Decaffeinated Corpse

himself with a confident air of dignified elegance.

As he spoke to the receptionist, Madame leaned toward me. “Clare,” she whispered. “What do you want us to do?”

“Just go along with me,” I whispered in reply. Then I silently pointed to the brochure and Anil Kapoor’s bio. Madame began to read it over.

“Ladies?” the receptionist called after Mr. Kapoor left the waiting room and headed towards the agency’s offices. “Do you have an appointment?”

“No, we don’t.” I rose from the couch and moved toward her desk. “This company was recommended to us... and we were in the neighborhood today, visiting friends at the French Embassy, so we thought we might just drop in and ask a few questions...”

I ran out of words, but Madame was ready—

“Oui, oui...” she said, summoning her old French accent. “We’re a bit uncertain about the whole process, comprenez-vous ? But of course if no one is available to talk to us about your company, we can call for an appointment, une certaine autre heure, oui? I believe there’s another agency the deputy secretary recommended...” Madame made a show of looking through her Prada bag. She glanced at me. “Do you have that other agency’s card, my dear, or do I?”

The receptionist quickly spoke up. “I’m sure you won’t have to leave before seeing someone. Just give us another few minutes, and I’ll ask if Mr. Kapoor’s available. If not, I’m sure a member of his staff will answer all of your questions.”

“Merci,” Madame replied.

“Your names please?” the receptionist asked.

Five minutes later, the young woman was escorting us into a corner office. The decor in here was markedly different from the bland waiting room. Mahogany bookshelves lined the walls with leather-bound volumes. A thick Persian rug of sapphire, jade, and ruby covered a parquet floor, and the large room was dominated by a substantial desk of dense wood lacquered a shiny black.

Behind a sleek flat-panel computer monitor sat Anil Kapoor. He rose when we entered, his hand moving to smooth his pearl colored tie.

“May I present Madame Marie LaSalle and her daughter, Vanessa LaSalle,” the receptionist announced.

“Madame, mademoiselle,” Mr. Kapoor said. He extended his hand and we all politely shook. Then the receptionist backed out of the room and her boss gestured to the two mahogany chairs in front of his desk.

“What may I do for you today?” Mr. Kapoor asked, discreetly swiveling his whisper-thin computer monitor to the side.

“We have a few questions for you,” I began. “We’re looking to hire an investigator to help... with an investigation.”

One of Mr. Kapoor’s dark eyebrows rose very slightly. “What sort of investigation?”

“Well, the details are... they’re very private. First we have some questions about your agency... you understand?”

Mr. Kapoor shifted in his chair, gave me a polite smile. “I’ll answer any questions, if I can.”

“You see, this is the first time we’d be using you, although a friend of ours recommended you to us.”

“And who might that be?”

“He’s an executive,” I said, “with TerraGreen International.”

“Oh? What division?”

“Division? I... I’m not sure...”

“What country then?” Mr. Kapoor asked.

“The U.S. He’s based right here in Long Island.”

“I see.”

“Anyway,” I said, “Jerry mentioned to us that he’s very happy with the case you’re working on now for him...”

Mr. Kapoor’s forehead wrinkled. “Jerry?”

“Jerry Lassiter, of course. He did give me the right agency? You’re investigating his wife, Ellie, aren’t you?”

The man remained quiet for a long moment, his dark eyes studying me and then Madame. “I’d like to be helpful,” he said, “but I’m not familiar with every case this agency handles. And, of course, it’s not our policy to discuss any ongoing investigation. Now, tell me a bit about your needs. What sort of case do you have?” His eyes squinted a fraction. “If you really have one...”

“Of course we have one. It’s... it’s a case of...”

“It’s a missing person’s case,” Madame levelly replied.

“I see,” said Mr. Kapoor. “Man, woman, or child?”

“Man,” said Madame.

“Age?” Mr. Kapoor asked.

“About thirty,” Madame replied.

“And where was he last seen?”

Madame glanced out the window a moment. “The French Riviera.”

“Can you be more specific?”

“The beaches of Nice. It’s simply a question of finding the man again, you see?” Madame said. “After he shared himself for a few unforgettable months, he simply disappeared.”

“Oh, yes. I think I see now.” Mr. Kapoor nodded. “It’s a love affair?”

“But of course,” Madame replied.

Mr. Kapoor locked eyes with me. “And exactly how long did this missing man and your daughter have this love affair?”

“My daughter?” Madame repeated. “Non, monsieur. The love affair was mine!”

Mr. Kapoor didn’t appear the sort of man to surprise easily, but his stoic expression cracked just then. His jaw slackened and his throat issued a grunt of incredulity.

“Yours, Madame?”

“Oui!”

He leaned forward. “Do you... have a photo?”

“I do...”

I tensed as Madame searched her bag. I had no idea what she was up to with this tale, but I was grateful she’d come up with something on a dime.

“Here you are,” she said, handing Kapoor a snapshot from her wallet.

He gazed at it, then handed it back. “A very handsome man.”

“Oui,” said Madame with a quick glance at me. “His name is Antonio.”

“And you’d like us to find him for you?” Kapoor asked.

Madame nodded.

Good luck with that, I thought. The late Antonio Allegro might very well have been on the beaches of Nice in his lifetime, but he’d been “missing” for a few decades.

“Well, Madame, I’m happy to inform you that we do have an office on the Riviera, and I’m sure we can accommodate this search. We can coordinate everything from here in the New York office. Would you like us to get started today? I’ll assign a case officer...”

As Mr. Kapoor picked up the phone, I spoke up again. “I think we’ll need to consider it for a few more days, won’t we, Mother?”

Madame nodded. “Oui... you know, it is possible Antonio might still get in touch.”

“Yes, of course,” said Mr. Kapoor setting the phone down again.

“But, you know...” I said. “If Mother does decide to use your agency, she needs to make sure we have the right one recommended to us. Jerry Lassiter is a client here, isn’t he? You can confirm that much at least, can’t you? You are investigating his wife?”

Mr. Kapoor pressed a button on his phone. “Ms. Cassel, if you please,” he said into the intercom. Then he