by Mary McHugh
Ahmet almost dropped the bottle of champagne but recovered quickly. He put his hand to his ear. “Oh, I took it off when I went for my haircut this morning,” he said. “I’m glad you reminded me. I’ll get it back tomorrow.” He put the glasses down in front of us, bowed, and went back to the kitchen.
“I must be wrong,” I said. But I knew I was right. And Alan was covering up for him. It couldn’t be. Alan couldn’t be involved in murder—two murders actually. He was too—what?—too normal. I must be mistaken to even think that. The logical side of my brain took over: What is normal anyway? Most killers probably look normal most of the time. Except when they’re actually murdering someone.
Alan took my chin in his hand and kissed me lightly. “A natural mistake,” he said. “I’ve seen a lot of Indian men in Paris wearing a gold earring similar to that one.”
My mind kept shouting at me, Then why wasn’t Ahmet wearing his tonight? The other part of my brain tried to calm me down. Because he left it at the barber’s, it said. Believe that and you’ll believe you speak fluent French, the crazy side said. I took a sip of the champagne.
Alan was watching me closely. “Surely you don’t think I’d hire a murderer to be the host of my club,” he said with a tight smile.
“Of course not, Alan,” I said. “I’m obviously mistaken.” I looked around the club and realized we were the only two people in the room.
“Where is everybody tonight?” I said.
“It’s still early,” Alan said. “Most people don’t eat until eight or nine. What would you like to eat?”
“You decide,” I said to him. “Anything is fine.”
Alan waved to Ahmet, who was standing across the room.
“Ahmet, we’ll have the shrimp bisque first and then the quail veronique. And if we have room, a chocolate soufflé for dessert.”
“Oui, monsieur,” he said, gathering up our menus and heading for the kitchen.
“Sounds lovely,” I said. “What’s veronique?”
“It means it’s made with green grapes. Light and delicious. The chef browns the quails in butter, then cooks them in white wine, adds the grapes and almonds, and cooks them some more until they are tender and incredibly good. You’ll love it.”
Alan poured me another glass of champagne. “The chef here is one of the best in Paris,” he said. “I stole him from another restaurant.”
“Sounds delicious,” I said. I was distracted. I couldn’t keep my mind on the food. I kept thinking about the earring. “Do you think Captain Chantal will let you leave for New York with Suzette this week?” I asked.
“I think it can be arranged,” he said. “There’s no reason for her to keep me here.”
“What about Suzette’s papers?” I asked. “Wasn’t there a problem with her visa or something?”
“I straightened all that out,” Alan said.
“Tell me about Suzette,” I said. “Are you in love with her?”
“Only with her singing,” he said. “She reminds people of Piaf. She’s very ambitious. She thinks she’ll be a big star in New York.”
“And will she be?” I asked.
“Probably not,” he said. “But she’ll be perfect for my club.”
Ahmet brought the shrimp bisque and filled our wineglasses with white wine. “A chardonnay,” he said as he poured.
The soup was exquisite. I couldn’t believe I was still hungry after the lunch we had eaten in Giverny, but nobody could resist this bisque.
“Oh, Alan, what’s in this?” I asked.
“Besides the shrimp, some mushrooms, celery, cayenne, nutmeg, wine, chicken stock, and heavy cream, pureed until heavenly.”
He took a spoonful of his bisque and then watched me finish mine.
“You’re not eating yours?” I asked.
“I’m not really hungry,” he said. “Except to hold you. Dance with me.”
He stood up and held out his hand. I started to get up and sat back down again. I felt a little dizzy.
“Are you all right?” he asked.
“I think so,” I said. “I just felt odd there for a minute. As if I were going to fall down.”
He took both my hands in his and helped me stand up. “Too much champagne, perhaps?” he said. I had only had one glass.
The music was all French songs this evening. As Alan put his arms around me, I recognized Charles Trenet’s voice singing “La Romance de Paris.” I closed my eyes and leaned against him. I was getting sleepier and sleepier. Weird, because I had often had longer days than this and was wide awake until dawn. I hadn’t had much to drink. I tried to fight it, but I felt myself passing out in his arms.
RECIPES FOR SHRIMP BISQUE AND QUAIL VERONIQUE
Shrimp Bisque
Serves six.
2 lbs. shrimp, shelled, de-veined, and diced
½ cup chopped mushrooms
4 tbsps. butter
3 cups chicken stock
1 cup dry white wine
1 stalk celery
tsp. cayenne pepper
tsp. nutmeg
1 cup heavy cream
Whipped cream
1. Sauté the shrimp and mushrooms in the butter in a saucepan for five minutes.
2. Add stock and wine
3. Mix in celery, cayenne, and nutmeg.
4. Cook over low heat for twenty minutes.
5. Take out the celery and puree the mixture.
6. Put the soup back in the saucepan.
7. Add the heavy cream and stir.
8. When very hot, plop some whipped cream on top and serve.
Quail Veronique
Serves six.
6 quails
3 tbsps. flour
2½ tsps. salt
½ tsp. white pepper
5 tbsps. butter
¾ cup dry white wine
¾ cup seedless green grapes
4 tbsps. blanched, sliced almonds
1. Mix the salt and pepper with the flour.
2. Dip the quails in the flour, salt, and pepper.
3. Brown the quails in the butter in a deep skillet.
4. Add wine, cover, and cook for about fifteen minutes over low heat.
5. Add grapes and almonds.
6. Cook until quails are tender, about five minutes.
Janice’s Fashion Tip: Want to look Parisian? Wear black with a colorful scarf or a gold necklace.
Chapter 13
Help!!!!
I woke up in bed in a dark room, coughing and gasping for breath. Where was I? The smell of chlorine was strong. I had to get out of there. I could barely move. I managed to roll out of the bed and crawl across the room to the door. I reached up and pulled on the knob to open it, but it wouldn’t budge. I staggered to my feet and pulled, but the door was sealed.
I was having a lot of trouble breathing. There was a window on the other side of the room. I crawled over to it and tried to open it, but it too was sealed shut. I was just about to pass out again when I realized there was another closed door next to the bed. I could see a light underneath it. I had just enough strength to try the handle, which, miraculously, turned. I was in the bathroom. I dragged myself in there and closed the door again. The smell of chlorine was only barely noticeable in there. I saw a rack of towels next to the tub and grabbed a couple of them to stuff under the door. I wet a wash cloth with cold water and put it around my mouth and nose. My throat and eyes stung. I lay on the floor for a moment and then looked around for a window. There was a small one on the far wall. I pulled myself up by one of the towel racks and reached the window.
It was sealed. I had to wake up. I crawled to the sink and turned on the cold water and let it wash over my head and face. Little by little, I regained enough consciousness to figure out a plan. I had to break the window and climb out of there.
I dried my face and hair and glanced around the room. What could I break the glass with? My shoe? No, I wasn’t wearing shoes. I was still dressed, but my stilettos were gone. I looked in the cabine
t under the sink for something, anything, heavy enough to break the window. A hair dryer. That might do it. No, too small. Next to the sink was a metal wastebasket. That would work. I could smash the glass with that and get out of there.
With the last bit of strength left in me, I heaved the wastebasket against the window and shattered it. The cool night air revived me. The question was, could I fit through that window? It was kind of small, but I thought I could do it. Then what? How high up was I? I peered out and realized I was on the second floor of the club. The back of the club. There was an open Dumpster, full of the night’s garbage and trash, right under me. All I had to do was jump into that mess. Right.
I knocked out the jagged pieces of glass still in the window with the wastebasket, put a towel over the sill to sit on, climbed up on the clothes hamper, eased my way out, and jumped. I landed on something soft and mushy. Oh, ick. Somebody hadn’t finished his chocolate soufflé. Well, I could have landed in worse stuff. There was nobody around. I wriggled over the edge of the Dumpster. Now what? I realized I didn’t have my purse, which had my phone in it. And my money. It was back there in that room.
I had to get out of there. To my right I could see a narrow street. I stumbled toward it, my bare feet scraping against gravel. There was nobody around. I had no idea what time it was, but I figured it must be late to be so deserted. Ah, a sign. Rue de Rennes. I actually knew where I was because I had walked this way with Ken the other day. This street led to Boulevard Raspail, which led to Boulevard du Montparnasse and our apartment. All I had to do was walk barefoot to safety. That’s all. Every step hurt.
I tried to figure out what had happened. One minute I was eating shrimp bisque and drinking a glass of chardonnay, and the next I was in a room filled with chlorine gas. How did that happen? My mind was still foggy. Alan! I was dancing with Alan. I vaguely remembered falling asleep in his arms. I didn’t have that much to drink. There must have been something in the shrimp bisque that knocked me out. Why? Of course. It was because I mentioned Ahmet’s earring to Alan. Alan must have been the one who drugged me. He and Ahmet were working together. Why didn’t I realize that before? When I noticed that Ahmet wasn’t wearing the earring, I was stupid enough to mention it to Alan. They must have knocked me out and carried me up to that room, sealed it, and filled it with chlorine gas. They knew I might figure out that Alan hired Ahmet to kill Monsieur and Madame Fouchet so he could take Suzette to New York. They tried to kill me too!
Alan a killer? He seemed so nice. I could just hear Gini if I told her that. “All killers seem nice, Jan. Until they strangle someone and cut up their body parts and store them in the fridge. They don’t wear signs saying, ‘I’m a killer.’ ”
I trudged along, stumbling, almost falling, my feet sore and bleeding. Rue de Rennes. Rue Notre-Dame des Champs. Rue Vavin. And finally Boulevard du Montparnasse and our apartment.
Janice’s Fashion Tip: If someone is trying to kill you, run. Don’t worry about the chocolate soufflé all over your dress.
Chapter 14
What Chlorine Gas?
I could barely see, but I managed to punch in the code that opened the door of the building. I don’t know how I remembered anything at that point. I made it to the elevator, got off at the third floor, and realized I had no key to get into the apartment. It was back at the club in my purse. I had no idea what time it was, but I had no other choice than to bang on the door until I woke someone.
My first attempts were too weak to wake a nervous cat, but I kept at it until I heard Mary Louise’s voice asking, “Who’s there?”
I said “It’s Jan. Let me in.” I sounded hoarse, not like myself.
Mary Louise opened the door a crack and gasped when she saw me crumpled on the floor.
“Jan, what happened to you? Here, let me help you.” She opened the door, reached under my arms, and pulled me into the apartment. I couldn’t move. She ran to get the pillow from her sofa bed and put it under my head. “You have no shoes. Where have you been? Are you all right? I’ll make you some coffee.”
She ran into the kitchen and turned on the coffeemaker that was loaded for breakfast and came back to kneel next to me.
“Can you talk? Oh, Jan, you look awful. Your feet are all torn up. Wait, I’ll get you my slippers.”
She reached under the sofa bed and pulled out her feathery pink slippers and put them on my feet. She knelt down again beside me and smoothed back my hair.
“What time is it?” I asked.
“Five o’clock,” she said. “Where were you?”
“Alan tried to kill me,” I said.
“What do you mean, he tried to kill you,” she said. “That nice man tried to kill you?”
“Don’t let Gini hear you say that,” I said and started to laugh, but the laughing made me cough. I couldn’t stop.
Mary Louise ran into the kitchenette and poured me a glass of water from the bottle in the fridge.
“Here, drink this. The coffee’s almost ready.”
I took a few sips of the water until I could talk again. I was exhausted. I only had enough strength to tell Mary Louise the basic story of Ahmet and the earring, eating this incredible shrimp bisque with Alan, dancing with him, waking up in a room filled with chlorine gas, breaking the window and escaping, walking home with no shoes.
“Did you get the recipe for the shrimp bisque?” she asked. We both started laughing so hard, the door to one of the bedrooms opened and Gini stumbled out.
“Do you realize what time it is?” she said in typical Gini fashion, not noticing that I was lying on the floor with no shoes on and chocolate soufflé all over the side of my dress.
This made Mary Louise and me laugh even more until Gini took another look at me.
“Jan, what happened to you? Are you all right? What’s that all over your dress?”
There I was, almost killed, lying on the floor of the apartment, and she was worried about my dress.
“Alan tried to kill her,” Mary Louise said.
“What do you mean, he tried to kill her?” Gini said, echoing Mary Louise. It was almost impossible to believe that the handsome, successful, kind man who took us to Giverny to see the water lilies and Monet’s house could turn out to be a murderer.
I told her my abbreviated version of the whole ghastly night.
“We have to call Captain Chantal right away,” Gini said, “before he gets away.”
“At five in the morning?” I said. “She’ll be asleep.” I was still obviously not thinking clearly.
“Jan!” Gini said. “Cops are used to being awakened at all hours. That’s their job. The sooner she gets over to that club, the sooner she’ll get him. What if he’s on his way to the airport right now? Stay there. I’ll call her.”
I wasn’t going anywhere. I couldn’t move. I wondered if the chocolate soufflé would come out of my dress. It was one of my favorites. I could be lying back in that club dead forever, and here I was worrying about my dress. What was wrong with me? Maybe the mind does this after traumatic events to protect us from going into shock. It concentrates on frivolous things. I’d have to ask Pat, our psychologist and counselor.
Speaking of Pat, her bedroom door opened, and she and Tina hurried across the living room to kneel down beside me.
“Jan,” Tina said. “Honey, what happened? You look terrible.”
“Gini, you tell them,” I said. I couldn’t bear to go through the whole thing again.
Mary Louise went to pour coffee for all of us while Gini told them my grisly tale.
“Did you call the police?” Pat asked.
“I was just about to do that,” Gini said.
“Let me,” Pat said. “Geneviève gave me her cell phone number. I know she would want me to call her.”
Pat went into her bedroom to get her phone and make the call.
“She’s on her way over here,” Pat said when she came back. “Do you feel up to talking to her?”
“Sure,” I said. “Help me
into that chair over there and give me a cup of coffee. I’ll be okay.” I wasn’t sure I’d ever be okay again.
Captain Chantal knocked on our door twenty minutes later, accompanied by two police officers. She was in uniform and looked as if she had been up and working for hours.
“Are you all right, Madame Rogers?” she asked.
“Call me Janice,” I said. “I’m not all right. I may never be all right again, but I can tell you what happened.” I gave her the fast version of my story.
“I sent two of my men over to the club to arrest Monsieur Anderson and Ahmet after I talked to Pat on the phone,” the captain said. “I need a few more details.”
“I’ll try,” I said. “I’m still not thinking too clearly.”
“I understand,” she said. “Did you say the room was filled with chlorine gas?”
“That’s what it smelled like,” I said. “My throat and nose were burning, and I could barely breathe. If that bathroom hadn’t been there, I wouldn’t be talking to you now.”
“You escaped by breaking the window with a metal wastebasket. Correct?”
“Right,” I said. “I was lucky it was there.”
“There was a full Dumpster right under the window that you jumped into?”
“Yes,” I said. “That’s how I got this chocolate stuff all over my dress.”
The captain took out her phone and photographed my dress.
“You also reported that the man who acts as maître d’ at this club is Indian and that he was not wearing the gold earring he had been wearing the night before when you were there. And that the gold earring looked like the one I showed you on the boat after the murder of Madame Fouchet.”
“That’s right,” I said. “I mentioned it to Alan, and that’s why they tried to kill me.”
“Please rest,” she said. “I will question them now, and when you’re up to it, I will talk to you again.”
“Of course, Captain Chantal,” I said. “I’m surprised he and Ahmet are still at the club. I would have thought they would have left the country.”