by Alice Quinn
With a bounce in my step, I fled back to the castle. I really wanted to pop into my trailer to clean up a little. I was so afraid the place would be stinking and filthy by the time we eventually made it back. But I wasn’t born yesterday. I wasn’t about to step straight into the lion’s den. I was sure the trailer was still being watched.
When I got back to Gaston’s, the twinnybobs were taking a little nap in the living room, all huddled together under a soft comforter with Pastis smack dab in the middle of the pair. Humbert and Lani were having one hell of a poker game—from what I could make out, anyhow. Lani was clearly starting to pick this game up very well. I could see on Humbert’s face an expression of love. He was failing to contain his feelings. Big-time.
I suddenly felt like I could drop with exhaustion, so I decided to take a nap while I could. When I woke up, I knew what my next move was. Amsterdam was my next destination. I had to take the diamond to Amsterdam. It would be easy to sell there. Sleep sometimes works like that for me. It gives the answer I’ve been looking for. When sleep helps me out like that, I no longer need to follow my intuition. Now it was clear. I had to get out of here and head off far, far away to see what my destiny with this diamond was! How was I ever going to pay for the tickets, though? It wasn’t just me—I had a swarm of hangers-on. I visited a few travel sites on Gaston’s computer. Flights, trains, hotel deals. It was a no-go. My budget didn’t stretch to anywhere near those prices.
I sent an e-mail to Gaston. It felt like I was throwing a message in a bottle out to sea.
Hi Gaston,
I hop that u r having a marvules tym in Greenlande. The wether is grate hear. Thanks for leting uz bunc down in ur casel. I exsept ur invit 2 cum to c u. It wud b grate to spend Chrissmas with u. Also, I nede 2 get owt of hear as soon as posibul. It is not luking gud 4 me at the momant.
Becaws I dont now wear Greenlande is, cud u plz meat me hafway? Amsterdame? Do u lik the sawnd of that? You cud send me the tikits for me and the kidz and Pastis. We need a dat pritti soon. Cud you emale the tikits to me? I will pay u bak wen I can. Rite now I dont hav ani muney.
Just a singul tikit will be fiyne. I dont now wen we r cuming bak. I will egsplayne everithing wen I c u.
I also hav a problem wen I typ on the compyuwta. Lots of red lynes. Can u c them at yur end?
Cricri x
I felt on cloud nine/eleven/twelve as soon as I pressed the “Send” button. I felt like I wasn’t even in deep shit anymore. I was on my way out of here.
The afternoon flew by like a thunderstorm. No, like lightning. But by the time evening came, everything started to pick up again.
First off, Véro arrived with Sabrina and Simon. She said that she’d been supercareful. She said she was absolutely sure nobody had followed her.
“Is Ismène here?” she asked.
“Ismène? No, why?”
“Oh, no reason. It’s just that she said she’d be coming over here tonight, that’s all . . .”
“I guess she must still be at work.”
Exactly thirty minutes later, Ismène showed her face. As if she was just there randomly. I told her I’d managed to get the message to Borelli. She appeared vaguely satisfied, but more than anything, she just seemed delighted to see Véro. She stared at her intently. Véro was doing everything she possibly could to avoid eye contact with Ismène. I was starting to wonder if there was something going on between those two.
Humbert announced that he’d be doing the cooking that night. He’d had a bet with Lani, and she’d kicked his ass in every game. They couldn’t stop laughing. We could all see how much he was trying to please his crush. Where had the arrogant rich guy gone? Where was his blasé attitude? It had disappeared. All that was left behind was some idiot teenage boy who took his every chance to cop a feel or kiss her on her neck. Honestly, every chance he had.
Just then Théodore decided to make an appearance. This one didn’t look like an idiot teenage boy by any stretch of the imagination. He gave the impression of being some top-class businessman . . . in the worst mood of his life. He was batshit crazy as he came storming into the living room.
“It’s not going to go down like this, let me tell you that! I’ll never allow it to happen! I’m gathering the troops. And in the meantime, I’ll be staying here with you. Who knows, maybe one day they’ll realize that I am a somebody. I actually exist.”
What? What was this nutjob talking about now? Although I was delighted to find out that he’d be staying with us (even if a little voice deep inside was telling me that he was just inventing some nonsense so that he could come be with me), I thought maybe that something serious really was going on here. I just didn’t get it.
I wasn’t too sure either that Gaston would be all that pleased when he found out that the whole Pinsonnière family was staying in his house. As a general rule, Gaston doesn’t like the upper classes.
“Théo, can you explain yourself, please?”
Humbert entered the room with Lani. They were giggling, but the moment he noticed his brother, he stopped. He was speechless.
“Yes?” Théo said aggressively. “Is there something you’d like to say?”
“What do you think you’re doing here?” Humbert replied. “Huh? First of all, how did you find me? What brought you here? Is that big townhouse not enough for you? Is the fact that the place is full of lawyers and cops bothering you?”
“Take off your boxing gloves, kiddo. Something dreadful has happened. There’s something new in the mix now.”
“Really? Go on ahead! Elaborate.”
“Mademoiselle Kessler is dead.”
It was true all right. I knew. Ismène knew. Nobody had told Humbert. We must have forgotten. On the other hand, he’d spent the day playing poker with Lani as if the death of his father didn’t bother him in the slightest.
But this time he looked like he’d taken the news badly. He appeared dazed, as if he was having trouble taking it all in. Then he spoke up again, his tone just as aggressive as his brother’s had been.
“So what? For crying out loud! What does it have to do with us? All of us have to croak at some point.”
“She died of an overdose, Humbert. It’s a big deal. There’s going to be an autopsy. The police are treating the death as suspicious. An accident like this, right after a murder? There’s also been more trouble in the family. The notary forced us all to interview with him again. Well, all those of us who were at Father’s funeral . . .”
“Oh, I see, you . . . uh . . . um . . .”
“Yes. This morning,” replied Théo.
The two of them said nothing for a while, both seemingly absorbed in their thoughts. It had started to feel like a funeral in there.
65
“And what did the notary want to see us all for?”
“Everything is all up in the air. He had another will with him. In the same envelope as Madame Kessler’s will was Father’s second will . . . his latest will. In it he leaves all his property, including Ariane’s apartment, possessions, and artwork to Mademoiselle Kessler’s son.”
“What? I didn’t know Mademoiselle Kessler had a son.”
“She did.”
This was turning into a scene from an Agatha Christie novel, characters popping up out of nowhere to tie up loose ends and bring the story to a satisfying conclusion.
“So you’re now saying this son of hers could have been the murderer?”
“No, he’s holed up in a boarding school in Switzerland.”
“Really? Mademoiselle had enough money to pay for him to go to school in Switzerland?”
“No, Father paid. He legally recognized the boy as his son fifteen years ago while Mademoiselle Kessler was still pregnant.”
“Oh! Hat’s off to Father!”
“Exactly. When I think that—”
“Yeah, that you kissed his ass for all those years and it all amounted to nothing!”
“What I don’t understand is why we didn’t know about this wil
l earlier. She should have shown it to us. What was she waiting for exactly?”
“I couldn’t give two hoots about Kessler’s twisted logic. The fact is his latest will has now been officially announced. It doesn’t really change much for me. As for you, you have no business being here. Don’t think you can stick around, is that understood? You’re always hanging around—you always have—trying to steal my toys . . . I’m not interested in all this hype about the will. I’m also not interested in seeing your face. You have to go.”
Out of nowhere, the two got into a fight. Real fisticuffs! Ismène sorted the pair of them out with some impressive kung fu moves. But a slowed down version . . . a bit like an oddass dance. She got the Bruce Lee noises down, though. They were so shocked by her antics that they stopped just to watch her. I feared the worst. I knew this girl, and I knew she was more than capable of trying to kick one or both of them in the face and breaking her own nose. I’d already seen her bang her head on the corner of the coffee table, so I was relieved to see the two brothers stop fighting.
“Have you both gone loopy?” I said.
Lani was laughing nervously (as usual), and Véro was just carrying on as if nothing strange was going on around her (also pretty much as usual). Sabrina, Simon, and the twinnies didn’t miss a single second of the show, though.
“How long have you been doing kung fu?” I asked Ismène.
“It’s not kung fu. It’s just some things Gaston taught me.”
“Sorry, I thought I recognized some Bruce Lee moves—and noises . . .”
“Yeah.”
I thought I’d at least tell her that I recognized bits of her routine. I wanted her to feel good. She looked frustrated that she hadn’t been able to pull off a few more moves and had to stop so quickly.
Théodore peered toward me apologetically. “There’s only one person who has the right to say whether or not I can stay here!” he shouted triumphantly. He seemed so pleased with himself.
I thought he had some nerve, and I’ve never really liked people who are too sure of themselves like that. Plus, I couldn’t see any good reason why he had to stay in the hide out. What danger was he supposed to be in? But at the same time, I hesitated. Everything inside me was screaming, Yes, yes, yes, he’s sleeping here!
I didn’t want to have to make up my mind too quickly, so I asked, “What are you going to do? I don’t think I’ve understood everything that’s happening here. You’re not going to inherit anything from your father?”
“That’s right. He took me out of his will. Just like the others.”
“Now you know how it feels,” murmured Humbert.
“Yes, you’re right, and it doesn’t feel great. French law is usually much fairer. It’s not possible to disinherit children completely. It’s illegal. We’ll never find out why our parents disinherited us, why they didn’t love us. It’s no use feeling sorry for myself, though. I need to move on from this. That’s also why I’m here. I have everyone’s signature except yours. I’m going to see if we can object to this. I’m prepared to take it to court. We have rights.”
“There’s nothing you can do,” Humbert said. “All his business dealings and property deeds were managed abroad. They’re all in England.”
“Yes, but I have an idea. An angle of attack. Believe me. I’m not going to let some bastard little kid get his mitts on what’s ours.”
Hmm . . . He didn’t seem so nice now, did he? I took on a snooty accent.
“Watch what you’re saying there, Théo!”
He glanced at me out of the corner of his eye. “It’s true, Rosie, forgive me, I forgot . . .”
He was really pissing me off with every word he said!
“You forgot what?” I said. “That I’m a bastard? That my kids are bastards? What do you mean by ‘I forgot?’ Who uses the word bastard like that nowadays, anyway? You sound awful! And you sound even worse when you try to apologize for it.”
“My brother is a dick. At least now you’ll believe it!” shouted Humbert, taking advantage of the turn in events.
Right then, with ten pairs of eyes watching him (eleven if you included Pastis’s), Théodore Hervé Charles Marie Dumond de la Pinsonnière got down on his knees in front of me and said, “No, none of that’s true Ros . . . Cricri. I didn’t even think that, my dear. My darling, please don’t believe it. I know how to be charming when I want to be. And right now, I really want to charm you to death! I swear! My heart will be ripped to shreds if I should learn of your disregard for me. I am drowning in affection for you. Deliciously drowning!”
I wanted to split my sides! I focused on the others. How embarrassing could it get?
“OK, this is a little over the top. Let’s all sit down at the table,” said Ismène as she pushed Véro and the three smallest kiddies into the kitchen. Lani and Humbert stayed where they were. I think they were in shock. Sabrina and Simon were watching us from the corner of the room.
I leaned in toward Théodore and whispered, “Get up, Théo, you look ridiculous!” I brushed my fingers tenderly through his hair.
“She’s some woman, that one!” exclaimed Humbert. “So you’re sleeping with the staff now?”
Then he eyeballed Lani, and his face reddened. Théodore and I held each other tight and he began kissing me. Humbert stormed out of the room followed closely by Lani, who was laughing her head off (maybe trying to hold on to her pride?).
“Eww! Mommy! That’th dithguthting,” said Sabrina. “You thouldn’t kith the man on the mouth, you don’t even know who he ith!”
“Yes, I know, my sweety!” I replied between kisses. “He’s my boss.”
“He’th not your both, firtht off, becauth you’re both ith dead, and you don’t even have a job anymore.”
“That’s right. Well, this is how it is, OK honey? This is my dead boss’s son, and now he’s going to stay with us a few days.”
“Eww, eww, eww, eww, eww . . .” Sabrina repeated as she tried to separate us. She couldn’t tear us apart, so she took Simon by the hand and said, “Don’t pay them any mind, Thimon, they’re jutht thilly adulth.”
As we all ate the meal Humbert had started and Ismène had finished (pasta shells with pesto which we all shoveled into our mouths at incredible speed), Théodore let us all in on his big plan. I really couldn’t have cared less, though. I was trying to give the impression I was listening to what he was saying, but I wasn’t. I could only hear his soft Swiss accent. It was enchanting.
I gathered (I think) that he was going to try to prove that most of his father’s property concerned France. He had plane tickets and bank statements showing purchases made by Max on French soil and proof that his father lived in France at least six months of the year. So his will should be subject to French law, especially French inheritance law.
66
I couldn’t help but admire how intelligent Théo was when it came to business matters. But then again, Humbert was right when he said, “It’s so strange that you didn’t want to do any of this gathering-evidence nonsense when you were the only one who was going to inherit from Father. Now that you’re with the rest of us, all left behind, it’s become clear that Father’s estate should be subjected to French law. How funny.”
“Excuse me, please, but you actually stand to benefit from all this. There’s nothing stopping you from giving me a helping hand here.”
“What about the painting that was stashed at my place?” I slipped in, wanting to see how everyone would react.
This inheritance crap had nothing to do with me and wouldn’t help me get any closer to solving the case. The same questions remained unanswered: Who killed Max? How were we going to find the killer? How were we going to draw the cops’ attention away from me and Lani? Was I going to be in it deep for taking her under my wing?
This latest news hit them all like a whack in the mouth. Everyone started yammering at the same time. The conversation turned to Max’s artwork. The brothers remembered all the trouble with the forged
paintings years back. Humbert had the most to say on the subject because he’d worked with his father back then. During that time, Théodore had been studying in New York. He’d been able to follow what was going on only from a distance, a whole ocean away. Humbert explained how the guys who’d forged the paintings were supertalented artists from Asia. As he spoke, he threw loving glances at Lani, as if he wanted to say that everyone from Asia was supertalented.
“Maybe they were Filipinos. I can’t remember.”
Humbert went on to say that Max had made copies of the paintings he actually owned. He paid these guys to work in shifts and had the whole team living and working out of a warehouse in a suburb of London. The investigation never uncovered this detail. The paintings were then handled by his gallery in St. Paul de Vence. That’s why it all went awry . . . And nobody had ever found his “factory,” as Humbert put it.
“What I don’t understand,” I said, “is how this story just vanished into thin air. In the press, it’s not possible to find any more than one or two mentions of the whole case.”
“Father had friends in high places, what can I say? They made it disappear . . . in return for a few small favors. That’s how these things work,” said Humbert.
“What did you think?” Théodore asked me. “Did you think the world was full of rainbows and sherbet fountains? It’s a jungle out there, my darling, and if you don’t know how to survive in the jungle, they’ll eat you alive. You lose.”
My Prince Charming had a kickass killer instinct. But his voice was so suave and sophisticated he didn’t come across like a badass—not with eyes like those. I’d got the love bug in a bad way. Was it unconditional? How stupid women can get when they fall for someone. I also wondered at what point my level of attraction for him would fall below my level of anguish (provoked by some of the things he was saying and the way he was saying them). I’ve heard that some of the world’s greatest love stories begin with trouble. Here was the perfect example of that, right?