The Grandfather Clock (28 page)

Celeste sighed. “Honestly, what’s the
worst thing that can happen now? So we don’t get the gun back.
It’ll turn up. We come out with the story in the newspapers and
they won’t have options.”

“
And I go back to tending
bar in New Orleans.”

Klara looked down when I said that. I
don’t know if she had totally forgiven me, or Celeste for that
matter, but I could see she cared. Aside from the fact that I hated
the idea of losing the gun to Marco and a band of Nazi thieves, I
was chasing the gun because I wanted to stay in Paris.

The pancakes left me nauseated. We
slowly made our way back to the hostel where Klara and Celeste had
arranged for a private room. I plugged in my phone and my computer.
We had a plan with more moving parts than I liked. We needed
Marianne to tip off Marco that the Louvre would contact him, to
make him believe that Dr. Desjardins was approaching as a
legitimate buyer. A lot could go wrong. And the plan had beginning,
but no end. If successful, we would flush out the gun again, but
they were dangerous. Perhaps I was meant to die in that trunk. What
would they do if given a second chance?

“
I think you should call
Marianne,” Klara said when Celeste went to take a
shower.

She was right. We were asking for her
help to lend the plan credibility, and the gun would be safe if I
had listened to her. I dialed the number.

“
Marianne,” I said, my
voice still weak.

“
Michael?” she said in an
alarmed voice. “Are you okay? Celeste said you were badly
hurt?”

“
I’ll be okay,” I said.
“Listen, I’m sorry. I’m sorry for not putting the tromblon in the
safe. I was afraid I would never…”

“
It’s done, Michael. I
understand why and now we deal with it,” she said.

“
I had it in my hands
before they caught me,” I said. “I think we still have a chance to
get it.”

“
Have you lost your mind?
Do not lead Celeste and Klara into harm’s way,” she
said.

“
It’s Celeste’s idea. We
are going to ask Dr. Desjardins to contact Marco. He’ll tell him
that the Louvre is willing to work with them discretely. Offer
cover for their version of how they got the gun. We need you to
call Marco and demand he talk to us, and not listen to the
Louvre.”

“Because you think he’ll do the
opposite,” Marianne said.

“Yes. Because he resents your
disapproval of him.”

I was off the phone when Celeste
walked out of the shower, barely covered by one of the hostel’s
tiny towels, as if she were that comfortable with me. I could see
Klara tense up. A part of me wondered if Celeste was still playing
her game, or if it was an honest mistake. I caught Klara’s eye and
shook my head knowingly. She gave me a frown I pondered until I
fell asleep.

“
How long should we let
him sleep?”

It was Celeste’s voice. The light in
the window was dim. Dawn or dusk? I cracked my eyes open. Klara was
squeezed onto the bed next to me with the computer open. Her light
brown hair was down over her bare shoulders. She was wearing a
white camisole that she often wore under her shirts. She might have
two or three just like it. It was an image that sent me back to her
little apartment in Paris. I wanted to be there.

I attempted to smile. Pain shot though
the side of my mouth.

“
How do you
feel?”

“
Worse,” I managed to
say.

She handed me the prescription bottle.
“Just take one,” she said. “Stop being so tough.”

Within a few minutes the pain had
lessened and I felt an uneasy high. Waves of nausea folded into
fleeting moments of euphoria. I never liked pain pills, but this
was better than doing without. Klara helped me into the shower. If
my nose hadn’t been full of blood I might have realized how bad I
smelled. The hot shower was perfect. It felt good to wash the edges
of my wounds. Remove the remnants of crusted blood around my
stitches. My lip had already reduced in size, the raw cut less
visible, but it was still not quite normal. My torso was a sick
mixture of purple and black. Anything more than a shallow breath
was painful.

In the bathroom alone, Klara whispered
encouragement as she helped me into my clothes. Her soft French
words were soothing. “There you go.” “You’re already getting
better.” “We’re going to be okay.” I wondered exactly what she
meant.

She gave me a brief, gentle kiss on
the lips. I just looked at her. I wished we had some privacy to
have a longer conversation.

“
I meant it,” she said. “I
do love you.”

“
I love you, too,” I
said.

“
We’re going to be okay?”
she said again, only this time it was a question.

“
Yes,” I said.

When we emerged from the bathroom,
Celeste was returning to the room.

“
I talked to my mother,”
she said. “She was touched that you called her. I asked her to call
Desjardins first thing in the morning, because it will be so early
here.”

“
I hope this works,” Klara
sighed.

“
Let’s get a drink,”
Celeste said.

The idea of a drink made my stomach
turn. Ever since my body was pulled out of rental car trunk I’d
been fed pain killers. I was coming out of that fog and even the
best drink was repulsive. I struggled to finish a beer while Klara
and Celeste drank red wine. Celeste was actually having fun. She
was connecting with the music and she looked like a student on
break. Klara was drinking to suppress her anxiety. I was acutely
aware that she was still coping with the news that the man she
loved had slept with her best friend and was calling it a
“mistake.”

The second beer went down easier. I
marveled at the carefree lives of the backpackers enjoying the
camaraderie of the hostel. Everything seemed so simple.

Celeste left to use the restroom.
Klara leaned in with a low voice, “I hate to say this about my
friend, but I don’t trust her.”

I shook my head. “I know, I
know.”

“
No, not that. I’m not
talking about you. I’m talking about her mother. This plan.
“

“
What do you
mean?”

“
Her mother contacting
Desjardins, when you’re the one who had been working with him the
entire time.”

“
What could they do?” I
was too out of sorts to play through the scenarios in my
mind.

“
Michael, remember that
you deceived Marianne in the first place. Perhaps the best way for
the Chateau Malmaison to benefit from the Tromblon de Napoleon is
for her to cut you out of it. Marco, Celeste. They can make that
happen.”

“
I think you’re being
paranoid. You think Celeste came all this way to...”

Celeste returned with another round of
drinks.

“
How are you feeling,
Michael? You look like you need something stronger than beer.” She
walked back to the bar where three shot glasses were waiting for
her.

“
No shots,” I
said.

“
Come on.”

“
I’m on pain medicine,” I
protested.

“
Just one. Take the pain
away.”

I looked at Klara, who quickly did her
shot, and then to Celeste’s surprise, took my shot too.

I woke the next morning feeling a
little better. I was up before 5:00 because I didn’t want the
morning in France to get away from us. My face was now the correct
size, even if it was still a rainbow of colors on one side. To my
surprise Celeste was not in the room.

Klara began to stir and gave me a
puzzled look when she noticed Celeste’s empty bed.

I whispered, “Klara, I know you are
suspicious. But even if you are right, we can’t let her think that
we don’t trust her.”

“
I have to follow my
instincts.”

There was a coldness in the way she
said that. I was in a bad spot. I wasn’t thinking sharply, the
aftereffects of a concussion and medication. Celeste was running
things and Klara was isolating herself.

Celeste returned and informed us that
Dr. Desjardins was in meetings, but that he was willing to pose as
an agent from the Louvre. The story was that someone inside the
Malmaison had tipped him off that the gun was missing and they
wanted to leave me out of it. Born of a rivalry in the museum
world, the Louvre would buy it and keep it from being returned to
Monaco. She said that Marco was told to meet a Louvre
representative in the town square that evening.

I retrieved Dr. Desjardins’ phone
number from my email and waited for an opportunity to call. Celeste
seemed to be trying to reach Marco. Each time she’d fail and Klara
would roll her eyes. I suggested we track down the soccer facility.
Celeste didn’t like the idea. We were wasting time.

I tried to loosen my ankle. I was
beginning to get used to the crutch. “I’m going to call my
brother,” I said. “He’s probably up by now.”

But I dialed Desjardins.

“
Bonjour,” came his quick
answer.

“
Dr. Desjardins. It’s
Michael Chance.”

“
Mr. Chance,” he said.
“How are you doing? Any luck in Bariloche?”

“
Good luck and bad. I
found the gun, actually had it in my hands. Then it didn’t go so
well.”

“
Oh? You had it? Are they
trying to sell it?”

I was flooded with disappointment.
“You have talked to Marianne. Demers.”

“
Marianne? No.”

Klara was right.

“
Dr. Desjardins,” I said,
still contemplating, “how would you like to help me out? You might
be the hero of this story.”

“
I’m
intrigued.”

“
I need you to make a
phone call for me, and set a meeting…”

That afternoon we made the drive out
of the city to Llao Llao, the alpine hotel that was to have been my
original meeting place with Oskar and Marco. Klara had secured a
Fiat. She commented that it was a good choice for me because it had
a hatchback and it wasn’t a Volkswagen. The hotel was as Stephen
King might imagine a Patagonian mountain lodge. Majestic and eerie,
it dominated a high piece of land almost completely surrounded by
water. It was the sort of place that tourists visit just to see,
even if they aren’t staying, but it was not ski season, so it
wasn’t busy.

We told Celeste that we should go
there on the off chance that Oskar was connected to the place.
Perhaps someone there could help us find him. I thought we might be
able to ask some innocent questions and maybe catch a break. It was
a weak excuse, but we were dead in the water. Celeste didn’t mind
the excursion, because it was clearly heading in the wrong
direction. Klara and I were on the same page. The longer we were
idle, the slimmer the chance of retrieving the gun.

The wood-adorned lobby reminded me of
the lodge at the Grand Canyon. The place was impressive. It was
3:00 when we arrived. We took a seat at the bar. I ordered a cup of
coffee while the girls had wine. For ten minutes we feigned
surveillance of the lobby, making notes of the employees, hoping
someone might be helpful. The bartender was likely the most
knowledgeable, but might be less likely to be open. It went with
the territory. The concierge? No. The bellman? Maybe our best bet
was the front desk. Underpaid, overworked, and resentful of other
positions in the hotel.

He walked in at 4:55. Five minutes
early, Marco was checking his watch, tennis bag over his shoulder.
Then Oskar. My heart sank. He wasn’t supposed to be there, but I
figured he would show. Celeste had her back to them, and we were
tucked where, if we were lucky, they might not see us right away. I
nervously pulled out my phone and Klara made an awkward attempt at
casual conversation, to keep Celeste’s eyes off the
door.

“
Yes,” I said into the
phone, “I’m a guest in the hotel. I’m embarrassed to say that I
keep my valuables in a tennis bag. I can’t seem to find
it.”

“
What room are you
in?”

“
What room is this? I’m
not sure. Listen, I’ll come down to the desk. I have a photo of
it.”

“
I will alert the bellmen
and valet. I’m very sorry sir. I’m sure it is just
misplaced.”

Celeste gave me a confused
look.

I stood up. “Stay here, Celeste.” I
hobbled around the edge of short wall dividing the bar from the
lobby and caught Marco and Oskar by surprise.

“
Before you try to walk
out of here, hotel security is looking for a man with a tennis bag.
I suggest you go sit with Celeste at the bar.”

Marco had a look of shock. Oskar’s was
anger.

“
Go,” I said.

“
Marco?” Celeste was
puzzled. “What’s going on?”

He looked at her with the same
confusion. Klara struggled to suppress a smile.

I leaned on one crutch and stared at
Marco, while Oskar looked around nervously.

“
Celeste?” Marco offered
feebly.