Murder in Pigalle by Cara Black

Author:Cara Black [Black, Cara]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 978-1-61695-285-3
Publisher: Soho Press
Published: 2014-03-03T16:00:00+00:00

SHE HURRIED OVER the cobbled alley, glad of her ballet flats, to the back of the Musée de la Vie Romantique. Behind the ocher walls of a former painter’s atelier—once known for a Friday-night salon of neighborhood artists and writers: George Sand, Chopin, Delacroix—nestled a garden blooming with orange and pink roses.

René sat by the rose border at a green, metal café table that came up to his chest. Dark circles puffed under his eyes, but he wore a starched shirt. A steaming celadon cup with a gilded porcelain handle sat before him.

What a relief the cool shade and woody rose scents were after the hot street and the jackal journalist.

“Saj just called. He saw you on TV.” René eyed her. “Seems you’re a celebrity. Pulled Virginie into it, too? I can’t believe you talked to that viper.”

Surprised, she wanted to slap him. Instead she sat down and rubbed her swollen ankle. Stupid water retention.

“Bonjour to you, too, René.” She took a sip of his thé citron. “Hard night?”

A shake of his head.

“Tell me another way to enlist aid of the quartier, René,” she said. “What about the people who don’t realize they know something—a nosey concierge, the prying neighbor, that curious passerby, the garbage collector sneaking a smoke who might clue us in to where Zazie could be. How are we supposed to reach all those people when the flics aren’t even treating her as missing yet? How else are we supposed to find her if she’s duct-taped and being held captive in a cellar? That’s if she’s even … alive.” Her throat caught. She blinked to combat the welling tears. And felt that damn knot at the base of her spine. “Go ahead, tell me how, René.”

“I’m worried too, Aimée,” said René, averting his eyes. “But On the Rue doesn’t exactly garner you friendship with the flics.”

“Alors, my fan club diminishes.” With all the bogus tips sure to be called in, they’d dislike her even more. Still, it only took one real lead. “Did Saj give you an update on the taxes?”

“All kosher, whatever that means,” said René. “He made the tax deadline. Care to explain how money fell from heaven?”

She owed René an explanation of the fund source. He was her partner, had a stake in Leduc Detective.

But she cut the paycheck. And she didn’t want to get into the topic of her mother.

“Later, René.”

She felt a flutter and then a sharp jab. She cradled her stomach.

“You all right?” Alarm shone on René’s face.

“The Bump kicked. Think it likes the excitement.” She took René’s hand and put it on the side of her belly. “Feel?”

“Kicking like a soccer player.” René’s face softened. “Shouldn’t you think about a name …?”

Not him, too. Morbier had already suggested a whole list of names for either sex.

“I mean a family name—a father on the birth certificate. Think of school, children can taunt. Everyone in the village took me for the count’s bastard. Still do.”

Aimée had no idea René had suffered. Wasn’t the count his father?

He saw the question in her eyes.

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