by Alice Quinn
56
At the table, the children, like a pack of hyenas, had gotten into the ham-and-cheese macaroni I’d ordered for them.
Pastis hopped on the table, nibbling bits from their plates without it crossing anyone’s mind to push him down.
“Rosie,” said Jérôme, as serious as the pope. “I came here because you need to come down to the station with me now. You’ve been named as the person who found Véronique Lambert this afternoon. Borelli refuses to believe this is a coincidence and thinks you know more than you’re saying.”
“What about you? What do you think?”
“Well . . .”
“Come on, out with it!”
Gaston and Ismène stared at us both, speechless. Neither of them knew about this latest development in the story.
“I agree with him. You know more than you’re letting on. That’s why you’re trying to muddle everything up with tales of the Mafia and bribery.”
Gaston and Ismène jumped in, protesting loudly.
“Oh no, that’s not true!”
“But the other thing is true! The bit about the bribery!”
“We’re witnesses!”
It was a beautiful cacophony. Jérôme wasn’t having any of it. He continued staring at me. I didn’t utter a word.
Then he asked, “And you, Cricri, what do you have to say about all this? Did you win the lottery?”
“You’re such a dick, Jérôme. I have no clue why I even like you so much. Come on, sit and have something to eat with us. You can tell Borelli I wasn’t here, that you searched for me everywhere and waited outside my door until I got back.”
“I can’t lie to my boss when we’re in the middle of an investigation.”
“Come on! What difference will it make?”
“I can’t.”
“Do I have to come with you right now? I mean, does the law say I have to come?”
“No, I just needed to inform you that you should come down to the station in the morning.”
“Fine, I’ll come down and see you tomorrow afternoon. You tell him that.”
“Why can’t you come in the morning?”
“Because I have some important stuff to do.”
Jérôme headed toward the phone and sat down on my bed to make a call. As he sat, he looked at the bed and frowned. He turned away so we couldn’t see his face.
“Hello? Yes, it’s Gallo. Get Borelli for me . . . Yes. Tomorrow . . . No . . . She doesn’t want to now . . . Yes . . . She said tomorrow . . . No . . . In the afternoon . . . Yes . . . OK . . . See you tomorrow.”
He hung up and asked, with a distrustful look toward Ismène, “Is it OK if I eat with you guys?”
Ismène, who was completely smashed by this point, sidled up to him and started poking him to see if he was hiding a weapon. She found one.
“Well, you’re well equipped, aren’t you?”
“Ismène, come on. Leave him alone. I know he’s a bit of a goody-goody, but he’s OK.”
“Thank you, always a pleasure,” said Jérôme.
“You know how she is, don’t take offense, buddy,” said Gaston. “Come over and have a scotch with us.”
“I can’t stand scotch.”
“What would you like, then?”
“A pastis?”
“There’s none left in the minibar.”
“I usually only drink pastis; it’s less alcoholic if you add tons of water.”
When Pastis heard his name, he turned his head to see who was speaking to him. He must have liked Jérôme, because he got down from the table (and the snacks that were on offer there) and jumped on Jérôme’s shoulders. Fortunately, Jérôme saw him coming and liked animals, so he didn’t say anything.
“I’ll order one now.” I called room service and ordered a pastis.
They showed up soon after with an extra table, plate, and cutlery for Ismène. There was a slight delay in getting things done around there. It was best not to ask too much of them. We helped them set everything up.
The munchkins were laughing. I had enough time to put them to bed before the rest of the meals arrived.
When ours arrived, even though they were under some great big silver dome thing, they were stone cold, but Gaston was too drunk to realize it, and I only complained a little.
I felt like I’d somehow managed to escape death that day. Why? Who knows? There was no explaining that kind of sensation. I was so happy to be alive that I found my lasagna delicious, even though it wasn’t hot enough.
I could also feel a question carving a path through my inner thoughts, scratching away at my mind, but it wouldn’t fully form.
57
Everyone was in a playful mood at dinner. Except me. I was lost in my complicated thoughts.
No one dared ask what was bothering me.
I hardly even opened my mouth throughout the meal, while the three musketeers discussed organic food, pandemics, and alternative medicine.
Shame on me, I wasn’t really thinking about anything important. I wasn’t thinking about what I was going to say to the mayor the next morning, or what I was going to say to Véro, who was currently at the hospital getting some much-needed rest.
No . . . I was watching my collection of oddballs and feeling uncomfortable.
All those dreams I’d been having about them.
It was so embarrassing.
I thought Ismène was cool. Such an amazing chick. Effective, outspoken, her head on her shoulders. And a bit of a hero, when it came down to it. Altruistic and everything. Not to mention she was an absolute knockout. But I was wondering if maybe she was using me—putting me on the front line to sort out her own problems without risking anything herself.
As for Gaston, he was the father I never had. Attentive, charming, caring. It was no surprise that I liked him and loved going out and doing stuff with him. But what was he hiding behind that perfect exterior? What was in it for him?
And Jérôme?
Jérôme was more complicated.
A friendly, gorgeous young guy who was obviously madly in love with me. How could I not fall for him right back? How was I supposed to resist him? And why should I have to? That was the problem. Instead of just letting myself go, instead of simply falling into his arms, there I was—doing all that resisting. Why? Sure, he was a cop. That was a major no-no in my book. But I was being pretty prejudiced, wasn’t I?
He’d been running around after me, that was for sure. But did he also have secret intentions? Shouldn’t I listen to my instinct telling me to be careful with this guy?
Or should I just go for it?
So, that’s where I was when I heard Jérôme start talking about Véro.
I was shocked. Wasn’t there some sort of professional confidentiality law or something? Was he allowed to go around telling everyone everything?
“Hey! These people have nothing to do with the case, and you’re blabbing everything! That’s risky, isn’t it?” All three of them stared at me like they’d only just noticed I was there. “What? Hello! That’s right. I’m still with you. Sorry to have to stop you all chewing the fat there! You always seem to forget I’m here, don’t you. Is that like a mental disorder or something?”
“I’m not revealing any secrets,” said Jérôme. “I’m only repeating what’s been said on the news.”
Of course. It had all been on TV. Véro’s entire life story had already gone global and back again.
It was a little late trying to protect my friend.
I tuned out whatever it was they were saying and went back to my own thoughts. I wondered when I could finally go see Véro and talk with her, find out more about what had happened.
She’d attempted to commit suicide again. She had already tried it once before when she was young, according to Michel. But why?
W
hat sinister event had woken up such deeply buried demons from inside of her? Hadn’t she always put her children before anything else?
The others had been waiting for me to join in the conversation, but as soon as they saw that I’d ventured back into the land of deep thoughts, they continued without me.
That’s when the question that had lurked in the depths of my mind finally took shape.
The big Russian guy had said, “I do not even speak of the rrrrest—of my little pieces of jewelrrrry!”
What was he talking about? The two idiot henchmen had said something along the same lines. “We want the money. And the rest of the stuff . . .”
There was only one explanation. There must have been something else besides cash in those envelopes. The mysterious “stuff,” now being referred to as “the rest.”
It had taken me a fair amount of time to catch on, I know, but now it was obvious.
The problem was, I hadn’t found this “stuff.” I didn’t know what it was.
So how could I ever be expected to find it now?
Especially with my disability—my inability to find anything. (Well, apart from that one time, of course. The exception that proves the rule and all that.)
That meant I’d never be able to give it back to them. But it seemed they were sticking to their story.
I was going to have some big trouble ahead of me. No doubt about it. I’d already been in pretty big trouble over the last few days . . .
Splinters of voices ran through my head.
The coffee must have gotten my guests too excited, because they were now yelling at each other. About what, exactly, I didn’t know, but for some reason it didn’t surprise me.
Ismène shouted at Jérôme, and Jérôme took on Gaston.
“Get a load of you, you big-headed macho man!” howled Ismène.
“Are you talking to me?” screeched Jérôme, turning around to look at her.
I’d never seen him in this state. He was almost purple with pent-up anger, and he leaned in toward her. His body language seemed threatening.
She turned her back on him, humming to herself just to torment him further. He suddenly remembered that Gaston was there and turned to face him.
“What about you, you randy old goat? What have you got to say? Does it not bother you that this mental case is insulting a man like that?”
Gaston looked indifferent. He smiled, sipping his nightcap.
If they carried on like that, they were sure to wake up the nippers.
I stood up. “What is wrong with you all? Have you completely lost your marbles?” I threw them all out, deaf to their protests.
I went straight to bed, relieved that my guests were gone. When I lived in the trailer, I never would’ve had that many people over at the same time.
I went out like a light and slept like a log.
Not a single dream.
Tuesday: God Save the Queen
58
I woke up feeling awesome as another Abba song ran through my mind. Stuck in a loop. “The Winner Takes It All.”
There was nothing more to say. The winner took all, and the loser had to be silent, humble. We must accept when all the cards have been played.
It was no major surprise.
After double-checking I had all the cash and my cell in my bag, I hotfooted it, taking the kids to where they had to be, and then called the hospital.
I told them I was a family member and would like some news of Véro. She’d completely regained consciousness. She was on an IV drip, because when she’d been found, she was in a state of advanced malnutrition and needed to get her strength back as quickly as possible.
She was doing better. The police had been there but hadn’t been allowed to ask her any questions. Visitors were allowed starting at eleven o’clock, after all the patients were done with their various morning treatments.
I hurried down to city hall.
As soon as I walked in, the girl behind the desk gave me a nod and pointed toward a staircase. Passing a glass door, I caught a glimpse of Ismène, and she gave me a wink—to which I responded with a smile and continued to make my way to the mayor’s office, at the end of the hallway on the second floor.
I went in without knocking as a secretary ran up behind me.
D’Escobar gasped when he saw me, then looked me over from head to toe. I was dressed for battle—a frilly miniskirt in fuchsia pink, a transparent top in orange lace with a black camisole underneath, wedge sneakers (in case I had to make a run for it), and yellow pompom socks folded over them.
As I’m not used to wearing sports shoes, I could feel my feet swelling up in the morning heat. But it was no big deal.
Having sized me up, the mayor made a sign to his secretary, signaling that it was OK and she could leave us. She backed off.
I bellowed, “Close the door behind you, please,” before turning to d’Escobar and adding, “Sit down.”
He sat behind his desk and looked at me, transfixed. I went over to his window. It looked out over the coast and islands.
“What a view you have here.”
“How can I help you, exactly? I didn’t understand a word of what my old friend, Gaston, told me on the phone. He was jabbering on and on, the old rascal. Have you known him for a long time?”
“He’s my uncle.”
“Oh really? I thought he was an only child.”
“Through marriage. And I think you know full well what he was talking about. Otherwise I wouldn’t be here, would I?”
He had a puzzled look on his face. A long silence followed. I didn’t know where to start or even what to say.
He broke the ice. “So?”
“So . . . I accidentally intercepted some money that was meant for you.”
I was trying to be careful with my words, because I didn’t want to make him angry. But I wanted to be precise.
“Really?”
“Yes.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yes.”
“How much?”
“Approximately a hundred and fifty grand.”
“Really?”
“You’ve already said that.”
“So what?”
“You’re done for.”
“Really?”
“Oh come on. Change the record.”
“Sorry, it’s just that . . .”
“Let me explain things as they stand. Either you give me what I ask for, the whole done deal, signed, sealed, delivered, and all that jazz, or I tell my story to the media.”
“Do you have any proof?”
“I have a recorded conversation with the Russki, the big Mamma . . . um . . . Mafia boss, and your name comes up.”
I’d just made all that up. Not bad, right? Could he risk not believing me?
“That’s not valid evidence.”
“Maybe not in front of a jury, but in front of local politicians and the press, it’s enough to do you some serious damage.”
“What else have you got?”
“I’ve got the dough. With your name and address on the envelopes.”
He chuckled, then fell silent for a few moments before asking, “Is that all?”
“Yes. Along with my testimony.”
He stood, walked toward the door, and locked it with a key. He approached me. I didn’t budge. He came up from behind and sniffed my neck.
“You smell so delicious. Tell me . . . just what is it you want?”
I managed to stop myself from socking him one in the face. Obviously I had to stretch my diplomacy even further.
This was insane. He wasn’t the slightest bit bothered after everything I’d just told him.
I knew why. He wasn’t likely to be impressed by a young babe like me. He thought I didn’t count for much and that I didn’t r
epresent any real danger. That he’d be able to get rid me in the blink of an eye.
59
I’d only been with the mayor for five minutes, and already I felt I was going to be taken to the cleaners.
I didn’t give him an answer. I wanted out of there fast.
“Tell me everything,” he said. “What do you want? Why is this such a big deal to you?”
I threw myself into the deep end. “I want signed authorization from you that I have the right to live in my trailer.”
“So you’re the trailer chick?”
“Yes, I stay on the site where you’re going to put the new library—”
“What site is that, exactly?”
“The deserted railway station. On the grounds, that’s where I want to stay. I want to be near the water mains. I can manage the rest.”
“What do you mean by that?”
He was still standing behind me, and I was still sitting in my chair, talking straight ahead to empty space.
“The sewer system and electricity.”
“Oh?”
I could feel his nose in my hair.
“Yes.”
“OK. Is that everything?”
He slipped a hand along my shoulder and moved it slowly down my arm.
“Yes.”
“But . . .”
His voice was intimidating. I didn’t add anything else, so he must have thought he had it in the bag, that he was going to kill two birds with one stone—get his cash back and put the little lady in her place at the same time.
I regained my composure, a harsher tone to my voice now. “Maybe you’re thinking about the casino? Forget it. As far as the casino goes, you’ve blown it. They’re already looking for a different city. They don’t trust you. They just want you to give them their money. And they know I’ve come here today to hand it over. But if you prefer, I can give it back to you in public. Maybe at this morning’s meeting?”
“Don’t even think about it. You’re driving me nuts!” He breathed down my neck. “Maybe the two of us should try to get along better. We’re very alike, you and I. We’ve both got spunk.”
