Peril in Paris: a Royal Spyness Mystery Series, Book 16 by Rhys Bowen

Author:Rhys Bowen [Bowen, Rhys]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Penguin Publishing Group
Published: 2022-11-08T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter 18

Sunday, April 26

At and around the House of Chanel.

Oh no. It looks as if things are going from bad to worse.

There was an uproar among the assembled guests.

“Ridiculous! What suspicious death? Who has died?” The words rang out in various languages.

“You can’t keep us here against our will,” one woman was shouting in English. “I’ll call the ambassador.”

Mrs. Simpson pushed past me. “Well, I’m certainly not staying,” she said. “David can’t afford any scandal connected with me right now. Chanel will understand.”

As she headed for the staircase other women were coming up. “We can’t get out. The front door is locked,” one of them wailed.

“I’m sorry, madame.” Chanel had walked over to the microphone. “I was told that nobody may leave for the moment. I ask for your patience. When an inspector arrives from the Sûreté I am sure you’ll all be allowed to go.”

Mrs. Simpson looked absolutely furious. “You’ll be hearing about this,” she said. “We will complain to the highest levels.”

“Dear Mrs. Simpson, do not distress yourself.” Chanel tried to placate. “Once the inspector knows who you are, of course you’ll be allowed to go. Now please have a second glass of champagne. . . .”

I felt I had to step in. “I don’t think anyone should touch the champagne,” I said. “It might have been how this lady was killed.”

“She was poisoned?” Chanel asked. “Are you sure?”

“I have no idea,” I said, “but I saw no wound on her, so she wasn’t stabbed. If the doctor thinks the death was suspicious enough to call the police it had to be something she swallowed, and that points to the glass of champagne.”

“You think someone could have poisoned more of the glasses?”

“I don’t know,” I said. “But we should err on the side of safety.”

“Oh là là.” She shook her head. She turned to one of the ushers standing beside her. “Pierre, remove the trays of champagne before anyone takes another glass.”

I suspected some women had already done so, but since none of them had keeled over yet it seemed logical that only one glass contained whatever it was that killed Mrs. Rottenburger. From the speed with which she died it was probably cyanide. That is known to act in seconds. I glanced across the room. “And we should try to find out which glass Mrs. Rottenburger drank from. The police will want to know. Do you have the seating plan?”

“Somewhere. But I’m not sure where la Rottenburger sat. My assistant said she put her against the back wall because she was being difficult.”

“She changed places with another lady—Madame Goldberg,” I replied. “One of the Germans.”

“She did? Tiresome woman. How she ever got in, I’ll never know. And if I had any idea how much she would upset everyone I would have moved body and soul to keep her out.”

The usher was hovering nearby, obviously listening in to our conversation with interest. “Shall I wash the glasses and pour fresh champagne?” the usher asked.

“I think you should leave them as they are,” I said, addressing him.

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