The Napoleon Affair

by Ernest Dempsey

  Sean chuckled.

  "He also travels constantly and, since this is one of his many residences, he is almost never here."

  "Where is he now?" Bodmer asked, suddenly curious enough to speak.

  "Rwanda," Mattias said plainly.

  "As in Africa?" Tommy asked.

  "I know of no other place by that name. He's there establishing a supply chain for coffee. Apparently he thinks the market for coffee from that region is wide open and he's looking to take advantage of that gap."

  Sean and Tommy were both impressed, their eyebrows climbing up their foreheads as they listened.

  Mattias pointed at the kitchen to the left. It was bathed in white tile all the way to the ceiling. A huge steel vent hung over the gas stove. The cabinetry was cream, distressed maple with black hinges and hardware that also appeared to have been artificially distressed to match the general look and feel of the space.

  "There's your kitchen. Over there is a small living room, as you can see." Mattias pointed his other index finger in the direction of a space to the right where a fireplace sat idle, surrounded by two leather chairs and a matching sofa. A painting of Paris in spring hung over the mantel, the bright and colorful flowers contrasting sharply with the black-and-white décor that surrounded it. Bookshelves hugged the fireplace on both sides, displaying dozens of tomes that looked like they'd never been touched, save to place them on the shelves. They were perfectly arranged alphabetically based on author name.

  "I'll not give you the entire tour since I'm sure you want to get settled in, and I have some other matters to attend to." Mattias turned to Tommy, holding the key to the SUV. "There is a master bedroom downstairs, two more upstairs, as well as an office. Make yourselves comfortable, and feel free to stay as long as you need, though based on how you operate, Thomas, I doubt that will be more than a day or two." There was a joking glint in the man's eyes.

  "You know me," Tommy said, throwing his hands out to the side with his confession. Then he took the key from his friend and arched an eyebrow. "How are you getting home?"

  "I'll do a ride share," he said. "Or a cab. Whichever gets here first. I only live fifteen minutes from here. It's not a problem."

  "We can take you home," Adriana insisted.

  He raised a dismissive hand. "Don't be silly. It's no problem. I'm just glad I could help."

  "Thank you, Mattias," Tommy said with a nod. "I appreciate your help. Especially on such short notice."

  "You're most welcome. I know you would do the same for me. In fact, you've done more for me than most." The man's voice was unemotional, but there was an underlying current to it, one that made the others in the room wonder what Tommy could have done to help this young man in such a way that he would feel so indebted.

  "You bet," Tommy agreed.

  "I bid you adieu," Mattias said and turned to the door. He stepped out into the Parisian evening air and closed the door behind him before walking to the parking area and disappearing around the corner.

  Inside the house, Sean and the others looked around, getting adjusted to their temporary accommodations. He only realized that he was hungry when his stomach grumbled. They hadn't eaten since breakfast, which was a fact he regretted since they'd been in Italy, surrounded by exceptional dining options. Luckily, now they were in Paris, and the options in that city would be just as good as in Rome.

  "You guys up for a little dinner on the town?" Sean asked.

  "Yeah, that sounds great," Tommy said. "I'm starving."

  Adriana and Bodmer also added their approving sentiments.

  "Great. Let's get situated, and we'll leave here in a few minutes."

  "You two take the master down here," Tommy insisted. "Unless the commander wants to share it with me," he glanced jokingly toward the head of the Swiss Guard, but the man didn't seem to get the joke.

  "Why would I want to share a room with you when there are two empty rooms upstairs?" There was nothing but dead seriousness in his eyes.

  "Yeah, good point," Tommy said, suddenly made uncomfortable by his own sense of humor. "We'll take those rooms."

  Sean snorted a laugh at his friend.

  Adriana bit her lip and watched as the two men took their things and climbed the steps at the other end of the house, near the main entrance.

  She and Sean took their belongings into the master bedroom and took in the surroundings again. The room was opulent, featuring a dark-stained armoire in the corner. It was made from sturdy oak and sat next to a large window with dark red drapes hanging down from the twelve-foot-high ceiling. The room smelled of lavender and lilac, and there were candles resting atop a dresser to the right of the window. In the corner to the right was another door that led into the master bathroom. The bed was covered in pristine white sheets and a navy-blue comforter. The oak sleigh bed matched the color and style of the armoire and dresser.

  There were more paintings on the wall, but they were mostly of scenes from Paris and could have been mistaken for hotel room art as much as anything that would be displayed in the private residence of a wealthy patron.

  "So," Adriana said, "your friend Mattias is an interesting fellow."

  "He's not my friend. He's Tommy's. I just met the guy. But you're right. He is interesting." He eyed her suspiciously. "You think we can't trust him?"

  "Oh, it's not that. He just seems emotionless. I've encountered people like that before. It's not always a bad thing or a good thing. They're just floating through life like non-player characters in a video game."

  "Except he's written books and helps preserve history."

  "True."

  He smirked at her. "Come on. Let's change out of these clothes and go get something to eat."

  She grinned back at him and pulled him close, planting a short kiss on his cheek. "Okay, dear."

  13

  PARIS

  The food from the night before soothed Sean's slumber and still occupied his thoughts the next morning.

  They'd ordered Roquefort and caramelized onion tarts, a spinach soufflé, at least three kinds of breads, a cheese plate, and the best crème brûlée Sean had ever tasted—and there were two places that did it pretty well back in Atlanta and Chattanooga. Those didn't come close. They'd also ordered a Napoléon dessert—a kind of fluffy cake dish with heavy whipping cream and powdered sugar.

  Normally, Sean did his best to eat healthy, but not on this occasion.

  The group had shared their entrées, passing them around as if it was a family meal or a holiday. They'd munched on crunchy bread with Boursin cheese, tomatoes, and a balsamic vinaigrette drizzle on top.

  After the incredible dinner, the four retired to the house in Rueil-Malmaison and slept through the night. Even Sean, who was normally a light sleeper—both from training himself that way and from the fact he fought occasional bouts of insomnia—slept like a dead man. He only recalled waking one time during the course of the entire evening, and that was when a police car drove by with sirens blaring.

  Sean lay in the bed for a minute as his eyes creaked open like ancient doors on rusted hinges. The room around him was foreign for a few fleeting seconds before he remembered where he was. Thoughts of last night’s meal returned as he sniffed fresh coffee brewing in the kitchen and heard the sound of the brown liquid dripping into a pot. He turned to his left to discover that Adriana wasn't there.

  He rose and stretched his arms and legs, then headed to the kitchen. Adriana was setting up fresh cream and a canister of sugar she'd found, probably in one of the pantries.

  "You ever sleep in?" he asked as he scratched the back of his head.

  She turned slightly, unsurprised by his mild intrusion. She'd known he was standing there. Adriana’s acute sense of hearing was a skill honed through hard training and it had served her well, especially when behind enemy lines.

  "You know I don't. And don't act like you do, either. Most of the time, you're up when I am." She raised an eyebrow and then turned back to the pot of steaming coff
ee. The dripping had ceased; the brew was ready. So was Sean.

  He made his way into the kitchen and wrapped his arm around her waist for a moment, pulling her tight against him. He kissed her neck.

  She smiled at the affection, putting off coffee for a few more seconds. "I do enjoy it when you do this to me first thing in the morning," she said.

  "And I enjoy it when you make the coffee."

  She slapped his shoulder at the half joke.

  "But no French press? We're in France, after all."

  She rolled her eyes and pulled away from him, shaking her head. Then she took the pot and poured the coffee into a white mug, set the pot back on the percolator, and turned to the sugar and cream.

  "I guess I have to make my own."

  "Mm-hmm," she hummed. "For the French press comment."

  He chuckled and grabbed one of the three remaining mugs she'd set out for them. He poured the java into the container and then spun around, added a splash of cream and a sprinkle of sugar. He preferred not to overdo it.

  "You sleep okay?" he asked as he sidled up next to her and took a sip of the hot liquid. His eyebrows lowered, and he grunted his approval. "This is good, by the way."

  "Thank you," she said with an appreciative nod. "And yes, I did sleep well. I know you did."

  He laughed again. "Yeah, I guess I didn't realize how tired I was."

  "Or how all that rich food could knock you out."

  "That, too."

  "Well, we're going to eat healthy this morning."

  "We are?" He wasn't sure he liked the sound of that. "Because, for the record, I regret nothing about last night's dinner. Nothing."

  She snickered and shook her head. Her dark brown hair swished back and forth with the motion. "Fruit, bread, coffee this morning, Mr. Wyatt. We don't need any of that other stuff slowing us down."

  "Just as well," Sean moped, "I doubt any of those places are open. Although—"

  "No, no rich French breakfast foods, either. Besides, we need to get going soon. Your buddies upstairs awake yet?"

  She was starting to sound like his mother, and Sean realized it had been a few days since he’d spoken to his parents. He kept his communication with them private in most instances, though in recent months since getting married, he'd found himself a little more domesticated and calling them more often, sometimes with Adriana in the room. He could text his mom later, maybe with a picture from the tomb of Joséphine, though he almost never did that kind of thing.

  "Fine, healthy breakfast, but I make no promises about lunch or dinner. As to the other two, I walked straight in here. I'm not Schultzie's keeper."

  "Who's my keeper?"

  They turned and saw Tommy coming around the corner. His hair looked like a wet, tangled mop. He had on a Nirvana T-shirt and some faded blue jeans. Sean was surprised to see his friend dressed so casually. Normally, Tommy would have a button-up shirt of some kind, often tucked into his pants. Not today. Instead, he looked like he was going to a rock concert.

  Sean was used to wearing stuff like that. He had on his gray Spider-Man T-shirt and some jeans instead of his usual khakis, but seeing Tommy dressed that way threw him off.

  "Going to a show while we're here?" Sean asked.

  Tommy looked down at himself, inspecting his clothes. "Nope. Just wanted to be comfortable. It's going to be warm today, and besides, I get tired of trying to look semiprofessional all the time."

  "Wow," Sean gasped. "It's a whole new you!"

  "Stop it," Tommy said, blushing slightly. "Anyway, I'm figuring we need to blend in, just look like normal American tourists."

  "Because the locals will treat us better?" Sean asked with a sardonic tone.

  "Fair enough. I guess you do have a point, but I'm not changing now. Besides, you're basically wearing the same thing." He walked over to the counter and poured a cup of coffee, then noted a white box to the left with a bakery's logo on the top. The words Au Bon Pain were embossed in gold lettering, with golden vines and leaves wrapping up and around them. "What's in the box?"

  "Nothing as good as last night's dinner," Sean grumbled.

  "It's breakfast," Adriana said. "Apparently, our friend here isn't hungry."

  Tommy shrugged and opened the lid. Inside were croissants, an assortment of fruit, and three containers holding honey, jam, and marmalade.

  "Looks good to me," Tommy said cheerfully.

  "Did you sleep okay?" Adriana asked as she drew the cup of coffee to her lips and took a sip.

  "Yeah, we slept great."

  Sean nearly spit out his coffee and had to fight to choke it down without making a mess. "What?"

  Tommy scrunched his eyebrows for a moment, looking puzzled. Then he realized what he'd said and how it sounded. "No, I mean I slept great in my bed, and Commander Bodmer didn't say anything to me so I assume he slept fine, too." His face washed red, cheeks blazing from embarrassment. Tommy had the habit of walking into insults.

  "Suuuurre," Sean said. "I won't tell June."

  Tommy rolled his eyes, picked up a croissant and a few grapes, berries, and banana slices, and placed them on a white plate to the left of the box.

  Footsteps on the stairs told them that Bodmer was on his way down, his boots clunking heavily on each step.

  "Mornin'," Sean said in a deeper Southern accent than normal. "How'd you sleep?"

  Dark rings hung under Bodmer's eyes and he wore a grumpy frown. "Not great," he said. "The bed was…softer than I'm used to."

  "Oh, yeah, they were a bit on the soft side, weren't they."

  "I didn't mind it," Tommy said. "It was like lying on a cloud all night."

  Bodmer grunted, which could have meant any number of things. It was all he could do to slog over to the coffee pot and pour himself a cup. He slurped the hot liquid, unaffected by the searing heat against his lips. All he wanted at the moment was caffeine so he could shake off the effects of the poor night's sleep.

  "There's some food over there, too," Adriana said. "Nothing fancy. Just a simple breakfast, sort of light."

  Bodmer nodded absently. "Thanks."

  "So," Tommy diverted the conversation, "I've made arrangements to have the tomb to ourselves for thirty minutes before it opens for the public. We'll need to get over there soon to check in and have a look around. I'd prefer not to have tourists looking over our shoulders while we're conducting an investigation."

  Sean nodded in agreement. "Good idea. And thanks for calling ahead to make those arrangements. Should make things go smoother."

  "I hope." There was a small measure of doubt in Tommy's mind, probably based on past experiences just like this one with his friend. No matter how thoroughly they planned, how careful they were, trouble seemed to find them like a heat-seeking missile. And it always ended up with a similar kind of explosion—sometimes metaphorical, sometimes literal.

  They finished their coffee and breakfast in relative silence. Sean looked up the directions to the tomb on his phone and mapped out the path they would take to get there. It was only a five-minute walk from the house, and after a quick check on the weather app it appeared like the day was going to be a nice one for a little walk.

  When the group stepped outside, that suspicion was confirmed. The sun was already rising into the sky; a few wispy clouds coasted through the light blue backdrop; the air felt warm against their skin, tickled by an occasional breeze that blew through the canyons of old apartments, condos, and townhomes; and flower petals fluttered in boxes hanging from windows and along the sidewalk, where they'd been planted around trees that lined the street.

  Tommy admired the architecture of the corridor, stopping multiple times to appreciate the design of a doorway, an arch over an entrance, or the steep roof of a home.

  Sean and Adriana were less interested in those things, though they enjoyed the scenery and could appreciate the style of the buildings surrounding them. They were more concerned with making sure no one got the drop on them. Both of them had been trained exten
sively to watch for tails whenever they were on a mission. Those skills had saved them more times than not, and while they hadn't encountered any trouble on this particular adventure, it was still a murder investigation at its core, which meant there were killers on the loose. If they got sloppy, they could end up the same way as Cardinal Jarllson had.

  As the directions predicted, the walk took roughly five minutes before the group reached the building that housed the tomb of Joséphine.

  The Church of Saint Peter-Saint Paul was just as Sean remembered it—unique. Most cathedrals he’d visited were enormous buildings with high-sweeping arches, huge domed ceilings, and immense sanctuaries. This particular church was smaller, though still quite large in its own right.

  The beige stone building was set in the middle of a square, between pedestrian streets and normal automobile thoroughfares. A fountain in front spewed a circle of streams into its center. Across the street, and on all sides, the church was surrounded by shops, cafés, and restaurants.

  Statues of the cathedral's patron saints, Peter and Paul, were carved of the same stone as the walls and set into shallow alcoves on either side of the blue doors of the main entrance. Above were two more statues. These were angelic creatures, their feathered wings folded down along their backs as the creatures stared perpetually at the saints at their feet.

  Tommy led the way to the entrance where a young woman was standing to the right. There was no line of patrons waiting to gain entry to the building yet, but Tommy figured that would change shortly as Joséphine was a fairly significant historical figure and this place would certainly be at the top of many visitors' lists.

  The young woman recognized Tommy and cracked a smile. She was of Asian descent, with long black hair that flowed down her back from a tightly tied ponytail. She wore a pretty blue business suit and skirt with white flower designs imprinted into the fabric.