MURDER
in MONTMARTRE
Cara Black
ALSO BY THE AUTHOR
Copyright © 2006 by Cara Black
All rights reserved.
Published by
Soho Press, Inc.
853 Broadway
New York, NY 10003
My deep thanks to Dot, Barbara, Heather and Jan, Dr. Terri Haddix, M.D., Mark Haddix, Dorothy Arkell, Carla Bach, Jean Satzer, Warren, Grace Loh, Don Cannon, Anton Rittu, and Stephen Scholer. In Paris: Alice B, Marie Colonna dePaoli for her knowledge of polyphony and her island, Corsica, Chantal Landi-Costerian, Chez Ammad, Espace Cyrnea and Cintu, and Jon Henley. Heartfelt gratitude, appreciation and
Montmartre
In Paris the past is ever present,
one can never escape it.
AIMEE LEDUC’S HEELS SANK into the snow-crusted surface of the Paris street, quiet and deserted except for the whisper of ghosts. There were always ghosts, she thought, and they were even more poignant at this time of year: souls, wandering at night over the cobblestones, flitting through the dark paved courtyards, leaving exhalations of the past behind them.
The metallic edge to the winter air promised a storm. Below her, ice-veiled barges surrounded by escaping steam swayed on the surface of the slow-moving Seine. Quayside lights pricked the black water like so many stars. The hushed night noises, absorbed by the new-fallen snow, seemed planets away.
She hurried along the Ile St. Louis quai to her building, a relic of the seventeenth century, and mounted the steps, worn into grooves with the passage of time. Inside her cold apartment she met stale air and darkness. Disappointed, she hung her bag on the hook by the door. It was the third time this week Guy had been out at night, on call.
She heard a click, just audible. Alarmed, she switched on the light and called out, “Guy, is that you?”
He stood in the doorway facing her, his white evening shirt-collar unbuttoned, hands in his tuxedo jacket pockets, the expression in his gray eyes unreadable.
She gasped. Caught up in work, she’d forgotten the reception he was hosting as department head for Doctors Without Borders!
“Guy, forgive me but—”
“I was late for the reception,” he interrupted. “When I reached the hospital there was an emergency waiting for me. I was four minutes away from my patient’s losing his sight tonight. If I’d been there on time . . . but I waited for you.”
A hot flush spread over her cheeks. “Work! I’m sorry, you should have gone ahead without me, I didn’t think—”
“You know, at medical school they taught us to identify, isolate, and incise a malignancy,” he said.
Her muscles tightened. A cold chill emanated from him.
“And to remove it before it spreads, engulfing the organs, choking the lymph systems.”
“Guy, look, it goes both ways.”
He headed to the bedroom, pausing in the doorway to say, “Which crisis this time, Aimee? The computer crashed, you were chasing an account that hasn’t paid, you were lost on a hacking trail, or Rene left early and you had to cope?”
“Not bad. Three out of four, Guy.” She wanted to feel the warmth of his surgeon’s hands on her skin, his wonderful hands; his tapered fingers that had stroked her spine under the silk duvet last night.
A lost look crossed his face. Then it was gone. “It’s not working, Aimee.”
He opened the armoire and threw shirts into a duffel bag. He was serious.
“You’d flunk out of the navy,” she said, blocking his path.
He stared at her. “What?”
“You jump ship at the first sign of rough water.”
“We’ve had this argument before.” He shook his head, looking down. “I wanted us to work.”
“But it’s not just me,” she interrupted. “You’re always on call, you go away for three weeks at a time to medical conferences!” She left out the holidays and Saint Sylvestre, New Year’s Eve.
“I know.” He looked away.
Stupid. Why had she said it? Never rely on a man. Or let them know that you do.
“Guy, I’ll tattoo your schedule on my brain.” She reached out and pulled him to her, enveloping herself in his arms. “Nothing ever felt like this before.”
He traced his warm finger along her cheekbone. She closed her eyes, inhaling his lime vetiver scent. She felt something land in her pocket with a metallic sound.
“Here are your keys,” Guy said.
“Let’s work this out,” she said, fighting her fear. Why had she ignored the warning signs?
