The Essence of Malice

by Ashley Weaver

  I wondered if this had something to do with her relationship with André Duveau. Perhaps Monsieur Belanger had suspected Mr. Duveau meant to venture out on his own and had worried that she might divulge too much, intentionally or not.

  “What do you know about the formula?” I asked.

  “From what I understand, there were meant to be two copies of it. One that was kept in Monsieur Belanger’s safe, a safe to which only he and his solicitor had the key. The second copy was brought by Monsieur Belanger to the factory the night of his accident. It was to be kept in the safe there so that they might begin production.”

  “And have they begun production?” I asked.

  She shook her head. “The manager of the factory, Monsieur Gauthier, has been at sea and only just arrived back in France last night. He was to have begun work on the perfume when he returned. This morning Monsieur Anton mentioned that he was going to contact Monsieur Gauthier. He decided to telephone him after breakfast and see if everything was all right.”

  I wondered where this was leading. We were on the precipice of discovering something important. I could feel it.

  “After a few moments, Monsieur Anton came out of Monsieur Belanger’s study—Monsieur Anton’s study now, I suppose—looking very grave indeed. He spoke in a low voice, but it carried to where I was standing and I distinctly heard him say, ‘He does not have the formula, Cecile.’”

  “It wasn’t there?” I asked, my heart beating a bit faster.

  “That is the strange part,” she said. “Monsieur Anton told Cecile that Monsieur Belanger had indeed gone to the factory. One of the employees reported that, as he had always done, Monsieur Belanger had delivered the necessary documents in an attaché case and put them in the factory’s safe. However, when Monsieur Gauthier went to retrieve them this morning, he found that they were incorrect.”

  “Incorrect in what way?” I was growing more intrigued by the second.

  “It was difficult to tell from what Anton said, but I gathered that, though they closely resembled what the formula should be, key elements were replaced with nonsensical words. It was no longer a correct formula for L’Ange de Mémoire.”

  “So they couldn’t make scents of it?” Milo asked dryly.

  Madame Nanette and I both frowned at him for his ill-timed pun.

  “But that means…” I said, my words trailing off as the significance of this news sank in.

  Madame Nanette nodded. “It seems that someone must have switched the formulas deliberately.”

  “What of the copy in the safe?” I asked, remembering I had overheard Anton telling Cecile that he couldn’t find the key. A suspicion was beginning to form in my mind.

  “It seems that he cannot open the safe, for he told Cecile that he had rung up the solicitor to come and open it. However, the solicitor was not available until tomorrow, which caused much distress. He asked his sister, his voice very strained, ‘What if the formula in the safe is also incorrect?’”

  “Now we seem to be getting somewhere,” Milo said, leaning back in his seat. “I assume that the perfume can’t be completed without the correct formula?”

  “That is my assumption as well. Monsieur Anton seemed extremely distraught about it.”

  I could imagine he might be. His success in taking over from his father might hinge upon the ability to produce L’Ange de Mémoire. The world was awaiting it with bated breath, and it would likely be a severe blow to the reputation of Parfumes Belanger if they could not produce it now that Helios Belanger was dead.

  “Did anyone else have access to the factory’s safe?” Milo asked.

  “No. Only Monsieur Belanger and Monsieur Gauthier.”

  “Then it seems the formulas must have been switched before Monsieur Belanger left Paris.”

  Madame Nanette nodded. “That is what Monsieur Anton said. By this point, he was very angry and talking loudly. He told Cecile that someone must have taken the formula from Monsieur Belanger’s attaché case before he left for Grasse. He seemed convinced that the copy in the safe would be compromised as well.”

  “And what did Cecile say?” I asked.

  “She said it was nonsense. That there must be some mistake. She told him she was sure the copy in the safe would be the correct one.”

  I wondered. If someone had taken the formula from the attaché case, it seemed likely the copy in the safe had also been taken, especially given the fact that the key to the safe had gone missing. After all, how would it profit the thief to steal one copy and leave the other?

  Another thought occurred to me. “Cecile is very capable,” I said. “Would a missing formula really mean so much? Even if the copy in the safe is incorrect, she might develop a new scent as she will presumably do from now on.”

  “I do not know much of such things,” Madame Nanette said, “but it seems as though Mademoiselle Cecile had mentioned something about a new process that Monsieur Belanger was developing. He had been working on it for some time. That was one reason he was so secretive.”

  “I see,” I said. “Then, if the formula contained some process that could not be duplicated, surely it would be in the best interest of all the Belangers for the formula not to have disappeared.”

  Milo smiled. “Unless one of them meant to sell it.”

  Madame Nanette nodded slowly. “The exact conditions of the will seem to be in question. Perhaps one of them took it as a means of insurance.”

  “I imagine there are also a good many competitors who would pay a pretty penny for such a thing,” Milo said. “Whoever does not inherit might be willing to sell the formula to the highest bidder.”

  “One of them might have switched the formula, providing an inaccurate formula in case Monsieur Belanger happened to glance at it, and then given him poison before he flew to Grasse,” I said, warming to the theme. “Perhaps they had hoped he would crash his plane on the way, erasing what they had done. If an incorrect copy was later found in the safe, they would simply assume that there had been a mistake and that the correct copy had perished with Monsieur Belanger in the crash.”

  “This is assuming, of course, that the copy in the safe is incorrect,” Milo pointed out. “It might very well be that a viable formula is there, safe and sound.”

  Somehow I doubted it.

  “If the formula was the motive, it may exclude the sculptor,” Madame Nanette said.

  I shook my head. “I overheard him tell Anton that Helios Belanger had accused him of being ‘in league with his enemies.’ He appeared indignant, but it might have been for show. Perhaps Helios Belanger was right and Herr Muller had been after the formula all along. Which means our list of suspects has not been narrowed in any significant way.”

  I thought suddenly of André Duveau. If anyone might have had a motive to steal the formula, it was he. The fact remained, however, that he had been in Como for at least a fortnight before Helios Belanger’s death.

  “What do you know about André Duveau?” Milo asked, giving me that uncanny sensation that he had been following my thoughts.

  “He was engaged to be married to Cecile Belanger,” Madame Nanette said.

  This was new information. He had spoken casually of their relationship. I had not realized that they had been engaged.

  “Why did they call it off?” I asked.

  “I don’t know, but I do not think it was one incident. I suspect that perhaps Mademoiselle Cecile realized how fond she is of her independence.”

  “But they parted amiably?” I asked, though I had seen firsthand that there did not appear to be any bad blood between them.

  She nodded. “It seems so. They appear fairly cordial toward one another, though there is a reserve in their interactions now.”

  I wondered what it was that had really caused their parting. It could be, as Madame Nanette suggested, simply a difference in personality. Cecile seemed a woman who enjoyed control, and a relationship with a man of easy and abundant charm could be a difficult thing to manage. This
was something I knew firsthand.

  “Aside from that,” Madame Nanette was saying, “I know that he was a pilot in the war. Decorated for heroism, I believe.”

  “Yes, he told me a bit about his time in the war,” Milo said.

  This was something I had not heard, but I was not exactly surprised. There was something of the daredevil in André’s manner, and I could easily picture him taking to the skies without fear or hesitation.

  Knowing he was a war hero seemed a point in his favor. There was also the seemingly casual way he had decided to enter the perfume industry. It was a hobby, not a grand passion. I found it difficult to believe that he would kill for such a thing.

  And there was something else to consider. Though all clues seemed to point in that direction, I realized there was still the possibility that the missing formula was unrelated to his death. Perhaps Monsieur Belanger had simply brought the wrong papers to Grasse by mistake. It was unlikely, but possible. There were, after all, other motives we had not yet explored. I thought about the woman the perfume-shop girl had mentioned, the one she had assumed was Helios Belanger’s mistress. I wondered who she might have been, if there was some other relationship in which Helios Belanger was involved that might have led to his death.

  “Did Monsieur Belanger keep a mistress?” I asked.

  Again, it seemed as though there was something akin to hesitation in Madame Nanette’s manner. “I cannot say for certain.”

  I studied her face, wondering how she felt about Helios Belanger. She had claimed that there were no feelings lingering between them, but I wondered if that was entirely true.

  “Then you suspect something,” Milo said, also picking up on her hesitation.

  She nodded slowly. “Yes, I have had my suspicions. Small things. He has gone out and come back in at odd hours. And there have been hushed phone conversations. I know, of course, this is not proof of guilt, but it did make me wonder if perhaps … well, if he had found another companion.”

  “It sounds plausible,” Milo said.

  “Did Madame Belanger suspect anything, do you think?” I asked.

  “That I do not know. They have always seemed to be kind and affectionate toward one another, but I could not tell you the true nature of their relationship. She has seemed happy enough. But things have been difficult for her, I would say.”

  “In what way?”

  “She does not know many people in Paris. Her French is not, perhaps, as good as she would like it to be. Besides that, she is not really from their world. Her family was, from what I have heard, a good one but not wealthy. She was not raised to make her way in society, and I think it has been somewhat trying.”

  I could well imagine how difficult it must have been for a young woman to move to a new country and adapt to a different language with a family that was not particularly welcoming. What was more, the idealism of the first bloom of romance often faded quickly when the realities of life intruded. The consequences of a whirlwind marriage were also something I knew firsthand.

  She hesitated and I knew that there was something more. “What is it?” I asked.

  “It might be nothing,” she said slowly. “I don’t like to say things without proof.”

  “If it made an impression on you, it may very well be something,” Milo said.

  “As I said, I don’t know if there is any truth in it. I have seen no proof. It is only a feeling that I have.”

  “Yes? What is it?” Milo pressed.

  “I think that Beryl Belanger may be hiding a secret relationship of her own.”

  “Really?” I asked. This I found surprising. I had had the distinct impression that Madame Belanger was mourning the loss of her husband. Then again, I supposed having a lover and regret at being widowed were not mutually exclusive.

  “What makes you think so?” Milo asked.

  “There has been something in her manner lately, something a bit secretive. I came in on her one day writing letters, and she took care to put her hand across the page so that I could not read it, not that I would have tried. She often seemed jumpy, on edge, as though she was afraid of being discovered doing something she oughtn’t.”

  “It seems there are a great many secrets in the Belanger household,” I said.

  “Yes,” she said thoughtfully. “Though it is possible that I am seeing suspicious behavior where there is none.”

  “There is one more thing I have been wondering,” I said. “I heard that there was a private nurse hired to look after Helios Belanger during an illness some time ago. Do you think the illness might have been the killer’s first attempt?”

  “I do not know much about that illness,” she said, to my disappointment. “He kept to his room a good deal at the time, and the family did not mention it. Helios was not a man who liked his weaknesses known.” With that, she stood. “And now I must go. I have been gone too long already.”

  Milo rose to see her out.

  “You will let us know if there is anything else?” he said as they reached the door.

  “Yes,” she replied. “I may be contacting you sooner than you know. Tomorrow is the reading of the will, and I have a very uneasy feeling about it.”

  “Why should you?” Milo asked.

  “I don’t know. It is just a feeling I have.”

  I couldn’t resist telling her what I had learned. “I overheard a woman at the party say that Monsieur Belanger had contacted his solicitor about making a new will. She indicated that Michel may have been disinherited.”

  Madame Nanette’s dark brows rose. “That I know nothing of, but it confirms my suspicions that there may be trouble.”

  “It may be all right. Perhaps there will be some happy resolution to all of this,” I said, though I’m afraid my tone was unconvincing.

  Madame Nanette smiled a bit sadly and shook her head. “No, I’m very much afraid all of the unpleasantness has just begun.”

  11

  MADAME NANETTE GONE, I went back to the bedroom with renewed purpose. Milo followed me at a much more leisurely pace.

  “What are you doing?” he asked as I took a dress of rose-colored silk from the wardrobe.

  “Getting ready to go out,” I replied, walking past him toward the bathroom.

  He stopped me by reaching out to catch my arm and pulled me against him. “Why would you want to do that? I very much hoped we might go back to bed.”

  I smiled, disentangling myself from his embrace. “As tempting as the offer may be, Madame Nanette’s visit has only convinced me that it’s important to learn what we can as quickly as we can. There is not much we can learn about the missing formula today, perhaps, but we can look into other motives. If Monsieur Belanger did have a mistress, it might have led to his murder. Even if an affair wasn’t the cause of his death, his mistress might know something that the family doesn’t, if he confided in her.”

  He sighed. “What do you intend to do?”

  “I’m going to the café that the girl at the perfume shop mentioned to speak to the waitress who allegedly saw Helios Belanger with another woman. If at all possible, I’m going to try to speak with the alleged mistress. Would you like to come with me?”

  He took a seat on the edge of the bed. “I don’t think so. I might go to Longchamp this afternoon.”

  Though mildly annoying, it was no great surprise that Milo would find a trip to the racetrack much preferable to sitting in a café with me. “Very well,” I said, turning toward the bathroom. “Will you be back for dinner?”

  “I’ll ring you and let you know. What time will you be back?”

  “I don’t know. Leave a message at the desk if I’m not here.” I certainly did not intend to sit around waiting for his call. Milo might be willing to spend his time in Paris out gallivanting, but I had a mystery to solve.

  * * *

  MILO WENT OFF to the races, and I took a cab to the café on the rue de Tolbiac, that Marie, the perfume salesgirl, had told me about. It was located on a corner with r
ed awnings, pots of flowers, and little tables set up on the walk outside. It was a quaint place, but not much different from any of the other hundreds of cafés scattered across Paris. I glanced at the building across the street. It was gray stone and was apparently comprised of several flats. It, too, was unremarkable.

  Marie had mentioned that her friend’s name was Lucille, and I debated on the best way to approach her. I had often found that casual conversation was much more effective for gaining information than outright questions were, but I could think of no way to guarantee that I could speak with Lucille unless I asked for her directly. Thus I decided to be direct.

  “Is Lucille here today?” I asked the waiter who seated me.

  “Yes, madame,” he answered. “I will send her to you.”

  Lucille turned out to be a pretty young woman with brown curls and large, dark eyes. “You asked for me, madame?” she said when she arrived at my table.

  “Yes,” I said. “I recently met your friend Marie; she recommended this café to me.” This was not exactly a lie, as it was the shopgirl’s story that had sent me here.

  “Marie? Yes, she and I are very good friends.”

  I glanced at the building across the street. “She told me that you have seen a certain illustrious gentleman leaving that flat.”

  Her eyes seemed to brighten at the prospect of sharing a secret with me, and she leaned forward slightly, lowering her voice. “Yes, madame. I saw Helios Belanger one morning. Oh, I do love his perfumes. When I go to visit Marie at the shop she lets me try them on. One day I will buy the biggest bottle they have.”

  “They do have lovely scents,” I said. “I expect it was very exciting to see the man in person.”

  She shrugged. “It is more exciting to see cinema stars. I have seen them in my time. And there is a cabaret not far from here. Many of the performers come here to eat. It’s very exciting.”

  “Yes,” I agreed, hoping I could steer the conversation back on course. “But it was Helios Belanger that you saw visiting the flat across the street?”