We went through the drawing room and through the arch into the courtyard, and there I saw Melodie Bouvier on her knees on the cobblestones, her hands to her heaving bosom and her makeup streaked with tears.
The villain was on the ground, half in the fountain a few feet away, unmoving. I scented blood—sweet and enticing, as sweet as strawberries. Quickly, I checked over Melodie, and saw no wounds, so I turned my attention to the villain.
He’d hit his head on the basin around the fountain, and a great deal of blood had begun to wash into the fountain. I told myself sternly that this libation was not for me to enjoy, and I pretended to need to struggle to turn him over.
The first shock was that it was Pascal Lemare—the solid, milk-fed young man with whom Inés was in love. And the second shock was that… well, as Anaelle De Gall observed bluntly from over my shoulder, “He looks dead.”
The others had gathered around now, gasping in horror at the scene. I looked for Inés and saw her back at the large doors leading into my maison. Her hand was over her mouth, and her face was pale. “Anaelle, go to Inés—keep her back and calm her, please.”
She went off immediately.
Monsieur Georges was already hovering helpfully a few feet away. “Shall I call the police?” he asked.
“Yes, at once,” I said.
Of course, I could no doubt handle the situation and its ensuing complications on my own, but it was not wise to let anyone know of my powers. The expected thing was to rely upon the authorities, and so that was what I would do—so far as anyone would ever know.
I saw the slender and pale Valentin Adnet some ways back, looking more distressed than I would have expected given that he and Pascal were, as far as I knew, strangers to one another. “Monsieur Adnet, please come stand guard over Monsieur Lemare until the police arrive,” I ordered.
Still frowning, he obliged, his limp pronounced as he did.
Then I turned my attention to Melodie. She was still crying and shaking hysterically, so I told Hélène to bring smelling salts, and while we waited, I gave Melodie a good shake and told her to settle down. I have to admit I took a certain amount of enjoyment in it, if only for a moment.
A collection of girls, staff, and customers had circled around, and I decided to put an end to the staring. “If you saw what happened here, then stay, so that the police may speak with you. Otherwise, you must clear out. There’s nothing else to see, so just go on and find something else to do. My girls will have some excellent suggestions for ways to while away the time. Maintenant, s’il vous plait!”
They scurried away—every single person. Apparently no one had seen a thing.
The smelling salts arrived and I waved them under Melodie’s nose, which promptly brought her to her senses.
“Now, Melodie, tell me what happened here. I promise we’ll not hold you responsible. It was clearly an accident that he hit his head.”
“Is he dead?” Melodie asked weakly.
“Yes, quite,” I said. “What happened?”
“Mon Dieu, it was so strange,” Melodie whispered. “I hardly know him—I’ve seen him around here only a few times and I wasn’t even certain that he knew my name. But he came out of the archway here and simply lunged at me as if he were wanting to… to…” She broke down into tears.
I gave her another firm shake. “Stay steady and strong, Melodie. Tell me everything. He came at you to attack you, and you pushed him down, is that right? It wasn’t your fault. You were only defending yourself.”
“No, I didn’t push him!” Melodie cried. “He simply fell down. He’d come at me like a madman, just raving. I couldn’t make any sense of what he said, not the slightest, and his eyes were rolling and his mouth hanging open like he was possessed by the Devil. I swear, Madame!”
“I believe you,” I said soothingly, though I found her account bizarre and difficult to believe. “And he made to attack you?”
“He put his hands around my throat,” Melodie cried. “He was trying to choke me to death.”
I looked at her throat and indeed I could see that it was red and beginning to bruise.
“But then he sort of sagged against me, and then let go and stepped away and staggered around, making these awful sounds, and then he collapsed.”
Such a strange story. I looked over at Pascal Lemare. His skin was pale and his eyes had dark bags under them, but I thought it was due to the head injury. There was nothing else unusual in how he looked.
“It was Inés!” Melodie cried out, shaking with sudden anger. “That awful girl! She put him up to this! He was her customer, remember?”
“Oh, nonsense,” I said firmly. “Inés would never do such a thing.”
A figure approached from the other side of the courtyard, and I let out a sigh. This was Monsieur l’Agent Clement Carré, the policeman assigned to the Île Saint-Louis, who was a bigger gossip than any of my girls, and eager to sit and rest his feet for a while and enjoy an oversized portion of le goûter of an afternoon at the least suggestion.
On the other hand, Monsieur Carré was a vocal supporter of brothels and their role in the healthy functioning of Paris, so although brothels had been legal here forever, I felt indebted to give him all le goûter he fancied.
At the present moment, Monsieur Carré’s roly-poly figure—not unlike an oversized marshmallow—had a more sober carriage than normal. He was dressed in the standard uniform of a long blue coat fastened with a column of silver buttons, topped by a short blue hat. He wiped his forehead with a handkerchief as he surveyed the body. “Bonsoir, mesdames. It was an accident?”
“I’m really not sure,” I replied. “He was making an attempt on the life of Mademoiselle Melodie when he collapsed and hit his head on the stones here.”
“Making an attempt on her life, truly?” His eyes widened in horror. “My sincere regrets, Mademoiselle Melodie. Are you all right? Should we call for a doctor?”
“No,” Melodie said, waving him away. “I don’t need a doctor. But he had his hands to my throat, and I’ll never forget that feeling.”
“Then we have a crime as well as an accidental death, it seems,” said Monsieur Carré. “But since the criminal is dead, it seems to me that there is no need to put the attack in the report. Simply an accidental death, then.”
“I suppose so,” I said, but in fact I wasn’t at all convinced that we could so easily forget the attack on Melodie’s life. Pascal Lemare’s behavior had been so very odd… it seemed clear to me that something else was going on.
“Monsieur Georges will assist you with making all the arrangements,” I said. “I need to go see Inés, poor dear. Bonsoir.”
I went upstairs and found Inés weeping and being comforted by Safia, who was in a moment of clarity, and by Hélène. Mireille, she of the tendency toward cards, was also sitting next to Inés and holding her hand.
“My dear,” I said to Inés as I entered. The others gave me room to sit next to the innocent creature. “I’m so very sorry,” I said, and she threw herself into my arms and cried while I rocked her and made murmuring noises of comfort.
After some minutes, she managed to calm herself, and Safia handed her some tissues.
“My dear Inés, you must know that he attacked Melodie,” I said.
“What? Why would he do such a thing?” She stared at me in amazement.
“I was hoping you might be able to tell me. Melodie has been teasing you for a long while. You don’t suppose it might have been a moment of anger on his part because of that? Or an attempt to force her to change her ways?”
“I don’t know of anything like that,” Inés said. “Of course I have complained about her to him. I couldn’t help it. She’s been so wretched to me. But I never thought that he took it that way. He always told me that I needed to simply keep out of her way.”
I regretted now that I hadn’t stepped in between Melodie and Inés more emphatically before. It can be easy to dismiss little quarrels as catfights, but sometimes a bu
lly needs to be called out for what she is.
“I’m sorry, Inés. I’ll make sure that Melodie treats you more kindly from here on out.” I patted her hand gently. “And of course you may have a respite from work. You won’t feel up to it for a while. Take a week or two and don’t worry about anything.”
Mireille interjected, her beady eyes glittering. “They say Pascal was acting like a crazy man or someone possessed before he fell and died.”
News does travel fast in a house like mine, even if it is rather large.
“Possessed?” Inés asked, her eyes wide with horror.
“Have you ever known him to act that way before?” I asked. “Ranting and raving?”
“No, certainly not!” Inés said. “I would have known if he were mad, and he was perfectly steady. A very steady fellow. He said he wanted to marry me.”
She dissolved again into tears, and I gave her back into Safia’s care.
Back downstairs, I saw that Monsieur Carré had departed. A case closed and complete, or so he thought. Also, the body had been removed already, and Monsieur Georges and the maid, Mademoiselle Marchand, had cleaned up the scene thoroughly—alas, not even traces of blood left in the fountain water that I could scoop up in a champagne glass.
I sat on the edge of the fountain with a sigh and looked over the scene again, letting my nerves settle a bit. It was my first chance to be still and quiet since the unfortunate accident had occurred, and I took a moment to find my equilibrium.
I found myself thinking through everything I knew so far. Pascal was a steady fellow, Inés said, and with no great reason to confront Melodie. Melodie herself said she hardly knew the man. So what could have provoked such a thing?
As my gaze passed over the scene, I spotted something—a piece of paper, folded and lying on the ground. It had a seal over the fold.
I picked it up and felt the paper. It was crisp and thick, with a prominent watermark—an expensive stationary. I saw that the seal had been broken already, and I opened it up and read it.
My dearest Pascal, I know you will not let me down. I know it will be hard on your soul, but all will be well in the end, and you will be a wealthy man. Remember, her name is Melodie Bouvier; she is the one with regal bearing and black hair. Do not disappoint me.
Madame D.
I did not recognize the seal or stationary, and who was “Madame D.”? Of course my mind immediately flashed to two possibilities: Madame Daucourt, who had such a jealousy of Melodie, or some relation of Mademoiselle Inés Dujardin who knew that Melodie was bullying Inés.
I folded the paper back up and tucked it into the top of my dress for safekeeping. The import of the message was clear—someone had put Pascal Lemare up to this attempted murder, and his motive was money.
But why, then, had he acted so bizarre? The note had said that it would be hard on his soul, and indeed Monsieur Lemare had seemed like a reasonably gentle soul to me. Was it simply the strain he was under in convincing himself to do this deed?
Either way, this case was not closed. Worse, whoever had decided to make a move on Melodie’s life might well try again. My girl was in danger.
3
I made my way up to Melodie’s room the slow, human way, since there were others in the hallways. I tapped lightly on her door. “It’s Madame, dear.”
“Come in,” came the muffled reply, and I opened the door and found her sitting on her divan, weeping, her strong features and dark eyes marred by redness.
I went to her side, took a handkerchief from her dressing table, and dabbed at her face. “Dear Melodie, I know this must have been a shock.”
“I just can’t believe someone would do such a horrible thing.”
“Well, I think I have some insight as to why.” With a regretful look, I took out the piece of paper and handed it over to her.
She fingered the seal and immediately said, “Why, this is Ludovic’s seal.”
“Your regular client, Monsieur Daucourt—Jean’s father?” I asked.
“Mais oui”—but of course. “I’d recognize it anywhere. He and his wife put it on every bit of correspondence. And it smells of parfum. She always dabs a bit on her letters.”
She unfolded the paper and read it, and a look of comprehension came over her face, followed by the rapid flush of anger. With an exclamation, she threw the paper to the floor and stomped on it. “Oh! That horrible woman! I can’t believe this!”
“Do you recognize her handwriting?” I asked as I picked up the paper again and refolded it.
“That I don’t know, I’ve never seen it. But what does that matter? She’s confessed it all right here. She hired him to try to kill me.”
“I have to admit, it does look that way,” I said. “The police will have to speak to her. But listen, Melodie…” I put my hand on her shoulder to steady her. “Whoever’s set out to do you harm could make a second attempt. We must be sure to keep you safe. I don’t want you staying in this room, just in case whoever it is knows where you stay. I want you to stay in Anaelle’s room for a few days at least until we’ve cleared all of this up. And I think you’d better not take any clients for the duration as well.”
Melodie’s face was pale now and she nodded mutely.
“I don’t mean to frighten you, my dear. I’m sure it will all be resolved avec à-propos. You should have something to eat and drink.”
I rang for Monsieur Georges and asked him to bring Melodie some tea, and then I gave her a kiss and excused myself. At some point, I would talk to her about teasing Inés, but this was not the time.
I went downstairs to the drawing room, gave Monsieur Georges a few minutes to take tea to Melodie, and then rang for him again. He appeared promptly, and I asked him to send first for Monsieur Carré, as it was time to call in the cavalry. Then I asked him to find me Jean Daucourt. It was not too soon for me to make some inquiries of my own.
Jean Daucourt had already set off toward home, as apparently his father had never turned up to see Melodie Bouvier, but Monsieur Georges’s runner brought him back. I took my fur coat and met with him in the courtyard where the incident had occurred, the better to unbalance him. I wanted him to feel inclined to spill everything.
I noted that his worried bullfrog look was as present as ever, except multiplied, as he mumbled an ungracious “Bonsoir.” I invited him to sit with me on the stone edge of the fountain’s basin, and he demurred. “Isn’t this where... it... happened?”
“Indeed, it is,” I said. “And that is precisely what I wanted to ask you about. I want you to take a look at this.” And I showed him the letter.
He took a long look at it, and his young face pinched. His complexion was naturally so pale, I could not have said whether he blanched, but the news struck him hard. “This is supposed to have been written by my stepmother?” he asked weakly.
“Does it look like her hand?” I asked.
“It can’t be,” he insisted. “She wouldn’t do such a thing. Not ever.” He looked up and into the distance, thinking, and I could see the moment that a revelation came across him. His eyebrows went up and then came down again, and he looked wounded—and frightened. He folded the letter hurriedly and gave it back to my hand. “You’ll pardon me,” he said quickly, his voice unclear. “I must go.”
I stood quickly and took his arm, ready to apply the full force of my charme.
At that precise moment, Monsieur Carré came through the arch into the courtyard. “Madame,” he called to me.
Now I could not use my powers—not in full view of the agent. But I held fast to Jean’s elbow. “You know something about all of this,” I said fiercely. “You mustn’t go until you tell me.”
“I know nothing about it, you hear me?” he said forcefully, and he shook me off and went out past Monsieur Carré.
4
Monsieur Carré proved to be understandably reluctant to call upon Monsieur and Madame Daucourt. They were a family of the highest social class, very wealthy and esteemed. In fact
, he insisted that he wouldn’t do it at all, not of his own accord, and he referred the matter to his superior, Inspector Thibault Baudet, with whom I was not acquainted.
Later that same evening, Inspector Baudet came across the Seine from the commissariat central of the 4th Arrondissement.
When Monsieur Georges let him in, I must admit I had a moment of weakness. Inspector Baudet had a French name but Indochine features that were angular and arresting, with strong black eyes and a thin mustache that suited his face. I may even have blushed as he took my hand.
“Madame,” he said in a smooth and pleasant voice. “Monsieur Carré has given me all the particulars. I’m so sorry to hear of the incident.”
I nodded, finding myself oddly short of breath. “Please do come in and take some tea.”
Monsieur Georges brought us a tray as we were seated in my private office.
Inspector Baudet sat near enough that I could easily take in his scent, which was masculine and enticing, and again I found myself quite off balance. I rarely had such a strong attraction to a man upon first meeting, and I found myself speechless in surprise.
But the inspector had no such difficulty. “Let’s get straight down to business, shall we? I understand from Monsieur Carré that you have reason to believe an additional person is behind the attempted murder of Melodie Bouvier.”
“Indeed,” I said, refocusing my attention where it belonged, and I handed him the folded piece of paper. “Melodie recognized the seal and the initial as representing Daucourt. Melodie is a regular companion of Monsieur Daucourt and it is known that Madame Daucourt has come to a state that is green with envy. There was a scene recently at L’arbre a Cannelle. I fear that Madame Daucourt’s envy may have turned to murderous rage.”
“Daucourt, do you say? Well, that is a fine mess.” He reviewed the paper closely and with a keen eye for detail. He held it up to the light, ran slender fingers over the paper, and even delicately sniffed it—I assume he was looking for traces of parfum, and I took advantage of my superhuman senses to pick up on the same scent even at a distance of several feet. It was a bit like sandalwood and vanilla with a touch of rose, but it smelled a bit… off as well. There was a chemical afternote not fitting a high-priced parfum.
The Passing of Pascal Page 2