Assault and Beret

by Jenn McKinlay

  “All right, before we all get soggy and useless, let’s figure out how we can make this happen,” I said.

  “Lucas, eh, Mr. Martin, can help,” Suzette said. “He invited me to the opening of an art installation at the Musée Rouge. Anyone who is anyone in the art world will be there.”

  “Most likely including Emile St. James and the Brouillard women,” Harrison said. “Great, how do we get in?”

  * * *

  “This was not really what I had in mind when I agreed to go undercover,” Nick said. “I definitely had something much more Double-O-Seven in mind.”

  “No complaining now,” Andre said as he straightened Nick’s bow tie. “People never see the help; we’ll be able to eavesdrop much more effectively disguised as waiters.”

  Nick heaved a beleaguered sigh.

  “And if you see Mrs. Brouillard, avoid her at all costs,” I said. “If she recognizes you, the whole thing could blow up in our faces.”

  “Right. Ready, gang?” Harrison asked. He was our leader as he spoke French the best and could give us our assignments from our boss.

  “We’re on canapé duty,” Harrison said. “So heft your tray and go mingle. Remember, you’re listening for any mention of Will’s name particularly from either of the Brouillard women or St. James. Keep an eye on who they speak with, and if you can manage it, take a picture so we can try and identify some of the players.”

  Nick and Andre gave a nod and shouldered their trays, marching out into the crowd like good little soldiers.

  “Thanks,” I said to Harry before we left the kitchen. “We couldn’t do this without you, and I’m pretty sure it’s above and beyond anything in your job description as our business manager.”

  “I’m not doing it for the job,” he said. The look he gave me scorched and it was a good thing we were in the kitchen and near a fire extinguisher because I was pretty sure I was about to go up in flames.

  “Ginger—” he began but the event planner interrupted.

  A stream of verbally abusive French came out of her mouth as she shouted at Harrison and me.

  “Okay, good talk,” Harrison said. He jerked his head at the door and we both grabbed our trays and trooped out into the massive gallery.

  The space was huge but then it would have to be. The canvases that this artist painted on were massive, ten feet high and twice as wide. Sadly, they weren’t really to my taste.

  It was a female artist, known only as Canelo. Her preoccupation with the female form came out in her work, or at least that’s what I figured, given that the very first piece I saw was a giant boob. No lie, I was nose to nipple with a breast the size of a midsize car.

  “Wow,” I said. I had to hit the brakes to avoid slamming into Harrison, Nick and Andre, who stood all in a line, staring at the ta-ta like it had an immobility ray shooting out of it.

  “Guys! It’s just a girl part,” I said. “Two of you don’t even like girl parts. Snap out of it.”

  “Sorry, love,” Nick said. “It’s just that suddenly I have the strongest urge for a glass of milk.”

  Harrison snorted and I wagged a finger at him and said, “Don’t. Don’t do it.”

  “I can’t help it, it’s a titillating piece,” he said.

  Andre guffawed, and I frowned at him.

  “Stop it,” I said. “Focus on our purpose.”

  “You’re right. Sorry, it’s just truly the breast painting I’ve ever seen,” Andre said. The others snickered.

  “I am leaving you here, idiots,” I said. I lifted my tray and started to walk, hissing over my shoulder, “Get moving or this whole event will be a big bust.”

  They blinked at me and then the three of them started laughing. Oh. My. God. The one time I wasn’t even trying to keep up with the word play, and I score the winner. Figures.

  I left the boys and worked my way through the crowd, keeping an eye out for Marie Brouillard and Emile St. James.

  I saw Suzette, looking lovely in a ruby-colored fit-and-flare cocktail dress, holding Lucas’s arm as they moved about the room with Viv and Alistair following them. Lucas, too, looked very handsome in a charcoal gray suit with a black dress shirt, both of which made the silver in his hair look distinguished instead of old.

  It had been decided that it would make sense for Viv to be with Lucas and Suzette since she was teaching at the school and living at Suzette’s. Meanwhile Lucas was introducing Alistair as an old friend from London who was interested in buying very high-priced pieces of art with the subtle mention that he didn’t particularly care if they were aboveboard or not.

  Alistair leaned close to Viv and said something while they stood in front of a piece that was clearly a butt cheek. I wondered if they were making puns or if that sort of behavior was left to my immature crew. Judging by the way Viv blushed at his words, I had a feeling they were completely unaware of the big behind looming over them.

  Alistair looked amazing as always, in a black suit with a crisp white dress shirt beneath it, no tie. His dark hair contrasted brilliantly against Viv’s pale blond curls, and in her form-fitting heather gray sweater dress, which was cut low in the front and the back, they looked like the most glamorous couple in the room.

  Except they weren’t a couple. I found that bothersome. As much as I liked Will, Alistair was more devoted to Viv’s happiness. I couldn’t see Alistair marrying Viv on a whim and then disappearing back to his work when she ditched him. No, Alistair was the sort who showed up and fought it out, never giving in until all hope was lost. I liked that about him.

  For a moment, I almost went over to check in with them, but then I thought better of it. If this was the last night that Alistair got to have Viv by his side, I was not going to ruin it for the poor guy.

  I circled the room, passing Harry once, Andre twice, and never seeing Nick at all. When my tray was empty, I worked my way, the long way, around the room to get back to the kitchen. Smatterings of conversation buzzed in my ears but I didn’t see or hear anything of note. I hoped the others were more successful than I was; otherwise this plan really would be a waste. I saw another boob picture out of the corner of my eye. Oh, brother.

  Near the kitchen, I noted there was a door half open, leading to another part of the gallery. I wondered if the party had expanded, and if so, were any of the caterers working that room?

  I pushed the door wide just to see and then I gasped. Marie Brouillard was in deep conversation with Emile St. James. This was it! This was what we’d been waiting for. I had to hear what was being said. I needed a picture. I dug my hand into my pocket to retrieve my phone. I noticed my hands were shaking from the adrenaline surge that hit me like a punch to the back of the head. Oh, wait, that really was a punch to the head.

  The last thing I saw was the floor rushing up to meet me.

  Chapter 24

  I woke up with a pounder of a headache. A dull throb at the base of my skull mixed in with jolts of pain coming from my temples. It took me a second to realize I was facedown on an upholstered couch. Not the one in our apartment in Suzette’s building, no, this was scratchier and lumpier.

  It was bright in the room and I blinked. It hurt my eyeballs to have all that light shining in my direction. I kept blinking, trying to block some of the light as I got used to it.

  The smell of cigarette smoke curled my nose hair. I pushed off the couch even though it made my head hurt that much more.

  Colette was sitting in a nearby chair. She had her hair teased up on top of her head. She stubbed out her cigarette when she saw me rise and I wondered if she’d lit it specifically to wake me.

  “What do you want with me?” I asked. I was going for the age-old play-dumb trick. It had worked before.

  “You were looking for me, yes?” she said. “I thought I’d make it easy.”

  “Why would I be looking for you?” I asked. I tried to m
ake it sound ridiculous with the hope that perhaps she’d let me go if she thought I knew nothing.

  “Don’t be coy,” she said. “You know why.”

  “No, I really don’t,” I said. Because I can be stubborn like that.

  “Suit yourself,” she said. She rose from her seat and left the room. I heard a latch lock the door after her. Rats!

  I glanced around the room, looking for a weapon, an escape hatch, an excuse, anything to get me out of here. Art canvases were stacked up against the wall in one corner while sealed boxes had been shoved all along the wall. Were all of these items stolen? I had once read that art museums typically only display about five percent of the art they own. That left an awful lot of work to be stuffed in storage, warehouses, attics, vaults and who knew where else with no one the wiser if the pieces were stolen since the paintings rarely saw the light of day anyway.

  I suspected that was what Colette and Marie banked on, literally. I reached into my pocket, hoping that by some small miracle my phone would be there. No such luck. I wondered how long I’d have to wait until Colette came back, and then I wondered if I should punch her in the eye. It seemed as good a place as any.

  The door opened and I braced myself, thinking I’d launch myself at her and start swinging, the element of surprise and all. As the door was flung wide, I jumped up and began windmilling my fists, hoping to catch her on the chin or the temple and knock her out.

  My plan was partially successful. I clipped the person who entered and he let out a grunt before ducking to avoid my next blow, which was when I recognized him.

  “Will? Will, is that you?” I cried. I dropped my fists.

  “Scarlett,” he said, rubbing his jaw. “Nice punch.”

  “I’m sorry,” I said. “I didn’t know it was you. Thank goodness you’re here. We’ve all been looking for you. Are you all right?”

  I stepped close to give him a hug. I was so relieved to see him. Viv was going to be so happy to know that her husband was alive. He didn’t hug me back. In fact, he held me back with the business end of a very large knife.

  “What’s going on?” I asked. The sinking feeling in my stomach was sending up flares of the truth, that Will was involved in all this, but I didn’t want to acknowledge it. Not yet.

  His eyes, which had always seemed so kind before, were flat and cold.

  “How did you know I was here?” I asked. “How do you know Colette?”

  As if my words had conjured her, Colette appeared in the doorway, looking terrifying with her sly smile. She tossed her phone onto the table by the door and stalked Will, pushing him up against the door frame. I was about to warn him away, but then I noticed he was smiling at her as if she was his best girl. What the what?

  She launched herself at him, and he caught her. She wrapped her legs around his waist and he clutched her to him. Then they kissed in a clash of mouths and tongues that would have been more appropriate in a porno film. Not here. Not in front of me. I felt vomit creep up the back of my throat.

  It all came into focus now, and it took me out at the knees. Will was in on it, all of it; Will and Colette were two sides of the same evil coin. Colette had the Brouillard family connection and he had the influence in the world of fine art insurance. As far as I could tell, they were a match made in criminal heaven.

  Poor Viv, this was a nightmare. While the gruesome twosome were engrossed in each other in a show that I was certain was meant for me, I figured I had two choices—get to the door and run for it, or use the phone Colette had just dropped on the table and call for help.

  I went for the phone. I snatched it and turned my back on them as if I just couldn’t bear to watch. The phone didn’t require a passcode, thank God, so she must have just used it and didn’t shut it off. I quickly went to the message icon and opened it. I tapped in Harrison’s number.

  “Oh, my God,” I cried over my shoulder, trying to make them think that I was sickened by their public display of ew, not a lie. “I feel ill.”

  I typed two words—“yellow door”—to Harrison, hoping he would get the message and know that it was from me, and I hit Send. When I turned around, keeping the phone behind my back, Will was staring at me. How had I ever thought he was nice or kind when the look he sent me was so full of contempt and dislike, clearly he thought me the dull-witted sap he had played me for.

  “So, Scarlett, meet the wife,” he said. Colette disentangled herself from him and then used her thumb to wipe the smear of her red lipstick off his mouth.

  “You two are married?” I asked. Okay, that was a surprise.

  “Seven years now,” Will confirmed. “We met here in Paris in art school.”

  “Seven years? So, Viv . . . you’re not . . .” Shock made me stutter.

  “Me married to a hat maker? Hell, no,” Will said. He glanced at his wife with lust in his eyes. “I need a woman who is a bit more interesting than that.”

  “But you slept with her!” I cried. I looked at Colette. This did not appear to be news to her. “Doesn’t that mean anything?”

  “We do what we must,” Colette said. She gave a shrug and I got the feeling they shared an open relationship. Oh, horror!

  “Why?” I asked. I looked at Will. “Why use Viv like that?”

  “I needed her to get some stolen artwork across the Scottish border for me,” he said. “She was so eager to run away and get married, I obliged. Pathetic, really.”

  “So, that’s why you never came after her,” I said. “The marriage was a fraud and you didn’t love her at all.”

  He shrugged as if Viv’s feelings were less than nothing to him. My heart knotted up in my chest like a fist. This son of a bitch had played on my cousin’s grief and used her as little more than a getaway driver. I wanted to hurt him, really, really badly.

  I looked at Colette, who was draped around her man like a scarf. Gag. “What does your mother think about all this?”

  “My mother?” she asked. She looked confused.

  “Marie Brouillard,” I said. “She is your accomplice, Colette Brouillard Deneau, right?”

  Colette looked at Will and then she laughed, long and loud, sort of like a donkey braying in a pasture.

  “I told you it would work,” she said to him. At my confused look, she added, “I’m not a Brouillard. I used to work for them as a maid, back when they could afford domestic staff. I was also an art student. While working at the Brouillards’, I discovered that many of the paintings that had been bequeathed by Estelle were still in the family home.

  “Marie insisted they were copies but I had Will authenticate a few of them, and that’s when I knew. Estelle had been quite the naughty art patron. She had obviously hired someone to steal the paintings back from the museum and then told her family she’d had copies made. There is a fortune in art in the Brouillard estate, so I helped myself to a few of the pieces. I knew if I posed as a Brouillard, I would be able to sell them for a much higher price.”

  “And you were a part of this?” I asked Will.

  “I had some debt. My dream of being an artist had died. Colette was working for the Brouillards and convinced me to sell just one piece to start,” he said. “We netted a sweet three million off a small Monet. Life was good.”

  “But expensive,” Colette said with a pout. “So we knew we needed to do it again.”

  “My job with the insurance company helped me connect with the players on the black market,” Will said. “And Colette got the idea to create a new identity as Colette Brouillard Deneau, giving us some cred. The Renoir was to be our big score before we retire to Belize.”

  Criminals. These two were hardened criminals. I knew with a certainty that whatever they had in mind for me, it was not good. The phone in my hand was heavy. I knew I had to get rid of it before Colette noticed it was missing from the table. Still, I had to keep them talking.

&nbs
p; “But the Renoir didn’t go as expected,” I said. “First Jacques Reyer messed it up by buying it from the bouquiniste before you could, and then when he found out the value, he refused to let go of his claim on it. Is that why you killed him?”

  My heart was in my throat, making my voice tight, and I was having a hard time breathing.

  “Scarlett, I’m shocked,” Will said. “Do you really think I could kill a man over something like a painting?”

  I studied him. He looked like pure evil and my skin crawled. My voice was little more than a whisper. “Yes, I do.”

  “Well, you’re wrong,” he said. He grabbed Colette and kissed her. “This little spitfire is the one who clobbered Reyer with the statue, didn’t you, lover?”

  Again, gag.

  Colette was looking at Will as if she was a little bit afraid of him and as if she worshiped him. It was disturbing. It was then that I knew who was the leader and who was the follower. Will was in charge of all of this. That’s why Colette killed Reyer, likely because Will told her to.

  “Yes, I did,” Colette said. She turned to look at me with the craziest eyes I had ever seen. “And I’ll kill you, too.”

  Now I was shaking.

  “Now, now, lover,” Will said. His voice was soothing as he planted a kiss on her temple. “We need her, at least for the moment.”

  Colette pouted and then grabbed him by the shirt and kissed him. As they were engrossed in their make-out session, I took the opportunity to drop the phone back onto the little table, and what the hell, I decided to make a run for it.

  Chapter 25

  I got halfway out the door before Colette landed on my back, taking me to the floor. My knees and hands hit hard, and I yelped. She grabbed me by the back of my hair and pulled me up to my feet, delivering a solid knee to my thigh and making my leg go numb.