Dancing with Paris (A Paris Time Travel Romance)

by Juliette Sobanet

  Spinning around on my heel, I headed toward the staircase. I needed to get out of here as quickly as possible. Despite the dizziness that had just come over me, threatening to land me flat on my face, I gripped the banister and flew up the stairs to my apartment.

  I had to hide the gun.

  I barged into my apartment, but just as I was bolting the locks, I spotted a note that had been slipped underneath the door.

  Ruby,

  I came back, but you weren’t here. Please call me at the hospital when you get back. I want to make sure you are okay.

  Je ne cesse pas de penser à toi,

  Antoine

  “I can’t stop thinking about you either,” I whispered.

  I ran to the phone, but as I picked it up, a harsh pounding on the door startled me, made me drop the receiver.

  “Mademoiselle Kerrigan.” It was Detective Duval’s thick accent, his demanding voice reverberating through the door in between knocks. “Ouvrez la porte.”

  With my heart beating so hard I could feel its rapid pulse in my temples, I opened the hall closet, threw my gun-concealing purse inside, then walked up to my front door where the banging persisted. But as I reached for the handle, I froze.

  What if he was here to ask me more questions I couldn’t answer about Gisèle’s and François’s murders? Or worse yet, what if he was here to arrest me for one—or both—of them?

  I closed my eyes and swallowed hard. Whatever he was here for, I would just have to face it.

  After I let the detective in, he strode past me, laid his black hat on the kitchen table, then took a seat. He nodded for me to join him as he reached for something in the breast pocket of his suit jacket.

  At least he hadn’t cuffed me yet. I would answer his questions as best I could, and hopefully I could ask him if he’d found anything out about Thomas Riley or François’s wife.

  But my thoughts roared to a halt when I caught a glimpse of the photo Detective Duval had slid across the table.

  Crystal-blue eyes. Dashing blond hair. Glinting white teeth.

  It was Robert Maxwell, my future grandfather.

  “What happened after you left the club with Monsieur Maxwell last night?” the detective asked.

  “Why? Did something happen to him? Is Robert okay?” I pressed my hands onto the table, my feet firmly into the ground, needing something to let me know that the world wasn’t literally falling out from beneath me. The only reason he would be showing me a photo of Robert was if something bad had happened.

  “Please answer the question, Mademoiselle.”

  “I walked Robert out of the club then he left.”

  “And where did he go?”

  My heart thumped, my thoughts racing back to last night. I’d sent him to Titine’s apartment, to make things right. Had something happened to him on his way there? Did he ever make it?

  “Mademoiselle, s’il vous plaît.”

  “I’m not sure where he was going. Back to his hotel, I presume.”

  Detective Duval lifted a brow, the lines around his eyes revealing the toll the last three days had taken on him. But I didn’t care. I needed to know what was going on, and I wouldn’t mention Titine’s name until I knew it was safe to do so.

  “Please, Detective. Tell me what is going on.”

  “Robert Maxwell’s body was found on the quai of the Seine early this morning. Shot in the chest.”

  I tried to suck in a breath as I stared down at Robert’s handsome smile…my mother’s smile. But I couldn’t. I couldn’t breathe.

  “Robert was…murdered?” I managed to spit out as I held my hands over my heart, the room spinning furiously around me.

  “Yes, that is correct, Mademoiselle. I understand you had a performance spéciale for Monsieur Maxwell last night, no?”

  I tore my eyes from the photo, barely hearing the words out of the detective’s mouth. This was why my mother had never known her father. He’d been murdered. And I was here. I could’ve stopped it. I could’ve—

  “Mademoiselle Kerrigan, please answer the question.”

  “I…I’m sorry. I just can’t believe…”

  “Mademoiselle Kerrigan, did you or did you not have a special performance for Monsieur Maxwell last night?”

  “Yes,” I sputtered. “Yes, that’s correct.”

  “And, if I understand correctly, there was more to the arrangement than simply the performance. Is this true?”

  “No, Detective. That part isn’t true,” I said, fighting the lump forming in my throat.

  I glanced back down at the photo and saw traces of my mom in Robert’s handsome face—her smile, her eyes, her dimple. This was so awful I couldn’t begin to comprehend it. Why had I been brought back to this life to relive this? What was the point of being here if I couldn’t stop this devastating event from occurring? This was why my grandmother had been a single mom. She’d never even been given the chance to make a life with the father of her child.

  But then another horrific thought popped into my head as I remembered the words Madame Bouchard had spoken to me just this morning.

  There is one event that you are here to change. And that is your ultimate purpose for coming back.

  Was Robert’s murder the event I’d been brought back to change? Was I supposed to have stopped it from occurring altogether? Had I failed to change fate? Would the consequences now be even worse than the first time around?

  “How did this happen?” I blurted. “Who would do this?”

  “I am not free to discuss the details surrounding his death until I have questioned all the suspects.” The corners of his mouth twitched, his expression relentless and hard. “Let us try this again. If you did not have another arrangement with Monsieur Maxwell, then why were you seen leaving the club with him last night? Where did you take him?”

  If I explained to the detective that I’d sent Robert off to find Titine, the finger would be pointed straight at her. I couldn’t do that to my young grandmother. She was already going to be devastated enough once she heard the news. The last thing she needed was to be accused of Robert’s murder.

  “Robert was considering casting me as the lead in his next film. Like I already told you, I walked outside with him so we could discuss the details a bit more, then he left. I’m assuming he was going back to his hotel. That was the last time I saw him.”

  He smirked as he snapped up the photo and tucked it back into his pocket. “Tell me, Mademoiselle, how is it that you are closely connected to three murders in one week, and you expect me to believe that you have nothing to do with any of them?”

  Three murders. What a nightmare.

  But I couldn’t show my fear. It would only make me appear more suspicious.

  “I’m innocent, Detective, and I’m afraid I won’t be able to answer any more of your questions until I have my lawyer present.”

  A deep, sinister chuckle escaped from his lips. “Tell me, Mademoiselle, how exactly do you have the money to pay for a lawyer? I do not imagine you earn very much money dancing in this club. With Monsieur Lefevre and Monsieur Maxwell both dead, you must have other men willing to pay you for your services, no?”

  Was he serious?

  By the smug look on his face, I guessed that he was.

  “I’m going to have to ask you to leave my apartment now, Detective. Like I already said, I’ll be willing to speak with you once my lawyer is present.” I was certain Ruby didn’t have a lawyer, but I would figure all of that out later. I wasn’t about to say anything more to this man that might incriminate me.

  “Maybe that is the way things work over in your country, Mademoiselle Kerrigan, but that is not the way things work in France.” Detective Duval stood from the table, his eyes combing my apartment and fixating on something across the room.

  “Have you looked into that name I gave you yesterday? Thomas Riley? And have you located François Lefevre’s wife?” I asked, but Detective Duval wasn’t listening to me anymore.

 
I followed his gaze, but along the way, something shiny caught my eye. The closet door where I’d just stashed my purse was cracked open just a slit, and there, on the floor, peeking out of that tiny crack in the door, was the barrel of the gun, pointing straight at us.

  Shit.

  It must’ve slid out of my purse when I’d thrown it in the closet earlier. Why hadn’t I been more careful?

  The detective stood from the table and crossed the living room, his stride long and purposeful.

  “Excuse me, what are you—” I began, but stopped when he snatched up a black overcoat from the couch.

  The handsome jacket belonged to Robert. It was the one he’d lent me the night before when I’d walked him outside. I’d tossed it on the couch this morning without a second thought.

  “What do you think you’re doing?” I asked, charging toward him. “You can’t just go through my things. Do you have a search warrant?”

  “Monsieur Maxwell was found without a coat last night, which seemed odd considering the cold temperatures we have been experiencing in Paris recently, no?”

  I grabbed at the jacket, but the detective was faster. Reaching into the breast pocket, he pulled out a little white card.

  “Robert Maxwell. Film director. Hollywood, California,” he read aloud, his strong accent removing the H from “Hollywood.”

  “Robert offered me his coat last night while we were talking outside,” I said, feeling my cheeks flame up. I needed to get this guy out of here, now. “Like I told you before, I don’t know anything about how Robert was killed. He was going to cast me as the lead in his upcoming film. Why on earth would I want to harm him?”

  The detective gripped the coat and squared his face two inches from mine. “Do you have an alibi to cover what you were doing last night?”

  A flash of Antoine’s lips on mine, his body wrapped around me as we fell asleep in each other’s arms, passed through my dazed head. He would vouch for me. I was sure of it.

  “Yes, I was with Antoine Richard.”

  The detective raised an eyebrow. “Gisèle Richard’s brother, the doctor?”

  I nodded.

  “Intéressant. And if I were to contact Monsieur Richard, you are certain he would tell the same story?”

  “Yes, Detective. Right after Robert left, Antoine met me outside, and we went to his apartment.”

  “I see. Is he one of your clients?”

  “No, it’s not like that. We’ve just become close since Gisèle died. Because, like I told you, I was one of her best friends.”

  Detective Duval narrowed his eyes at me. “You are not to leave the City of Paris while these investigations are under way. You will be hearing from me shortly.”

  He held on to Robert’s coat then glanced around my apartment once more. My heart pounded inside my ears, making me feel as if I might pass out.

  Dear God. Please don’t see the gun. Please.

  But as he shook his head and walked toward the door, I let out my breath. I was in the clear. For now, anyway.

  “Detective Duval. One more thing. Did you find anything on Thomas Riley? Or François’s wife?”

  “There are a hundred listings for Thomas Riley in New York City. And Madame Lefevre is grieving the loss of her husband. I do not have time for your distractions, Mademoiselle. Or for your lies.”

  After he’d gone, I bolted the door then stumbled backward into the armchair, my head a jumbled, confused mess. How could this have happened? Could Thomas have killed Robert? Could I have stopped this from happening? Had I already failed to accomplish what I was sent here to do? And why was this detective hell-bent on proving that I had something to do with all of these murders?

  A stray tear rolled down my cheek as I thought about the fact that Titine had lost someone she loved, someone she’d created a child with, and that this was why my mom had never had a father.

  But as I wiped my eyes dry, I knew I couldn’t sit around and wonder about what could’ve been or if this was the event I was supposed to have changed.

  Robert was gone. My grandfather had been killed. And if I didn’t figure out what the hell was going on and who had done this, I was going to be next.

  TWENTY-SIX

  A cramp seized my side as I pounded on Titine’s door. After the third knock, I rested my head against the wall and tried to catch my breath. I’d never run so fast in my life. I knew I needed to be with her right now. She may have already found out about what happened to Robert, and I had to make sure she was okay.

  But she wasn’t answering. Where could she be?

  “Titine! Please open the door. It’s me, Ruby.”

  Blocking out the loud voices that traveled down the miniscule stairway of her old Parisian apartment building, I pressed my ear up against Titine’s door. But just as I was about to give up, the doorknob turned.

  There, before me, stood my young grandmother, her eyes puffy and swollen, her cheeks stained with tears and mascara.

  I reached for her, but she backed up and glared at me with an accusatory look in her eyes. She’d never looked at me that way before.

  “Titine, I’m not sure what you know or don’t know right now. But you have to believe me when I tell you that I didn’t sleep with Robert last night. I know you loved him. I would never have done that to you.”

  “Then where was he all night?” she asked, her voice shrill. “Why didn’t he come to see me?”

  She didn’t know yet.

  “Titine, can I come in?” I asked softly as my stomach tightened at the thought of breaking this horrific news to her. I wanted to run the other way and pretend none of this had happened. I couldn’t bear to watch her heart break right in front of me.

  “No, you’re not coming in here until you tell me where Robert was last night. He was with you. I know he was.”

  “He wasn’t with me, Titine. He wanted to be with you. It was a big misunderstanding. Jean-Pierre told him that he could spend the night with the most beautiful girl in the club, and Robert thought that meant you. He’d never planned on spending the night with me. He only wanted to speak with me about the film.”

  A glimmer of hope returned to Titine’s swollen eyes. “Really?”

  I nodded. “Can I just come in, Titine? I need to talk to you.”

  She relaxed her stance at the door and let me pass by. Immediately, as I entered Titine’s apartment and smelled her lavender-scented perfume, a flood of memories surged into my brain. I remembered being here with Titine and Gisèle, drinking wine after our shows, giggling as we talked about how much we couldn’t stand Véronique and how handsome the men in the audience had been.

  But when Titine’s voice came soft and shaky from behind me, I remembered something else. I remembered standing here, giving her this exact same news once before. And I remembered feeling like nothing had ever hurt me more than telling her that Robert was gone.

  “Ruby, what is it? What’s the matter?”

  As I stood before her, trying to call up the strength I’d had in my life as Claudia when I’d counseled patients through grief, loss, and devastation, I couldn’t. As Claudia, I’d been strong for my clients, for people I didn’t know all that well, but after my father died, I’d learned to keep a safe distance from friends and family. And especially from men. I’d never wanted to love anyone again so much that I would break when they broke…or when they were gone.

  But as I stood before Titine, I remembered that I wasn’t only Claudia anymore. I was Ruby too.

  I took Titine by the hand and led her over to the couch, knowing in my heart that Ruby had the strength to handle this. Ruby could break this news and not crumble.

  “Titine, last night, after the show, I talked with Robert and we figured out the misunderstanding. He let me know that you’d told him something important last night, and that he wanted to be there for you. So, I pointed him in the direction of your apartment, and he left to come talk to you.”

  Confusion passed through Titine’s piercing green eyes
. “But then why didn’t he ever come?”

  I took Titine’s other hand in mine and looked her in the eye. “I’m sorry, Titine, but I just found out this morning that something happened to Robert last night.”

  The perplexed look in Titine’s eyes deepened as her tiny hands squeezed me so tightly I thought I would break. But I didn’t. I wouldn’t. I had to be strong for her. I had to tell her the truth.

  “Robert’s been murdered, Titine. I’m so sorry.”

  I scooped her frail, shaking body into my arms before she could protest, and I held her as sobs raked her chest, ravaging what was left of the flicker of hope she’d had just moments ago.

  I didn’t let go until she pushed back and looked me in the eye.

  “How? How did it happen? Who would want to hurt Robert?”

  “The detective told me—”

  “The detective? You talked to the police about this?” Her tearstained eyes darted frantically back and forth over my face.

  “Yes, Detective Duval came to talk to me this morning. I was the last one seen with Robert, so they had to question me.”

  Titine grasped my arm. “Oh, God. Someone killed him, and you…you probably thought it was Thomas. You probably told the police that it was him. Didn’t you?”

  “Titine, I know you told me earlier that Thomas couldn’t be here, but I really believe that he is. I think he may have had something to do with Robert’s murder, and possibly with François’s and Gisèle’s as well.”

  Titine’s face turned so red it was almost purple before she stood up and knocked a stack of papers off her coffee table. “No!” she screamed, her voice rising with hysteria. “Thomas isn’t here, Ruby. I told you, he’s not here! Don’t ever mention his name again. Do you hear me, Ruby? Never!” She stormed through her apartment, seized a picture of us off the windowsill, then smashed it to smithereens at her feet.