Revenge in Paris

by Valerie J. Brooks

  I called Police Sargeant Cain. I knew him. He listened as I told him about the planned trip I had to cancel and how sick I’d been, apologizing for not getting back to him right away. “Also, this morning my brain finally unfogged, and I couldn’t find my purse or cell phone. I’ve looked everywhere. Then I noticed my car was unlocked. I’ve been in such a fevered state, I left the purse in the car and now it’s gone with all my valuables. They even took the quarters in the console I used for parking meters.”

  Sounding distraught, I asked him what to do. I knew the answer, but I knew Cain liked to help a damsel in distress. Of course there was nothing the police could do but write up a report I could use with insurance, bank, credit card and credit report companies. He turned me over to a desk cop, and I gave him the details.

  Off the phone, I remembered Sophie’s cell phone and computer. I tried the old password again, but it didn’t work. Had she been hiding something? But what the hell could that be? Gerard had been her lover, but could he have been more? Now my conspiratorial streak grabbed hold. Was he more than just a national rep for his government program? Had he used her? Had Sophie known? That would explain her bizarre behavior.

  Now I was spinning in every direction, ones I’d never anticipated. That would explain why she changed her phone passcode so I could never see what she knew. It might have put me in danger.

  I took a quick shower. It felt so good not wearing the wig, which I’d also dumped at the San Fran airport once I no longer needed to use picture ID for flying.

  I called my insurance and reported the theft. They faxed a report I could use. At the DMV I got a temporary replacement driver’s license. I drove to the AT&T store and bought a new phone with my old number. Every time I returned to the car, I could see Gerard’s face as he foamed at the mouth and fell, his face frozen in surprise.

  Back home, the mailman had delivered my held mail and with it came the mortuary’s package with the blue dress. I hesitated to open it. Finally, I did.

  My chest heaved with suppressed grief as I pulled the dress from the brown padded envelope. The material felt like silk but you could never tell these days. It could be polyester. I’d burn it either way. Putting the dress to my nose, I smelled Sophie. Maybe I’d keep the dress. Then I noticed the tag at the neck. I dropped the dress to my lap. What the fuck? I looked at the tag again. It was an American designer and tag.

  Sophie said Gerard bought the dress in Paris for a special date. Why had she lied about that? She hadn’t noticed the tag? What if she’d bought the dress and said it was from Gerard just to impress me? No way. She wasn’t a liar. Maybe she and Gerard went shopping for it together? But why tell me that story? Something didn’t add up.

  My sister used to shop at the Nordstrom in Portland. I called them. Did they carry this designer? Yes. Could I find out who bought the dress? I gave them my name and the law firm’s and told them I was researching a case to rule out foul play in a suicide. It had no legal impact on the store. If they could tell me who bought the dress, I’d probably be able to put this inquiry to rest. I gave them an approximate timeline. They said they’d get back to me. I gave them Hank’s fax number.

  I waited, listening to Amy Winehouse, trying not to indulge in a glass of scotch.

  Around 4:00, I heard the fax machine in the office. I was sweating. I took the blue dress into Hank’s office. His fax was old and made grinding noises. The room smelled stale so I opened a window. I sat at his desk, never understanding why he didn’t get a more comfortable chair. I looked over at a photo of him, me and Sophie, taken on a night out with her old boyfriend who ran off to Cambodia. I’d often been tempted to cut him out of the photo. Fuck him and all the men who had treated her like shit. I knocked the photo off the corner and swiped papers to the floor.

  The fax machine jerked to a stop.

  I don’t know why I was so scared to pick up those fax papers. I dripped with sweat as I looked around the office—maps on one wall, a marker board on the other filled with equations, a periodic table of the elements behind his desk, a library of science books.

  I turned the chair toward the fax machine and hesitated. Maybe I should just leave it alone. Shred the papers and go on with the story as told. I might have if Sophie hadn’t changed her passwords.

  Quickly, before I could change my mind, I scooped up the pages, set them on the desk and scanned the invoice. I read it again. And again. Sophie’s name wasn’t on it. Instead, the person who paid for the dress was Hank, my Hank.

  I turned cold. I shoved my hands under my armpits. Hank? That doesn’t make sense. How could that be? I dropped into his chair and looked at the invoice again. No mistake—Hank’s name and the last four numbers of a credit card I didn’t recognize.

  Shaking, I tried to stand, but couldn’t. Maybe he’d bought the dress so she’d have something new to wear for a date with the Frenchman. But he didn’t know about the Frenchman. Sophie had asked me not to tell him. And now I knew why. There had never been a Frenchman.

  It was Hank.

  Hank.

  I thought I’d be sick. I struggled to breathe. Why had I never suspected this? Why hadn’t I seen it?

  He was often gone. Cell phones made it easy to fake locations. Sophie had been mysterious about this relationship whereas before she always told me everything.

  Now it made sense why she’d said she was sorry and hadn’t called me that night.

  And why she’d committed suicide.

  My chest turned to ice. I shook violently. I’d killed an innocent man.

  I had to move. I had to do something. Maybe I was wrong. My conspiratorial streak kicked back in. Maybe Sophie had been involved with the Frenchman, but he wasn’t what he said he was. Maybe she’d stumbled upon his true identity, something that put her at risk, perhaps French intelligence or even worse, a saboteur who had infiltrated the French government. Maybe she’d turned to Hank for help because she didn’t want to scare me. But what about the blue dress?

  Maybe Hank bought it for her for a purpose. What if Hank wasn’t an engineer, but a CIA operative and had used Sophie to get information from the Frenchman?

  Stop it! Stop it! I know the truth.

  But I still couldn’t believe it was Hank. What gnawed at me was The Phantom of the Opera. How could Gerard use the exact words my sister did about the use of the chandelier? That couldn’t be coincidence. That had been my evidence and proved his guilt.

  Then my anger and lawyer brain kicked in.

  Maybe the opinion wasn’t just theirs.

  Shakily, I Googled In my opinion, it ruins the scene’s significance on my phone.

  Up popped two reviews with the exact wording.

  Sophie and Gerard’s opinions were not unique. Similar opinions were all over the internet.

  In the living room, I picked up Sophie’s phone. Did I dare? I knew that her old four-number password had been her birthdate in reverse numerical order. I swallowed hard and entered Hank’s birthdate the same way. It worked. I didn’t need more evidence, but I couldn’t help myself. I checked her emails. Her texts. It was all there. I wiped my sweaty palms on my jeans and scrolled through their conversations.

  The last message from Hank said they needed to talk and he’d be home soon. He asked her not to say anything to me as he felt it should be him who told me about their relationship. He promised to tell me about how much he loved her and would ask for a divorce. Sophie never responded. At least it wasn’t there in her thread. I have no idea what or if she had erased messages.

  In Hank’s office, I pulled his whiskey from the liquor cabinet, poured a glass, and stumbled back to Hank’s chair where I rocked myself and grabbed my stomach as I tried desperately not to vomit. I was cold, so very cold. I longed to be in a Paris bistro, longed to be near the Eiffel Tower once again, to look into Gerard’s innocent, trusting eyes, feel his hand on my back, drink champagne and later, finally, fall into bed with him.

  I downed the whiskey, watched the late afternoon
turn to dusk, and leaned my forehead on the desk. Dusk turned to evening. Car lights flashed past. A dog barked.

  The phone rang. I lifted my head from the desk and answered. I knew who it was. I also knew what I’d say.

  “Hi, Ang,” he said. “How are you?”

  I tried to talk, but couldn’t.

  “Ang?”

  I crushed the invoice for the blue dress into a ball and said, “Sophie hung herself.” I paused. “She was pregnant.”

  His gasp at the other end was all I needed to hear.

  Dear Reader

  I hope you enjoyed “Revenge in Paris.”

  If you did, please leave a written review, long or short, on any of your favorite book sites and on Goodreads. This helps others discover the series and also receive their free “Revenge in Paris.”

  If you haven’t signed up yet to receive my newsletter and notifications about the next story in the series, please visit My Website!

  Coming Up! Story #2 in the Series

  A sexy story. Is this Angeline of the Paris story? Is she or isn’t she preying on men? And why? What happened that forced her to meet married men for sex? Get ready for “Portland Prey.”

  About “Revenge in Paris”

  “Revenge in Paris” depicts the 15th arrondissement of Paris as noir—atmospheric, dark, seamy.

  The 15th is actually a lively, sweet neighborhood with local color, great eateries, and fabulous shops, including one street that is called the “shopping secret of Paris.” My husband and I stayed there during the 2015 holiday season for fourteen days and loved every minute. The 15th inspired this story.

  I took the cover photo on Dec. 23rd with a full moon shining behind the Eiffel Tower and above the carousel across the quai.

  Yes, on New Year’s you can purchase a bottle of champagne from wandering entrepreneurs, but I have no idea of the quality and cost. We took our own. Best to take a blanket and any other needs, like champagne glasses, plastic preferably, as the crowds do crowd. We chose not to be under the Eiffel or close to it as the crowds are thick and boisterous. We watched from across the street, although later I learned we missed seeing thousands of white balloons let go at midnight. So civilized—balloons vs. fireworks.

  I’d love to hear from you and what you think about the Noir Travel Short Story Series. You can send me your comments or contact me through My Website!

  Thanks so much for going on this noir adventure with me!

  Valerie

  BACK PAGES

  Noir Travel Series—Paris

  Don’t forget! You can access my Noir Travel Paris Pinterest Board to see photos of all the Paris places I visited and used for settings in the story—plus a few a didn’t use.

  * * *

  SETTINGS IN THE STORY

  We visited all the settings in the story and you can enjoy them too by visiting our photos on my Noir Travel Paris Pinterest Board. For more info about them, armchair travel to these websites via the links.

  Food & Restaurants

  On rue de Lormel, a sweet little street with the best shops, I stood in line with the locals and bought baguettes, olives, fois gras, perfect pears, a black brie, salami, clams and muscles, and a bottle of Patrice Hivel brut rose champagne, along with a small Bûche de Noel. Check out my secret Pinterest board for photos of Christmas Eve and New Year’s dinner. Along Boulevard de Grenelle, you’ll also find the organic store mentioned in the story (Biocoop), a small super market (Franprix), and a Monoprix. Off the intersection of Grenelle and Rue du Commerce on Commerce, you’ll even find a Starbucks. Don’t miss Café Suffren for the seafood platters. For cafés, I recommend Café l’Atome and Bistro Dupleix. If you crave a real burger and fries, you’re in luck! We stumbled on a hip burger café, Charlie Birdy, not mentioned in the story, and they had one of best burgers I’ve ever eaten. Oh, and the fries!

  Check out my Noir Travel Paris Pinterest Board

  If you do rent an apartment and intend to cook, seafood is bountiful and divine. However, some shellfish might not be recognizable. I had to ask. Also, if you buy meat from a butcher, which we were fortunate enough to do, be aware that the cuts are different from US meat cuts. I can’t say the meat was as tasty, but that could have been from our cooking method and lack of knowledge about the cuts. We ate more seafood because the fresh selections are divine! More info: French Cuts of Meat

  Cafe Suffren—Incredible platters of fresh seafood! Check out their Facebook page for yummy photos!

  Café l’Atome—A favorite local café.

  Places Angeline Visited

  Catacombs Official Site

  Cool Stuff in Paris—This link about the Catacombs gives great tips on what to wear, number of steps, history, hours, directions, etc. Correction: online ticket purchases are available. Prepare to wait in line if you don’t buy your tickets ahead of time. Each tour is arranged by time and if you get there at 9:30, you might not be admitted until 11:00. It just depends on the time of year and tourist interest.

  Château de Vaux le Vicomte Official Site

  Time Out Paris—more info

  Tip: For the Château, we booked with a tour company and were happy we did as we circumvented long lines, crowds, families with strollers and children, and had plenty of time to see the Château and grounds.

  Jeu de Paume Official Site

  La grand Roue—Ferris wheel

  Opéra Garnier Official site

  Tip: I recommend asking for a tour with Rita. She made the late 1800s history come alive and gave us a feel for what it would be like to attend the Opera back then.

  Opéra Garnier Trip Advisor

  Interesting background on the ceiling and Marc Chagall

  For the art lover, extensive info on the Chagall ceiling

  painting Extensive Info.

  Galeries Lafayette—Display windows

  I’ve posted a few photos of the 2015 Star Wars inspired window displays on my Noir Travel Paris Pinterest Board.

  More info: Time Out

  Eiffel Tower Official Site

  Eiffel Tower Walk around the area

  * * *

  PLACES IN THE 15TH NOT MENTIONED IN THE STORY

  Rue du Commerce—The Best Hidden Shopping Street in Paris

  Charming shops and arcades

  Charlie Birdy Restaurant—Hunger for a good burger when in Paris? This is the place. Hip, modern and better burgers than at most American burger joints. And oh, the fries! Excellent cocktails and beer, too.

  * * *

  SOME OF MY FAVORITE WEBSITES FOR ALL THINGS PARIS

  Time Out Paris—The best site for timely info. What to do by day, weekend, week. “What’s Hot in Paris Right Now,” “Views and Reviews,” “The Best of Paris.”

  Girls Guide to Paris—Everything from cultural info and sites to visit, to shopping suggestions.

  The Hip Paris Blog

  Write on Thyme—My friend Kirsten Steen’s Travel blog with so many of her gorgeous Paris & France photos.

  Anne Lipscomb—The YouTube adventures of Anne in Paris! How to Be a Parisian Babe. Oui!

  * * *

  APPS TO DOWNLOAD for TRAVEL INFO

  Smarter Paris—A Parisian’s guide to Paris available on iPhone and iPad

  * * *

  WHERE TO STAY

  Paris is cracking down on illegal Airbnb flats. More Info

  Perfectly Paris—My favorite place to find a gorgeous apartment for rent.

  * * *

  TIPS FOR VISITING PARIS

  French francs are a thing of the past.

  Euro—coins; I often let the cashier take what they need as so many of the coins are similar in size. I’ve checked their math. Have never been ripped off. Plus, it’s faster if you’re not familiar with them.

  Christmas & New Year’s in Paris—A few “convenience” stores are open on Christmas and most places are not open on New Year’s weekend although some tourist sites are open. We were able to tour Palais Garnier on New Year’s weekend, but Galleries Lafayet
te was closed. Check before going. Buy tickets online if possible.

  Celebrating the holidays: the French are not mass consumers or gift givers at Christmas time, so I’ve been told. They celebrate mainly on Christmas Eve with family. Fois gras, cheeses, baguettes, etc. are followed with a feast!

  My hubby and I spent a magical New Year’s Eve along the quai and at the Eiffel. Much more romantic than in the story, thank goodness! No fireworks are let off at the Eiffel as in years past, but that was fine with us, especially after the horrific November 2015 Paris terrorist attacks. Who would know a firecracker from a gunshot?

  We joined our fellow celebrants in toasting a new year and watching Madame Eiffel light up in all her red, white and blue glory.