The Death of Daisi

by Annette Moncheri

  “You see?” Amitée said brokenly. “You see how she is with me? She would have me out on the street!”

  “Nonsense,” I said with authority. “This is a large house, and the two of you need have no contact with one another, as you will be in separate rooms. We shall all endure.” I turned to Monsieur Carré. “Do inform the inspector that she will be here awaiting his earliest opportunity to come and speak with us.” I got up and rang for Monsieur Georges to ask him to prepare a room for our guest.

  How I would persuade the inspector that Amitée needed to remain at my maison beyond the initial investigation I didn’t know—but that was going to be tomorrow night’s problem.

  4

  Afterwards, I went back to Anaelle’s room with her. She bitterly complained about her sister being under the same roof with her, which I fully understood, and I gave her all the sympathy I could manage. “But listen, Anaelle, what is truly important here is the death of Daisi. This is no small matter, and we still have to understand what happened.”

  “Understand what happened?” Anaelle exclaimed as we went into her room and she collapsed onto her bed. “She was murdered! By her! The devil herself!”

  “I don’t believe that, and surely you don’t either,” I said. I sat down next to her. “Listen, my dear. I was very near to her when she discovered that Daisi was dead, and I saw genuine shock and surprise. I saw no indication of dishonesty.”

  “That woman is an expert liar,” Anaelle cried, pointing vigorously in the direction of Amitée’s room. “She has spent a lifetime at it. She can fool anyone. Please don’t tell me, Madame, that she’s pulling the wool over your eyes as well!”

  My eyebrows nearly hit the ceiling, but I held back my initial flare of temper. “My dear, I have a remarkable instinct for knowing when I am being lied to, and I can assure you that it has been a very long time since anyone has surprised me.” I found myself distracted by trying to recall the last time I was lied to without my even suspecting it. Nothing came to mind.

  “I’m just so sick of her,” Anaelle said plaintively. “She’s ruined my entire life.”

  “I will see what I can do about that,” I said. “I also have a certain ability to persuade—you may have noticed that over the years? And now she is within my reach. You don’t think my suggestion that she stay here was without purpose, do you?”

  Anaelle’s expression became thoughtful. “Oh,” she said softly. “You would talk to her? For me?”

  “I would talk to her. For you.”

  She contemplated that for a moment, then declared, “It will do no good. Even you, Madame—I don’t think even you can get through to her.”

  I shrugged with a coy smile. “You might be surprised.” I got up and paced. “But listen. Let’s talk about Daisi. If it wasn’t your sister who killed her, do you think it likely that she actually took her own life? And that she simply chose my maison and this pretext to do it?”

  “I don’t know her well at all,” Anaelle said, shaking her head slowly. “She seemed upset, but I’m sure my sister told her to act that way.”

  I shook my head in frustration. “Your sister had never spoken of her?”

  “Only to brag that Daisi was dating a young man I knew back in Rouen.” Her expression took on a stormy look. “As if I’d care.”

  Clearly, she cared. But I saw no benefit in pressing the point now.

  “Very well.” I heaved a sigh. “I’m sorry for all this trouble, Anaelle.” I stroked her beautiful hair and cupped her chin in my hand. “I’m afraid it’s not over yet, but on the other hand, it means we still have a chance to make things right.”

  She nodded bitterly and I went out of the room.

  I suddenly realized then that I hadn’t yet replied to the invitation from Inspector Baudet, and horror lodged in my throat. I checked the large, ornate iron clock over the mantle, and my heart nearly stopped, for it was already half past eight.

  I was just turning in a circle looking for a member of the staff so I could send a return letter when I caught a glimpse of Inspector Baudet entering through the front doors and glancing around. My heart skipped a happy beat, and I made my way through the throngs of customers and mesdames toward him.

  I was delighted to see how his dark eyes brightened when he saw me, and I couldn’t help but smile broadly as I came to a stop in front of him. And can you believe, dear delicious Reader, that the cat got my tongue in that moment? I stopped in front of him and couldn’t say a word.

  He kissed my hand. “Forgive me my impatience, Madame, but I couldn’t wait any longer for a reply to my invitation.”

  “I understand completely,” I said—thank goodness, I had words again—“and I’m sorry I’ve given no reply. I’ve been caught up in the affairs here. Inspector—I—”

  “Do call me Thibauld,” he said, still capturing my hand.

  “Thibauld—I’m sorry—we cannot dine tonight. I cannot leave my maison unattended, not with the disaster unfolding here. I am completely distracted. Surely Monsieur Carré has informed you?”

  “I’ve not seen him yet tonight,” he said, his expression now clouded with concern. “We must have missed each other crossing different bridges. What disaster?”

  I told him quickly about the sequence of events while he listened attentively. His demeanor became professional, and he released my hand. “The body has been taken to the morgue by now, I’m sure,” he said. “I will have a word with the examining doctor. We’ll know soon enough if the vial was poison. But even if it is, we’ll not have any way to confirm that the victim knew it was poison or whether she believed it to be harmless at the time she took it. I’ll need to interview her friends and family to learn more.”

  “Inspector, I recall something from when Daisi died. My hand came away from her neck and shoulder with a trace of blood. Check for a puncture wound. I find it suspicious.”

  He nodded. “Of course I will.” He suddenly seemed to recall that he’d originally come here for another purpose. A flicker of disappointment crossed his face, and he took my hand again. “Promise me you will see me another night, ma chère.” He gave me a look that was devastatingly serious.

  I nearly couldn’t speak again. I gathered myself together. “I promise it. Oh, but... Thibauld…. Even then I will need to stay close to my maison, in case of any new disaster. So I would prefer to dine on the Île.”

  “Of course, I understand,” he said.

  Just then, a noisy crowd of men entered my drawing room, all of them exuding the casual arrogance of the upper class. They bunched awkwardly at the front of the room, from where they looked at the mesdames and exclaimed to one another, “Oh, look at the blonde!” and “Let’s get champagne,” and the like.

  “Excuse me,” I said to the inspector, with great regret. “I’m afraid duty calls.”

  “I will see you anon,” he said with another smile, and he went out.

  5

  “Gentlemen!” I called. I went to them with open arms. “Bonsoir! What is the happy occasion?”

  “A wedding in two days!” said one of them, a handsome young man with dark hair a bit long and slightly curly, plus a faint beard and thin mustache. He had a leering look with heavy-lidded eyes that told me he possessed a lascivious and arrogant nature. He raised his freshly-acquired champagne glass. “We are here to celebrate!”

  The other men echoed him in cheers and laughter as they spread out into the drawing room in search of company.

  “Wonderful! Are you the bachelor?” I asked. “I’ve always a special deal for the lucky man…”

  The men laughed, and someone said, “No! Not him!”

  The handsome young man winked at me. “He wouldn’t come, thinks he’s too good for the likes of us.”

  “Well, there’s more for the rest of you then!” I said with a smile. “I’ll tell the chef to bring out the very best in hors-d’oeuvres and more champagne. Do enjoy!”

  My ladies had heard the noise and come out of their roo
ms, and, with smiles and coquettish winks, they began to choose their partners.

  The handsome young man went out into the center of the drawing room, looking around, and then called, “But where is Anaelle? I want Anaelle!”

  Anaelle was just then descending the stairs. She hesitated in midstep and then called uncertainly, “Blayne?”

  “Of course!” He spread his arms wide and laughed boisterously. “Anaelle! Come give me a hug!”

  “But what are you doing here?” She came down the stairs blushing and seeming unsure whether to be pleased or alarmed.

  “The wedding, of course!” he said.

  “But what wedding?” she protested. She had reached Blayne now, and he grabbed her by the shoulders and dipped her as if to bestow a kiss, which made her squeak in alarm. He swept her back up and she fought him to pull away, flushed and trying to smooth down her long, fair hair.

  “Come on now, I’m going to be your customer,” he said, laughing. “You’ve always wanted me and now you’ll even get paid for it. Doesn’t that make it perfect for you?”

  I shook my head in dismay.

  Her face twisted in revulsion. “Mon Dieu! You’re an animal! I would never!”

  “Oh, you will,” he said eagerly. “And you’re going to love every moment of it.” He placed an open hand on her bosom and squeezed, making her gasp in outrage.

  I’d seen enough. I closed in quickly and removed his hand from her body. “I’m afraid that’s enough.”

  “What?” He laughed, surprised. “It’s not like she gets a choice. She’s a whore!”

  “Yes, and she works in my maison,” I said. “Every fille de joi who works in my maison has a choice.”

  He scowled, then broke into another laugh. “Fine. Ruin my fun!” But he seemed to have taken the correction in good spirits.

  “What wedding?” Anaelle asked again, crossly, her arms folded.

  “Your cousin, Béatrice,” he said.

  “What?” Anaelle cried plaintively. “But she’s my favorite cousin! And she didn’t invite me? My God, she didn’t even tell me?”

  “Of course you were invited,” Blayne said. “But Amitée told us you wouldn’t come.”

  “Oh come now!” Anaelle cried again. “You know Amitée lies about everything!”

  “That’s what you say,” he said with a shrug. “And we’re supposed to believe you over her? She told us what you said about the wedding.” He shook his head in disapproval.

  “How could I have said anything about the wedding when I didn’t even know about it?” Her voice hit a new octave of outrage.

  Blayne shrugged elaborately. “Not my problem.”

  “Blayne,” I said. “This wedding… is this why Amitée is in town? And Daisi?”

  “Of course,” he said. “The whole party’s here from Rouen. We’re all at the Hotel Edouard en l’Île. The wedding is at the church here on the Île.”

  “The Catholic Church?” Anaelle asked in amazement. “But Béatrice isn’t Catholic.”

  “She is now,” Blayne said.

  Anaelle’s mouth hung open.

  I felt sorry for her. How many shocks to the system could one person endure in the space of a few hours?

  Just then, I heard a raised voice near the front doors. Monsieur Devereaux! He had turned up four times in recent days, and I had hoped to have seen the last of him. “Excuse me,” I said to Blayne and Anaelle, though I hated to leave them unsupervised.

  “Get my wife!” Monsieur Devereaux was even then shouting. “I know she’s back there! Whoring!” He was paunchy, with a thick face, a sagging second chin, heavy bags under his eyes, and crooked teeth—not a picture that sounds attractive, I admit, yet it added up to something round and likeable—like a friendly biscuit. He could even be charming when he wanted to be.

  “Monsieur Devereaux, I implore you,” I said as I approached. I took his hand in both of mine and pressed them with all the affection and sincerity I could muster—while at the same moment, of course, I applied my pouvoir. “I have told you so many times, my dear friend, that your wife is not here. She is not one of my mesdames. I would know if she were, I assure you.”

  “She would tell you to lie to me,” he said, his face dark and troubled.

  “But I wouldn’t agree to lie,” I said. “Not when it would so trouble you. Do you remember last time? When you went home, she was already there, waiting for you, as she had been the entire day. You had her so worried because you ran off without telling her where you were. Come now, let’s go to the telephone and call her. I’m sure she’s waiting on pins and needles to hear from you.”

  Mademoiselle Marchand, the night maid, appeared at my elbow, and I sighed in relief. Monsieur Devereaux liked her a great deal. “Look, here’s Linnea. She can guide you to the phone.”

  His mouth worked as he searched for the right words, his gaze downcast. “All right,” he finally agreed.

  “Good, good,” I said and patted him on the back as he allowed Mademoiselle Marchand to take his arm.

  I hurried back toward Blayne and Anaelle, wondering what I had missed and hoping I would have a chance to ask Blayne some more questions. The two of them were still facing off, now wearing tight, angry expressions, and a short young woman with an equally short, blonde bob was clinging to Blayne’s arm, the other hand to her mouth in evident horror.

  As I walked up, Anaelle was asking Blayne with tightly controlled fury, “Why in the world have you no grief at all? No sadness? What is wrong with you?”

  “I hardly knew her,” Blayne said with an indifferent shrug.

  “’Hardly knew her!’” Anaelle exclaimed. “You were lovers a week ago!”

  “A week ago!” The blonde woman flushed and glared at Anaelle. “No! He was with me then. He’s been with me for weeks.”

  “Amitée told me,” Anaelle insisted. “She just had to lord it over me.”

  That was when I connected the dots—Anaelle, at some point, had a crush on this Blayne, and he knew it. I could hardly blame her. He radiated a sensual, passionate nature, and those dark brown curls were very enticing… exactly the sort a woman could run her hands through during more intimate moments.

  “Not a week ago!” the other woman insisted more adamantly. “It’s been forever since he was with her.”

  Anaelle waved her hand dismissively. “It makes no difference. The point is, he should be sorry that she’s dead.” She fixed an imperious glare on Blayne, who only smirked.

  “Excusez moi,” I said gently, and I turned to the newcomer. “I am the Madame of Le Chat Rose.”

  The blonde woman shook my hand. “Satine Taché.” She had narrow, dull eyes.

  “You’re here for the wedding as well?” I asked.

  “Yes.” She swept her blonde bangs out of her eyes. “You’re sure Daisi is dead? You saw it?”

  Her tone was… hopeful? I found myself raising an eyebrow. “I did. It was a devastating sight. The police suspect there may be foul play.” That was only half true, but I was fishing for clues.

  “Why is that?” Blayne asked. “Anaelle says she killed herself with poison.”

  “I told you, Amitée said it was meant to be a prank,” Anaelle said, agitated. “She thought it was water in the vial. Maybe Daisi thought so too.”

  “Well, she was a stupid girl,” Satine said. “I wouldn’t be surprised if she killed herself out of idiocy.”

  The rest of us studied her in silenced surprise, but she only shrugged. “It’s true.”

  “She wasn’t stupid,” Blayne argued, though his heart didn’t seem to be in it.

  Satine made an impatient gesture. “Well, I’m bored. Are you coming back to the hotel?”

  “Ah… in a bit,” he said, eyeing Anaelle again.

  She scowled, but flounced away wordlessly.

  I took advantage of the moment. “Blayne, I would very much like for you to accompany me on a brief walk before you head back to the hotel.”

  “Of course, Madame,” he
said. “And that may happen at any moment, if I have nothing to do here...” He raised a suggestive eyebrow at Anaelle, who huffed in anger and strode away.

  “I don’t mean to rush you out,” I said mildly, although that was exactly my intention. I wanted an opportunity to cross-examine him at my leisure. I especially wanted to ask him whether Satine had had a strong jealousy of Daisi. She seemed entirely too pleased with her death.

  But just then Monsieur Devereaux, at the telephone in the hallway toward the back of the drawing room, let out a mighty bellow toward the upstairs. “Fabrice! I know you’re in here!”

  I sighed and excused myself. And by the time I had Monsieur Devereaux straightened out and escorted in the direction of his home, Blayne was gone.

  Well then. I would have no choice but to go visit the hotel.

  First, I needed to call Hélène, as I needed reinforcements.

  Oh—but first, I needed to visit Amitée.

  6

  Dear delicious Reader, I don’t like for you to think me cruel. So I want you to know that when I visited Amitée that night, it was with the best of intentions and no desire to harm her. I hoped only to begin to gain some access to her will and then to ask her about Satine and whether she knew of any other suspects—but I never got that far.

  I nodded to the servant I had posted at her door, and I knocked. In response to her sulky, “Who is it?” I simply entered and closed the door behind me.

  She had been primping at the vanity, but she set down the hairbrush when she saw me. “Oh, it’s you.” Her smirk said she’d decided we were not to be friends.

  “Are you finding your rooms acceptable?”

  “Of course. It’s a high-class brothel. What’s not to love? Mon Dieu, the money in this place. You can practically taste it.” She got up restlessly and picked up a gold-embroidered pillow and scratched her fingernail across it. “Is there real gold spun into this thread?”

  I smiled indulgently and took a seat so as to appear less threatening. I invoked my supernatural charme, intending to pull her into a hypnotic state, and spoke in a calming way as I looked directly into her eyes. “Dear Amitée, I’m so pleased that you’re comfortable here. It’s all I want.”