The Body in the Vestibule

But not infallible. He'd neglected to close the closet door completely the second time. Faith was able to wiggle closer and, by wedging her foot in the crack, succeeded in opening it. The door to the other room was firmly shut. She lay still, listening.

It wasn't hard to hear what was going on, even through the closed door. Two people in addition to Christophe, and all three were shouting at the tops of their lungs.

“You salaudl You are not fit to wipe my ass! And you thought we would never find out! Imbecile!' It was a female voice, an extremely enraged female.

“How could you possibly think Dominique wouldn't tell me! Or didn't you care!”

Christophe was just as furious. 'How did you know I was here and what business is it of yours what I do! We live our own lives and I can fuck anyone I want!'

“Yes—and tell her she's the only one!' The girl started to cry.

“Come on. Let's go get something to eat. There's nothing left in the house. You both need to calm down.”

Faith could have told him these were the words most known to have the opposite effect on women in any language, and the explosion almost shook the beams of the kitchen ceiling. They would not calm down. They were not hungry and they were not leaving.

“And why are you so eager to get rid of us? You know, Berthille, I think the little shit is waiting for someone. Zut! He certainly brought me here enough times last fall.'

“And moi. I am sure you are right. Look at how scared he looks.”

Berthille and Dominique—Ghislaine's niece. The one whose mother was so worried about her, and now, it appeared, with good cause. The two girls Faith had seen at the gallery. And Christophe had been sleeping with them both. Another thing women tend to frown upon—one's boyfriend cheating with one's best friend. Christophe had a lot to learn.

But, Faith told herself, this was no time to get caught up in the adolescent intrigues going on in the next room, however interesting they might be. She had to decide whether to make her way across the floor and bang on the door or try to get the ropes untied, escaping out the back door. That was the best plan. She didn't think Christophe would do away with her while the others watched—or kill all three of them—but she didn't want to find out.

And maybe the girls, in their rage, had left the keys in the car's ignition.

The closet was narrow and she was finding it hard to get to her feet. Finally, she succeeded in rolling to her knees and stood up, bent over because of the rope that was strung from her ankles to her wrists. She looked at her purse on the floor. There was nothing much inside to help her. It was a small summer shoulder bag, not the capacious Coach saddlebag she carried at other times, which contained everything from toys for Ben to sustenance for them both—and a handy Swiss army knife. The only thing remotely resembling a tool in this one was an emery board. But, she thought, as she hopped awkwardly out of the closet and, having kicked off her shoes, silently into the room, she was in a kitchen! And kitchens, especially French ones, had sharp knives.

The fight in the next room had not abated. Christophe had apparently decided the best defense was offense and he continued to yell at both the girls. They had been lucky to be with him at all was the gist of it.

Faith tried to spit the uncomfortable gag from her mouth, but it was too tight. She hopped from drawer to drawer, turned around to open them, and, after locating where madame kept her dishcloths, odd bits of string, flashlight batteries, and coffee filters, hit pay dirt—three Sabatier knives in graduated sizes. She gripped the black handle and worked the blade back and forth on the rope binding her wrists. It wasn't exactly making carrot-flower decorations for sushi or deboning a turkey, yet it required the same precision if she wasn't going to open a vein inadvertently. She was almost free when a sentence came through the door that made her stop in amazement.

“And if you think we're breaking into any more apartments with you, you're crazy. I don't care about the clock-ards. They could get jobs, my father says. They are just too lazy and drunk.”

Breaking into apartments! The apartments of their own friends and relatives! But who better? Inside knowledge of not merely who had what but who was where. Have a nice time skiing at Val D'Isere, ma tante, and by the way, why don't you leave that too-heavy and inconvenient gold necklace at home?

And what was she saying about the clochards? Faith would have to think about that one later. At the moment, she didn't plan to stick around to hear anymore. Maybe sweet Dominique and Berthille were only part of the break-in scheme—and maybe not. At the moment, she didn't trust any of them.

Faith cut through the last of the rope, quickly freed her ankles, and untied the gag. Just as she was moving across the room to retrieve her purse from the closet, she heard Christophe's voice.

“I want some water.”

She didn't wait to watch the latch on the door move, but heard it as she raced to the closet, pulling the door shut behind her. Obviously, he was coming to check on her and obviously he wasn't going to find her as he had left her. She stuffed the gag in her mouth again, lay on the floor, quickly wound the ropes approximately back in place, and held tightly to the knife. If it came to that, she'd have the element of surprise. A nick just to get the gun; she hoped it wouldn't have to be anything else. She rolled on her back, so he wouldn't see the ropes had been cut, and started praying. She was in the middle of 'Our Father' when she remembered.

Her shoes.

Sitting side by side on the kitchen floor right outside the closet. She quickly switched to 'Please, God, don't let him see my shoes' and held her breath. She was so frightened, her heart seemed to stop beating.

“Water! Since when do you drink water? No, my boy, you sit here. We haven't finished with you, have we, Ber-thille? Maybe the thing to do is to leave him here for a nice long vacation. You take his car while I drive mine. How would you like that, you fumier!”

The kitchen door was slammed shut.

Faith was out of the closet and into her shoes instantly. She exchanged the paring knife she'd been using for the largest one in the set, placed it in her bag, and slung the bag around her neck to leave her arms free.

She'd already noted the door to the outside. It was covered with a long curtain of brightly colored plastic strips that were supposed to keep winged pests out of the kitchen when the door was open on hot summer days. She unlocked the door, noiselessly pushed aside the fluttering screen, and stepped into the backyard. There was a small lawn, bordered by a flat court for petanque, then the rest of the property dropped precipitously down to the stream. There was a well-worn almost vertical path to its banks.

However, that was not the way she planned to go. Somehow she must get to the front of the house and check out the car. It was a risk she had to take.

There were two windows on either side of the front door and a smaller one to the left of the fireplace. This was the one she had to worry about, since it overlooked the drive where the car was probably parked. But by crawling along the ground, she might avoid detection. Besides, she was fairly certain no one was looking out the windows at the moment.

Faith crept along the side of the house, careful to stay in the shadow. When she got to the chimney, she dropped down as flat as her body allowed and pulled herself along on her belly. She could see the car ahead of her. A shiny new red VW Golf convertible, number one on the most-stolen list. But Papa would have plenty of insurance.

The earth was still damp and had the rich smell spring brings. The promise of growing things. It was not unpleasant. She was almost to the car. Her knees were starting to get sore. She was really out of shape. Of course, Chris-tophe's rope tricks hadn't helped. She reached up and cracked the driver's side door open. She was breathing more rapidly in anticipation.

No keys.

She was so disappointed, she almost collapsed. She'd been counting on finding them there. It appeared even in the country, Dominique reflexively pocketed her keys. A girl who didn't take chances—chances of this sort. Now there was only one thing to do. Go back and make for the woods on the other side of the stream, away from the road.

Easing the car door shut, Faith crawled back across the yard. She'd almost made it to the corner when the front door banged open.