He's growing up, Dana thought with an unexpected pang. When it was time, Kemal went to bed and Dana walked into the kitchen to see Mrs. Daley.
«Kemal seems so…so peaceful. I can't tell you how appreciative I am,» Dana said.
«You're doingme a favor.» Mrs. Daley smiled. «It's like having one of my own children back. They're all grown now, you know. Kemal and I are having a grand time.»
«I'm glad.»
Dana waited up until midnight, and when Jeff still had not called, she went to bed. She lay there wondering what Jeff was doing, whether he was making love to Rachel, and she was ashamed of herself for her thoughts.
The man in the next apartment reported in. «All quiet.»
Her cell phone rang.
«Jeff, darling. Where are you?»
«I'm at Doctors Hospital in Florida. The mastectomy is over. The oncologist is still running tests.»
«Oh, Jeff! I hope it hasn't spread.»
«I hope so, too. Rachel wants me to stay with her for a few days. I wanted to ask you if—»
«Of course. You must.»
«It will only be for a little while. I'll call Matt and tell him. Anything exciting going on there?»
For an instant Dana was tempted to tell Jeff about Aspen and that she was going ahead with the investigation. He has enough on his mind. «No,» Dana said. «All quiet.»
«Give my love to Kemal. The rest is for you.»
Jeff replaced the receiver. A nurse came up to him.
«Mr. Connors? Dr. Young would like to see you.»
«The operation went well,» Dr. Young told Jeff, «but she will need a lot of emotional support. She is going to feel less of a woman. When she wakes up, she'll be panicky. You have to let her know that it's all right to be afraid.»
«I understand,» Jeff said.
«And her fear and depression are going to start all over again when we begin radiation treatments to try to stop the spread of the cancer. That can be very traumatic.»
Jeff sat there, thinking about what lay ahead.
«Does she have someone to take care of her?»
«Me.» And as Jeff said it, he realized he was the only one Rachel had.
The Air France flight to Nice was uneventful. Dana turned on her laptop computer to reexamine the information she had collected so far. Provocative, but certainly not conclusive. Proof, Dana thought. There is no story without proof. If I can —
«Nice flight, isn't it?»
Dana turned to the man seated next to her. He was tall and attractive and had a French accent.
«Yes, it is.»
«Have you been to France before?»
«No,» Dana said. «This is my first time.»
He smiled. «Ah, you are in for a treat. It is a magical country.» He smiled soulfully and leaned close to her. «Do you have friends to show you around?»
«I'm meeting my husband and three children,» Dana said.
«Dommage.»He nodded, turned away, and picked up his copy ofFrance-Soir.
Dana went back to her computer. An article caught her eye. Paul Winthrop, who had died in an automobile accident, had had a hobby.
Racing cars.
When the Air France plane landed at the Nice airport, Dana went into the busy terminal to the car-rental office. «My name is Dana Evans. I have a—»
The clerk looked up. «Ah! Miss Evans. Your car is ready.» He handed her a form. «Just sign this.»
Now that's real service, Dana thought. «I'll need a map of the south of France. Would you happen to —?»
«Of course, mademoiselle. » He reached behind the counter and selected a map. «Voilа.» He stood there watching Dana leave.
In the executive tower of WTN, Elliot Cromwell was saying, «Where is Dana now, Matt?»
«She's in France.»
«Is she making any progress?»
«It's too early.»
«I worry about her. I think maybe she's traveling too much. Today travel can be dangerous.» He hesitated. «Very dangerous.»
The air in Nice was cold and crisp, and Dana wondered what the weather had been like on the day Paul Winthrop was killed. She got into the Citroлn waiting for her and started driving up the Grande Corniche, passing picturesque little villages along the way.
The accident had happened just north of Beau-soleil, on the highway at Roquebrune-Cap-Martin, a resort that overlooked the Mediterranean Sea.
As Dana approached the village, she slowed down, observing the sharp, precipitous curves, wondering which one Paul Winthrop had gone over. What had Paul Winthrop been doing here? Was he meeting someone? Was he taking part in a race? Was he on vacation? Business?
Roquebrune-Cap-Martin is a medieval village with an ancient castle, church, historic caves, and luxurious villas that dot the landscape. Dana drove to the center, parked the car, and went to look for the police station. She stopped a man coming out of a shop.
«Excuse me, can you tell me where the police station is?»
«Je ne parle pas anglais, j'ai peur de ne pouvoir vous aider, mais—»
«Police. Police.»
«Ah, oui.»He pointed. «La deuxiиme rue а gauche.»
«Merci.»
«De rien.»
The police station was in an old, crumbling, white-walled building. Inside a middle-aged, uniformed policeman sat behind a desk. He looked up as Dana walked in.
«Bonjour, madame.»
«Bonjour.»
«Comment puis-je vous aider?»
«Do you speak English?»
He thought about it. «Yes,» he said reluctantly.
«I would like to speak to whoever is in charge here.»
He looked at her a moment, a puzzled expression on his face. Then he suddenly smiled. «Ah, Commandant Frasier. Oui. One moment.» He picked up a telephone and spoke into it. He nodded and turned to Dana. He pointed down the corridor. «La premiиre porte.»
«Thank you.» Dana walked down the corridor until she reached the first door. Commandant Frasier's office was small and neat. The commandant was a dapper man with a little mustache and inquisitive brown eyes. He stood up as Dana entered.
«Good afternoon, Commandant.»
«Bonjour, mademoiselle. In what manner can I be of assistance?»
