Little Death by the Sea

Author:Susan Kiernan-Lewis
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: love, murder, drugs, france, french language, new zealand, paris france, advertising copy, atlanta, french culture, french cooking, french love child, travel adventure, french cookbook, atlanta georgia slavery 19th century opression racial injustice interracial hate guns burning churches kkk klu klux klan silver mine, french cuisine, travel abroad, french food, french life, paris metro luxembourg gardens crise de fois le systeme d bateau mouch clair de lune calvados pompidou pont alexandre trois bis2elatyahoocom sentimental journey, paris romance, travel europe, advertising and promotion, paris love story, atlanta author, paris romantic mystery, french crime, advertising agency, atlanta fiction, advertising novels
Publisher: Susan Kiernan-Lewis

Chapter Thirteen

1

Laurent led the way down the darkened corridor of the basement of the Parthenon. Cobwebs hung in large wattles in the corners, dripping into his face as he and Maggie made their way down the hall. It was hard to believe that someone actually worked down here, actually packed a lunch and hummed himself off to work only to arrive at the creepy bowels of a hundred-year old building.

Maggie slipped her hand into Laurent’s and squeezed it.

“Allo?” Laurent called as they neared a doorway at the end of the hall, light spilling out onto the cement floor. “Allo? Monsieur?” They stopped in front of the door and peered inside.

“Mr. Danford?” Maggie called softly.

“With you folks in just a minute,” a voice said.

Laurent and Maggie looked at each other and then entered the small broom closet of an office. A metal desk was shoved up against one of the cement walls. A half-sized window hovered over it. From the outside of the building, the window would be eye level with one’s Reeboks, Maggie noted. Little had been done to make the office comfortable or attractive. No plants or pictures on the walls, no rugs across the cold and uneven concrete floor, not even a lamp with a shade to make the night watchman’s station less wretched.

“You’re the girl whose sister was killed last month?” The man finally extricated himself from behind his six-foot filing cabinet and maneuvered around two metal folding chairs to stand in front of Maggie and Laurent. He held out his hand.

Laurent shook it. The man withdrew his hand before Maggie could shake it too.

“Yes, that’s me,” Maggie said. “I was hoping you could—“

“Told the police everything. Didn’t see nothing. I’m on duty at night, you see. Didn’t happen at night, did it?”

He settled himself into a large swivel chair situated in front of the desk. He sort of resembled Barnie Fife with a touch of mange, Maggie thought. His balding head supported long wisps of hair, witnesses to a losing battle. His eyes were bloodshot and watery and Maggie found herself scanning the office for liquor bottles.

“No,” Maggie said, turning her eyes back on the skinny little man. “But maybe you’ve seen strange people around at night. You know, shady characters that might be involved?”

Mr. Danford scratched the back of his head with a long, crooked finger.

“Thought the cops said this was a spur of the moment kinda killing.”

“Monsieur, do you know if any peoples come here at night? Bad people?”

Maggie wondered what the old guy would think of this big bruiser with the French accent.

Danford finished scratching himself and looked up at Laurent.

“Sometimes I seen some weird characters around here. In the winter, mostly. Trying to get in to sleep it off for the night, you know? Someplace warm.”

“And in the summer?” Maggie asked impatiently.

“Well, summertime’s different. People want in for different reasons in the summertime. This here drug dealer the cops was asking me about? He comes by from time to time. I reckon

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