Read Online A Temporary Ghost (The Georgia Lee Maxwell Series, Series 2) by Michaela Thompson - Free Book Online
Authors: Michaela Thompson
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anyway. “A lot is going on beneath the surface here. I’m trying to figure it out.”
“Why does everything have to be such a mess!” Kitty wailed.
I hadn’t pictured a conversation where I was trying to make her feel better. To strike a happier note I said, “You’re having a good time with Twinks?”
“Great.” Kitty still sounded wan. “She did the most adorable thing yesterday. You know my jacket with the gold buttons?”
“Sure.” The jacket also had epaulets, lavish braid trim, linebacker-size shoulder pads, and cuffs and lapels a yard wide.
“I’d left it on a chair to take to the cleaners, and she pulled off two buttons. We found one in her food dish. The other one hasn’t turned up yet.”
I remembered the buttons. Heavy gold, embossed with some sort of design. Undoubtedly irreplaceable. “God, Kitty, I’m so sorry. I’ll pay—”
“Don’t be silly. It was darling.”
I was more than ready to end this pick-me-up phone call. I told Kitty I’d be in touch, she told me to be careful, and we said good-bye.
Not nearly as restored as I’d hoped, I went to see if the rain had stopped so I could take my evening stroll before bed. Marcelle was loading the dishwasher. She left her task when I walked in and followed me out the back door.
We stood on the stoop under the overhang of the roof. Rain was spitting and the wind was high. Not walking weather. Marcelle took a cigarette from her apron pocket and lit up. In the glow from the kitchen I saw a crease between her dark eyes, a hard set to her chin. She inspected the tip of her cigarette and said, “Madame, is everything all right here?”
Good question. “What do you mean?”
“I mean with— them.” She jerked her head to indicate the house and its occupants.
“Why do you ask?” When in doubt, act evasive.
“Because” —she dropped her voice, although we were speaking French, and nobody else could understand her— “I heard them quarreling this afternoon.”
A lover’s spat between Vivien and Ross, perhaps. “You heard—”
“Madame Howard and Monsieur Pedro.” She crossed her arms as if daring me to dispute, which I immediately did.
“Pedro? Are you sure it wasn’t Ross?”
A vigorous nod sent her black curls flying. “Absolutely sure.” She leaned toward me. “I was dusting the upstairs hall this afternoon. I passed Madame Howard’s door, and I heard them. I heard her.”
“What was she saying?”
As soon as I asked, I realized the stupidity of the question. Marcelle couldn’t understand English. She shrugged and continued, “I could hear a man also, but not so loud. I didn’t want to seem to be listening, so I moved down the hall. I was about to go downstairs when the door opened and Monsieur Pedro came out.”
I was at a loss. “I guess they had a disagreement.”
“She was crying, Madame. I heard her when he opened the door.”
Rain sprinkled my face. I dabbed at the cold drops and said, “Did he see you?”
“I don’t think so. I moved into the alcove by the window. I didn’t want him to see me, you know? I felt afraid.”
“When did you say this was? What time?”
“Perhaps three-thirty or four.”
I’d been downstairs in the kitchen, talking with Ross. Later, Pedro had come to my room offering cocoa. He’d said he was going to make some for Vivien. First reduce her to tears, then make her cocoa so she’ll feel better. I thought back over dinner. All of them had seemed as normal as they ever did.
Marcelle went on, “So I’m asking you, Madame, if something is wrong.”
Marcelle probably didn’t know these people had been involved in a murder case, and I hated to think how she’d react if I told her. I said, “Madame Howard and I are working hard on a difficult book. She’s nervous about it. That’s all, I expect.” I knew I didn’t sound confident.
“I see.” Marcelle didn’t sound convinced, either.
The high-pitched whine of a motorcycle cut through the noise of the
“Why does everything have to be such a mess!” Kitty wailed.
I hadn’t pictured a conversation where I was trying to make her feel better. To strike a happier note I said, “You’re having a good time with Twinks?”
“Great.” Kitty still sounded wan. “She did the most adorable thing yesterday. You know my jacket with the gold buttons?”
“Sure.” The jacket also had epaulets, lavish braid trim, linebacker-size shoulder pads, and cuffs and lapels a yard wide.
“I’d left it on a chair to take to the cleaners, and she pulled off two buttons. We found one in her food dish. The other one hasn’t turned up yet.”
I remembered the buttons. Heavy gold, embossed with some sort of design. Undoubtedly irreplaceable. “God, Kitty, I’m so sorry. I’ll pay—”
“Don’t be silly. It was darling.”
I was more than ready to end this pick-me-up phone call. I told Kitty I’d be in touch, she told me to be careful, and we said good-bye.
Not nearly as restored as I’d hoped, I went to see if the rain had stopped so I could take my evening stroll before bed. Marcelle was loading the dishwasher. She left her task when I walked in and followed me out the back door.
We stood on the stoop under the overhang of the roof. Rain was spitting and the wind was high. Not walking weather. Marcelle took a cigarette from her apron pocket and lit up. In the glow from the kitchen I saw a crease between her dark eyes, a hard set to her chin. She inspected the tip of her cigarette and said, “Madame, is everything all right here?”
Good question. “What do you mean?”
“I mean with— them.” She jerked her head to indicate the house and its occupants.
“Why do you ask?” When in doubt, act evasive.
“Because” —she dropped her voice, although we were speaking French, and nobody else could understand her— “I heard them quarreling this afternoon.”
A lover’s spat between Vivien and Ross, perhaps. “You heard—”
“Madame Howard and Monsieur Pedro.” She crossed her arms as if daring me to dispute, which I immediately did.
“Pedro? Are you sure it wasn’t Ross?”
A vigorous nod sent her black curls flying. “Absolutely sure.” She leaned toward me. “I was dusting the upstairs hall this afternoon. I passed Madame Howard’s door, and I heard them. I heard her.”
“What was she saying?”
As soon as I asked, I realized the stupidity of the question. Marcelle couldn’t understand English. She shrugged and continued, “I could hear a man also, but not so loud. I didn’t want to seem to be listening, so I moved down the hall. I was about to go downstairs when the door opened and Monsieur Pedro came out.”
I was at a loss. “I guess they had a disagreement.”
“She was crying, Madame. I heard her when he opened the door.”
Rain sprinkled my face. I dabbed at the cold drops and said, “Did he see you?”
“I don’t think so. I moved into the alcove by the window. I didn’t want him to see me, you know? I felt afraid.”
“When did you say this was? What time?”
“Perhaps three-thirty or four.”
I’d been downstairs in the kitchen, talking with Ross. Later, Pedro had come to my room offering cocoa. He’d said he was going to make some for Vivien. First reduce her to tears, then make her cocoa so she’ll feel better. I thought back over dinner. All of them had seemed as normal as they ever did.
Marcelle went on, “So I’m asking you, Madame, if something is wrong.”
Marcelle probably didn’t know these people had been involved in a murder case, and I hated to think how she’d react if I told her. I said, “Madame Howard and I are working hard on a difficult book. She’s nervous about it. That’s all, I expect.” I knew I didn’t sound confident.
“I see.” Marcelle didn’t sound convinced, either.
The high-pitched whine of a motorcycle cut through the noise of the
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