“Madame Pontet, please calm down.” The man motions to an armchair on the other side of the window. “Have a seat, and I shall explain everything.”
I sit down right where I am, on the luggage bench by the door. “I can hear every word from here.”
“Very well.” He turns on a lamp and settles into his armchair again.
We study each other in silence.
“My name is Theodor Delaroche,” he says. “I am a Monegasque businessman, and I have never in my life hurt, harassed, or insulted a woman.”
“If you say so.” I eye his beefy torso.
His pecs and biceps are too big to be concealed by his impeccable suit. His facial muscles move a bit, but there’s no telling what emotional response that movement corresponds to.
I lean back against the wall. “What brings a Monegasque businessman to Chambéry on this cold January night?”
“You,” he answers directly. “I paid off Doc to leave you alone.”
“I don’t believe you.”
He contracts the left side of his brow. “You doubt I had the money?”
“Doc didn’t want the money! Gilles begged him to give us a week so we could sell anything we had and borrow what we could to pay the twenty grand. But Doc’s answer was a flat no.”
“He said yes to my 200K.”
I take a moment to process that information. “What do you want from me? Do you expect a full month on the same terms as Doc?”
“I expect nothing,” he says. “You owe me nothing. It was my initiative, and the deal was made between me and Doc. You never agreed to the switch, so you have no commitments to honor.”
I cock my head. “Except, there’s a catch, isn’t there? There’s always a catch.”
“No catches, just a chance to help me.”
“What do you mean?”
“Both you and your brother are now free from his gambling debt.” He points at the door. “You can walk away when we’re done talking.”
“Just like that?”
“Just like that. I won’t follow you.”
“Hmm… So, what’s your offer?”
“You can choose to stay and help me find an object that means the world to my family and myself.”
I narrow my eyes. “What object?”
“An antique key.”
“I don’t know what you were told about me, Monsieur Delaroche, but I’m a glassblower. I know nothing about antique keys.”
He seems to bristle. “I’m well aware of what you do for a living, Madame Pontet. I even know about your volunteer work at the animal rescue shelter and your love of the outdoors and hiking.”
“I see you’ve done your homework. Still, my occupations and hobbies don’t make me an authority on keys.”
“There are things you know without realizing you know them,” he remarks enigmatically. “Give me a month of your time. Less if we find the key sooner. If we don’t,”—he shrugs nonchalantly—“when the month is out, we’ll part ways regardless, and you’ll never hear of me again.”
“Is that your offer?”
