Page 38

“Are you sure?” asked Reine-Marie.

“Positive. Should we hold the room for him?”

“If you don’t mind,” said Armand.

“The suite,” said the manager, “is three thousand five hundred euros.”

Reine-Marie and Armand exchanged a glance. They could certainly cover that.

“A night.”

Reine-Marie’s face remained composed, though she could feel her blood, and her children’s inheritance, draining away.

Two weeks … that would come to …

“It comes to forty-nine thousand euros,” said Monsieur Pannier. “So far. That is, of course, before tax and any other charges. Monsieur Horowitz often had meals in his room.”

Reine-Marie did a rough conversion in her mind. About seventy-five thousand Canadian dollars.

So far.

“Given the circumstances,” said Madame Béland, “all we’d need is a ten percent deposit.”

“Avec plaisir,” said Armand, as though they’d expected it to be more. “I understand someone else is staying there. Can you tell us who that is?”

The manager frowned. “Non. Monsieur Horowitz was alone in the suite.”

“Are you sure?” asked Reine-Marie.

“Quite sure.”

“I’d like you to cancel the old keys,” said Armand, handing back the key he had. “And have new ones issued, please.”

They did.

As they left, Reine-Marie whispered to Armand, “You’re going to have to get a paper route.”

“You’re going to have to sell a kidney.”

She smiled. “Should we at least stay here, if we’re paying?”

“Would you like to?”

She thought about it. “Non. I prefer our apartment.”

“Moi aussi.”

“Where to now?” she asked and got the answer as Armand gave the taxi driver the address.

“Cinq rue Récamier, s’il vous plaît. It’s in the Seventh Arrondissement. Across from the Hôtel Lutetia.”

Stephen’s apartment.

Armand sat back, the box on his knees, the satchel sitting on the seat between them.

The magnificent Haussmann buildings glided past, but he was lost in thought.

While he definitely liked the finer things, Stephen was notoriously careful with his money. Some might even say stingy.