask you?” she said to Antoinette.

  “Not too much.”

  Antoinette gave her a secretive smile, as if she sensed Cassie’s anxiety. Clearly, she wasn’t going to reassure her at all.

  Ten minutes later, Marc arrived back and it was Ella’s turn. She followed Granger obediently downstairs and Marc returned to his comic book, untroubled by his experience. Cassie guessed that they’d simply confirmed that he was in bed and asleep at the time.

  They had to wait awhile before Ella’s interview was concluded. Cassie wondered if she had become tearful while being questioned. She hoped that they had been sympathetic to the young girl, and not tried to bully answers out of her.

  When she heard Granger’s footsteps, nervousness uncoiled inside her. She took a deep breath, trying to prepare herself for what lay ahead.

  To her surprise, the detective was alone. She’d expected him to bring Ella upstairs.

  “Please come with me,” he said to Cassie. “The scene has been cleared, and the forensics team has finished their work, so the other children can go back to their rooms now.”

  Cassie wanted to warn Antoinette and Marc about what might happen, but her mouth felt dry and she couldn’t think of the right words. She couldn’t even ask Antoinette to look after Ella and make sure she didn’t peek out the window, because she had no idea where Ella had gone.

  When they walked into the dining room, Cassie saw that Ella was still there. She was sitting next to Detective Bisset, holding her hand tightly.

  Granger indicated to Cassie to take a seat, while he paged through his interview notes.

  “Cassie, Ella Dubois has told us that you attended to her last night, as she was crying, and that you slept the rest of the night in her bedroom. Is that correct?”

  Dumbfounded, Cassie stared at Ella, who innocently returned her gaze.

  Cassie couldn’t believe what she had heard.

  This was an unexpected lifeline. Although the testimony of a five-year-old was not likely to hold up in court, for the time being it gave her an alibi and also corroborated her account of what had happened the previous night. Perhaps it had helped to redeem her in the eyes of the police. After the way she’d messed up the interview, she needed all the help she could get.

  Because her account of the previous night had been so fragmented, she hadn’t actually told the police that she’d gone back to her room after attending to Ella. That omission would work in her favor. She’d just have to be careful what she said now, and how she phrased it.

  “Didn’t I tell you that?” she asked, sounding surprised. “Ella gets very upset by her nightmares. She’s terrified of them recurring. I found out on the first night I was here that the only way she could go to sleep again was if I stayed with her.”

  “Do you know what time you went to Ella’s room?” Granger asked.

  “I finished packing at about nine p.m. Then I got into bed, and as I was about to go to sleep, I thought I heard someone outside my room. I opened the door to see if one of the children needed me. There was nobody there, but I heard Pierre and Margot arguing in their bedroom,” Cassie said slowly. “Then I got back into bed. I was upset by the argument and I kept listening out for the children. After all, if I had heard the shouting, they might have, too, and it would have been distressing for them.”

  She saw Bisset nodding and felt a flicker of encouragement as she continued.

  “I remember wondering when I went to Ella�
��s room, whether the angry voices might even have caused her nightmare. I know when I was younger I used to have nightmares after I overheard family fights. It’s very disturbing on a deep level, especially for a younger child, as it erodes your sense of security.”

  Now Bisset was regarding her with definite sympathy.

  “The timeline. Do you have an idea when Ella’s nightmare happened?” Granger reminded her.

  Even though the edge of accusation had gone from his voice, and he sounded carefully neutral, Cassie was sure he was waiting and watching for her to slip up. She was certain he didn’t trust her account of events.

  “Sorry, sorry, I got sidetracked. The timing—well, I was about to fall asleep when Ella screamed. So it wasn’t too long after I got back into bed.”

  Granger sighed. “You didn’t notice a clock? Or look at your phone?”

  Cassie was about to say she hadn’t when with a flash, another memory came to her.

  “Wait!” she said sharply, and both detectives looked at her with sudden interest.

  “The moon.”

  Cassie closed her eyes, trying to summon the details.

  “I only remembered it now. Ella wanted air. She had been buried under the blankets and she was sweltering, so hot I thought she might have been feverish. Anyway, she had been battling to breathe so I opened her window a crack, and when I did that, I noticed that the moon was just above the horizon—almost touching the hills. I don’t know if it was rising or setting. If I hadn’t been so stressed about Ella, I would have spent some time watching, because it was beautiful. I should have told you earlier but it slipped my mind.”

  She remembered now that the moon had looked rather eerie, as well. Thinking of it made her want to shiver without quite knowing why.

  Granger nodded. “That’s helpful,” he said. “It’s not exact, but that does give us an approximate time.”

  He was scribbling notes furiously and Cassie guessed he would put together a timeline. She had no idea what time Pierre would have left the chateau—or claimed that he had left—or even how accurately the time of Margot’s death could be determined. But Ella’s testimony seemed to have saved her for now. The detectives exchanged a glance and the tight knot in Cassie’s stomach eased just a little as Bisset gave a small nod.