You Slay Me
Page 9
Inspector Proust made a sort of a half-shrug that I'd seen several times during the course of the night. Al-though he'd been awake the night through, as well, he didn't look as if he was the least bit troubled by lack of sleep. "You say you had nothing to do with Mme. Deauxville's death, so I have no grounds to charge you. Unless there is something else you'd like to tell me?"
I smiled at the question in his soft brown eyes. "I didn't kill her, honest. I don't know who did, unless Drake murdered her, and he says he didn't, but then, he lied to me about being an Interpol agent, and he stole my dragon, so how much of what he said can I really be-lieve? Besides, he's too handsome. I don't trust hand-some men like that. They think they're god's gift to women, and they go around grabbing you and kissing you and smelling really nice, and making your legs turn to mush when you're pulled up tight
against them, not to mention filling your head with all sorts of really wicked thoughts about what you'd like to do to them with a small bowl of ice cream and your tongue. Well, notyour tongue, my tongue. And speaking of that, just how did he know the aquamanile was gold?"
Inspector Proust watched me silently for a moment,
gently tapping a pencil against his chin. "Francois, my driver, will take you back to your hotel. I believe you are in need of sleep, Mle. Grey. If you can think of anything else that would help us, you will please contact me at the number on the card."
I looked down at the white card that had somehow ma-terialized in my hand. It was at that point that I realized I was not only babbling almost incoherently, but I truly was being released, as well. No ratty damp jail cell for me, woo-hoo!
"You'll let me know if you capture Drake, won't you? 'Cause my uncle is going to kill me if I don't recover that aquamanile. He's going to say it's my fault that Drake stole it, and that he'll have to reimburse Mme. Deauxville's family if I don't find it, and you know, I just honestly don't think I could ever make that much money, not with Alan—he's my ex-husband and a beach bum— leeching everything off me. So you'll tell me? If yon find Drake? Or my dragon?"
A grim little smile played around Inspector Proust's lips. "You may rest assured, mademoiselle, if we meet up with a man calling himself Drake Vireo, I will notify you immediately."
"He didn't believe me," I said softly to myself as I sat in the sunny hotel dining room, the remains of eggs and croissants littering the plate before me. I checked the tiny coffeepot, poured the last bit of it into my cup, and tried to force my brain into some fruitful thinking. Two things were obvious—I had to clear my name with the police before they would let me have my passport, and I needed to find Drake and get my dragon back. Surely the Amer-ican Embassy could help with the former.
"Step one, buy new clothes. Then go to the American Embassy and throw myself on their mercy." I looked in my neck pouch. The money I had left was meant to last only through that morning, no more. But I had my plane ticket. Since Uncle Damian only used cash to buy such things, it meant I could cash the ticket in. That should keep me from starving. The hotel bill was another matter. I knew that Beth had paid for the first night with the company credit card—maybe I could just tell the hotel to bill the rest. It was worth a try. With the hotel and money for food and a change of clothes taken care of, I could concentrate on the two issues at hand—proving to the police that I wasn't guilty of anything other than hav-ing extremely bad luck, and getting the dragon back. I'd worry about how I would get home later.
"First things first," I said as I marched over to the lobby phone. I pulled out the grubby card Rene the taxi driver had given me and dialed the cell-phone number on it.
Ten minutes later, Rene pulled up opposite the hotel, a grin on his face that faded when he took in my rumpled, bloodstained dress. "You look as if you have just visited a foie gras factory. What has happened to you?"
"It's a long story, way too long to tell you here. Did you mean what you said? You'd be my driver for the morning for fifty euros? No limit on the number of stops and stuff?"
Rene got out of the car and opened the back door for me, his blue eyes narrowing as I fingered my neck pouch. "You will stay in Paris, yes? No drives to Marseilles or Cannes?"
I gave him a wry grin. "I don't know anyone in Mar-seilles or Cannes, whereas I know three people in Paris— you, a very bad man named Drake, and Inspector Proust of the criminal investigation department. I just have to hope that Drake hasn't left Paris."
"Inspector Proust?" Rene sputtered, but he didn't stop me as I climbed into his taxi. "You have had dealings with the police?"
"I said it was a long story. If we're go on the fifty euros for the morning, then would you please take me first to a nice but cheap shop so I can get out of this grungy dress? My bag was stolen, and I don't have anything else to wear. I promise I'll tell you all about yesterday while we're on the way."
He shot me a look that contained at least a dozen ques-tions, but then got back into the car, flipping off the taxi meter. "I will take you to La Pomme Purfiee. It is a shop run by the wife of my cousin. Berthilde will give you a special price."
"Special sounds good as long as it's cheap. Oh, before we go there, I need to swing by and cash in my plane ticket. Is that on the way?"
His dark gaze met mine in the mirror. 'Won. But I will make it in our path. Now you will commence with your story. I am very much looking forward to hearing it."
By the time I'd cashed in my plane ticket (feeling a couple of twinges of guilt about that since I didn't pay for it in the first place) and visited the shop Rene recom-mended, I had made it through most of the story. The last bit was told as I stood in a curtained dressing room, try-ing on a couple of summer outfits, answering Rene's questions while I tried to decide between a very chic beige linen sleeveless tunic and matching pants, or a sexy 1930s-looking dress with big red poppies on it.
"What did Inspector Proust say when you told him about this man who stole your dragon?" Rene asked.
I parted the curtains and did a little twirl in front of where he sat waiting for me. "What do you think, too girly? I kind of like the poppies, but the other outfit is more sophisticated."
He did the Gallic shrug I'd seen earlier. "It is very nice/as well. Why do you not take both?"
I smiled at the question in his soft brown eyes. "I didn't kill her, honest. I don't know who did, unless Drake murdered her, and he says he didn't, but then, he lied to me about being an Interpol agent, and he stole my dragon, so how much of what he said can I really be-lieve? Besides, he's too handsome. I don't trust hand-some men like that. They think they're god's gift to women, and they go around grabbing you and kissing you and smelling really nice, and making your legs turn to mush when you're pulled up tight
against them, not to mention filling your head with all sorts of really wicked thoughts about what you'd like to do to them with a small bowl of ice cream and your tongue. Well, notyour tongue, my tongue. And speaking of that, just how did he know the aquamanile was gold?"
Inspector Proust watched me silently for a moment,
gently tapping a pencil against his chin. "Francois, my driver, will take you back to your hotel. I believe you are in need of sleep, Mle. Grey. If you can think of anything else that would help us, you will please contact me at the number on the card."
I looked down at the white card that had somehow ma-terialized in my hand. It was at that point that I realized I was not only babbling almost incoherently, but I truly was being released, as well. No ratty damp jail cell for me, woo-hoo!
"You'll let me know if you capture Drake, won't you? 'Cause my uncle is going to kill me if I don't recover that aquamanile. He's going to say it's my fault that Drake stole it, and that he'll have to reimburse Mme. Deauxville's family if I don't find it, and you know, I just honestly don't think I could ever make that much money, not with Alan—he's my ex-husband and a beach bum— leeching everything off me. So you'll tell me? If yon find Drake? Or my dragon?"
A grim little smile played around Inspector Proust's lips. "You may rest assured, mademoiselle, if we meet up with a man calling himself Drake Vireo, I will notify you immediately."
"He didn't believe me," I said softly to myself as I sat in the sunny hotel dining room, the remains of eggs and croissants littering the plate before me. I checked the tiny coffeepot, poured the last bit of it into my cup, and tried to force my brain into some fruitful thinking. Two things were obvious—I had to clear my name with the police before they would let me have my passport, and I needed to find Drake and get my dragon back. Surely the Amer-ican Embassy could help with the former.
"Step one, buy new clothes. Then go to the American Embassy and throw myself on their mercy." I looked in my neck pouch. The money I had left was meant to last only through that morning, no more. But I had my plane ticket. Since Uncle Damian only used cash to buy such things, it meant I could cash the ticket in. That should keep me from starving. The hotel bill was another matter. I knew that Beth had paid for the first night with the company credit card—maybe I could just tell the hotel to bill the rest. It was worth a try. With the hotel and money for food and a change of clothes taken care of, I could concentrate on the two issues at hand—proving to the police that I wasn't guilty of anything other than hav-ing extremely bad luck, and getting the dragon back. I'd worry about how I would get home later.
"First things first," I said as I marched over to the lobby phone. I pulled out the grubby card Rene the taxi driver had given me and dialed the cell-phone number on it.
Ten minutes later, Rene pulled up opposite the hotel, a grin on his face that faded when he took in my rumpled, bloodstained dress. "You look as if you have just visited a foie gras factory. What has happened to you?"
"It's a long story, way too long to tell you here. Did you mean what you said? You'd be my driver for the morning for fifty euros? No limit on the number of stops and stuff?"
Rene got out of the car and opened the back door for me, his blue eyes narrowing as I fingered my neck pouch. "You will stay in Paris, yes? No drives to Marseilles or Cannes?"
I gave him a wry grin. "I don't know anyone in Mar-seilles or Cannes, whereas I know three people in Paris— you, a very bad man named Drake, and Inspector Proust of the criminal investigation department. I just have to hope that Drake hasn't left Paris."
"Inspector Proust?" Rene sputtered, but he didn't stop me as I climbed into his taxi. "You have had dealings with the police?"
"I said it was a long story. If we're go on the fifty euros for the morning, then would you please take me first to a nice but cheap shop so I can get out of this grungy dress? My bag was stolen, and I don't have anything else to wear. I promise I'll tell you all about yesterday while we're on the way."
He shot me a look that contained at least a dozen ques-tions, but then got back into the car, flipping off the taxi meter. "I will take you to La Pomme Purfiee. It is a shop run by the wife of my cousin. Berthilde will give you a special price."
"Special sounds good as long as it's cheap. Oh, before we go there, I need to swing by and cash in my plane ticket. Is that on the way?"
His dark gaze met mine in the mirror. 'Won. But I will make it in our path. Now you will commence with your story. I am very much looking forward to hearing it."
By the time I'd cashed in my plane ticket (feeling a couple of twinges of guilt about that since I didn't pay for it in the first place) and visited the shop Rene recom-mended, I had made it through most of the story. The last bit was told as I stood in a curtained dressing room, try-ing on a couple of summer outfits, answering Rene's questions while I tried to decide between a very chic beige linen sleeveless tunic and matching pants, or a sexy 1930s-looking dress with big red poppies on it.
"What did Inspector Proust say when you told him about this man who stole your dragon?" Rene asked.
I parted the curtains and did a little twirl in front of where he sat waiting for me. "What do you think, too girly? I kind of like the poppies, but the other outfit is more sophisticated."
He did the Gallic shrug I'd seen earlier. "It is very nice/as well. Why do you not take both?"
