by Alice Quinn
The silence continued . . . but I was supposed to keep the message short, so I had to spit out what I wanted to say.
“Packages delivered in usual spot. Ten minutes.”
I put my hand in front of my mouth and spoke in the lowest voice I could manage. I guess I sounded a lot like a guy!
I immediately recognized the voice that answered. “Hello? Hello? This is Radio London. The carrots are cooked. I read you five-by-five. The sofa is in the middle of the lounge. The giraffes are wearing false collars. Clementine needs her teeth fixing. The cow jumped over the moon.”
62
It was Ismène. She was inventing some kind of new code. I knew she had a thing for puzzles and secret words, but what was this? It wasn’t what she was saying that surprised me—that was just a load of nonsense. What shocked me was that she’d answered Véro’s phone. I even studied the miniscreen on the receiver to check what number I’d called. I had typed in the number Véro had given me. There was no mistake there.
Honestly. It was right there in front of me. So Ismène was at Véro’s flat. Had she spent the night there? Ha! Was I jumping to conclusions? This love bug was hitting every last one of us! And it had all started at Beauty and the Beast’s castle. It really was the stuff of fairy tales. That didn’t take long!
The one thing I understood among all her gobbledygook was the five-by-five bit. It meant she’d understood. I stayed silent for a couple of seconds. I didn’t know what to say, so I hung up.
I sat down at Gaston’s desk and started writing a note on a scrap of paper. It was better that the letter be anonymous. The feelings of anger I had toward Borelli were burning up inside me. I really wanted to teach him a lesson. Fuck it all up for him for a while. Why had he suspected me? Or had he only manipulated me into believing he’d suspected me? Whoa! It was already too complicated for me!
I switched on Gaston’s computer and started to type in a few bits of what I considered to be important information. I wanted to let Borelli know that the murder weapon had been found and that it was currently being held by an essential witness to the prosecution (I said all this without mentioning the word statuette, of course). I also pointed out that the old guy had been on drugs, the illegal kind, and that Mademoiselle Kessler was his dealer.
I added with a hint of sarcasm that I hoped he’d found some intelligence. Get it? The word intelligence is used to talk about evidence, but I also wanted to say that he wasn’t all that sharp. I signed it “a frend who meens well.”
Print. Another call to Ismène. Of course, I called Véro’s phone again.
“Hello? Hello? This is Radio Castle. Radio Castle. Written message to transmit. Transmit. On the path to labor. A detour on the path to labor.”
“Five-by-five,” replied Ismène. She was so loving it all. I could tell by the excitement in her voice. Well, she wasn’t in any danger here, was she? There was no risk of her hanging. It was the rest of us.
I scanned all around me a full 340 degrees. How many degrees are in a circle again? All Quiet on the Western Front. The radio was still on, playing calming music by this point. Lani had taken charge of the twinnybobs, and Pastis was snoring on top of the radiator.
A bell rang. It must have been the gate. I was as cautious as ever when it came to opening it. Luckily, it was who I’d been expecting. Ismène had understood my message loud and clear.
“What’s up? What’s new?” she asked.
“Humbert slept with Lani.”
“What? No way! I can’t believe it!”
She was acting like she was Little Miss Innocent! But I could tell by her face—she was thinking about her and Véro. I really wanted to ask her about it, but I just didn’t have the guts. She didn’t mention it to me either.
“I’ve got some news of my own,” she added. “They’re burying your stiff today. There’s going to be a huge service at the cathedral. Then all the mourners will attend a second ceremony at the crematorium.”
I had a madass smile on my lips. She must have thought I was a nutcase. Why would someone be smiling at news like that? But I was just so pleased to have news about Théo. I’d been so upset not to have heard from him. Now I understood why. The poor soul. He’d been busy with the funeral. That’s why he hadn’t slipped by this morning for another secret make out session.
Ismène continued, “And there’s more! You’ll never believe this! They found another body! Unfortunately, it wasn’t a murder. Well, that’s what I heard through the grapevine. It seems the police aren’t going to look into it, though. They’re assuming it was an accidental overdose. It’s a real pity, because if the second one had been a murder, that would have made you innocent, wouldn’t it?”
“Stop playing. You’re making it into a big mystery. Dead bodies show up every day! No biggie! Who was it? Out with it!”
“Mademoiselle Kessler! I bet you can’t even believe it, can you? Overdose! I couldn’t believe it either! The reason everyone’s talking about it is because she’d taken the same drug as the old fella. The cops made the link. And you know what else? She had a son.”
I had no answer to all that. It’s not like I was all that surprised. We’d all worked out that Cruella was loopy.
“You’re not shocked by all this?’ she asked, studying me.
“You’re hiding something from me,” I said.
“Oh really? And what about you? Are you saying you’re not hiding anything from me?”
Checkmate, Ismène.
“Listen!” I said. “I wrote something out for Borelli. You need to take it to the station for me, but give it to an ordinary cop, not directly to Borelli, otherwise he’ll guess it was me who wrote it. And then don’t come back here. If you do, they’ll put the whole thing together and work out that you’re in touch with me. Maybe you should find a messenger. Get a kid to take the message there for you. Not one of mine. We’ll write “Borelli” right across it in big fat letters. What could go wrong with that? What do you think?”
“It’s a pretty good idea. Let’s set those pigs on the right track. Your note might help them. What did you write?”
“I told them all about how Kessler is a big druggie. But I suppose they know all about that now. They worked it out themselves.”
“They didn’t have to work their asses off, though, did they? It just happened. If she hadn’t died, they’d still be walking around with their thumbs up their cracks, checking out all the small-time crooks around the neighborhood.”
“I don’t care. I’m not changing the letter now. At least they’ll know their friend who means well knew exactly what was what in that house. I also mentioned the missing painting, that Maldonne had nothing to do with it, and that the murder weapon had been found.”
I bit my tongue. Nearly bit it in half. I’d really stepped in it. I’d said too much. I was unbelievable. It’s just not within the realm of possibility for me to keep a secret. Usually I’m a paranoid mess and don’t trust anyone—but every now and again I swing a cat in a bag . . . or I let it of the bag. I know it’s one of those two expressions. You know what I mean.
“What? You found the murder weapon? He didn’t die of an overdose? I don’t know if I believe you! How do you know all this? What was the weapon then? A knife? A gun? Poison?”
“Just give up already! You know he wasn’t stabbed to death, and you know he wasn’t shot!”
“You’re wrong there! I don’t know a thing! I haven’t had the honor of receiving an official autopsy report in triplicate. I’m not an insider like you! You’re the official leading detective, aren’t you?”
“I know. You’re right. I know. It might not even be the murder weapon. It’s just that I found a statuette with blood on it. Just traces of blood. And . . . I don’t know. Maybe it has skin cells, prints, hairs, bodily fluids . . . What do I know?”
“Gross! Why did you have to add all that gory detail? You’re probably right, though. And what does it look like, this statue thing?”
“It’s an
ornament with naked women. A sculpture. They’re all sitting down in their birthday suits, chatting. Maybe plotting something. It’s probably worth a fortune! Everything in Max’s place is. There’s a signature on the bottom of it, Camille Claudel.”
“Are you serious? Camille Claudel? The real Camille Claudel?”
“Why? Is there someone going around pretending to be Camille Claudel?”
She rolled her eyes. “I give up on you!”
“You should have seen Max’s office! You’d have loved it! It was a museum in there! I can’t believe I don’t have my phone with me. On my first day, I took photos of everything. I could have shown you.”
“He could have been smacked across the skull with a Camille Claudel statuette! Where did you find it? Near the body?”
“In the basement. Well, not exactly. There’s this pantry room—like a back kitchen . . . I don’t know. From there, there’s a rickety staircase down to this huge cellar.”
“But isn’t that where you found Lani?”
“Yes.”
63
Silence followed. She was right. There was every possibility Lani could have been the killer. She so could have been lying to me the whole time. For some reason, and God knows why, she could have clunked Max on his dome with those nudey broads.
Maybe he’d jumped her. Tried to grope or come on to her? Could be.
No. That was ridiculous. He didn’t have the energy for that kind of shit. Lani could have pushed him down to the ground with her pinky.
What if he’d caught her with her hand in the cash box or something? Maybe she was stealing from his secret drawer?
That was a crazy idea too. You didn’t have to know Lani for any longer than five minutes to know that she’s no thief.
Ismène must have been having the exact same thought. “No. Not a chance. It can’t have been Lani. And why use the statuette? She’d have access to miles of better murder weapons than that. She could have whacked him with a broom.”
“What sort of stupid reasoning is that? Listen up, we agree on this. It wasn’t her. So we need to start over again. Back to Go.”
“No, no, my girl. We don’t need to start over. Because I know about that other thing you’ve been trying to hide from me regarding the murder weapon. Show me that message you wrote out for Borelli.” She read it and exclaimed, “What a great idea to include all those spelling mistakes! That will put them off your scent.”
Spelling mistakes? I’d really made an effort and went over the text. I know I’m not a great speller, but I was so sure I hadn’t left in any mistakes.
She continued, “The fox hides to cry. I say the fox hides to cry. Grandmother is eating our sweets.”
“Here we go again. What is this? And what was all that nonsense you were spouting on the phone?”
“It’s like back in the 1940s, isn’t it? Wartime? Radio London! Some of the best coded messages ever devised!”
“OK. The pigeon carrier has smoke coming out of its ass. The pigeon carrier has smoke coming out of its ass.”
“Ha! What was that? That doesn’t even mean anything!”
“Yes, it does. It means that carrier pigeons take messages from one person to another, and they do it so fast that smoke comes out of their asses. That’s you. Get a move on. Your ass should be on fire. Get that message to Borelli. God! If I have to explain the code, there’s not much point, is there?”
I loved having a dig at her now and again. I couldn’t help but laugh. As she was leaving, she stopped in front of Lani, who was playing with the twinnies, and observed her. I could see the wheels turning. She left without saying anything else.
When she called me an hour later, it was to let me know she hadn’t been able to get the message to Borelli. She told me the whole tale.
The town was flooded with cops. There were hundreds of people outside the cathedral, spilling out onto the surrounding streets, classic cars on every corner, and everyone dressed in their finest gear. They were all friends of Max’s who’d come to pay their last respects. They were classy people from the classy parts of the French Riviera. He had been a kind of celebrity among the upper crust. Because I knew some of the grittier and more sordid parts of his story, I’d forgotten how well regarded he’d been.
If the police thought they could find the culprit in a crowd of that size, they were sadly mistaken. This was a needle-in-the-haystack sitch. Unfortunately, just as Ismène had been about to ask some young kid that was standing nearby to take the note to the cop shop, she bumped into Borelli himself. He stopped to say hello to her. She’d never be any good at going incognito.
“There was this weirdo there too! He was standing back from everyone, but spying on us all. I noticed him because I was doing a bit of spying myself. I was even farther back than him.
“FBI guy!”
“What are you talking about? FBI? You always think you’re living in a movie! This isn’t The Untouchables!”
“Oh, never mind. I know what I mean. Was he well built, in a suit, with a blue baseball cap?”
“Yes! Do you know him? He’s the spitting image of Schwarzenegger, but a younger Schwarzenegger.”
I screeched with enthusiasm. “It’s him! Thank God! I thought I’d imagined him. He took a shot at me! He really fired! He didn’t see you, did he?”
“No, why?”
“Trust me. It’s better he didn’t.”
So Ismène hadn’t managed to get my letter to Borelli. He’d cornered her as soon as he’d seen her. He’d questioned her. She’d taken a real grilling.
Humbert returned midmorning. The first thing he did was to take out a pack of cards from his pocket, grab Lani by the waist, and have her sit in a chair next to him. I stretched out my hand toward him, not really expecting anything.
“Do you have it?”
Without taking his eyes off Lani, he fumbled around in his pocket, took out the chain with my Big Pink attached to it, and threw it in my direction. I caught it. I could not believe what had just happened.
“No! This can’t be true! You did it? You actually did it? You got my necklace? Is this even possible? How did you do it?”
He turned to glower at me suspiciously. I had to backtrack a little.
“Well, listen . . . Sabrina is going to go wild when she sees this! They didn’t make a big deal out of it?”
“No, why?”
“What did you say to them?”
“I told them the truth. That the necklace belonged to this little girl . . . blah, blah, blah. Everything you told me . . .”
“Where did you see them?”
“I had them pointed out to me while they were having breakfast. I joined them at their table and told them the entire sorry story. They were confused to say the least. The lady went upstairs to get the necklace, but they wouldn’t accept any money for it. They were really lovely people. Very civilized. They just handed it over and seemed to be pleased that it was going to be returned to the little girl. They left me their e-mail address and said they’d appreciate it if I could send them a photo of the little girl with her necklace on. They’d like to see her in it. I said we’d do that, of course. And that’s about it. I also bought some butter, ham, and eggs. I think we should make crepes. What do you think about that for a little snack later?” He pulled out the money I’d given him and handed it back to me.
I couldn’t stop staring at my Big Pink. Had a lucky day finally arrived for Rosie Maldonne? I went up to my room and hid it under my bed alongside Max’s notebook, the key to the Dumond de la Pinsonnière residence, the little weird key whose purpose was still unknown, and the four nudey girlies.
We had leftovers from the night before for lunch. They tasted just as good even when reheated. Gaston had some baked apples in syrup in a huge jar in one of his cupboards. I gave some to the babies for dessert and they loved them.
I then tied my hair back in a tight bun and put on one of Gaston’s jackets. I reprinted the list of things I’d noted for Borelli and hea
ded off to deliver the message myself. I’d decided it would be better if Borelli knew it was me who had written the note. It could go some way toward proving my innocence. He would be able to see that I was following the case, that I was trying to solve it. Surely that meant I couldn’t be the murderer. The disadvantage of this particular game plan would be that he’d know I was in town. Well, nearby at least.
I wrote in pencil at the bottom of the page.
Wot’s up, Borellie? How’s it gowing?
He’d know it was me.
64
There were tons of kids about the place all heading back to school after their lunch break. Well, at least those who didn’t have school meals. I scanned the road ahead of me to make sure Schwartzy hadn’t made an appearance. I spotted two little girls. They looked to be about ten. I knew they’d have to go past the police station on their way back to school.
I gave them the letter and explained that I was far too busy to take it myself because I had a bus to catch. I asked them if they’d be OK to hand it to the officer outside the station. There was always someone on guard there in a little glass box thing. They seemed delighted to be a part of the whole adventure.
I hid down the road and crouched behind a parked car. I needed to make sure these girls knew what they were doing. It was a good thing I did. The girls started chatting to the cop out front, and all three of them suddenly turned toward me, one of the girls pointing in my direction. Well, at the place where I’d been when I’d given them the note. The two girls continued on their way to school, and the police officer rushed into the building. I took my chance and made a run for it. I thought maybe they’d put a call out, and the cops would start stopping and searching everyone on the street.
I went by the grocery store to pick up my necklace I’d left as credit. I needed my lucky charm back. With what Ismène had lent me, I was able to pay what I owed—the whole shebang. I tied the chain and heart pendant around my neck and started to feel a whole lot better about things. I felt protected by my grandmother in some way.