Murder in the Latin Quarter (3 page)

“
M
ademoiselle
?” Maggie said in a hollow voice, her heart beginning to pound in her chest. The body didn't move but a noise on the stairs leading up to the next floor made Maggie start
.

Was somebody up there?
She looked back at the woman on the floor and knelt by her. Before she touched her, she saw the gaping wound across her throat, and the pounding in Maggie's chest turned into jackhammers.

And someone is waiting on the stairs.

Maggie stood and turned in the direction of the stairs but she glanced down at Mila.

No. Effing. Way.

The sound came again. This time closer—as if whoever was up there…was coming down.

The door to Delphine Normand's apartment was open. Without thinking, Maggie slipped inside the apartment and closed the door quietly behind her, her breathing coming in ragged pants. Mila was whimpering louder now. Maggie locked the door and stood by it, pressing the baby against it in her attempt to see through the security hole.

A dark shape—a man's shape—jumped from the stairs, bounded over the body and ran down the steps. It happened too fast for Maggie to glimpse his face. One minute he was there in a flash of shadow and the next the landing was empty.

Maggie turned, leaning against the door and patting Mila's back. She tried to get her heart rate to slow down by taking deep breaths. She glanced around the foyer.

The door had been open. Had the dead woman come from in here?

“Madame?” Maggie called timidly. “Madame Normand?”

Mila let out a long wail, making Maggie jump. She took a few steps into the apartment. A huge chandelier hung over an impressive foyer of Versailles-style parquet flooring.

Maggie stepped through the foyer to the salon. A floor to ceiling window facing in the direction of the river allowed a sick cast of grey light into the room. Louis XVI chairs abutted an antique leopard-print sofa with matching Chinese porcelain lamps on flanking walnut tables. Maggie found herself holding her breath as she entered the room.

Thickly carpeted with an ancient coral Isfahan rug, the room spoke gentility and grace. Except for the window every wall was covered in gilt-framed paintings of all sizes. Maggie knew little about art and she didn't recognize any of the artists but even she could see they were examples of impressionism, realism and art deco.

“Wow, baby girl,” Maggie whispered. “Your great aunt Delphine has got some serious class.” She did a slow one-eighty examining the room before ending up staring at the front door again.

“Along with a dead body on her welcome mat,” she said, digging out her cellphone.

D
elphine clutched
Victor's arm as she approached the apartment building. Although at his age it was a toss up what was more stable, him or her luck without him on the broken pavement. Although she knew he preferred his walker when he was indoors, his vanity made him switch to the walking stick when they were out. Their favorite restaurant,
La Table d'Angelino
, was easy walking distance from her apartment and so when they turned off boulevard Saint-Germain they were able to see from two blocks away the clutch of police vehicles parked in front of her building on Rue du Bac.

Victor tensed immediately and put his hand on top of hers as if the motion could somehow protect her from whatever was coming.

Was it a break in? Delphine wondered. With so many police, perhaps it was terrorism? She took a step toward the building and realized that Victor was not moving. She looked at him.

“Let us wait until the police have resolved things,” he said. “If it is a bomb or a hostage situation…” He pointed to the building. “You see they are keeping the crowd back.”

Delphine did see and it annoyed her greatly. After lunch she was looking forward to a nice cup of tea and a nap. Her legs were tired from the walk and she had stupidly not dressed warmly enough for her outing.

“I will tell them I live there,” she said to him, tugging him gently to continue walking.

“Will that matter if there is a bomb in the building?” Victor said, although he allowed her to nudge him forward. He was a handsome man for his eighty-three years, Delphine thought. He'd kept his hair and had not put on too much weight over the years. That was the key.

But he was fearful, as only the elderly can be. It was as if he was constantly cataloguing all the things that could fall on him, crush him, run over him—
and at our age that was just about everything
. Delphine was nearly ten years older than Victor and she could tell him and anyone else with the sense to listen—terrorist bombs not withstanding, the things that could really hurt you lived inside your heart.

“I see Amelie,” Delphine said, dropping her hand from Victor's arm to point to her housekeeper standing in the crowd. Delphine wasn't surprised to see her cowering in the back. She was a timid woman—especially with authority. Delphine had found the characteristic useful on more than one occasion.

“And they are not letting
her
in either,” Victor said stubbornly. “Oh! They are bringing out a stretcher!”

Delphine and Victor watched as the gurney—with its covered form—was carried out of the front door of the apartment building to a waiting coroner's wagon.

“Perhaps one of the older ones?” Delphine murmured. Although at ninety-two she knew she definitely qualified for the label herself.

“Why would the police come in riot gear for a simple death in the building?” Victor asked as they joined the people who stood gaping at the front of the building. Delphine knew they could see nothing—unless whoever the poor soul was had died in the courtyard—which was not completely out of the question. A fall or jump from any of the facing courtyard balconies would easily result in a trip to the morgue.

“It must be something else,” Delphine murmured. Her legs ached and she knew, as weary as she was becoming, that her hands would soon begin to tremble. She probably should not have gone to lunch with Victor so soon after her illness. She'd only just come home from the hospital that morning. But she hated weakness, especially in herself. And to have begged off a standing engagement when even the doctor said she was perfectly fine would have put her out of sorts for the rest of the day.

“Excuse me!” Victor said loudly over the heads of the crowd. One of the policemen looked up.

“Are you allowing residents to return to their homes?” Victor asked.

The policeman beckoned Victor forward and he and Delphine pushed their way through the crowd. Delphine saw Amelie, her head tucked, moving quickly behind them.

“Your name, Monsieur?” the policeman said.

“I am Victor Rousseau,” Victor said in a firm voice. “And this lady lives here.”

“I am Delphine Normand,” Delphine said. “Apartment nine.”

The policeman looked at his notes and then waved Delphine closer as he lifted the yellow crime tape that had been stretched across the front of the building entrance.

“And my housekeeper?” Delphine said, half turning toward Amelie. “She is to clean today.”

The police nodded but put a hand on Victor's chest as he attempted to follow Delphine and Amelie.

“
Non
, Monsieur,” the policeman said.

“What?” Victor said, outrage creeping into his voice. “I must accompany Madame Normand!”

“
Non
.”

Delphine took Victor's hand. “It's all right,
chéri
,” she said. “I'm going straight to bed any way. Thank you for a lovely lunch as usual.”

“But, Delphine…” Victor said, his eyes on the policeman.

“I will be fine,” Delphine said. “I will call you later.” She turned and followed the policeman into the courtyard. Several more police stood talking in the courtyard. One peeled away and looked at her with a questioningly look.

“She lives here,” the policeman said. “Where the body was discovered.”

Delphine took in a harsh breath. Instantly she regretted sending Victor away. The other policeman nodded and turned to Delphine and Amelie.

“We will ask you a few questions, Madame,” he said sternly.

A
n hour
after making it as clear as she could that she had been gone all afternoon and could have no information to give them about why the poor woman, whoever she was, had come to be murdered outside her apartment, Delphine and Amelie were escorted upstairs to her apartment.

All Delphine could think of was the luxury of peeling off her shoes and sinking onto her couch. She would ask Amelie to make her a cup of tea before the woman even put her handbag down.

They rode up in the elevator with the young policeman not speaking a word. The hallway upstairs was full of people and Delphine could see her apartment door was open.

The nerve! How dare they just come inside?

If her legs hadn't been so shaky at this point, she would have pushed past the young policeman and strode into her apartment to demand an explanation for this invasion.

As it was, when she got to her front door, she saw there were more police inside, standing, their guns strapped to their belts, and amazingly, there was a young woman sitting on her couch talking into a cellphone.

A young woman with a baby!

“Yeah, okay, Laurent,” the woman was saying in English. “I'll call you as soon as I talk to her. No, I don't know when exactly. Yes, I—oh, hold on, Laurent. I think she's here. I'll call you back.”

Delphine walked into her apartment to where the woman sat on the couch. Her intention had been to demand the woman leave her apartment immediately—or at least remove herself from her furniture. But when she saw the baby's face, her legs betrayed her and she staggered to the couch and sat down heavily next to her.

“Oh, this must be so upsetting for you,” the woman said. “I'm so sorry. Can I get you something, Madame Normand?”

Delphine looked at her and drew herself up as if she was in complete control of herself and wasn't about to collapse into an exhausted heap on the rug.

“And you are?” she said, her voice trembling.

“
I
'm
your nephew's wife,” Maggie said. “Laurent Dernier? We have a farm in the south?”

The old woman's eyes never left Mila's face. Maggie decided to take that as a good sign. A sour-faced middle aged woman had come in with Delphine and by the way she jerked her jacket off and deposited her purse on a chair Maggie got the impression she was more servant than friend.

Aunt Delphine looked done in. Her face was white and the veins vivid and pronounced under her eyes .

“They said I could make tea or coffee,” Maggie said. “Would you like something?”

Delphine's eyes went from the baby to Maggie.

“You are?”

“Laurent's wife,” Maggie repeated. “Laurent Dernier, your nephew.” Maggie pulled out her phone and called Laurent.

“Yes
, chèrie
?” he answered.

“Talk to your aunt,” Maggie said. “She's had a shock.” She handed the phone to Delphine who took it.

“
Oui
?” she said.

Maggie got up with Mila on her hip and pushed her way into the kitchen to put the kettle on. The middle aged woman who'd come in with Delphine was in the kitchen, her back rigid, energetically wiping down the already spotless counters.

When Maggie stepped back into the living room with a mug of tea, she saw that Delphine had put the phone down next to her on the couch. Maggie handed her the mug and then crossed the living room to turn on one of the Chinese porcelain jar lamps. Through the tall northeast-facing windows she could just see a glint of the Seine in the distance.

She sat back down with Mila on her lap. The baby kicked her feet and clapped her hands. Maggie thought she caught a hint of a smile as the old woman watched the child.

Delphine's color seemed to be a little better after her conversation with Laurent. Her face was more relaxed too. Maggie was sorry to miss the phone conversation but she guessed her French likely wouldn't have been good enough to understand it anyway.

“I can't imagine how horrible this must be for you,” Maggie said. “Did you know the dead woman?”

Delphine made a pained face as if the tea had suddenly gone bad.

“She was my home health nurse,” she said quietly. “Isla.”

“It's really terrible. I'm so sorry for your loss.”

Delphine narrowed her eyes at Maggie as if examining her for the first time.

“I am surprised my nephew married,” she said.

Well, that's an odd thing to say
, Maggie thought. She wasn't sure how to respond.

The unhappy woman from the kitchen came into the room, a dishtowel in her hands and spoke abruptly to Delphine. Again, she spoke as an employee might. Not as a friend.

Maggie was able to make out that she was telling Delphine the police were about to leave.

Delphine nodded and placed her mug on the coffee table. She looked at Maggie and the expression on her face was clear—Laurent's wife or not—she expected Maggie to be on her way too.

Maggie thought about pretending not to understand but she had a feeling the old girl could be very straightforward when necessary.

She stood up and gathered her purse and Mila's little cardigan. She didn't want to start their relationship out on the wrong foot.

Bad enough they had to work around the whole dead body thing.

L
aurent gestured
to Jemmy to pick up his toys in the living room. Instead the child threw a ball at their little poodle. The dog yelped—mostly in surprise, Laurent was sure. The ball was a soft one.

“What was that?” Maggie said on the phone line.

“Your son putting his toys away,” Laurent said.

“Sounded like Petit-Four.”

“In any case,” Laurent said as he watched Jemmy from the kitchen, the boy's half-eaten dinner still on the counter, “you are on your way back to Grace's?”

“I am.”

“You should take a taxi.”

“It's not even six blocks. I like the walk. So what did your aunt say when you talked to her?”

Laurent sighed. He should have called Delphine rather than send Maggie. It would have been better for everyone if he had.

“She was glad to hear that meeting
ma femme
does not always result in a dead body on her doorstep although I told her it often does.”

“Very funny. Was she astounded to hear from you?”

“Since you had
her
call
me
? No.”

“Jeez, Laurent, did you two talk? At all?”

“I asked after her health and she assured me she was fine. Jemmy, stop that.”

“What's he doing?”

“It doesn't matter. Promise me you are not thinking of investigating this woman's death.”

“Of course not. The cops said it was a burglary gone wrong.”

“How is the baby?”

“Still alive. Surprised?”

“Your mother called.”

Jemmy ran back to Laurent, giggling for no apparent reason that Laurent could see and he pulled him into his lap.

“Don't tell me she's trying to talk you into making me come home for the summer,” Maggie said. “She's relentless.”

“It is a good idea,” Laurent said, kissing Jemmy on the forehead.

“Won't you miss us?”

“That is a ridiculous question.”

“Wow, you old sweet talker,” Maggie said. “Hey, did I tell you the dead woman was your aunt's home health nurse?”

Laurent gave a grunt of frustration. “I would like to know why these things always happen when you are around.”

“Delphine has to make an inventory of anything she thinks is missing.”

“Are you not at Grace's yet? Next time you must take a taxi.”

“Are you staying on the phone with me until I'm safely at Grace's place?”

“You are a lone woman in a major metropolitan city with a six month old baby. Why must I explain this to you?”

“It's not even dark yet. There are lots of people everywhere. I'm perfectly safe.”

“That is what you always say just before I am calling the police or pulling you out of car trunks.”

“Your aunt told me you were a very quiet boy.”

“
Non
,” Laurent said, settling Jemmy down on the chair by his dinner plate.

“
Non
you
weren't
a quiet boy?”

“
Non
you are not to interrogate a ninety-two year old woman to satisfy your own curiosities.”

“Well, I suppose I could go through all her letters and photo albums but I thought this way was less invasive.”

“You have no need to see my aunt again.”

“That's where you're wrong, Laurent. We're going shopping tomorrow.”

“I do not believe you.”

“You don't need to,” Maggie said cheerfully. “And after that she says she'll dig up every single photograph of you there is in existence. Baby pictures, grade school report cards. The works.”

“I forbid you to do this, Maggie.”

Maggie laughed. “Oh, darling, I love you so much! When will you learn that that's not a thing in marriage these days?”

“This is not funny,
chérie
,” he said firmly.

“Maybe not. But it's absolutely necessary. Kiss my baby boy for me, and save one for yourself. I'm at Grace's safe and sound. Good night, Laurent.”

“Maggie…”

But she'd hung up. Laurent tossed the cellphone on the counter and saw Jemmy was watching him with questioning eyes while holding a fork of Laurent's
boeuf en Daube
poised in midair.

“
Ça ne fait rien
,” Laurent said to him, his face relaxing as he reassured his son. “All is well.”

Jemmy attacked his plate while the little poodle sat in position by his chair ready for whatever came next.

M
aggie slid
the phone into her jacket pocket and gave the baby a kiss.

“Your papa doesn't need to know every detail of what we do. Remember that, Mila. On the other hand,
you
must never keep secrets from your
maman
, ever…” She kissed the baby again. “But you already know that.”

It had been a long walk from Delphine's to Grace's and Maggie felt the exertion in her legs.

What a wild afternoon.
Not just discovering the body of that poor woman but the actual meeting with Laurent's aunt too.

Maggie cringed at the memory. No, Great Aunt Delphine had
not
been pleased to clap eyes on Maggie. She looked tired and every minute her ninety-two years.
Laurent needn't worry about girl talk and bistro outings with his aunt, that was for sure.

She looked up at the front of Grace's building. Maggie hadn't had a moment to think of Grace all day, let alone text her to see what her plans were.

She unlocked the front door and the aroma of cassoulet wafted out from the kitchen.

That can't be Grace
.
Maybe her boyfriend cooks?

“Hello, Madame Dernier,” Beatrice sang out from the kitchen. Zouzou stuck her head out and smiled shyly at Maggie.

“Hey, Beatrice,” Maggie said as she unwrapped Mila from the sling. Maggie was looking forward to a hot shower and a big glass of Merlot so she could debrief with Grace on the day's bizarre happenings.

“I will take her, yes?” Beatrice said, wiping her hands on a towel as she came out of the kitchen. “The cassoulet is baking.”

“Are you sure?” Maggie asked. “She needs changing.”

“But of course,” Beatrice said as she took Mila and tweaked the baby on the cheek.

“Grace not here?” It was obvious she wasn't. Grace wasn't someone who could be in an apartment—even hiding in a closet or sound asleep—and not fill it up entirely with her presence.

“Madame Van Sant is out for the evening,” Beatrice said over her shoulder as she walked down the hall with the baby in her arms and Zouzou trailing behind.

Maggie frowned. She pulled out her phone but she was sure she hadn't missed a call. No texts either.

She sat down on the couch and slipped her shoes off. A feeling of unease grew subtly between her shoulder blades.

What the hell was going on with Grace?

D
elphine heard
the door click behind Amelie as she left for the day. Usually, she hated the sound of Amelie in her apartment, convinced the woman was nosier than she needed to be just to irritate an old woman helpless to escape the rudeness of others. But tonight she was sorry to see her go.

It wasn't just that Delphine had gotten used to having someone with her at night—although that was certainly true. Isla was a dear girl and Delphine would miss her dearly.

But Delphine felt insecure tonight.

She moved into her bedroom and removed her shoes, placing them in the oversized painted armoire.

Was it really a burglary? Do people often cut the throats of those they steal from?