Notorious in Nice

by Jianne Carlo

  “Forget my fricking alibi. Where the hell is Su-Lin?” He dragged both hands through his hair and glanced at the flame-emblazoned Harley. “Where were you?”

  “Hotel de Paris. Trying to find your freaking ass. You’re all over CNN, Terry. That old case is being resurrected. Don’t look now, but the gendarmes are heading our way.”

  “Let’s ride,” Terry said. He snapped off the spare helmet and strapped it on.

  “Where to?” Harry asked, buckling his chin strap and settling long legs over the powerful machine.

  “Nice, my house.”

  “I called in the troops. Should I let them know to meet us there?”

  “You drive, I’ll call them.”

  By the time they made it to the farmhouse, Terry had managed to subdue his panic. He surveyed the three cars parked outside and knew who he’d see inside.

  Terry dropped the black helmet onto a tiled kitchen counter and surveyed the room. One of the reasons he’d bought the house was this old-fashioned, airy room, its thick stone walls roughened through centuries of living, the large fireplace with an alcove for baking bread.

  His mother had always made bread, even though they employed a small army of servants. She’d always timed it so the bread popped out of the oven as they raced into the kitchen after a long day at school.

  Terry scanned the room, noted the full carafe of coffee on the kitchen counter, and the two men seated at the kitchen table. Suresh poured tea from a rustic pot into a matching mug, his eyes dipped briefly to the liquid before he nodded at Terry. Rolan shot him a glance and a grin as he closed the blinds over the windows above the sink.

  “Thanks for coming, everyone. Sorry to involve you and Sarita in this mess, Rolan. Same goes, Suresh.”

  “As if I didn’t know from experience you’d do the same for me. Sarita’s staying with Miche’s family in Grasse. Tony’s with her.”

  “I hope your wife keeps that young son of yours away from CNN.”

  Rolan snorted. “As if that were possible. Tony’s researching your old case on the Net. Last I heard, he’d decided to be both a quarterback and a PI. God knows how much that’s going to cost me in spy gadgets.”

  A smile teased at Terry’s mouth. “Glad the hellion’s in my corner. I’ll fund the gadgets.”

  “Gentlemen, we’re wasting time,” Suresh announced.

  “Let’s start with the basics.” Terry walked over to the fridge, opened it, then grabbed a bottle of water. “From the top.

  “All present and accounted for at around eight p.m.” Harry drawled, tipping his chair back. “You took off in the Whaler around thirty minutes later after giving orders to head to Monte Carlo. Su-Lin didn’t appear for dinner, which was served around nine. Everyone else was present. Austen played barman. Your father showed up a half an hour into the meal. He could barely stand. He and Carol-Ann got into it shortly after. She threw her plate at him and stormed out.”

  Terry finished his water, threw the empty bottle into the sink, and reached over to flip a light switch. The shadows at the corners of the room lifted. “Continue. What happened next?”

  “Austen dropped the caterers back to Nice near midnight. We pulled anchor and headed to Monte Carlo. Around one, the engineer noticed the cooling light flashing and called me. We docked in Antibes.” Harrison cleared his throat. “This morning, after we repaired the engine, we headed to Monte Carlo. En route, we discovered the women were missing.”

  The kitchen door banged open, and Geoff’s large frame appeared in the doorway. He kicked the door shut and entered without saying a word. Wearing a scowl and carrying a sheaf of papers in one hand, his long legs consumed the distance to the kitchen table. He deposited five pages on the table and shifted them until satisfied with their placement.

  “Show-and-tell, gentlemen. Let’s play connect the dots.”

  Terry studied the sheets.

  “Okay, I give up. I recognize Emma, James, Carol-Ann, and from the color of her eyes, I’m guessing this is, or was, Su-Lin’s mother. Is this her father? He is oriental, but I can’t see much of a resemblance, except maybe about the eyes.”

  “Look again.”

  “I hate it when you get like that,” Rolan muttered. “Geoff, get to the point.”

  “I get it,” Suresh said, onyx eyes flicking from one photo to another. “Watch.” He slid two photographs side by side and used his hands to bracket two pairs of eyes. “Add fifty pounds, a little snip here, and voilà.”

  “Uncle James.” Terry’s lungs stopped functioning.

  “Meet Chang Ling, most productive pimp in Thailand. He owns a series of sex shops throughout the Far East.” Geoff slid another photo into the melee. “This is Deshi Ling, Su-Lin’s father.”

  “The eyes have it,” murmured Suresh. “Su-Lin has the same almond-shaped eyes as her father and uncle, but the slant is her father’s.”

  “Chang and Deshi were half brothers; each had a different mother. Both were raised in Vietnam. One fought for the communists, the other fought alongside US troops. Their father was a truly nasty piece of work, and he remained in Vietnam after the war. Since Deshi fought for the US, he was relocated to San Francisco and given a job in the State department. Five years after his relocation, he met and married Annika Aldersparre, a Swedish foreign-exchange student. Before they married, Deshi legally changed his name to John Wayne Taylor.”

  “Why the name change?” Thomas asked.

  “Who knows? But the timing disturbs me,” Geoff replied. “Most immigrants, if they’re going to anglicize their name, do it either on entry into the new mother country or within weeks of immigrating. Not five years later.”

  Terry stared at the photographs, his sixth sense kicking and screaming something was missing. “What about the bonds?”

  “Purchased the day the treasury announced they would no longer be printing those denominations. Three weeks after the Taylors moved to Mayo, Ohio.”

  “We’re still missing something,” Terry muttered.

  “The lawyer, Finklestein, had a heart attack in his sleep, two weeks ago. No investigation. Body cremated,” Geoff said.

  All eyes turned to him.

  “That’s ominous,” Thomas remarked into the stunned silence.

  “Fricking hell. They’re tying up loose ends.” Terry took a deep breath. Adrenaline scoured his veins. “But why the hell is Carol-Ann missing too?”

  “There’s something you’re forgetting, Terry.”

  His head jerked in the direction of his twin’s voice.

  Outlined by the watery afternoon sunlight pouring through the open doorway, he couldn’t discern his brother’s expression until he stepped into the room and stood to one side. Terry stared into Thomas’s eyes, and he knew.

  “Papa’s association with Lockheed. Do you have a study in this cottage?”

  “I assume we’re heading there?” Terry’s senses had gone on alert at the tone of his twin’s voice, the grim set of his mouth. “This way.”

  Thomas nodded and followed him down a shadowed hallway lit by a lone standing lamp with a tiffany shade.

  “What is it?” he asked as soon as they reached the privacy of his spare, aka junk, room.

  “Papa admitted to going to sex clubs in Thailand after Mama died.”

  “Jaysus.” He slid down into a chair, his movement toward the floor only stopped because his feet ran into a baseboard scarred white by time. “Jaysus.”

  “A few years ago, he met someone. Someone close to half his age.”

  All of a sudden the collage of events began to make sense.

  “A man?” Terry’s tongue slurred on the words.

  “In his midforties, an ex-mercenary who’d lost his leg in a landmine explosion. Drinking himself to an early grave. Since Papa had been trying to accomplish that for a couple of decades, they started doing the town when he was in the Far East. One thing led to another.”

  “I can’t wrap my mind around this right now,” he said, not sure he’d ever be
able to. “Tell me how it relates to Su-Lin’s disappearance.”

  “Papa met Chang at one of these clubs. Somehow the story about that woman falling overboard four years ago came up. Chang couched the invitation to the cocktail party as a threat.”

  “Blackmail,” Terry growled.

  “Basically, Papa thought he was being used to introduce Chang to wealthy marks, and he went along with it. When he found out about Chang chartering the Glory, he decided to do a little investigating.”

  “I’m not going to like this, am I?”

  Thomas shook his head. “Emma was Finkelstein’s secretary.”

  “Jaysus.” The blood drained out of his extremities. “How did Su-Lin not know her? Are they married?”

  “That’s all we know at this point.”

  “Chang’s killed her and thrown her overboard. Jaysus. Thomas, what am I going to do?”

  “Stop panicking, we have no proof of that. Remember, Chang needs her to cash the bonds.”

  A shudder racked his body. “You’re right on all counts. It’s time to focus. Where do we stand with the authorities?”

  “You know the French justice system, guilty until proven innocent. They’ve detained Papa for Carol-Ann’s disappearance. They’re looking at you for Su-Lin’s, and perhaps Carol-Ann as well, if Papa doesn’t pan out.”

  “And where the hell are the Lockheeds in this?”

  “Offering a hundred-thousand-euro reward for the safe return of their darling niece. They’ve hired a slew of PR experts and lawyers and are holed up in an undisclosed private residence.”

  “We need to get Geoff’s proof that they’re imposters to the authorities, pronto.”

  “Miche slipped on board the Glory while I was in with the authorities and Papa. He found this in the kitchen.” Thomas held up the emerald bracelet he’d given Su-Lin in Grasse.

  “The caterers.” Squeezing his eyes shut, he prayed. Please, please let them have her. His fingers closed over the cool metal.

  “Exactly.”

  “We need to get started on them ASAP.” He slipped the bracelet into his pants pocket and flipped open his cell. “Austen will have all the info.”

  Shooting to his feet, Terry stalked back to the kitchen with Thomas in tow. As he walked, he barked questions into the receiver.

  “Thom, do me a favor. Bring the others up to date and get Geoff to contact the authorities. I have the address of the caterers. I’m headed there.”

  “Done. Take a backup. Let Harry ride with you.”

  Thirty-nine minutes later they arrived at a building on the fringe of the Arabic part of Nice, a slum area frequented by whores and addicts. The address Austen had given him led to the shop where he’d purchased the oils and sex toys days earlier. Dread roiled his empty stomach, and the acidity coating it heated and cramped. A cold sweat bathed his temples.

  “Something’s very wrong, Harry.”

  “Yeah, they don’t sell food, not unless it’s edible panties.”

  “I bought stuff here not days ago, and the tart I ended up with last night is the cashier for this place.”

  “No freaking way. Every hair on my body’s saluting. We’re being played.”

  “In a major way. Time’s slipping by.” He couldn’t keep the desperation out of his voice and choked back a lump on the last few words.

  Terry raced the bike back to the farmhouse, his mind tracing the white zipper dividing the narrow mountain road into two lanes. He switched off the ignition and strapped the helmet to its safety catch on the handlebars. Harry and Terry found the others sitting around the dinner table, drinking red wine. Someone had made a halfhearted attempt to find food. About eleven crackers and a saucer of fat green olives lay on a couple of place mats.

  “Geoff’s gone to deal with the authorities. He’s heading to London from Nice. He’s started a file on Chang and will keep us updated,” Rolan said. “Thomas and Miche brought us up-to-date.”

  “I have an idea.” Terry pulled out a chair, turned it around, and sat facing everyone. “In another remarkable coincidence, the address for the caterer turned out to be the same as a sex shop I visited a few days ago. In addition, the tart I woke up next to this morning is the cashier at said sex shop. She spoke Romany last night.”

  Jean-Michel whistled.

  “And the Gypsy camp on Miche’s estate is the only source for the absinthe that poisoned Su-Lin in Grasse,” Thomas said, ticking off an aerial check mark. “On more than one occasion, she was convinced the Gypsies were following her, particularly Adria.” Another check mark. “And seeing this cashier twice, being with her the night the women go missing? It’s a setup.”

  Suresh coughed. “Sounds like reaching at straws.”

  Rolan shifted in his seat. “We haven’t any other leads.”

  An uncomfortable silence reigned for several minutes. Sunlight faded; the room darkened to peering point. Terry rose to his feet, shut the door, and flicked a light switch on the wall.

  “I can’t sit around and wait for Geoff or the gendarmes’ findings,” Terry stated. “I’m heading back to Jean-Michel’s estate, and I’m going to have a few choice words with the leader of these Gypsies.”

  “Plus we need a break and some real food.” Suresh flicked an offending cracker.

  “Agreed,” Rolan interjected. “Grasse is less than an hour away. Sarita texted me thirty minutes ago. She’s barbecuing.”

  “Let’s take one vehicle,” Terry said.

  “Everyone can fit in my Hummer,” Suresh offered.

  “I’ll call ahead and let them know we’re coming.”

  The lone naked lightbulb on the left side of the farmhouse’s roof overhang didn’t provide much relief from a rural darkness, which limited visibility to no more than three or four feet. An owl hooted and leaves rustled when they passed a graceful oak casting a deeper shadow on the gravel drive. Ahead of him, Harry muttered a curse when his boot failed to gain purchase over a slippery boulder, and his shin bumped the SUV’s exhaust.

  They piled into the vehicle, Suresh turned on the ignition, and the automobile rolled down the winding road. Silence prevailed until they hit the A8.

  Terry worked through the facts as they climbed into a low range of hills.

  “Crack the window a notch, Harry. I need some fresh air.”

  Two windows squeaked down and the scent of fresh pine rolled through the car’s interior. Inhaling, Terry let the aroma soothe and calm nerves so sizzling raw a tic had started under one eye.

  “Su-Lin ever talk about her mother?”

  Terry met Suresh’s dark eyes in the rearview mirror. “Not much. She’s actually said more about her father. I know he taught her Mandarin.”

  “From the little she said to me, her mother wasn’t the stablest of persons mentally. I think the truth about her aunt and uncle hit her hard. That day we had lunch in Nice, she spoke about her neighbors, an Italian family with loads of relatives. She had such a wistful tone.”

  “She became the parent after her father died, that much I’ve gathered,” Terry said, and an overwhelming protective urge curled his fingers into fists. “That first night at dinner, Emma told me Su-Lin wasn’t stable mentally. That she only imagined she’d made the Olympic team. They’ve been setting up her disappearance from day one.”

  “Looks like it,” Suresh said. “I wonder if they’re behind the newspaper reports about you?”

  “Yeah, right. I’m not convinced my father didn’t have a hand in that one. There’s no love lost between us.”

  “Probably because, aside from our mother, you’re the only functioning heterosexual in the family. Resentment, brother, and an old man’s regrets.” Thomas shook his head. “When I spoke with him, he denied any responsibility for either article.”

  Terry retreated into his thoughts, images of Su-Lin’s innocent joy as she unwrapped the presents he’d given her, the way she tried to preserve the bow as a keepsake, the way she scrunched her nose, her shy smile when she saw the origam
i rose, stamping his pupils. Anger banked his blood at the thought of anyone despoiling her sweetness, and he knew he’d become a madman if anyone caused her even one iota of pain.

  “Turn left ici.” Jean’s soft murmur penetrated his scattered mental ramblings.

  They rounded a bend onto the familiar tree-lined driveway. At the far end of the long approach, soft illumination painted the graceful curves of the Fragonard Château. Moonlight hit a sparkling roof tiled ivory to match the paint on intricately crafted engravings gracing a double doorway. Six half-circle stone steps merged two curved staircases punctuating either side of the mansion.

  A slender, scruffy female sat on the fourth step, elbows propped on knees bared by a jagged skirt. Inky smudges streaked one cheekbone, and sable hair haloed her thin face. Long legs stretched three feet below his hips, Rolan’s son sat next to the girl, braced on his elbows. Face pointed to twinkling stars, the boy ignored the sounds of the Hummer gunning up the formal driveway.

  Before the SUV halted, Terry snapped his seat belt open. He hopped out of the vehicle before the vehicle’s engine died.

  So did Thomas. “That’s Adria, Ter. That’s the Gypsy girl.”

  A red haze engulfed his vision, and he cuffed one palm with his hand.

  Grabbing his biceps, Thomas squeezed and said, “Let me. You’re wound too tight.”

  He was. Terry nodded and clamped his lips together.

  “Took you long enough.” Tony imitated Harrison’s Texan drawl. “Mom’s almost finished the barbecue.”

  “Son.” Rolan appeared beside Thomas. “Who’s this charming young lady?”

  “This is Adria.”

  Thomas dropped to one knee. Faces level, he asked the girl, “Do you remember me?”

  She nodded.

  Terry listened as his twin cajoled the prepubescent female into divulging more information than she realized. His commando training prevailed, and he didn’t interrupt his brother, not even when temptation scuttled his brain.

  To make her more comfortable, Thomas had switched into the Gypsy dialect. The girl kept her focus on Tony but answered each question his twin threw her way.

  By the time Thomas paused, Jean-Michel, Suresh, and Harry had joined them. A stiff breeze whipped all the clouds out of the sky, and the moon competed with the soft track lights to polish the outside of the château with fairy iridescence.