by Alice Quinn
51
We all sat around Gaston’s huge kitchen table to eat dinner. We must have been starving because it all disappeared within minutes. Then we sat in silence, bellies full.
I wondered what I could say and what I couldn’t. I quickly made my decision. I didn’t have to tell Ismène the whole business about the diamond. However, it was better to let her in on everything that had happened with Max. She’d be able to help me out.
“So there it is,” I said as I finished telling her Max’s tale. “The cops came by my place yesterday, and the only way I can see getting out of this shit is if I find out who really killed that eccentric old fool. You see, one of us, either Lani or me, is going to get it in the ass for this. We won’t both make it out. And as for Borelli . . . I just can’t count on him anymore. I think he thinks I did it.”
“Borelli? Nooooo . . . He knows you! He knows there’s no chance you could take someone’s life.”
“Actually, he doesn’t know that. He thinks I’m capable of just about anything. He thinks I go around the place doing loads of stupid shit and getting myself mixed up in crap all the time.”
The twins were laughing and laughing at my outburst. Then they started to repeat one of the words I’d used . . . and not the one I would have chosen for them to repeat.
“Cwap! Cwap! Cwap!”
I couldn’t understand them at first (with their letter r problems). But as soon as I did, I barked at them in a stern voice, “Don’t ever say that word again, OK?”
“OK! Just a wowd,” Emma said.
“No! It’s not just a word. It’s a bad word. Don’t say it again. It’s not nice.”
“No again!” shouted Lisa bossily.
“Come on! Are you all quite finished here?” asked Ismène. “Just tell me what else you know.”
She threw herself down onto the sofa. Pastis jumped from her shoulder (where he’d stayed all this time) into the arms of the twinnies.
I told her everything I knew—the exact time of death (well, that he was killed before Lani found him, so it must have been pretty early in the morning), the missing oil painting that needed to be checked out, and the phone call Mademoiselle Kessler was making when I surprised her.
“So there are several possible lines of investigation for us here,” Ismène said.
I noticed that she’d used the word us, so she was already implicating herself in my troubles. I was so pleased. It really warmed my heart knowing she was on my side.
“Let’s go over it all again from the top,” she announced.
I filled her in on every last detail I could think of.
“What about the will again?” Ismène asked. “I mean, that’s why you called me this morning.”
“I’m going to see the notary. Everyone has the right to know what’s in a will.”
“Hey, are you off your nut? Do you just want to hand yourself over to the police? I’ll go. Stay here out of trouble. I don’t like the way this shit is starting to take shape. You shouldn’t have to be holed up like this.”
“OK. So I’m going to find out about the old guy and the missing painting and what’s up there.” Looking at the expression on her mug, I added, “And I’ll make sure I come straight back here. Did you bring me the one hundred euros I asked for?”
“Yes, but you never told me why you wanted it. And how is it exactly you’re going to be able to get it back to me? And with megainterest or whatever it was you said.”
Damn it! I knew I’d told her too much over the phone. I tried to steer her off track by telling her that I’d found a great new system where I could sell old aluminum cans and that I was going to get started on it as soon as I had more free time. I explained that my friend had told me you could earn a fortune through it. There was not a chance in hell I was going to let her know about the diamond.
“I’d advise most people to look for a proper job,” Ismène said, “but I don’t think you’re the type of person who should have one. You’re the only person on the planet who went from working for a millionaire to working for a corpse on their first day.”
“I’m not the first!” I protested.
“Maybe not, but it’s a madass story.” She looked at her watch. “I have to go.”
She handed me three fifties, a fortune. She was so kind. I could hardly believe it. Especially as she’d made it clear she never lent money to friends. It was one of her big things. No friends ever got a penny out of her! So I’d done pretty well. She’d let all her principles fly out the window for little old me!
I headed to the shop selling my Big Pink and was relieved to find they were open Mondays. Phew!
I flew in through the door and asked to buy the necklace in the window. The girl looked at me like she was sorry for me, then purred in a phony sympathetic voice, “Oh! My poor thing! You’re so out of luck!”
Thanks! Like I didn’t know that already! What now?
“I sold it about an hour ago. It’s gone.”
“What? That can’t be! It’s just not possible!”
“Yes, it is possible. I just sold it. Umm, are you OK? Are you OK?”
I swear I nearly dropped dead there on the spot. I looked around for a chair. I needed to sit down. I found a low shelf covered in purses and wallets. I moved them all to one side and plonked my butt down. I couldn’t hold back the tears. When was all this going to stop? The first tear fell, and then they just poured down my face. The first fatal tear I call it. FFT for short.
I’d had the stress of all my debts building up, the anxiety of my first job interview, the fear of starting a new job I didn’t know anything about, my boss’s murder, being suspected by the police, Lani (who I had to protect), the fact that I couldn’t go home, not having a cell phone . . . and now my only hope of survival had disappeared forever . . .
Enough already.
Just one of these disasters would have sent any normal person into a downward spiral and caused complete loss of control. One person on her own couldn’t be expected to deal with it. Even me! Everyone knows I’m a total hardass, but I couldn’t deal.
I sat there and let pools of tears gather around my feet (not literally, but you get the idea). I didn’t even have anything to wipe my eyes with. Lani and the kids weren’t with me, so I allowed myself to really let rip with the whole self-pity session. If the little ones had been around, I’d never have let myself bawl my eyes out like that. It would have worried them too much.
The girl was less indifferent than she had been before and tried to console me, but she had no idea how to go about it. Despite looking like she was one of those snobby bitches who works in a high-class boutique on Rodeo Drive (like in Pretty Woman!), she wasn’t half-bad underneath it all. She found me some tissues and paced in front of me. The walking around was a useless thing to do—totally useless—but she was obviously trying to do something.
I was sniffling and snuffling and making weird slurpy noises with my mouth. I decided to speak. I was starting to look too weird, and I was fully aware of it.
“It was my grandmother’s necklace . . . Schlllreunfff . . . It’s the only thing I had left that belonged to her . . . Schlllreunfff . . . My grandfather gave it to her for their twentieth wedding anniversary, and when she died last month it was the only thing she left me . . . Schlllreunfff . . . My daughter, it’s not really her fault”—at least that bit was true—“she’s only six and she gave it to a friend at school. This little girl’s mother is one of your clients and sold it to you along with a ton of other stuff . . . Schlllreunfff . . . All I wanted to do was buy it back, don’t you remember? I came by the other day and explained that I’d be back for it. I didn’t have enough money on me.”
And I just couldn’t stop myself—I let out a huge whine. Just remembering my financial troubles made the sobs even louder.
“Of course! I recognize you now! You look different somehow. I didn’t know . . .”
Well, yes, well spotted . . . I’m dressed as a man, aren’t I?
The tears kept on rolling. The girl was clearly at a loss. She was nowhere near as insensitive as I’d first assumed. I think I’d managed to break her down.
She stepped over to the desk and started looking through her computer. Was she doing what I thought she was doing?
“I really shouldn’t be doing this, but I feel really bad for you,” she said.
She read something from the screen and copied it onto a scrap of paper, then handed it to me.
“It’s their address . . .”
My eyes were as dry as a bone in seconds flat. Her behavior intrigued me.
“Whose address?”
“The Dutch people. The couple who bought your grandmommy’s necklace.”
“Dutch people?” Oh, this was going to be another major bump in the road. I could feel it. Amsterdam . . . diamonds . . . it was all heating up (as if I needed any more heat on me).
“There was this couple from the Netherlands. They’re here on holiday. They came in and bought it. They bought a load of goodies in fact. Some designer dresses, a Dolce and Gabbana fur coat, a Chanel bag . . . They paid extra for delivery.”
I glanced at the piece of paper. “This is a hotel. It’s not even a real address.”
“Well, of course! They’re tourists. They’re staying at the Hôtel de Provence. I remember thinking that they must be loaded because the rooms in that place . . . They sure don’t give them away.”
That’s something I definitely agreed with. I’d stayed there before, and the place was like a palace.
So not only were her clients Dutch, but they were Dutch and rich. These people were clearly diamond dealers, and they’d taken one look at my beauty and known its value straightaway.
I was in it. Now I had to find them, hope they weren’t diamond dealers, and figure out some way of getting it off them . . . That’d be a total cinch, right?
Before I tackled my problems with my Big Pink, I had to check out the story on the missing painting. I had to hurry my ass, too—I’d left Lani all on her own with the twinnies and I wasn’t a hundred percent sure she was OK with them. I was afraid the cops would turn up at Gaston’s place and arrest everyone. I’d found us a pretty great hide out, but even with the best hide out in the world, if the cops are on your tail, you can never fully relax. You’re always afraid they’ll catch up with you in the end.
I grabbed ahold of the girl and gave her the biggest hug. I wiped my nose on my sleeve (Gaston’s sleeve) and got out of there. I ran as fast I could to the Pinson residence at Place de la Foux.
52
I stayed hidden as best as I could out on the street for what felt like hours before going anywhere near the house. I had to make sure the place wasn’t under surveillance. Nothing seemed out of the ordinary, so I hurried to the front door.
I still had my own key, so making a quick entrance wasn’t a problem. Just like the last time, I felt something was a bit odd when I turned the key. A feeling that something was out of place. I couldn’t shake it.
But then it came to me in a flash. The key chain I had wasn’t the same one I’d been given on my first day of work. There were more keys on this one (even though it looked identical at a first glance). There was a weird little flat key . . .
I stared at it awhile. I’d been in such a hurry the other day, I must have picked up Max’s keys instead of my own. The small key didn’t look like an ordinary key. It might have been to a padlock. Or a drawer? A chest?
I didn’t see anyone in the hall as I headed straight for Max’s office. Immediately, in the corner near the ceiling, I spotted the gap where the painting had been. It wasn’t a small gap either. It jumped straight out at me, and I wondered how I hadn’t noticed it properly the day I found stiffy Max. Stress. It must have been. It’s not every day you find your boss dead.
Unfortunately, I didn’t have my phone with all the photos in it. I’d taken pics of everything on the first day of the job, and it would have been so easy to look back and confirm that the missing painting was that of the pretty soldier and the horse.
My eyes moved toward the desk. I was just dying to know whether or not the box of cash was still where it had been, not to mention check out whether the weird little key opened any of the drawers. But I’m not suicidal. I knew I couldn’t hang around. As I was about to flee the room, I heard footsteps. Of course there had to be footsteps! It was Maldonne luck coming into play again.
I dropped down onto all fours and hid under the desk. I held my breath. Two people entered the room.
“Listen, if you’re unhappy, you need to take care of yourself a little more. I hardly recognize you as it is!”
It was the soft voice and beautiful Swiss accent of my gorgeous Théodore.
He continued, “You told everyone you weren’t interested in money and that he and his cash could go to hell, isn’t that right?”
“OK, get over yourself, you creep. Do you think we don’t know that the only reason you took care of him was because you thought you’d get all his money?”
“Oh, if you say so, Humbert! You know what? I don’t need money. You know what I do for a living. I’m not like you! You’re saddled with debt. And you’re a gambler. It’s a shame you’re no good at poker. You play it enough. But ever since you were a child, you’ve never been any good at lying. I can see it on your face straightaway.”
Not a nice way to speak to your bro, huh?
“Maybe what you’re saying is true, but at least I’m not a hypocrite like you! You lie to everyone! And you lied to Father so you’d get everything!”
“At least I’m successful! And that’s what Father liked about me. You’re a total failure and have never done anything with your life!”
“That’s not true! I’m a writer! And Father was very proud of that.”
Stifled snickering . . .
“What? What’s with the laughing?”
“So you’re a writer, are you? A published author? And how much does that bring in?”
Silence . . . a rustling noise . . . and then a barrage of crashes. Furniture overturned and a broken lamp.
“What the hell is wrong with you? What’s going on here? You need to see a shrink or something!”
Loud footsteps . . . One of them had left the room. A creaking noise and some scuffling. Someone was sitting down in one of the big armchairs. I slowly slid out of my hidey-hole to get a better look. The guy wasn’t moving. Was it Théodore or his brother? He was sitting there, a little breathless, clearly deep in thought. He looked like that famous statue . . . The Thinker? I think it’s by Rodin.
He was sitting pretty far away, so I thought I’d take my chances and attempt an escape on all fours. If Lady Luck was on my side, he wouldn’t see me. I so needed to get out of this hellhole as fast as my four limbs would carry me. If anyone else came into the room—any of the ten thousand relatives, for example—I’d be stuck there for hours. I’d gotten the information I needed about the painting. It was enough for the time being.
I crawled as sneakily as I could toward the door. I actually closed my eyes at one point so I didn’t have to see him. The whole scenario had me so on edge. It was the head-in-the-sand shtick I did so well. If you can’t see them, they can’t see you. Pastis did it whenever I bawled him out for something.
I’d only moved about ten feet when I heard his voice. “But? What in the . . . ? Who on earth are you? Excuse me, Monsieur?”
Oh! I’d forgotten I was in my disguise!
I made out I was searching for something on the floor and slowly lifted my head and turned to look at the man slouching in the armchair with his scruffy haircut and crumpled suit. So this was Humbert.
He must have thought I was insane. I just stayed crouched on the floor without saying a word. His voice was nothing like his brother’s . . . but the way he looked! My God! They were identical. I’d never seen anything like it. The spitting image of his gorgeous brother, but a much scrubbier version. He looked so neglected and dirty. A few strands of greasy
hair hung about his neck. He was nowhere near as hot as my Théodore.
I stood up and tried to regain some dignity. I skipped over with my hand held out to greet him.
“Actually, it’s not Monsieur, it’s Mademoiselle. I’m a lab technician. I’ve been sent here by the police to make sure there’s no evidence we may have missed. Hair, traces of saliva, nail clippings . . . What do I know?”
He looked dazed and tired, but a small smile crept across his lips.
“That’s some kind of joke, isn’t it?”
He turned and looked around, as if he thought there was a hidden camera somewhere. He was shaking my hand the whole time. He wouldn’t let go.
53
He didn’t have the subtle, slightly clumsy charms of his brother. There was something a bit pervy about him. I’m not saying he wasn’t seductive—there was still a little something there—but I don’t usually go for the pervy types.
“So why are you dressed like a man? Can you tell me precisely who you are, please? Are you spying on us? Are you a detective? Are you my father’s dealer?”
“Come off it! You’re kidding me!” I snorted.
I went in for the kill. I felt like I’d lost my marbles. What does that expression even mean? Why marbles? I don’t get it. Anyway, it’s what people say, and it was how I felt.
“You know what?” I continued. “You’re not in a particularly good position here.”
His smile disappeared, and his face went from a rosy pink to white as a sheet. “What does that mean? What are you saying?”
I’d gotten him right where I wanted him. He didn’t look too sure of himself now. I like to work off vibes, and he was giving off guilty ones. This guy was bound to be the murderer.
“You know what I mean. You thought you were going to inherit a nice little sum. You need the money. It’s about as straightforward as these things get. You know, that’s how the law works. There’s no need to go much deeper than that. One plus one equals logical. You’re the guy they’re going to resume is guilty.”
