The Body in the Vestibule

him and Faith was sure he hadn't been sleeping well, even with Pierre and the Leblanc's aging Irish setter, Lola, as comforting bedmates. She hoped Ben would make up for it now. When he awoke, she planned to be right before his eyes. But where was Tom?

She walked into the kitchen and found a note propped up against the sugar bowl.

Sweetheart, I know you're going to be hungry when you wake up, so I went out for a few provisions. Back soon. Before you're awake, I hope. Love you, Love you, Love—I could go on forever, Tom He was a darling, Faith smiled to herself. And she was starving. Breakfast had been an awfully long time ago and she'd politely refused the Meyrueis gendarme's offer to stop on the highway for le sandweech. She'd wanted to get back.

The refrigerator was vintage Mother Hubbard. Since they'd planned to be away, Faith had emptied it. All that remained was ajar of Amora bearnaise sauce, surprisingly good in a junk food kind of way; some juice; and a few bedraggled scallions. She poured herself a glass of juice and stood at the window. The people across the way had filled their window box with bright pink begonias during her absence. It was odd to think of life going on so normally while hers was being turned upside down. Hers and the d'Amberts.

She hadn't seen Solange and Jean-Fran§ois but knew from Michael that they were in another part of the commissariat. What would she say to them? Or they to her? We're sorry our son planned to kill you? And from what Michel had said, it was not clear what role they, or perhaps only Jean-Francois, might have played. One of the large question marks that remained was what had happened to the stolen goods.

The girls and Benoit had told the police that they were stealing for the good of society. The idea had been Chris-tophe's—of course. The people they knew had too many things. They did not need the jewelry, and other items they owned and it would help to feed, clothe, and house those who had nothing. The plan was always the same. The four would meet to draw straws to see whose turn it was to carry out the robbery, then afterward would place the stolen goods at the bottom of a shopping bag filled with old clothes and drop the bag in a trash can at a particular rendezvous. The place was the only thing that changed, depending on where the targeted apartment was. Then they were to watch from a distance to make sure a clochard picked up the bag. They presumed the dochard then took the bag to some shelter or agency. When pressed for more details, all three had exhibited a similar lack of interest. Christophe knew. He'd arranged it. They trusted him. They were still protecting him, and it was not until Ravier told Berthille and Dominique that it had been Faith at the farmhouse, kidnapped by their friend, that they had broken down and cried. They had both been in love with him and he had treated them miserably. He was horrible. They hoped he would spend the rest of his life in prison. None of them had admitted to knowing his uncle or the clochard Bernard, except as mentioned by Christophe in passing as a character in his neighborhood.

It had been exhausting, Michel had told Tom and Faith. He'd far rather question adults, even hardened criminals. Less posing, fewer hormones. In the end, he was fairly certain all three had known nothing of the murder or kidnapping. And as for the robberies, he was pretty sure they deliberately chose not to think about what happened to the loot. So long as they told themselves they were performing a noble deed, they didn't have to admit to the fact that they were doing it for the thrill of it, and in Dominique's case, he suspected, to get back at her very proper parents.

Christophe. It all came back to this one young man, Faith thought as she finished the juice, which unfortunately had served to make her even hungrier. She went back into the hallway to go check on Ben. Her hand gently rubbed her abdomen — all serene there.

There was some mail from Saturday piled on the table and mirabile dictu — a ballotin of chocolates from Voisin. She opened the box and they proved to be those yummy Coussins de Lyon, little pillows of thin, crisp sugar, colored pale green, coating a stuffing of dark rich chocolate. She looked inside for a note to find out who they were from. It wasn't likely that Tom would have had the time or inclination to buy bonbons these last two days. She lifted up the layers of candies and there was a note at the bottom. Not a card from the shop but a piece of paper with jagged edges that appeared to have been hastily torn from a pad. It didn't do much to solve the mystery. All it said was:

It made no sense at all. Faith immediately put the box down. No matter how strong her hunger pangs, eating these did not seem to be a wise move. Attention, 'watch out'— she'd seen it on signs. Said it to Benjamin. Watch out for hearts? C. could be Christophe. Christophe and a heart, one of his girlfriends? One of the girls—or some other girl? And M. Another M had warned Faith and she hadn't understood how deadly the game was. The other two M's undoubtedly had. The candies had to be from Marilyn or Monique, placed in the Fairchild's mailbox before they, too, disappeared.

She had to tell Michel right away, so she walked into the living room to the telephone. As she picked up the receiver, the doorbell rang. It must be Tom, too burdened by comestibles to fiddle with the keys.

She darted to the door, opened it quickly, and said, 'Darling, I have to call—' Then she stopped short. It wasn't Tom. It was a neighbor. It was Valentina Joliet Dressed to go out in high-heeled pumps and a large red felt hat.

“Faith, Faith, we have been sick with worry about you! Thank God you are safe. And Christophe, who would have thought it? Such a good family. Solange is a wreck.”

^^ . Valentina. Christophe and Valentina. Hearts and flowers. Guns and hot bijoux. Attention a Valentina. Watch out for Valentina.

She'd solved the puzzle.

Hard to believe, but true. Christophe and Valentina, not your average class couple. She had assumed that with his euthanasia attitude toward anyone over thirty, Valentina would be out of the picture, yet here she was, where she'd always been, right in the foreground. A simple matter of focus.

And she knew immediately. Her glance leveled and there was no speculation in her eyes. 'I came to take you upstairs for something to eat, cherie. I met Tom as he was leaving and he said there was nothing in the apartment.' ]

“Thank you, but he'll be back soon and I'm not really very hungry.' Especially for Eggs Arsenic or whatever else Valentina had in mind.

“I'm so sorry. It would have been much easier and you see I am in a bit of a hurry to leave. A long-overdue visit home.”

Italy. Of course. And precocious little Christophe panting in anticipation, waiting on the doorstep. With tun- tun, tonton, or whomever, although he was probably still running.

Italy. Where Valentina so conveniently shipped artwork in great big packing cases.

Again Faith demurred. 'I'm very tired, as you can imagine.' As you know would be more accurate. 'Perhaps I will see you when you get back.”

But Valentina had come prepared for all eventualities. She reached in the pocket of her very smart navy blazer, pulled out a serviceable little revolver, a twin of Chris-tophe's and said, 'I think not.”

It couldn't be happening again. Tom would come through the door at any moment.

“Valentina, you must be insane. You can't get away with this.' They were lines from a thousand B movies, but they suited the moment.

“Au contraire, Faith, I will. Please open the door and walk ahead of me. It would be so traumatic for your small son to find his Maman dead in the hallway.”

Faith opened the door and stepped outside. The sunlight was struggling to filter through the dusty windows. Someone would have to call the regie to have them washed.

“Now start walking down the stairs,' Valentina commanded.

As Faith took the first step, it became clear what Madame Joliet had in mind. No bullets, no poison. Just an unfortunate accident. She grabbed Faith and deftly flung her up and almost over the railing. She'd have been successful if she hadn't teetered off balance in her high heels.

“No!' Faith screamed as she threw her body back away from the five-flight fall. She wrapped her leg around one of the upright iron rods that supported the banister and held tightly to another with both hands.

Valentina continued to push, using all her considerable strength. Faith took one hand away from the railing and slashed at her assailant's face with her nails. Blood streamed from the cuts, and while she tried to wipe her