The Scarlet Suit Murder

by Anisa Claire West

  Chapter 6

  “I thought I would invite Charles and Christine over for dinner,” Annalise said, gesturing for me to take a seat next to the pilot.

  Resisting the urge to scream, WHY, I sat down next to Charles, unwittingly pulling my chair a few inches away from his. Refusing to make direct eye contact with him, I instead glanced across the table at Christine who looked as devastated as she had when I broke the news about Robin’s death.

  “Yes, Annalise thought it would be nice for us to all get together and support each other. Talk and reminisce about Robin,” Christine said, dabbing the corner of her eye with a tissue. “I’ve just been hysterical all day.”

  Charles squirmed uncomfortably in his chair as I obsessed about the secret he was concealing. “Maybe we could just treat this like a business meeting and talk about work instead,” he suggested with a deeply creased brow and stress lines.

  “Talk about work?” Christine balked. “We’ll be back on board tomorrow morning! I don’t want to think about work right now.”

  Through clenched teeth, Charles persisted, “Well, I’m the captain of the ship, so to speak, and I say we talk about work. Some major changes are coming to the airline. I learned about them this morning.”

  “Major changes? Like what?” Christine asked tartly.

  “For one, your job may be eliminated, Christine. Or you might simply be replaced,” Charles informed as Annalise and I collectively gasped.

  Appearing unperturbed, Christine shook out her loose waves and took a spoonful of soup. “Tell me something I don’t know.”

  “Are you saying that Christine is going to be fired?” Annalise asked pointedly.

  “Not fired. There’s just some movement taking place on the staff. The airline has been losing money for a long time, and we have to figure out how to change that without terminating anyone’s employment. Although, I can’t promise that no one will be laid off.”

  “That’s interesting because I was actually thinking of quitting,” I heard myself say. I knew it was foolish to share my vague game plan with my coworker and bosses, but I couldn’t keep it inside me anymore. Without Robin to confide in, I needed to share my thoughts with someone in this lonely city. Paris, famously the City of Lights, was quickly becoming the City of Darkness to me.

  “Why would you quit?” Annalise whined. “Don’t do that!”

  “Did you get an offer from another airline?” Christine inquired, slurping her soup as Charles glared at her.

  “No, I was thinking of leaving the airline industry altogether,” I confessed.

  “But what will you do?” Annalise asked brokenly.

  “Go back home to Pennsylvania. Maybe open up a bed and breakfast.”

  “That takes capital. Do you have the money to open a bed and breakfast?” Charles asked invasively.

  “I have some money saved. And my credit is good, so I should be able to get a loan,” I answered factually, trying not to be defensive. “Plus, I’ve got plenty of experience in the hospitality industry.” I smiled falsely as Christine laughed.

  “Darlin’, if you can handle hundreds of rude clients on each flight, you’ll do fine making nice with a few customers at your bed and breakfast,” Christine said encouragingly.

  “The passengers are rude? Really Christine? Or are you the one who’s rude?” Charles asked coldly as I wondered why he was acting like such a jerk. Was this his misguided way of dealing with his grief over Robin’s demise? Or did his toxic attitude have something to do with the secret he was concealing?

  “You’re in the cockpit, Charles. You don’t have to deal with the public. You have no idea. Trust me, you just have no idea,” Christine said bitterly.

  “She’s right,” Annalise agreed with cautious softness.

  “Thank you, Annalise!” Christine exclaimed.

  Dinner passed like flowers blooming in the desert: slowly, painfully, and truly surreal. Conversation remained strained and focused on corporate policy changes rather than on the tragic loss of our colleague. When Charles and Christine finally departed in a shared cab, I was only too happy to help Annalise clean up.

  “You don’t have to do that! You’re a guest!” Annalise protested as I wiped down the table with a soapy sponge.

  “Stop! You’re being so sweet to let me stay here. The least I can do is earn my keep!” I continued tidying up as Annalise loaded the dishwasher.

  “Are you ready for the flight tomorrow?” She called from the kitchen.

  “Physically, yes. Mentally, no,” I replied gloomily.

  “I know what you mean!” Slipping back into the dining room, she encouraged, “You really should open that bed and breakfast, Natalie. There’s no future with the airline. What kind of promotion can any of us get?”

  “We can get promoted to Christine’s level and that’s about it.”

  “Right, and she seems pretty miserable!” Annalise remarked.

  “She does. And so did Charles tonight. I’ve never seen him act like that,” I said pensively.

  “Neither have I. It seemed like he didn’t want to talk about Robin at all,” Annalise agreed.

  “If I tell you something, do you promise to keep it to yourself?” I stopped sponging the table and posed the question gravely.

  “Of course. Dis-moi! Tell me!”

  “This morning after you and Christine left, Charles stayed behind for a minute. He mumbled something about having a confession to make. But then he acted like I was hallucinating and didn’t hear him right,” I revealed as Annalise’s eyes widened.

  “Vraiment? Really?”

  I nodded vigorously. “Really.”

  “But what kind of confession would he have to make? Do you think he was involved in Robin’s death?” Annalise asked, clearly appalled at the prospect.

  “I don’t know. But I think it’s possible. He’s just not acting like himself.”

  “Should we tell the police?”

  “Tell them what? That our boss is acting weird? That’s no kind of proof. You can’t accuse someone of a crime as serious as murder based on a hunch,” I reasoned.

  “You’re right. We would look silly if we went to the police without any evidence.”

  “Plus, I could be wrong. He may have nothing to do with Robin’s death at all. People react in different ways to tragedies. Maybe this is just his way of coping,” I said, although instinctively I felt that Charles had a pertinent story to tell.

  “Let’s see what happens on the flight to New York tomorrow. We can see how he’s acting,” Annalise suggested, shrugging.

  “Yeah, I think that’s all we can do right now,” I replied helplessly as the doorbell chimed.

  “Who is it at this hour?” Annalise murmured, shuffling over to the door.

  From the dining room, I heard the muffled sound of a man’s voice speaking in rapid-fire French. The timber of the voice sounded oddly familiar. As Annalise walked with the man into the dining room, his identity became readily apparent. My insides crunched like pulverized bricks as I recognized the hard edged face of Detective LeRoi. Had he been following me through Paris and waiting for night to fall to interrogate me again? It seemed like a sneaky but effective tactic. Wait until the suspect is caught off guard and relaxed, then pounce like a ravenous predator!

  “Mademoiselle McGleason,” the detective’s voice betrayed surprise.

  “Bon soir,” I greeted evenly, struggling to control my breath.

  “I didn’t come here to speak with you tonight, but I’m glad to see you. It would be helpful to go through another round of questions. There’s another matter I need to speak with you about as well,” he explained as I slowly allowed myself to exhale.

  “You mean you came here to talk to Annalise?” I clarified, holding my breath again as the second part of his statement registered. Another matter to speak to me about? What did he mean by that?

  “Yes, I’ve been trying to speak to as many of Mademoiselle Yardley’s associates as I can find,” Dete
ctive LeRoi responded impassively.

  “Have you spoken to our pilot, Charles?” I asked curiously.

  “Not yet. He wasn’t in his apartment all day today. I’ve actually been having some trouble tracking him down. Perhaps you ladies know where I can find him?”

  “He just left here,” Annalise revealed. “Charles and our other co-worker, Christine, came over for dinner tonight. I would assume that he went back to his apartment. We have an early flight tomorrow.”

  The detective stroked his chin thoughtfully. “Bon. I’ll head over to his apartment after I speak with you ladies.” Turning to me, the detective added, “Would you excuse us, Mademoiselle McGleason? Police interviews are private. I’ll speak with you afterwards.”

  “Sure,” I mumbled, hurrying down the hallway to the guest room.

  Clicking the door shut, I sat anxiously on the corner of the bed, driving myself crazy trying to figure out what “matter” the detective wanted to speak with me about. He would most likely ask me to reconstruct my alibi to make sure my current story matched with my original one. But after that? The unknown variables infused enough nervous energy in me to a row a boat until dawn on the Seine.

  Picking up the latest issue of Vogue from the nightstand, I listlessly flipped through the pages. Colors and patterns were a blur as my mind fixated on Detective LeRoi’s intentions. Frustrated, I tossed the magazine aside and flipped the TV on to a French news program, Le Journal. A second later, I switched the TV off, agitated further by the dismal stories being broadcast.

  Walking over to the veranda, I opened the sliding doors and stepped outside, staring up at the moonlight. Stars were scarce, and the moon was little more than a pale sliver. Blackness was the theme of the night, and it didn’t help to calm me at all. But the fresh air was therapeutic and I forced myself to take patient, deep breaths.

  “Could I have a word with you?” Detective LeRoi appeared behind me, his thinning hair rustling in the wind.

  “Oh! You scared me!” I exclaimed.

  He chuckled. “That’s funny because someone’s been saying the same thing about you.”

  “Excuse me?” I wrapped my arms around my chest and fought off a shiver.

  “That’s right. Stavros Devlos, your invisible dinner date…apparently he’s not so invisible. He was down at the police station this afternoon and requested a restraining order against you.”

  Chapter 7

  The detective’s eyes exposed a malicious, self-satisfied amusement that cut into me more than the revelation that Stavros had filed a restraining order against me. I was cornered like a mouse shrinking away from a vicious cat. Obviously, Stavros had told the police that I had shown up at his apartment building. How could I explain to the detective that I had simply wanted Stavros to corroborate my alibi? If I told Detective LeRoi that much, I would also need to tell him how I had hacked into my company’s databases in order to uncover the rat’s identity. Unless I could do some quick thinking and formulate a little white lie…

  “I have the paperwork in my vehicle, Mademoiselle McGleason. You’ll need to sign on the dotted line. Sorry it’s not a million dollar check that needs your endorsement,” he sniffed snidely.

  “I don’t understand. Why did Stavros file a restraining order against me?” I played dumb.

  “According to Monsieur Devlos, you’ve been stalking him throughout the city and have shown up numerous times at his apartment.”

  Stalking him?! Numerous times at his apartment? My blood boiled in my veins as I bottled my anger inside. “He’s lying. I only went to his apartment once and that was because he invited me there.” I winced inwardly as the lie poured out like poison.

  “That’s not the story he tells,” Detective LeRoi rejoined.

  “Then it’s just his word against mine. I don’t have to sign anything. I’m not a stalker,” I said obstinately.

  “Monsieur Devlos also claims that he never shared his home address with you. He’s very suspicious as to how you obtained that information.”

  “He did share his address with me when he invited me over to his apartment,” I replied tightly, stirring another lie into the toxic cauldron.

  “I don’t have time to stand here and argue with you, Mademoiselle. I have an investigation to conduct. You can opt not to sign the papers. That’s your prerogative. But I should warn you that you may end up in court, and then it will be the judge’s decision to make,” Detective LeRoi dispassionately advised.

  “Je comprends. I understand. Is that all for tonight?” I asked impatiently.

  “No, I have some other questions I need to ask you before I go.”

  “Such as?”

  “Such as, were you aware of any medications that Mademoiselle Yardley was taking? Any prescriptions or over the counter drugs?”

  I hesitated, recalling how health-conscious Robin had adorably taken a handful of Flintstone vitamins before each flight took off. But medicines? I couldn’t recall. “I don’t remember…but she did have allergies, I think. She could have been on some sort of allergy medication, but I’m really not sure.”

  “What about on the day of her death? Do you recall her swallowing any pills or drinking anything unusual?” Detective LeRoi pressed.

  My thoughts raced to the possibility that Robin could have been poisoned, but I didn’t dare ask Detective LeRoi if he was considering that angle. Surely my question would be sharply rebuked.

  “Are you going to answer my question?” The detective asked testily.

  “Sorry, I was thinking. I don’t remember seeing her take any pills or drink anything. But she wasn’t feeling well during the flight to Paris, so it’s possible that she took some medicine and I just wasn’t aware of it. Maybe you could ask our supervisor, Christine.”

  “I will speak with her. You’re certainly not any help.” Detective LeRoi blew out a frustrated, foul smelling breath that tainted the night air.

  “Do you have any other questions for me?” I asked tersely.

  “Not tonight. But we may have a chat the next time you’re in Paris. When will you be flying back?” The detective asked casually as though we were old buddies.

  Frowning, I protested, “I don’t think I need to share that with you.”

  “It’s just a question. Do you have any reason not to answer it?” He asked meaningfully.

  “No, I don’t. I have nothing to hide. I’ll be flying back one week from today.”

  “Good. Autopsy results should be in by then, and we can get this case solved.”

  “Nothing would make me happier,” I said honestly as the detective bowed his head briefly before strolling off the terrace and into the shadowy night.

  ***

  The flight back to New York was overbooked and crammed with frazzled passengers who pushed and shoved their way down the pencil thin aisle. So much for Paris Rouge Airlines providing a more luxurious flying experience! As an old lady’s carry-on bag slammed into my shin, I vowed to write up a letter of resignation as soon as we landed at JFK Airport. Two weeks notice. Two more itineraries between New York and Paris and I would be free of my stressful stewardess life.

  A wailing baby pierced my eardrums as I plastered a superficial smile on my face to appease the mother. “Cute baby,” I muttered as the mother beamed at me.

  Christine sulked at the stewardess station, not bothering to meet and greet passengers as they boarded. I wondered if she was contemplating a resignation as well. Charles had already hinted at the likelihood that she would be downsized or replaced. I wouldn’t blame Christine at all if she hopped on a connecting flight from New York to Dallas and never looked back.

  “Good morning, ladies and gentlemen. Welcome aboard Paris Rouge Airlines Flight 192 with non-stop service from Paris to New York. This is your pilot speaking…” As Charles launched into his monologue over the speaker system, I could discern a nervous fluttering of his voice from a low octave to a higher one.

  I wondered if Detective LeRoi had spoken to him last
night, or if Charles had escaped questioning once again. Either way, I had a few questions of my own to ask the pilot as soon as our smelly little airbus touched down on the tarmac.

  “How are you holding up?” Christine approached me from behind, placing a supportive hand on my shoulder.

  “I’ve been better.”

  “Me too. Let’s just get this flight over with.” Christine rolled her eyes.

  “Tell me about it,” I replied with a groan.

  As the TV monitors lowered to eye level for the passengers to pretend to watch the safety demonstration, I took the opportunity to share my concerns about Charles.

  “Have you noticed that Charles has been acting strange lately?” I asked quietly.

  “Yeah, he’s really stressed about all the changes going on at the airline,” Christine responded nonchalantly.

  “Maybe that’s part of it, but I think it’s something else. I think something is bothering him about Robin’s death,” I whispered.

  “Well darlin’, Robin’s death has been bothering all of us!”

  “That’s not what I mean…never mind,” I sighed. “Has Detective LeRoi been hounding you the way he’s been hounding me?”

  “Hounding you? Don’t tell me that he’s suspicious of you!”

  “Of course he is. I was the last person to see Robin alive and I was the one to find her dead!” I reminded, swallowing a rush of emotion.

  “Oh right, that’s true! And you two were roommates! What a mess this all is!” Christine shook her head sympathetically.

  “To put it mildly,” I muttered. “I think the detective might suspect that someone poisoned Robin. Do you remember if she took any pills or drank anything? I remember when I offered her some aspirin, she said no. But did she take anything for her dizziness and upset stomach?”

  “Not that I recall. I think she just wanted to sleep it off,” Christine replied. “Come on now, time to get the beverage carts ready. We can’t dilly dally. Too many rude people waiting to bite our heads off!” She rolled her eyes again as I followed her to assist with the drinks.