Murder in the Latin Quarter (4 page)

Delphine's attention was caught by her movement in the mirror over her makeup bench. An old woman stared back at her. A hunched over old woman who hadn't put on makeup for a decade.

Was she no longer safe here? A chill shot down her neck and she involuntarily pulled her cardigan tighter around her although she was meant to be undressing.

Had she ever been safe?

The police told her to make a list of anything stolen. She could understand how, when they saw her apartment, that theft might be the first thing they thought of. She would look around tomorrow after she was rested.

But she knew she would discover nothing missing.

She'd known that from the moment she'd entered the apartment.

From the moment when, in a glance, she'd seen that
it
was still safe.

Delphine sat on the side of her bed and unrolled her hose until they sat like fat doughnuts around each ankle. She'd been mad to go to lunch today. She was beyond exhausted now. And with Isla gone, all alone.

She took her diamond earrings off with a shaking hand and placed them in the dish by her bedside.

Laurent's wife and baby had distracted her from feeling the full brunt of what had happened. She was so astonished to see the woman—right in her own living room—that much of the horror of the day had been muted.

And she had been dreadful to her. American, true, but even so, friendly and willing to endure the insults of a nasty old woman.

And then the baby.

Delphine smiled in memory and touched her lips. The child had the Dernier lips, to be sure. But the eyes—they showed she was a Fouquet through and through. The minute Delphine saw her, looking so much like little Georgette as an infant, that Delphine's legs had given way beneath her.

So few babies had been born in this family over the years
.
And after the sisters, no girls at all.
Well done, Laurent. Your grandmother would have adored her.

Delphine unbuttoned her sweater. The chill she'd felt earlier had turned into a damp film of icy perspiration. Her eyes settled on the locked drawer in her lingerie chest.

The drawer where she kept the key.

Perhaps the murder was a coincidence?

Perhaps someone in the apartment building
was
doing something criminal…and poor Isla just happened to see. But why would Isla be in the hallway? What reason would she have?

The police said the man entered the apartment without breaking the lock. They said the man thought the apartment was empty. When the man encountered poor Isla, she ran.

As far as the hallway.

Delphine stood and released the belt at her waist. With a tug, her silk dress slipped from her bony hips and pooled at her feet. She kicked it toward the armoire. Amelie would deal with it tomorrow. A thought crept unbidden into her head. It occurred to her that it was too bad it had been Isla in the apartment today instead of Amelie.

Delphine's cheeks burned at the thought. Amelie was angry and unhappy. It was Delphine's just lot in life to endure the censure in the poor woman's face every day until Delphine finally left this earth. Delphine knew she should be grateful for the opportunity.

But she wasn't. No real amends could be made by enduring Amelie's rancor. It helped no one. Least of all Amelie. Delphine wished the wretch would just go away.

As she stood to walk to the bathroom her thoughts returned to poor Isla and how much she would miss her.

And how unfair some things were.

M
aggie flipped
the collar up on her jacket. The brisk breeze off the Seine seemed to target her as she pushed Mila's stroller up the rue du Bac, the Quai Voltaire at her back. The sun had made a showing but the wind cancelled out any real benefits of it.

Maggie didn't know what to make of the fact that not only had Grace not responded to any of Maggie's texts all evening but she'd only tersely responded to Beatrice's. Just enough to assure the sitter she was alive.

Boy, this André guy must be something special
, Maggie thought with annoyance. If it weren't for the fact that Maggie felt like she had something important to do today—try to make a good second impression on Aunt Delphine—she'd probably spend the morning obsessing over what was going on with Grace.

A pigeon launched up from a nearby bench on the sidewalk and startled Maggie. Mila, her eyes wide, laughed and clapped her hands. It was quiet for a Tuesday, Maggie thought. The boulevard was dotted with trees on this stretch heading into the residential section of the Latin Quarter. She knew if she kept walking she'd hit the popular bookstore Gilbert Jeune. Jemmy was at just the right age to enjoy all their colored markers and
cahiers
. Maggie made a mental note to run by there after her visit with Delphine.

She walked up the rue du Bac, marveling that Delphine lived so close to the Musée d'Orsay and imagining that she and Mila might spend an afternoon there with her sometime.

“Who am I kidding?” she said to Mila. “Your daddy's people are just like him. Total Sphinxes, every one of them.”

The weather was fine—for a change not raining—and within moments, Maggie was standing in front of the old and beautifully imposing apartment building. This part of the street had picked up in noise level—between all the tourists and the increased traffic. Maggie was surprised that Delphine's apartment inside had been so quiet

She crossed the interior courtyard and pushed open the double doors that led into the marble foyer. Frowning at the tiny elevator, she decided it was probably just large enough to hold her and the stroller. It would have to. Dragging a stroller up four flights wasn't an option.

She centered the stroller in the elevator, straddled it, then pushed the floor button. She winced at the sound of the creaking gears as the cables haltingly pulled the elevator upwards.

Next time bring the sling
, she thought, holding her breath until the elevator stopped with a lurch on the fifth floor. She threw back the wrought iron grill and pushed the stroller into the hallway.

A part of Maggie knew she probably should have called first. But in her experience, giving people advance notice usually didn't work out in her favor. She knocked on the apartment door, then caught Mila's eye and smiled, hoping the baby's good mood would last for as long as it took Delphine to send them away again.

The door opened and the same sour-faced woman who'd been tidying up yesterday stood there frowning.

“
Oui
?” she said.

Tempted to say she was selling Girl Scout cookies—
I mean, honestly, what does she think I want?—
Maggie kept her smile firmly in place.

“Is Madame Normand at home?” she asked sweetly.

“
Non
,” the woman said and began to shut the door.

“Amelie?” a voice called from the living room. “Who is it?”

Amelie sighed and looked at Maggie.

“I am her niece by marriage,” Maggie said. “Come to pay a visit if she's up to it.”

“Have them come in!” Delphine called.

Amelie let out a snort of disgust and turned away, leaving Maggie to push the stroller into the apartment and shut the door behind her.

Delphine was sitting on the couch in the living room. A large decorative white marble fireplace was behind the couch flanked by twin ancient sconces.

“
Bonjour
, Madame Normand,” Maggie said, her face flushed with hopeful expectation.

“You are my niece by marriage, are you not?” Delphine said, a small smile playing on her lips. Her eyes were on the stroller. “So you must call me Delphine. And who is this?”

Maggie pushed the stroller into the living room and lifted Mila out.

“This is Mila Grace,” Maggie said, settling the baby on her knee. Mila instantly grinned at Delphine. Drool dribbled down her plump cheeks.

“She is beautiful,” Delphine whispered, reaching out a long bony hand to touch the sleeve of Mila's pink cardigan. Delphine seemed entranced by the baby—which Maggie was only too willing to believe since
she
often spent many minutes herself watching Mila with awe.

“Amazing. This is Laurent's child,” Delphine said, her eyes moist. She looked at Maggie. “And you are his wife. So, he is not in prison.”

Wow. Way to come to the point.

“Nope,” Maggie said cheerfully. “Knock on wood.”

Delphine turned to call toward the kitchen. “Amelie! Tea for two.” She glanced back at Mila and smiled. “And cookies!”

M
ichelle squinted
at her disposable phone and punched in the number. She stood at the edge of the platform at the train station at Paris Nord. Most of the beggars had something to offer. One fat man who'd surely missed very few meals sat with two sleeping dachshunds in his lap.

Another old woman played the violin. The dachshund man was doing better even though all he was doing was sitting and holding his dogs. Michelle had heard that the beggars kept pets with them because it ensured they could not be taken to jail.

At least the old woman was trying to give some kind of service for the money she begged.

Would it come to that? If it did what could Michelle offer? As it was, people tended to detour around her even as she walked down the sidewalk. She wasn't blessed with a face that made people want to throw money at it—not in charity, not in lust.

She'd heard cats did well. Most tourists weren't accustomed to seeing cats in the Metro. She'd have to drug them. That wouldn't be a problem. If she overdosed them, she could always get another damn cat. On the other hand drugs were expensive.

The phone rang and Delphine answered in a stronger voice than Michelle had heard in months. For a moment, she thought she'd gotten the wrong number.

“Delphine?” she said.

“Oh, Michelle, leave me alone,” Delphine said with exasperation. “I have no money for you! We are not even related any longer!”

“You took my father's money, Delphine,” Michelle said, feeling the vein in her forehead begin to throb. “Money that you know he intended for me!”

“It is
my
money, Michelle, whatever your father intended. You must accept this.”

Michelle sputtered. “I know your secret, Delphine! You confided in my father and he told me. I will tell the world.”

The silence that stretched between them shot hope into Michelle's chest.

She'd gotten to her!

“I don't want to be ugly about this,” Michelle said as she watched the poor woman playing her violin as people passed her by to throw coins in the dog man's plastic bowl. “But there are still people to be hurt by the truth and you should know that better than anyone.”

“Leave me alone, you horrid creature,” Delphine said, her voice shaking now and weak.

She hung up and Michelle stared at the phone. Her hands were tingling and she felt a lightness in her arms.

It worked,
Michelle thought with satisfaction.
Delphine understands now what is at stake
.

Michelle looked out at the busy swirl of people rushing by her in the train station. She turned to climb the stairs to the streets, swinging her arms as she walked.

It appeared she wouldn't need to find a cat just yet after all.

M
aggie tucked
Mila's blanket up to her chin as the baby slept. She could hear Delphine in the other room on the phone. The door was closed but she heard her voice rise and fall. Maggie frowned. She hoped everything was okay. Perhaps the phone call was with the relatives of the murdered home health nurse?

She and Delphine had carefully not mentioned the death—although they had talked of many things. Amazingly, Delphine had encouraged Maggie to stay for lunch and they had spent a pleasant morning talking.

So far Maggie had learned precisely nothing about Laurent.

Exotic artifacts from around the world graced every tabletop in the main living room giving the apartment a warm homey feel. Nearly every blank space of wall was covered with oil paintings.

South-facing French windows opened to a standing balcony with wrought iron railings that overlooked a green park across the street. Maggie didn't know what park it was or how long it had been there. Everything about the décor of Delphine's apartment said elegance but it also said history.

Paris is old.
You don't need to walk down two streets to be reminded of that
, Maggie thought wryly. The Latin Quarter especially felt steeped in the past. History had happened here. Y
ou felt it in your bones when you walked down the cobblestone streets. Or when you sat in a beautiful Parisian salon like this one
.

When Delphine went to her bedroom to take the phone call Maggie texted Laurent to tell him she was with his aunt. He hadn't responded yet but that didn't mean anything. When Laurent was out in the vineyards, he often didn't bring his phone with him. Plus, he misplaced it more than she would've expected from someone as careful as Laurent.

She suspected it had to do with him not wanting to always be on a tether. Except now that he had children, she might encourage him to rethink that particular habit.

Delphine returned to the room and instantly Maggie saw she was upset. Her face was white and there was a noticeable tremor in her hands.

“Delphine?” Maggie said, standing up. “Are you all right?”

Delphine staggered to the couch where she sat down heavily. “I am well,” she said unconvincingly.

Before Maggie could say more, Amelie came into the room. She had a raincoat on and her handbag. “I'm leaving now,” she said, her eyes on the sleeping baby as if annoyed it was still there.

“Fine, Amelie,” Delphine said.

Maggie watched Amelie leave, heard the sound of the door shut loudly behind her, and then it struck her:
Delphine doesn't want to be alone
.

“When will you be able to hire another home nurse?” Maggie asked.

Delphine looked at her with surprise as if startled that Maggie could read her mind so easily.

“The agency will be sending me candidates by the end of the week.”

“How would you feel if Mila and I stayed with you until then?”

She had no idea the words were even in her head before she heard them come tumbling out of her mouth. She must have looked as surprised as Delphine.

“Are…are you serious?” Delphine asked, her eyes holding the hope and need that Maggie thought she had detected in her earlier.

“I am happy to stay if you think I can be of help.”

Delphine put her hand to her mouth and closed her eyes and when she opened them, she smiled tremulously at the sight of Mila asleep in her stroller.

“I would be so happy if you would…Maggie.”

Maggie couldn't help but wonder who it was on the phone that had upset Delphine so much. She was tempted to ask but held back. She was moving in with Laurent's aunt!
Take things slow. Don't rush it.

As she stood to find the bathroom, Maggie noticed several framed family photographs on the piano in the corner of the room. Unable to harness her curiosity, she went to them.

“Is this some of Laurent's family?” she asked.

Delphine joined her at the piano.

“I'm afraid I have no photos of Laurent's parents. Many things were happening at the time and we lost touch.”

How do you lose touch when you all live in the same city?
Maggie wondered.

“My elder sister Jacqueline had two boys,” Delphine said. “Your husband's father, Robert, and young Nicolas.”

Maggie knew Nicolas was the uncle from whom Laurent inherited Domaine St-Buvard. She had no idea what happened to Robert or Laurent's mother Suzanne. She reached out to touch the silver frame of a young man.

“He's handsome,” she said hopefully.

“Yes,” Delphine said, taking the frame from Maggie and looking at it with a sad smile on her lips. “This is Noel. He is my younger sister's son. Raised by foster parents in Switzerland.”

Oh?
Oh! Family scandal time
. Maggie looked closer at the photo and could see the man had Delphine's mouth so clearly Georgette must have passed on the family similarities. But unlike Delphine, Noel had a sharp, almost hawk-like nose that spoiled his otherwise handsome looks. He was dark haired with an easy smile. Maggie especially liked his eyes.

They were Laurent's eyes.

Delphine put the frame back on the piano.

“It was an unfortunate time,” she said with a sigh. “Georgette was silly and impetuous as younger sisters often are. The father was only sixteen—and Georgette not even that.”

“Well,” Maggie said, not sure what to say to someone of Delphine's generation who tended to take these sorts of things hard. “These things happen.”

Delphine smiled sadly. “Yes, they do,” she said.

A
n hour later
, after Mila had awakened, Maggie stood at the door to leave. She would need to get a few things from Grace's—most of them Mila's—before returning. She planned on picking up dinner on her way back. There were many bistros and restaurants along the way that offered take out service.

She was relieved to see that Delphine seemed to have recovered from her bad phone conversation and Maggie felt confident that she could help her by staying with her. As it was, Delphine was nothing less than fascinated with Mila. Maggie intended to take about a thousand selfies with Mila and Delphine so that, as the years passed, Mila would know she came from this amazing great grand aunt.

As Delphine walked Maggie to the door and waved at little Mila, Maggie mentioned the topic they'd carefully avoided all day.

“I know you must be so upset about what happened to Isla,” Maggie said.

Delphine's smile faded from her face and she glanced in the direction of her bedroom as if remembering the phone conversation.

“I spoke with her parents,” she said, looking away.

“That must have been terrible for you.”

“They were bereft,” Delphine said, looking down at her hands and then up at Maggie's face. Tears gathered in Delphine's eyes. “I cannot imagine the pain of losing a child.”