Birds of a Feather: 3: Fly the Nest (Bennett Sisters Mysteries Book 16)

by Lise McClendon

  “No picture but possible. Works at a temp agency in London as a server or sous chef or cleaner. Age twenty-five.” Pascal looked up. “The name on the agency— Louis Bordeaux.”

  They agreed to wait until morning to confront the family with this tidbit. ‘Confront’ was probably not correct, Merle thought. ‘Inform’ then. The Albions could do the confronting of Pauline as they wished. Maybe it didn’t matter that she wasn’t a model. Maybe she dreamed of being one, had tried out for jobs, was aspirational. Merle lay in bed wondering whether they should inform the family at all.

  But in the gray morning light she was more certain. Pauline had misrepresented herself. Duncan, at least, should know. If he did already know and had played along with her charade— which seemed very possible— then the family should be aware.

  Conor and Elise picked up Pascal and Merle again in town. His aunt and uncle had taken Bree and Sally to Newport to the rail station. They were headed back to university, glad to be done with their horrid family holiday. They had taken the Range Rover so Conor drove the Fiat into Monmouth. The foursome went to the Swan for lunch again. After they ordered Elise leaned in and whispered, “Well, what did you find out?”

  Merle looked at Pascal. He took a long drink of water and set down his glass carefully. He dabbed his mouth with his napkin.

  “It appears our Pauline is not a model. She works for the same agency as the chef and the maid, the Louis Bordeaux agency. He must specialize in French girls.” Pascal raised an eyebrow skeptically.

  “Oh. Maybe she’s trying out for modeling jobs? He sends her out?” Elise said. She glanced at Conor. “She is striking, right?” He shrugged.

  “We thought that too, at first. She is listed as a server, sous chef, or cleaner on his website. He must assure his clients that those they contract with are honest and bonded. That is the term— bonded?”

  “Yes,” Merle said. “Against losses.”

  “Such as stealing from clients. So I wonder,” Pascal said. “If she is honest about all of it, you know? So I call in a favor at the Police Nationale. To look her up in the records.”

  Conor had perked up. “And?”

  “The only record of someone by that name is a grandmother in Lyon.”

  “So the agency guy is misrepresenting her,” Conor said. “That makes him liable for— what?”

  “Anything she does, I would suppose.” Pascal shrugged. “I call him too.”

  “So many phone calls,” Merle said, rolling her eyes.

  “It is my secret power,” Pascal said, holding up his mobile phone. “I spoke to him yesterday so I change my voice a little. I tell this Louis Bordeaux— or whatever his real name is— that there have been complaints about his workers for theft. I demand that he tell me the real names of the three of them— Audette, Gini, and Pauline— or, I say, I will have to send over detectives to investigate him in particular for false identification.”

  “Did you tell him you were working with Scotland Yard?” Conor asked.

  “I implied. I said I was Police Nationale— mostly true— working with Interpol for cross-border crimes. Since he is obviously using a false name I hoped he might comply to the simpler request of the women’s identities. And I spoke to him in French. The French in general are very leery of the police.”

  “I can see by your smile that he complied,” Elise said.

  “He did. He gave me Audette and Gini’s complete names then he gave me Pauline’s. Her name is in reality Agnés Loup.”

  “Not Pauline at all,” Conor said, a bit shocked. “I hadn’t thought her quite so devious.”

  “It seems she reinvented herself in London,” Pascal said. “And I found out why. She attacked her boyfriend in Paris three years ago. She was convicted for domestic battery and received probation. She was not to leave the country.”

  “Attacked her boyfriend?” Conor repeated. “Does Duncan know, do you think?”

  “A question,” Pascal said.

  “I doubt it,” Elise said. “How would he feel safe around her?”

  “He should be told,” Merle said.

  “I knew there was something fishy about that girl.” Elise looked at Conor. He looked unhappy at the prospect of interacting with his brother on any level. “Just tell your mother. She’ll handle it.”

  “Did Elise tell you what we overheard her saying, out by the hedges?” Pascal asked Conor who nodded. “What job do you suppose is ‘done’?”

  “I don’t know. The seduction of my brother? The impersonation of a model?”

  “Someone would pay for that? For what purpose?” Pascal frowned.

  “I have no idea,” Conor said.

  Conor had parked the little hire car in a carpark behind the high street shops and restaurants. They exited the Swan through the alley door, navigating icy spots and garbage bins, down a couple blocks to a parking lot on a side street. Elise clung to Conor’s arm, Merle to Pascal’s, as the footing was treacherous. Conor clicked the key fob as they reached the carpark. The Fiat chirped in response.

  Halfway down the row of vehicles Pascal stopped abruptly, causing Merle to skid. “Whoa there,” she cautioned him, squeezing his arm.

  “Look,” he said, nodding across the closer row of autos to a far row. “There.” He began sidling through the cars. “Conor,” he called.

  It was the Jaguar, spattered with mud and ice. The turquoise sedan was parked at an angle, haphazardly. Pascal, first to arrive, leaned down to peer inside. He tried all the door handles. He pushed the button on the boot but it too was locked.

  “Empty,” Pascal told them as they exclaimed about the Jag. “He must be around here somewhere.”

  “Why would he leave it here? Why would he still be here?” Elise asked.

  “Out of petrol probably,” Conor said. “Uncle Richard told me the tank was nearly empty. Gabriel could be anywhere now.”

  Pascal whipped out his mobile phone again and spent ten minutes calling in the sighting of the stolen car, speaking to several people, repeating himself, until he finally got DI Powe on the line.

  “Yes, right here in Monmouth. Car park on—” He craned his neck for street signs.

  Conor said, “Glendower, at Worcester.”

  “Send one of yours over,” Pascal told the detective. “We’ll wait.”

  The four of them lingered around the carpark, watching side streets for any sign of Gabriel Tremblay, until a female constable arrived in her patrol car. She thanked them and sent them on their way.

  “Do you think he’ll come back for the car?” Merle asked as they drove out of town.

  “I doubt it,” Pascal said. “I thought he would sell it but that would prove difficult without the proper paperwork. If it is out of gas, as Conor says, then it has no use to him.”

  “It’s so showy,” Elise said. “Not the best getaway car.”

  Conor smiled. “Uncle Richard will be thrilled.”

  Chapter Fourteen

  By the time they arrived at Monnow House it was nearly three in the afternoon. The sun broke through the clouds for a few minutes, warming the facade of the cottage and making the icicles drip. Inside the drawing room was empty and the house was quiet.

  “Where is everyone?” Elise asked Conor.

  “Aubrey and her gang went sightseeing again. Not sure about anyone else,” Conor said. He turned to Pascal. “Drink?”

  “I’m good. I wonder if we should find your parents.”

  Conor nodded. “No time like the present.” In the hall he took a deep breath and knocked on the library door. His father called out to enter.

  “Is Mum around?” Evans sat in position at his computer as usual.

  “Looking for a rehab place, I believe,” his father said, frowning. “In our room.”

  Conor hesitated. Should he tell his father what they found out? Better to start with Isabelle. “Where is Duncan then? And Pauline.”

  “No idea. Haven’t seen them all day.”

  Conor shut the door an
d mounted the stairs. At his parents’ bedroom he knocked again, turned the knob, and poked his head inside. “Mum?”

  “Come in, chéri.” Isabelle sat curled in an armchair next to another fireplace. This one had a good blaze; the room was toasty. She smiled at her son. “Comment ça va?”

  He sat down opposite her and stared at the flames. “We found out something just now. Pascal did.” She raised her eyebrows, waiting. “Pauline, it seems, is not the person she presented to us. Her real name is Agnés Loup. She works at the same temp agency that sent the chef and the other girl here.”

  “Oh? Is she working here, is that what you’re saying?”

  “I don’t know. But she is not a model.” He swallowed. “She was arrested in France a few years ago for assaulting her boyfriend. She’s on probation and wasn’t to leave the country. Probably why she’s using a false name.”

  Isabelle didn’t look very surprised. “I see.”

  “Someone needs to tell Duncan. And talk to Pauline, see what game she’s playing.” Isabelle looked away, sadness softening her features. “I’d like to know how Duncan met her.”

  Isabelle said, “At a nightclub, correct?”

  “I’d like more details. I don’t trust her, Mum. Do you?”

  Her eyes darted around the room. “My laptop is missing. You haven’t seen it, have you?”

  Conor squinted. “You think she took it?”

  “I can’t think of anyone else who came without one. Besides Audette and Gini and they don’t seem the type. Even the children have their own tablets.” Isabelle sighed. “Yes, it crossed my mind that she took it. She may not want me to find a rehab center for Duncan. Maybe he asked her to take it so I wouldn’t be able to search for a spot, I don’t know.”

  “Have you seen it since Sabine and Gabriel went missing?”

  She thought for a moment and nodded. “Yes, I had it yesterday morning in the drawing room.”

  “Do you want me to go with you? To talk to her?” Conor asked.

  She examined his face then stood up. “Please.”

  They walked to other end of the hallway where Conor knocked on the door to the green bedroom.

  Pauline opened the door an inch, as before. She glanced nervously at Isabelle then at Conor. “Oui?”

  In French Isabelle asked to have a word with her. Pauline turned to the room briefly, switching to English. “Duncan is sleeping again. It is good for him, you think? All this sleep?”

  “Probably so,” Isabelle said. “Come with us. To my bedroom. There’s a nice fire in the hearth.”

  In his parents’ bedroom Conor stood by the windows as the women took the two chairs fireside. Pauline perched nervously on the edge of the cushion, wearing the ridiculous pink boots, oversized sweater, and purple leggings. When Isabelle didn’t speak, Pauline said, “What can I do? Can I help?”

  The older woman sighed. “You can be truthful with us, Pauline. Or should I call you Agnés?”

  Pauline began to shake, turning red in the face then tears started streaming down her face. “How did— oh, god. How did you find me?”

  “You found us, Pauline. You came to us, didn’t you?”

  Pauline sniffed, wiping her face with a sleeve of her sweater. “I don’t know what you mean.”

  “Did you hear about Duncan at the agency? This Louis Bordeaux— did he tell you about us?”

  She blinked, her mascara running down her cheeks. “What? I— no.”

  “How did you meet Duncan?”

  “At a club, not long ago. Maybe a month.” Pauline scrunched up her face. “You must believe me!”

  “What is the name of the club?” Conor asked.

  Pauline shook her head, blonde hair flying to and fro. “I don’t remember. Wait. No. I go to many clubs, I confess.”

  “To pick up men?” Conor suggested.

  Pauline gasped dramatically. “Oh my god. You think I am a prostitute?”

  “Only if Duncan— or someone— is paying you for this ‘job.’”

  Pauline stood up angrily, hands fisted at her sides. “I don’t have to take these insults from you. I am a decent woman!” She took several steps toward the door before Conor put out an arm to stop her.

  “Sit down, Pauline,” Isabelle commanded. “Now.”

  The younger woman slunk back to the chair, flopping down and glaring at Isabelle. “You disgust me. This whole family disgusts me.”

  “We overheard your phone conversation, Pauline,” Conor said, crossing his arms near her chair. “You said your job was finished. What job was that?”

  “Quoi? I have no idea what you speak.” She was done crying now and looked at Conor with hate in her eyes.

  “In the hedges. You told someone ‘le travail est fait.’”

  Pauline stared at him. “That? I was speaking to an agency about a job I completed in December. I was looking for more work. Is that a crime?”

  “What sort of work?” Isabelle asked.

  “Modeling,” she said, flipping back her hair. “Sometimes I help with the parties for Louis, for the money. But I am trying to get modeling jobs. I am trying to have a life.”

  Isabelle glanced at Conor. What more was there to ask? Her story more or less checked out, although they hadn’t confronted her about the assault charge. That could be brought up with Duncan privately.

  “All right, Pauline. We will see you at dinner. Make sure Duncan is awake and dressed. That is your job, it appears.”

  After she clomped down the hall, Conor turned to his mother. “We need to search their room. If for nothing else, to find your laptop.”

  Chapter Fifteen

  At five o’clock they assembled as usual for cocktails in the drawing room. Freddy and Aubrey brought the children this time and made them grape juice and seltzer kiddie cocktails at the makeshift bar, still going strong after Conor’s creation of it a week ago.

  Pascal and Conor had spent an hour or so whispering, planning, conjecturing what had happened to Sabine and Gabriel. Merle and Elise had their own ideas but nothing solid. Merle told Elise that Pascal had asked some French government agency for a full background analysis on Agnés Loup but was told it wouldn’t happen for a few days. The Detective Inspector had not returned with more information today. No one had heard from him.

  “Maybe nobody cares about a rude Frenchwoman who gets herself gutted in the hedgerows,” Elise said, putting on a posh accent. “I know I struggle with the notion.”

  Merle smiled. “I’m sure they’re working on it. These things take time.”

  “But we’re supposed to leave tomorrow. Or maybe the next day, I’m not sure. It’s Twelfth Night.”

  Merle shrugged. “Does that mean we get the réveillon?”

  “The larder is getting bare. All these meals. Breakfast was pretty skimpy.”

  “What happens to Audette and Gini? Where will they go?”

  “Back to London, I suppose,” Elise said. “But, who knows how.“

  “Maybe the black limo will magically return.”

  Richard and Cecily were chatting, liquor in hand, with Isabelle and Evans. Richard was indeed thrilled to have his beloved Jag recovered. He would get it back tomorrow, he’d been told, after the Forensics Squad went through it. He had bellowed at the police, warning against pulling out seats and touching a stitch of original upholstery. Cecily had rolled her eyes, a lot.

  “Did I tell you, Merle,” Elise said, sipping champagne, “that Cecily has spoken to Trevor at their law firm? He’s Conor’s attorney and sports agent.” Merle raised her eyebrows. “Conor talked to him too but Cecily is a senior partner there. Anyway Trevor has no interest in actually being a sports agent for Conor. He’s agreed to relinquish his duties to me.”

  “Oh. What does being a sports agent entail?” Merle asked.

  “I guess I’ll find out.” She grinned. “I’m excited. I think I can take some courses or something. Or find a mentor in the US.”

  “So you’ll do contracts for him?”
r />   “And sponsorships. You know, all that advertising on their clothes. That’s where the money is.”

  “Would you be paid or get a cut of—”

  Merle stopped mid-sentence as Pauline stumbled into the room on white high heels, wearing another ridiculously short, flimsy dress better suited for Saint-Tropez. Everyone turned to look at her as she righted herself and smiled.

  “Good evening. Bonsoir, vous tous.” She blinked and glanced at the bar, stepping over to it with her model’s sway.

  Isabelle intercepted her. “Where is Duncan, Pauline?”

  Pauline spun from the bar with a glass of white wine in her hand. “Oh! I almost spilled.” Isabelle tapped her foot impatiently. “He wasn’t feeling well enough to come down. He sends his apology.”

  “You had one task, Pauline,” Isabelle said in an angry whisper. “One task.”

  Conor moved to his mother’s side. “I’ll check on him.” He turned to Pauline. “Is the door locked?”

  “No, of course not.” She looked indignant but Conor held out his hand and glared at her. She resisted his entreaty for a long moment then caved in, reaching into a pocket for the skeleton key. “I just want him to be safe.” She leaned closer to Conor and whispered, “From all of you.”

  Conor kept his face neutral but Elise could see the dislike in his eyes. Pauline was a fraud. Why were they even calling her ‘Pauline’? Why was she still a guest? Elise touched Merle’s arm and nodded toward the hall.

  She skipped up to Conor. “I’ll go with you.”

  Merle watched Elise take Conor’s hand as they went upstairs. Pascal was pouring himself a glass of Pinot Noir. “What is the latest theory?” she whispered.

  “About Sabine? Not a clue.” He glanced around the room as if sizing it up for potential suspects. “One of us? A random hater? Particular enemy? Hoisted by her own sharp petard?” He shrugged.

  “What does the Detective Inspector think?”

  “Oh, one of us, for sure.” He sipped his wine. “Gabriel, probably, if they can find him before he leaves the country.”