“Maybe.” I sincerely hoped Etienne wasn’t involved in this. Thoughts of beheaded elephants came to mind again, but I pushed them aside. “OK. We’ll go. But whether we discover anything or not, when we get back we need to tell the police. I can’t let these poachers get away with this.”
We discussed the logistics for the trip to Marseille. Luc and I would drive down on Wednesday and spend the night in a hotel near the waterfront. On Thursday, Julien would stick close to Marcel at the loading dock and warehouse until there was something to report, then he’d phone us.
I spent an hour getting dressed for dinner with Luc, changing my outfit repeatedly. When I had exhausted all the clothes in my suitcase, I went back to the first outfit, a black skirt and green cashmere sweater. Would perfume be too much? I didn’t want to give the impression that I thought it was a date. My phone rang. It was Peter.
“So how’s my little detective?” he asked.
“What? No, honey, I told you. I’m here for work. Sorry I didn’t call you yesterday. I got to the hotel and slept all day.”
“And how is the hotel? Do they still have those god-awful pillows?”
I laughed. Peter had stayed here with me on my last buying trip, and his only complaint was the single wide pillow per double bed. “Yes, of course. That’s part of the charm. But the croissants are to die for. How’s Jasper?”
“He’s fine. I took him for a good run this morning. He hasn’t moved since.”
“And how’s work?”
“Same old shit. I miss you.”
“I miss you, too.”
“Oh, I almost forgot. Hernandez called the house. He said you haven’t returned his calls.”
“Yeah, I don’t want to be yelled at for leaving town.” After a few more minutes we said goodbye, and I hurried off to meet Luc.
When I got to the restaurant, Luc was standing out front, dressed in khaki slacks and a pale orange linen shirt. I wondered if he was aware of how good he looked. We kissed on both cheeks, and he put his arm on my back as he held the door for me. This was most definitely feeling like a date.
After we ordered, I said, “I’ve been waiting all afternoon to tell you what I found out about Marcel. He—”
Luc held up a hand and smiled. “No talk of sleuthing until after dinner. It’s not good for the digestion.”
Oh God, the French and their food. With them, eating was akin to a sacrament. But I respected his request and changed the subject. The food was divine, as was the Bordeaux. Finally, when the plates were cleared and two snifters of cognac arrived, Luc clinked his glass against mine and said, “All right, now you may tell me about your adventures.”
“I followed Marcel today,” I began.
Luc’s expression changed abruptly to a frown. “That sounds risky.”
“I wasn’t planning to. It just happened. I ran into him on the way to see Julien, and I decided to see where he went.”
“And?”
“He went to Clignancourt. To a little shop that sells Asian antiques and bric-a-brac. He wanted to buy this.” I paused for effect and took my time extracting the small box from my handbag, lifting the lid, and unwrapping the intricately carved figurine from its velvet cloth.
Luc emitted a low whistle. “How much did you pay for this?”
“Seven hundred euros.”
“Why on earth . . . ?”
“It’s evidence.”
“Evidence of what?”
“It’s real ivory.”
“Yes, I surmised that from the price.”
“Luc, he’s smuggling ivory.”
“Hold on. That’s quite a leap from buying a figurine to trafficking in ivory.”
“Read this,” I said, pulling the envelope from my purse.
He spent a couple of moments reading. “How did you get this?” he asked.
“I snatched it. Are you proud of me?” I was feeling tipsy now.
“Very. So what are we to make of this?” Luc said.
As he continued reading through the material, I turned the carving around in my hand, studying it sadly. “Some poor elephant lost his life for this trinket.”
“Do you think this ties in with my sister’s murder?”
“It has to. You know she caught him snooping through Etienne’s desk. He was only hired three months ago. What was he doing going through his boss’s desk?”
“Hold on, hold on,” Luc said. “Why would he try to extort money from Thalia if he was the one with the guilty secret? This isn’t making sense.”
Must he be so logical? I polished off my cognac. “Somehow, he was trying to get her out of Etienne’s life. OK, maybe it wasn’t the smartest move on his part. I’ll give you that. But Marcel is clearly involved in something illegal. All I know is I’m committed to this trip to Marseille. I completely understand if you don’t want to go along.”
“If you’re sure about the smuggling, call the police,” Luc urged.
“No. Not yet. Julien and I don’t want to create a scandal for Etienne if he isn’t involved. Believe me, I know what that’s like.”
He sighed. “You’re as stubborn as my sister, but in your own quiet way. Listen, I have a friend who works for the World Wildlife Fund. I’ll call her tomorrow and see if she can find out anything.”
“Wonderful! You can hang on to the letter.”
He put it in his shirt pocket. “And now I have something to show you.” He pulled a small silver picture frame out of his jacket pocket. Inside was a photo of Thalia and me, laughing on the beach.
“I took this when we went to Menton for the weekend. Remember?”
“Wow. We were so young!” Thalia wore an impossibly skimpy bikini. Her head was back and she was laughing. Her golden hair shone in the sun. I was convulsed with laughter too, looking less chic in my ill-fitting one-piece. Gazing at the photo, I felt a profound sense of loss.
He squeezed my hand. “That’s for you to keep.”
“Thank you.”
He walked me back to my hotel. “Want to come up?” I asked. Inwardly I winced. What was I thinking!
“No, I’m pretty tired,” he said, to my relief. “I’ll call you in the morning.”
CHAPTER 25
I exited the École Militaire station and headed north toward rue de Montessuy. It was only five blocks to the boxy apartment building where Etienne and Renata lived. The building looked anomalous between the grand eighteenth-century structures on either side of it. A concierge tipped his cap and directed me to the elevator. As I rode to the eighth floor, I was hoping Luc had already arrived. I wasn’t sure what to expect at this little soiree, and I wanted his moral support.
Julien answered the door, wearing skinny jeans, a pinstripe shirt, and a tie. Before leading me into the living room, he whispered, “I want to tell you about Marie Resnais, but I can’t talk about it now.”
Four other guests sat in the living room, sipping drinks and nibbling hors d’oeuvres. In the far corner of the room, Etienne was pouring drinks. “Rae,” he called out. “What can I get for you? A kir? Or would you prefer a glass of wine?”
At the same time, Renata came into the room and hurried over to kiss me on both cheeks. “Welcome to Paris,” she said. “What can I get you to drink?”
“Wine, please. Red if you have it.”
“Darling, get Rae a glass of Côtes du Rhône,” Renata called to Etienne. “Come, let me introduce you to everyone.” She took me by the hand. “You know Marcel, of course, and Jerome. This is Jerome’s friend Michelle”—the pretty young woman shook my hand—“and my very best friend, Angelique.” As Renata continued, I smiled politely at each of them and exchanged pleasantries.
“What a marvelous view,” I said as Etienne handed me a glass of wine. The wide swath of windows framed the upper half of the Eiffel Tower, with a hint of the green lawn of the Champ de Mars below it and the Seine curving behind it. In my opinion, a view like that would be best left unadorned. Instead, the windows had voluminous brocade valence
s and draperies, heavy with tassels. The rest of the room was furnished in a similar fashion, with overly large furniture, all matching. The couch and chair were upholstered in dark green velvet. Twin walnut end tables, each topped with an identical lamp, flanked the couch. Even the artwork consisted of matching pairs of prints in heavily carved gilded frames. Renata certainly liked symmetry.
I was talking with Angelique when the doorbell rang again. Julien hurried to answer it and came back into the room with Luc, who was holding a basket full of salad greens—from the farm, no doubt. “Julien, please take those lovely vegetables into the kitchen,” Renata commanded. Introductions were once again made. Luc went over to the bar to chat with Etienne, and I resumed my conversation with Renata’s friend.
“And how is it you know Renata and Etienne?” Angelique asked.
“Through business. My business partner did some work with Etienne.”
“Oh, the woman who died.”
“Yes,” I said.
“I remember how annoyed Renata was that she had to skip several sights she wanted to see because of the investigation and the funeral. She complained about the police harassing her.”
I said nothing, and Angelique looked contrite. “Oh, I’m sorry,” she said. “I’m sure it was difficult for you, as well.”
“Yes. Thank you.” There was brief awkward silence, then Jerome joined us and talk turned to the current Magritte exhibit, which Jerome urged me to see. Angelique excused herself, and Jerome and I continued to chat about my plans during my visit. He recommended several new restaurants. I liked his quiet manner and noticed how comfortable I felt with him. I decided I better get down to business.
“So what’s it like working with Marcel?” I asked.
He looked surprised. OK, so that wasn’t the smoothest transition—but I didn’t have all night. “Why do you ask?” Jerome said.
“Oh, well, he had only recently joined the company last time I saw you. I wondered how it was working out.”
“He’s very eager to learn,” Jerome said. “He takes notes about everything. In fact, he insisted on accompanying me on my next trip to Marseille.”
I helped myself to a radish and dipped it in a little dish of salt, trying to look nonchalant.
Jerome continued. “He says he wants to understand the import/export business because he’s thinking of opening his own company in Corsica.”
“Is that where he’s from?”
Jerome nodded, and I asked about Corsica’s reputation for drug smuggling.
“Oh, yes, that was in the 1980s,” he said. “But that’s all over now. Things have changed. It’s quite lovely there.”
Renata jingled a small glass bell and announced dinner. We followed her to the dining room, where she directed us to our places. I was seated next to Luc. On my other side was Angelique. Marcel faced me across the table. This room had the same sort of oversized walnut furniture as the living room, and an even more spectacular view of the Eiffel Tower, which by this time blazed with illumination against the darkening sky.
Renata served soup, while Etienne poured wine. The meal proceeded at a leisurely pace, with no hurry to clear the plates between courses. When the salad was finally served (after the main course, in true French fashion), Renata gushed over the greens Luc had brought. There was heated conversation about the merits of organic produce. Talk turned to organic meat and the benefits of feeding beef cows grass rather than grain. Luc said, “Many people favor organic meat because it’s raised more humanely.” Jerome’s girlfriend, who’d barely spoken until then, said, “I don’t understand why people say we shouldn’t eat meat. Our ancestors were hunters, after all.” Another bottle was opened and my glass was refilled. I was feeling a bit woozy by now.
Emboldened by multiple glasses of very good wine, I seized the opportunity to lead the conversation to elephants—albeit somewhat awkwardly. “Well at least in this country there’s no wholesale slaughter of animals in the wild. I was just reading that ninety-six elephants are illegally killed every day in Africa. Even though they’re protected, there’s so much bribery that poachers are able to operate freely.”
“They don’t eat them, do they?” asked Jerome’s girlfriend.
“It’s for ivory,” I said. “They’re beheaded, and their bodies are left to rot.” I glanced at Julien, who looked aghast at where I was going with this. He hastily excused himself to see about dessert.
Jerome said quietly, “I know that in Kenya, some of the deaths are at the hands of farmers, not poachers. After all, people have to earn a livelihood, and they can’t have elephants damaging their farmland.”
Ignoring him, I addressed Marcel. “Marcel, what do you think? Should farmers be allowed to kill elephants?”
Marcel answered somewhat stiffly. “I’ve never thought about it. I’m not familiar with the situation in Kenya.”
“Of course, the elephants were there first,” I went on. “For many millions of years. Do you know that elephants cry when a member of their family is slain? Real tears.”
“Very touching,” Marcel said with what sounded like sarcasm, although I couldn’t be sure. Luc put his foot on mine under the table. I knew I was going on too much, but I didn’t want to stop. Besides, I liked the feel of Luc’s foot and the way his calf pressed against mine.
I continued. “Do you know there was an elephant separated from a companion at a zoo. And twenty-five years later, they encountered each other again. And they remembered. They greeted each other with joy.” Here my voice cracked a little, and I swallowed hard. The images I’d seen online earlier flooded my brain. I decided I’d better stop talking. Renata jumped into the silence with an anecdote about the family’s trip to the Pyrenees last summer.
I excused myself and got up to find the bathroom. My passage down the hallway was a bit unsteady. Shutting the door behind me, I gripped the sink and stared at my reflection in the bathroom mirror. My face was flushed. I splashed cold water on my cheeks and attempted to smooth my hair. I wanted nothing more than for this evening to be over. As I emerged from the bathroom, I collided with Marcel, who was standing just outside the door. I gave a small scream.
“I’m sorry if I startled you,” he said, but he made no move to let me pass.
“Pardon me,” I said, trying to squeeze by him.
“Why are you here?” he said softly.
“Excuse me?” I wasn’t sure I’d heard him correctly.
He repeated the question. “Why have you come to Paris?”
“I’m here on business,” I answered, my heart thudding.
His face was close to mine, and his gaze didn’t waver. “Then I suggest you mind your business,” he said pointedly.
“Are you threatening me?” I could feel myself perspiring.
“Not at all,” he said with a perfunctory smile. “Merely warning you.”
I hurried past him and returned to the table. My stomach felt queasy. By now the talk had turned to soccer, thank goodness. I was happy to sit and listen without participating. Dessert was served—rich, dark chocolate mousse topped with whipped cream. In a moment Marcel returned to the table but said nothing.
“Where are you shopping for your store?” Renata asked as she poured coffee and passed the cups around.
I told her about my successes at Village Saint-Paul and mentioned that I might also have time for a trip to Luc’s farm. Talk again turned to vegetables, with a heartfelt debate ensuing over what combination of seasonings constituted the most authentic herbes de Provence. At about midnight, Luc and I took our leave.
I started to hail a taxi, but Luc said, “Let’s walk. It’s a nice night.” He linked his arm through mine, and we strolled through the darkened streets in comfortable silence. As we got to the Pont Neuf, we paused to gaze at the river. “I said too much, didn’t I?” I said.
“You were very brave,” he said, putting his arm around me. I leaned my head on his shoulder. “But being less brave might be wiser, no?”
“I
suppose you’re right,” I said with a laugh.
We stood watching a lighted barge glide through the inky blackness of the river. I wanted to turn and kiss him. As I debated, he dropped his arm and said, “We’d better go.” The moment was gone.
CHAPTER 26
After breakfast the next morning, I phoned Peter. “I’m making great progress,” I told him excitedly, no longer maintaining any pretense that I was not pursuing Thalia’s killer. “Guess what I found out? I’m pretty sure Marcel is involved in the illegal ivory trade!” I recounted how I’d followed him and snatched the envelope.
I was gratified by Peter’s reaction. “You’re on fire! Nicely done,” he said. “Oh, I almost forgot. Detective Hernandez called again. He said he has a few more questions. I’m pretty sure he doesn’t think Fred Gibson is the murderer.”
“That’s great!” I said. “Unless he’s back to thinking it’s me. I need to tell him what I found out about Marcel.”
“He wants you to call him right away.” We said goodbye, with a promise to talk tomorrow.
Next I took the Métro to Hôtel Sainte Bernadette. An attractive woman in her twenties was at the front desk. “Good morning,” I said. “I called earlier about picking up a photo.”
“Oh, yes, I have it right here for you.” She retrieved the photo from behind the desk and handed it to me, saying earnestly, “I’m so sorry to learn about Madame Holcombe. No one here recalled seeing this man. We asked the whole staff. I do hope you’re able to find him.”
I thanked her and slipped the photo into my purse. As I turned to leave, she said, “I only remember one note being delivered for Madame Holcombe.”
“Oh, when was that?”
“The last night that she stayed here. In August, I believe it was.”
I felt a shiver of excitement. “Did you see the person who left it?”
“Yes, madame.”
I took the photo of Marcel back out and laid it on the counter. “And you’re sure it wasn’t this man?”
“Oh, no,” the clerk laughed. “It was a woman. I remember her very well. She wore a large diamond ring. And too much perfume.”
The Sleeping Lady Page 14