The topic of chocolate turns to chit-chat about the history of the company and seventeenth-century Paris. The lighter subject matter carries us through the rest of the meal, but an air of tension remains.
When dessert is finished, Vincent stands abruptly and leaves. Dora ignores his rude behavior as she rolls back from the table. “Care for a nightcap, Brooke?”
“Thank you, but I should probably go. Jetlag isn’t quite done with me yet.” The others stand, so I follow suit, speaking directly to Dora. “Thank you for a lovely evening.”
Dora glances to her granddaughter. “Luci, please, see our guest out.”
Luci nods and meets me in the doorway. Only Ric and Lyam walk with us to the foyer, Chantal disappearing without saying a word.
Luci opens the front doors to a damp wind and the sound of pouring rain. “Uh-oh.”
Ric grabs my hand and tugs. “I’ll take care of you, Brooke. We’ll go through the house, so you won’t get wet.” He licks his lips and rubs his thumb in the center of my palm.
My skin tightens, and I feel dirty all over.
Thankfully, Lyam intercedes. Frowning at his brother, he points to the courtyard. “The covered walk will keep you dry for the most part. And you can take this with you.” He opens the door to a huge wardrobe and retrieves a black umbrella.
Pulling free of Ric, I accept the umbrella, resisting the urge to wipe my palm on my thigh.
Suddenly stone-faced, Luci gives me air kisses on both cheeks again. “Good night.”
She puts an arm around my shoulders and guides me out the door. I say my last goodbyes and leave.
Rain batters the cobblestones, drops splattering the legs of my pantsuit. But the cool breeze cleanses the lastickinessof Ric.
Careful in my heels, I hurry to the covered walk, my mind already on my laptop and my next internet search. The uncomfortable dinner and Ric’s handsy behavior have already taken a backseat to Luci’s announcement.
If the missing girl was found in the catacombs, why did Dora instantly link her to the dark tourists’ interest in Maison Marteau? And why is the mansion called the house of death?
At the end of the walkway, I lift the umbrella again and make another short dash around the corner of the building. With the umbrella up and my head down, I don’t notice the visitor at my door until the last minute.
Stopping short, I stare at my unexpected guest. “What are you doing here?”
11
The little black cat huddles beside my door, her fur shiny with wet streaks. Crouched down, she stares at me, eyes bright green in the porch light.
“Hi, sweet girl.” I’m only guessing she’s female, because of her size. And something in the sweetness of her heart-shaped face.
After a moment, I squat and hold out my hand. Keeping a safe distance, she sniffs the air but makes no attempt to run.
With slow, easy movements, I stand, lean over her to unlock the door, and give it a little push.
She rises and turns in one liquid motion before taking a cautious step inside. Now that she’s on her feet, I see how painfully thin she is and take a mental inventory of what I have in the fridge.
When she’s over the threshold, she pauses to sniff again. Finding no apparent threat, she wanders in, her paws leaving tiny wet spots on the floor.
I don’t second-guess my decision to let her into the apartment. Not for a minute. I’m only a renter, and the family might object—might even kick me out—but I can’t turn her away.
As she sniffs along the walls and furniture, I make a large arc around her and head to the kitchen. Taking a small plate from the cabinets, I load it up with cold cuts and set it in the middle of the floor.
I find a small bowl for water, but by the time I fill it up, I catch a black flash from the corner of my eye.
She’s found the meat on the plate, and it’s almost gone.
“Poor thing.” I watch as she finishes the cold cuts, licking the plate for every morsel.
When the dish is clean, she glances up at me. Back to the plate. Up to me again.That’s all you’ve got?
