Angel Hands (24 page)

"We will have to let them in," she grunted, yanking on her chemise and strapping her corset on as best she could. "I will go down and try to put them off any search as long as I can."

"You'll want to make sure they have a warrant for something like that, madame."

She paused mid-tug on her corset laces. "Just where did you learn that, Monsieur Buprès?"

"Oh...well...one picks things up here and there."

She heard her husband shrugging on his jacket.

"Is there anything for them to find if they do search?" she asked bluntly, peeking around the screen.

Her husband frowned. "Possibly."

"We can't afford 'possibly,'" she snapped. "You and Pierre had better go empty out the safes and desks. Leave some money in the main safe so it's not suspicious. Also, the deeds to the opera house."

"There is an attaché bag in my bed chamber," he said. "Under the bed. Pierre, you need to take it and empty the safe in the wine cellar of everything. Then meet me on the flies above the stage. You know where. We were working on that...enhancement yesterday?"

"I will take Lefebre and the others to my office," Mireille said, coming out from behind the screen, the back of her dress still unbuttoned. She presented herself to her husband. "Here, do up the back."

"Begging your pardon, monsieur and madame," Pierre said, modestly averting his eyes from her. "We are probably doing the right thing, but should we at least consider that we may be over-reacting a bit?"

"No." They both answered at the same time.

"Right, then. I'll be off to go get that bag." With a nod, he was off.

Mireille turned and looked up at the man before her.

"I will tell them you are away on business," she said.

"Tell them I've gone to Paris," he said with a smirk.

"I won't be able to hold them off forever. Will you leave so they won't find you?"

"I will not leave you, but you need not fear they will find me."

"You shouldn't be so sanguine about this. If they suspect what I suspect Raymond suspects-"

"Again, my dear? That was a bit confusing."

"This is no time to laugh! No, don't kiss me, either. Stop! Remove your hands at once and focus!"

"I'm completely and delightfully focused. Ow! There was no need to slap me, madame!"

Mireille humphed. "They will suspect trap doors and secret passages, and they will look for them. If you hide there, they may very well find you!"

He frowned, and she saw her words finally got through to him.

"There was a clever story by an American I read a few years ago. It was a mystery, set in Paris, actually," he said.

"Literary reminiscences can wait!"

"It was a case of a letter that was stolen, but it turned out that it was hidden quite cleverly in plain sight."

"What do you intend to do, stand there like a statue and hope they don't notice you?" she huffed.

He smiled in that devious way that made her toes curl in spite of the emergency at hand.

"They are looking for secret passages and trapdoors that lead to a cellar," he explained. "They shall find them and follow them to the cellar. Where they will find, well, mostly surplus building materials and a rather decent collection of wine."

"But-"

"In the meantime, I will be waiting for you when you are done with them."

"Where?"

"I will find you."

"How?"

He chuckled and gave her a pitying look. "Oh, ye of little faith!"

She regarded him sourly but nodded and turned to leave and go greet their unwanted guests. A thought struck her, and she whirled back to him.

"They will ask me your name," she said quietly, her shoulders tight and spine locked upright. "I have never known your name. I didn't want to pry."

He looked at her, and she almost swore she saw tears glittering in his eyes.

"Erik," he said finally. "My name is Erik."

She canted her head to the side and studied him, carefully gathering in his trust and tucking it safely away in her heart.

"Funny," she quipped, despite the choke in her voice. "I would have pegged you for a Hans or Rudolf."

His shout of laughter followed her down the hall.

***

She was sitting at her desk, hands folded and glasses perched precisely on her face, when the maid opened the door and admitted three men.

One was Raymond Lefebre, and she suspected the other two were the officers in charge of the crowd of Parisian and Versailles policemen waiting below in the lobby.

"Messieurs," she said coldly, taking her time in rising.

The men said nothing, and as her silence stretched out, they shifted and glanced awkwardly at each other. Mireille had no intention of making this short or easy for them. She had greeted them, and now it was up to them to figure out they needed to take the next step and state their business.

"Mireille, are you well?" Raymond asked finally. "You look pale!"

"Monsieur Lefebre," she said evenly, for she could not bring herself to be completely unkind to the man. "I must remind you not to address me so informally. It is improper. I am a married woman."

She counted the stunned silence in seconds and heartbeats, hoping to stretch each one out and give Erik and Pierre more time.

"Well, ahem, that actually brings us to part of the business of why we are here, erm, madame," said a tall, burly man in a Parisian
gendarmerie
uniform. "Inspecteur Fileau, at your service. You must be aware of the ongoing investigation regarding the Opera Ghost and the fire he caused at the Opéra de Paris several years ago."

"You say 'he caused' with such certainty, Monsieur Fileau," Mireille said smoothly. "However, if you were truly certain and could prove it, then your case would not be 'ongoing', would it? You would do well to be careful of making slanderous statements, even against a ghost."

Inspecteur Fileau turned red and pressed his lips together. His Versailles colleague stepped up.

"Madame, you would do well not to be so flippant with officers of the law," the man said. "I am Inspecteur Vachon, and you reside within
my
jurisdiction."

"Indeed, I do, monsieur l'inspecteur. However, there are no laws against friendly levity, and I have said nothing misleading, for you have asked me no questions."

"Friendly levity!" Inspecteur Fileau blustered. "Is that what you call blatant disrespect for my position?"

"Try being a woman for a day, and then we shall speak of being subject to blatant disrespect," Mireille replied.

"Messieurs!" Raymond interjected. "We are wandering from the point!" He turned to Mireille. "The man you married, this 'Monsieur de la Persie,' is the Opera Ghost of the Opéra de Paris, responsible for arson and murder. We mean to arrest him. If you assist us, I can help you return to Paris where you will be safe and cared for with me. If you resist us, I cannot answer for the consequences. Please, Mireille!"

"What an extraordinary accusation!" she laughed, enjoying the thrill of ice and anger running through her veins. "My husband will be vastly diverted when I tell of this upon his return."

"His return?" Inspecteur Vachon echoed.

"
Mais
,
oui
! He has gone to Paris. He left this afternoon and will be there through the end of the week. I believe he has appointments scheduled with our bankers at Credit Lyonnais. He will probably also visit his tailor, as I told him the right sleeve of his last jacket did not sit right."

"You said he was a patron of the opera house," Raymond said. "But I can find no record of his donations or obligations. Besides, what would a patron want with buying an abandoned opera house and restoring it, unless he himself were a musician and well-versed in theater operations."

"You forget, Monsieur Lefebre," Mireille pointed out. "I am the one who is well-versed in theater operations. My husband bought the Opéra de Versailles as a wedding gift for me. He knew how much I had enjoyed my work at the Opéra de Paris, and how sad I was after the passing of my beloved father when I was no longer able to be involved with the management of the theater."

"But, your husband's so-called 'patronage', madame?" Inspecteur Vachon asked. "It was never recorded in any of the ledgers."

"It was a private arrangement between him and my father."

"Carcasonne never mentioned anything like that," Raymond objected.

Mireille snorted. "My father knew the value of keeping certain things from the clumsy and rapacious grasp of Monsieur Carcasonne."

"Enough of this!" Inspecteur Fileau burst out. "Madame, we are here to search the premises for incriminating evidence against your husband. You will also be so kind," he sneered, "as to supply us with the address where he is staying in Paris."

"You have a warrant, I presume?" Mireille asked innocently.

Fileau and Vachon exchanged guilty glances.

"It would go better for you, Mireille, if you gave us permission, instead of forcing us to get a warrant," Raymond said gently.

She gave Raymond a scornful look. "I am surprised at you, Monsieur Lefebre. After all those months working with me, for you to suppose that for a single instant I would even consider allowing a search of my theater and my home without proper legal authority…well, it's shocking!"

Inspecteur Fileau smiled nastily at Mireille. "Madame, your recalcitrance has given us exactly what we need to execute a perfectly legal search. Your belligerence gives us reasonable cause to suspect that you harbor the criminal and to initiate an investigation of the premises without a warrant. Vachon, my dear fellow, if you will step down and inform our officers they may begin, I will stay here and retrieve from the
dear lady
the address for her husband in Paris."

Vachon nodded, and with an uneasy glance at Mireille, left her office. She glared at Raymond, who had the decency to look abashed, and then, she turned her arctic gaze to Inspecteur Fileau.

"You wish for my husband's address?" she said, sitting down at her desk and pulling a sheet of paper to her.

"And, his full name," Fileau added. "We can only find 'Monsieur de la Persie' in the records, a fact which is rather curious."

"
Bon Dieu
, monsieur, you have a horridly suspicious mind," Mireille said, carefully inscribing the address of the Ritz hotel just off Place de la Concorde. "He is a private gentleman, but you had only to ask instead of casting aspersions. It is Erik de la Persie."

"An odd name, that," Fileau persisted. "Swedish Christian name and a surname and 'of Persia'? It sounds too fantastical."

She snorted. "I assure you that you will find his birth recorded in Rouen. I forget which parish. I know that his parents have both passed away."

She picked up the paper and waved it back and forth to dry the ink, admiring her ability to lie so easily and to pull a place like Rouen out of thin air like that. It was far enough away and a big enough city that if they had to go check, it would take some time.

Rising to her feet, she handed the paper to Fileau, ignoring Raymond's pleading looks in her direction. She walked around her desk and toward the door of her office.

"Just one moment, madame," Fileau snapped. "Where do you think you are going?"

"I have a private affair I must attend to," Mireille replied demurely, her mind rapidly setting up the steps to the perfect excuse.

"You can have no affairs that are so private or so urgent with officers of the law here."

"Indeed, I can, monsieur l'inspecteur," she said coyly. "It would be best if you excused me for a few moments. Perhaps I can order tea or coffee for you from the kitchens on my way."

"No, you cannot! You will remain here, madame!"

"I assure you, monsieur l'inspecteur, I shall return."

"What is this business that is so damned important that you would risk being arrested, for make no mistake, if you try to leave this room, I shall arrest you!" Fileau was shouting by this point, flecks of saliva foaming at the corners of his mouth.

"There is no need to shout, monsieur l'inspecteur," Mireille said calmly. She shrugged. "If you insist on knowing, I will tell you."

She relished the way both Fileau and Raymond leaned in unconsciously to hear her next words.

"I must attend to an unpleasant but delicate female issue," she announced loudly. "Of the recurring monthly kind. So, you will excuse me, unless one of you gentlemen is prepared to lend me your handkerchief?
Non
? I thought as much."

Fileau's jaw twitched, and Raymond stepped forward. "I will escort you to your room and bring you back, so that Inspecteur Fileau will be reassured that there is no funny business."

Mireille shook her head. "Suit yourselves."

***

"Why?"

Mireille missed a step at Raymond's question. The heartbreak in his voice was real enough, and it hurt her to hear it.

She stopped and held up the candle to illuminate their faces in the darkened corridor.

"Raymond," she said softly. "You are a knight in shining armor, but I am truly no damsel in distress. I never have been and never will be. Eventually, you would come to resent my independence and my bossiness. I could not have made you happy."

"You don't know that," he whispered, lifting his hand to gently stroke her cheek.

She captured his hand and pressed a kiss to it. "Your heart is strong enough for two. Find someone who truly needs your strength. That is my wish for you."

She released his hand and hurried on, hearing him eventually fall in step behind her. When they reached the door of her bedchamber, she handed him the candle and winked.

"Wait here," she said. "It will take a few minutes to, uh, adjust my clothing."

Even in the candlelight, she could see his blush. With a fond chuckle, she let herself into her room.

All amusement vanished as she strained to adjust her eyes to the dark, searching for Erik's figure in the shadows. Obligingly, he stepped into a pool of moonlight and lifted his finger to his lips.