Assault and Beret Read online

  “Company jet,” he said. “We were planning to liquidate it as an asset but I am really glad we held on to it for a bit. I’d have been mental if I was stuck cooling my heels in an airport in the middle of the night trying to get here, and it’s a six-hour drive so that wasn’t feasible either.”

  I smiled. If our positions were reversed, I knew I would feel the exact same way.

  The buzzer on the front door sounded again and Suzette went to answer it. This time it actually was the police, which was excellent timing because now we could tell Harrison and the police at the same time and not have to repeat ourselves.

  The man who came into the room was young, in his early thirties was my guess. He had thick wavy dark hair, a prominent nose, which looked to have been broken once or twice, and full lips. He smelled faintly of tobacco and coffee and wore a heavy overcoat over his suit. He showed his badge to Suzette and then Harrison before fully entering the room.

  Introductions were made, and the man identified himself as Inspecteur Lavigne. Harrison took over the conversation from there with input from Suzette.

  I didn’t know about Viv but I felt comforted having a frontline like Harry and Suzette to navigate our talk with the police. I didn’t want him to dismiss what had happened because we were clearly visitors and had almost no information to give him.

  Harrison spoke to the policeman in French just as he had with Suzette. Until tonight, I had never heard him speak in another language, and I have to say it was pretty hot. Not that this was the time to be having thoughts like that, but hey, I was exhausted and this was Harry, my Harry, and he was here and he was speaking French like a native. Honestly, a girl can only take so much.

  “Vivian, can you tell Inspecteur Lavigne what happened?” Harry asked.

  I glanced at Viv and she nodded. The motion caused her blond curls to bounce around her shoulders and I noticed Lavigne appreciated the gesture.

  We all moved to the couch and chairs and sat down. Suzette and Lavigne took the chairs while Harry, Viv and I took the couch. The inspector listened intently while Viv described the events of the evening. His face was impassive and I couldn’t guess what he was thinking. When she finished, he was silent for a moment and then he frowned.

  “I am sorry, Madame, but I must ask,” he said. “Do you know of anyone who wanted to harm your husband?”

  His voice was thick and rich and very soothing. I was betting he was a very good policeman as I’ve noticed over the years that the best police are the ones who know how to talk kindly to people. Since most police only deal with people in times of dire distress, I always thought it spoke well of the ones who could be kind and patient, instead of abrupt.

  “My husband and I have been apart for some time,” Viv said. “I am afraid I don’t really know who is in his life presently, other than that man he spoke to at dinner.”

  “Emile St. James?” Inspecteur Lavigne clarified.

  Viv nodded.

  “His place of employment is O’Toole Insurance,” I said. “I met his boss, Monsieur O’Toole. He may have a better idea of who in Will’s life might be holding a grudge. He investigates claims for high-priced art. There might be someone who is unhappy with him.”

  Inspecteur Lavigne nodded. He glanced between us. “Is there anything else?”

  Viv and I exchanged a look. I couldn’t think of anything. She shook her head. Neither could she.

  “I’m sorry,” I said. “That’s all we know.”

  He nodded. “I will contact his employer first thing in the morning.” He pulled a thick white business card out of his coat pocket and handed it to Viv. “If you think of something or if you hear from him, please call.”

  “I will,” she promised.

  We all stood and Harrison walked Inspecteur Lavigne out. Once they were out the door, Viv slumped back onto the couch. Her blues eyes were filled with worry and tears. I sat beside her and squeezed her hand.

  I didn’t bother to speak because I knew that saying it will be okay only works so many times, plus the visit with the inspector had made the situation much more real.

  “What if it’s a kidnapping?” Viv asked. “They won’t call me. No one even knows we’re married. Will they call his parents back in Iowa? How will I explain who I am to them?”

  “Easy,” I said. “We don’t know what’s happening yet. Tomorrow, I will go to the insurance office and talk to Mr. O’Toole and see what he can tell me about what Will was working on; maybe there was a problem with a different claim.”

  “I’ll go with you,” Viv said.

  “No, you need to teach your class,” I said. “Your students paid an awful lot of money to attend and it wouldn’t be fair to them for you to skip out. Besides, we have no idea what this is about yet. Maybe it was nothing.”

  Viv looked at me and I knew from the look on her face that she didn’t believe that this was nothing. Far from it. I didn’t believe that either but I also didn’t think she was the best one to go around asking questions. As we all knew, dealing with people was not her gift, it was mine.

  “You’ll stay in touch with me the entire time?” she asked. “And you’ll take Harrison with you.”

  “Yes to the first, absolutely, but I don’t know about the second,” I said. “He may have to get back to London.”

  “Viv is right,” Suzette said. “You should have an escort if you are going to ask questions about Will’s disappearance. It could be dangerous.”

  “Which is why I am here,” Harrison said as he reentered the room. “And I’m not leaving.”

  I suppose it was totally inappropriate that my heart did a little tap dance of joy that Harry was here in Paris with me. I glanced at Viv, who still looked shell shocked and miserable. Yes, it was wrong of me, I got that, and yet, I just couldn’t help it. Me and Harry, solving a missing person’s case in Paris together. Totally romantic, right?

  * * *

  The sleeping arrangements were my first indicator that this was going to be more problematic than I had anticipated. All of Suzette’s apartments were occupied, which left Harry sleeping on the couch in our living room. Thankfully, the sofa was long enough to fit him, well, if he squinched up a little bit, but still, Harry was asleep mere feet away from me.

  Have I mentioned that I’ve been celibate for almost a year now? Mostly, because I was busy hating all men, it hadn’t been a problem, but this was Harry. Other than my two gay friends, Andre and Nick, he was the only man, besides my dad, who had managed to worm his way into my inner circle of people I liked and trusted.

  It was more than just physical attraction with me and Harry, although there was a truckload of that, it was also that I just flat out adored him as a person. He was funny and kind, patient, and had a self-deprecating humor that always made me smile. He was also a heck of a kisser. What can I say? There had been a couple of circumstances where kissing had been impossible to avoid. Really, absolutely unavoidable.

  And now he was sleeping on the other side of a flimsy door, you know, those things that swing on hinges, making it so easy to actually open and close them and sneak into places you had no right to be in the middle of the night. Yeah, those things.

  This was not good, really not good, as a test of my self-control. I am the person who will circle the refrigerator, wherein lies the last piece of cake, for an hour convincing myself that if I just take a nibble, no one will notice until predictably there is nothing left on the sad little plate but some crumbs and a pitiful dab of frosting, which I will invariably swipe up with a finger.

  Yeah, me and self-control are not boon companions; in fact, I don’t even let it ride shotgun with me. So, having six-feet-plus of Harry separated from me by a lousy door, really, there needed to be a dragon in between us, a fire breather at that, if I was planning to still be celibate upon our return from Paris.

  I tossed. I turned. I thrashed. The nig
ht was fitful, as all the romance novels say. During the many times I woke up, I wondered if Harry was sleeping any better than I was. Then I wondered what exactly I thought I’d do with him since Viv was on the other side of the apartment separated by just as flimsy a door as ours.

  Yeah, that nipped and tucked the dilemma. With Viv so close and suffering the worst sort of confusion, lost the husband, found the husband, then lost the husband again, I would never shack up with Harry right in front of her. It would be insensitive at best and heartless at worst.

  Still, the close quarters were a game changer and I knew there was only one person who could absolve me of my present dilemma, my mom.

  It was early evening in Briar Creek, Connecticut, the small town where my parents had recently moved so my father could ease his scientist self into semiretirement while still working part-time at Yale. I took a chance that my mom would be home and would answer her phone.

  “Hello, pet,” she answered. Her soft British accent wrapped around me like a hug. “Is everything all right? Isn’t it about two o’clock in the morning your time?”

  “It is,” I said. I dragged the comforter off my bed and wrapped it around me so I could huddle in the farthest corner of the room from the door. It wouldn’t do to wake anyone up with this conversation. “Honestly, I’m having some trouble sleeping.”

  “Is something bothering you? Can I help?”

  “More like someone and, yes, in fact, you can,” I said. Now here is where I needed to segue into my pitch to be free of my one-year vow. My mother loved me. Heck, I was her only child. Surely, she would see her way to relieving me of this horrible burden of celibacy.

  “I know I agreed to not date anyone for a year,” I said. “But—”

  “Aren’t you supposed to be in Paris, helping Viv with her hat-making class?” she interrupted as only a mum can.

  “Yes, we’re in Paris,” I said. We hadn’t told her that we were looking for Viv’s husband, because Viv’s mother is my mother’s sister and I didn’t want to put my mother in the position of having to lie to her sister, so yeah, I was lying to my mother instead. Awesome.

  “Scarlett, you aren’t getting your head turned by a charming Frenchman, are you?” my mother asked. She sounded unhappy. “When you have that nice Harrison waiting for you in London.”

  So, this was good. She was looking out for Harry. They had met when my parents came to visit the previous November and I knew that both my parents liked him. Maybe this wasn’t going to be so hard after all.

  “Actually,” I said. “Harry’s here.”

  “Here? Here, where?”

  “Here in Paris, with us,” I said.

  “Oh,” she said.

  It was a loaded “Oh.” You know, the sort that carried a hint of understanding, a dash of sympathy, and a dollop of disappointment.

  “Scarlett,” she sighed.

  “He had to come over for business, so now we’re here together in the most romantic city in the world,” I said. “Mum, I am not made of stone.”

  “No, you’re not.” She laughed, long and loud. I would have been offended if I hadn’t been trying to press my case.

  “So, what I’m wondering is—” I began but she interrupted me.

  “Is whether I will let you off the hook on your vow not to date for a year?” she asked.

  “Yes.” I squeezed my eyes tight and clenched my fist in the comforter.

  “Oh, dearest, of course I will,” she said.

  “You will?”

  “Absolutely,” she said. “I just want you to be happy.” I felt myself relax in relief. “Besides, it will be so wonderful being able to tear the Mickey out of you for the rest of your life.”

  “What?” I squawked. It came out very loud and I immediately lowered my voice before commencing my whine. “But Muuuuuum.”

  Her only response was to laugh. By “tear the Mickey out” of me, she meant that she would tease me unmercifully if I gave in on my vow now. She was a heartless woman. I told her as much and she laughed even harder.

  Giving up, I told her I loved her but not as much as Dad and then I promised to call them both when we got back from Paris, oh, and I was quite sure I’d still be single and it was all her fault.

  She told me she loved me, too, and hung up, still laughing.

  See? Heartless. Cranky, I dove back into my bed and proceeded to sulk. It is one of my more refined skills. After a while, pouting got boring and I couldn’t help but think that I was lucky to be able to pout over my man, who was here, unlike Viv, whose man was MIA. With my perspectacles firmly in place, it was pretty easy to let it go and resign myself to waiting out the next two months, alone.

  Remembering the purpose of our trip to Paris helped lull me into a deep sleep and I managed to get a few solid hours in before Viv was once again in my bedroom, commanding me to wake up.

  “Scarlett, wake up.” She jostled me. I burrowed deeper. “Scarlett, I have to go. Mr. Martin is waiting.”

  She wasn’t going to go away. I pulled my covers down and sat up. Harrison chose that moment to appear in the doorway.

  “Good morning,” he said. He looked cheerful and then bewildered. “What is on your pajamas?”

  I glanced down. Oh, hell’s bells. I was wearing my rubber duck pajamas. If there was an ejector button on my bed that would send me flying out of the room, I would have hit it hard.

  “Nothing,” I said and pulled up my covers at the same time that Viv said, “Rubber ducks.”

  “Well, I guess they really fit the bill,” Harry joked.

  Viv snorted. “I call fowl on that one.”

  This time Harrison hooted, and said, “Thanks, I was just winging it.”

  My eyes rolled back into my head. I had a feeling this could go on all day.

  “You two are really quacking me up,” I said. They both looked at me with perfectly blank faces. I was outraged. “No, no, no, that was a good one. Admit it.”

  My cousin and friends were quite the punsters, and ever since I had arrived in London, they had quipped and barbed one another, but whenever I joined in, they never laughed. I am quite certain it was a joke among the lot of them to tease me and they were relentless.

  “Don’t get your feathers all ruffled,” Viv said.

  Harrison chuckled and added, “Indeed, no need to be down in the mouth.”

  “That’s it!” I cried as the two of them stood there smiling. “I am getting dressed so shoo. We need to go look for a missing husband, in case you have forgotten, so quit goofing around.”

  I regretted my words as soon as they flew out of my mouth. Why, oh why, didn’t we have a real-life rewind button? So much stupidity could be avoided if we just had a second to rethink it.

  Viv’s face fell and she turned away from my bed with a shaky nod. “You’re right. I’m sorry.”

  She spun on her heel and fled. I gave Harrison a beseeching look and he nodded. “I’ll go after her and make sure she’s okay.”

  “Thanks,” I said. I felt like a complete heel. I hadn’t meant to be so harsh. Right then and there, I promised myself I’d make it up to her. I would find William Graham no matter what.

  Chapter 13

  By the time I had pulled myself together and joined Harry and Suzette for what remained of breakfast, Viv was long gone. After I carb loaded with some viennoiserie pastries and washed them down with hot coffee, Harry caught me up to speed as we hit the streets.

  He had already called O’Toole Insurance, posing as a client, and talked to Mr. O’Toole, who told him that Will was not in the office today due to unforeseen circumstances.

  We assumed that Inspecteur Lavigne would be stopping by O’Toole Insurance, so we opted not to pursue it further . . . for now.

  Instead, we decided to follow the only other lead we had.

  “Do you really think we
’ll just find him at home?” I asked Harrison as we trudged down the narrow neighborhood street where William Graham lived.

  My spirits had been in the dumper after my bout with foot-in-mouth disease with Viv, so I had donned a raspberry beret in an effort to cheer myself up. Yes, it was a nod to Prince the musician and to Paris, and even though it clashed horrifically with my fiery red hair, it did pick up my mood and it kept my head warm, so that was something.

  “No, although that would be nice,” he said. “But I think it might give us some ideas of where to look for him.”

  “How?”

  “We can talk to his neighbors and see what they know about him,” Harrison said. “Maybe the people who grabbed him stopped by his home first. Maybe someone saw them.”

  “How did you get his home address?” I asked. “He’s not listed and I didn’t get the feeling that Mr. O’Toole would be the sort to share his employee’s information without the proper legal documentation.”

  “I called Alistair,” he said. “He used some of his legal connections in France to finagle the address out of O’Toole Insurance.”

  “Alistair who is smitten with our Viv?” I asked.

  “That’s the one,” he said. “I figured he had a vested interest in finding Viv’s husband.”

  “And it wasn’t awkward?” I asked.

  “Alistair is a smart bloke,” Harrison said. “He knows that the only way to win Viv’s affection is to clear up the situation with her husband. Also, he likes Viv enough that if staying with her husband is what she chooses, he will gracefully bow out.”

  “Gracefully, huh?” I asked. I’m not really sure what made me do it. It was like the devil flew into me, and I turned to look at him and asked, “Would you be graceful about it?”

  He stopped walking. The air around us remained frosty but the sun shone brightly today and I could feel its heat on the side of my face. Then again, maybe that was Harry’s stare, intense and direct and hot, hot, hot.

  “No,” he said. Then he turned and continued walking.

  Wow, just wow. How did one surly “no” make all of my girl parts sigh in the most ridiculously besotted way? It just did. I hurried after Harry.