by John Farrow
“Don’t be graphic,” Sandra whispered, and he would have obeyed, but he was done. She looked satisfied though, she’d heard enough.
Cinq-Mars looked across then at Hartopp and silently they accepted that their mutual agreement had also been fulfilled. They were finished here.
At the door, the agents shook hands with Cinq-Mars, only to have Sandra swish by them to pour coffee for the other men and to feed them cookies. They weren’t going to get out of here without experiencing hospitality on Canadian soil, even if she was a born and bred American herself. Everyone seemed quite grateful. When she was done—and only when she was done—the caravan prepared to move out, and Sandra joined her husband on the porch to watch it go.
“We got the call,” she said. She looked at him and smiled. “From the vet. Merlin’s ready to come home. We pick him up at four.”
He released a deep, slow breath, and smiled back at her.
Waiting, Cinq-Mars let his eyes cross the paddock, observing the horses in an early spring frolic. Merlin was coming home to carry through on his old age, but the horses, what of them? Would they be staying? Would he and Sandra be saying goodbye to all this and letting them go? Now was no time for such a major decision, but he knew that it weighed on Sandra as much as it did on him, and events of the last weeks might have reached a tipping point, precipitating a crucial change in their lives.
If he held to Sandra, and she to him, then he’d adapt to whatever came next.
The final car made the turn in the mud of their yard and headed out, and the couple turned back inside. They collapsed on the sofa, then napped sitting up for twenty minutes before Cinq-Mars extricated himself to make a phone call from his den.
“Dupree,” he said when the New Orleans detective answered.
“How’re they hanging, Émile?” That wasn’t quite how Cinq-Mars understood the phrase and it made him laugh. Dupree had that knack.
“I called to fill you in and give you that advice you were looking for. Go ahead, Dupree. Hire Everardo. It’s always a decent thing to give a good man a good job.”
This time, Dupree was the one who seemed most amused.
“What’s so funny?”
“I already set it up, Émile. You must be slipping. For the first time in our brief history together, I’m ahead of you.”
“Good man,” Cinq-Mars said, and he laughed, too.
“So I guess you’ve heard about our Miami boys by now. We’re bringing them back here for a chat.”
“That’ll make you more popular than ever within your department.”
“Oh it might. Or make the department a little smaller. Open up a spot for Flores. So how are you, Émile? Heard y’all been defying death. And how’s Sandra holding up? You’ve been putting her through it, my man.”
“Sandra and I are both counting on her resilience, but it’s being tested. As for me, I cut it a little close this time. This retirement of mine is more dangerous than being on the job ever was.”
“I hear that.”
“Do you know what she did, my lovely wife? She saved our lives.”
“I didn’t hear. Tell me.”
“When Rand Dreher was in the house, ranting away, getting set to kill us, she coaxed him into letting her use the bathroom. In there, she took the lock off the small window, opened it for a second and stuck out a long flag of toilet paper to blow in the breeze. Grace under pressure. She closed the window again with the paper jammed in it. The powder room window has opaque glass, of course. Dreher couldn’t see her flag. But our rescuer, my old partner, didn’t have to waste time finding access into our home. Otherwise, I’m a dead man now.”
“Émile,” Dupree said, and he whistled. He marveled at Sandra’s acumen. “Do you know what y’all should do, after she goes and saves your shabby life?”
Cinq-Mars chuckled again. He liked this guy. “What should we do, Dupree?”
“Take a vacation. Y’all allowed back now. Come on down to New Orleans. We’ll warm you up. Feed your bones good food. Get y’all out chasing alligators, something easy like that for a change.”
“That might be the best advice I’ve heard lately. I may bring that up.”
“Do it, Émile. I’m serious. I bet our friend Everardo can get the Hilton to donate a room. After what happened last time, they should be willing. And after what you put her through, how she saved you, your wife, she deserves it. Big time.”
Cinq-Mars mulled it over. The idea had its appeal. “I may go for something a little more interesting next time, with respect to accommodation. Now that I have someone to guide me to a good spot, why not?”
“You found the Hilton boring? I personally had a great time.”
“I’m glad you were entertained, Dupree.”
“Sounds like a plan, Émile. Y’all should make it happen.”
Émile spun his head around to thinking that he might do just that. This conversation alone felt good. More than cheerful, it felt lively and restorative. As though time, which had taken a breather, which had been standing still for him for days while his heart, so he felt, was stopped, might again begin to tick away the minutes, bring on new days and nights, and resume once more its own familiar sure rhythm. Besides, he could have a drink with his new pal Pascal Dupree, although not at Sinners Too, and be shown around the town. That sounded not only beneficial, but necessary.
“Come to think of it,” Émile suggested, “I could go down and identify those Miami boys for you. If you say it’s necessary, that might be best.”
“Ah? Y’all fishing for a good excuse? All right then, Émile. I can hand that out. We need y’all down here lickety-split, all right? Get your ass in gear.”
He could detect the other man’s smile and presumed it matched his own.
“All right,” Émile told him. “If you insist, we’ll both go down there. If I have to discharge my duty as an ordinary citizen, Sandra might as well come along.”
“That’s the stuff, Émile. Y’all talking now. Anyway, you’re safer with her than without her. That much is clear.”
Cinq-Mars responded in kind to the other man’s jibes. “If I get down there, Dupree, I might as well clean up the NOPD. What do you think?”
“Bring a mop and a bucket, Émile, and get to work. Why not?”
The two men heard each other chuckle. That felt good. By the time he put the phone down, the retired detective was doing what retired people are supposed to do, dreaming of his next journey, the adventure oncoming.