Read Online Crime Fraiche by Alexander Campion - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Alexander Campion
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she usually carried slightly tilted to the right, an exceptionally long neck, and flowing, shoulder-length dark blond hair”—Isabelle held up the paper and quoted—“ ‘just like a spurned Modigliani model’?”
“Wait a minute!” Claude said. “Do you mean she’s done this before? We were taken in by a scam? I find that impossible to believe. She’s our friend.”
Bertrand stared into space, searching his memory, and breathed a sigh of relief. “Actually, she did look a teeny bit like a Modigliani sometimes, but her hair wasn’t blond. It was very dark brown, almost black,” he said triumphantly.
“Hair coloring,” Claude said. “Now that I think about it, it was one of those horrid home-dyes. That’s our Célestine. No doubt about it.”
“Good,” Capucine said, standing up. “At your convenience you need to call Brigadier Lemercier to make an appointment to give your deposition. Bring a copy of your appraisal. She’ll give you the affidavit for your insurance claim.”
The dancer called Claude looked like he would burst into tears.
Bertrand staved off the crisis by putting a hand on his partner’s thigh. “It all worked out for the best. We’re going to get cash for that eyesore, and Célestine, sweet creature whoever she may really be, will have enough to get by on for a month or so. What more could you ask for?” he asked with an only slightly cynical laugh.
CHAPTER 10
T hat afternoon Capucine indulged in a session of self-recrimination, a luxury she had only begun to permit herself once that she had established her authority over the commissariat and their arrest statistics had become the envy of the Paris force. The irritant was the interview of the two dancers. Isabelle had not lived up to expectations, clear proof that she was not being properly managed. David had stolen the focal point from her. Yes, the participants’ sexual orientation was a factor, but was that really all that was at work?
As she danced between the Scylla and Charybdis of under- and over-managing Isabelle, she began to nibble away at the pile of files on her desk that seemed once again to have risen in the night like a bowlful of bread dough. Just as she was immersing herself in the peccadilloes of a gang of pickpockets who were doing quite well off the American tourists at the Père-Lachaise Cemetery, the phone rang. She picked it up, still swimming in the file.
“ Allô! Allô! Ma nièce? ” asked Oncle Aymerie in the overloud voice of those who mistrust technology of any sort. “Are you there? It’s your uncle.”
“Mon oncle,” Capucine said, turning a page, “how good to hear your voice. I was just going to call you to tell you how much Alexandre and I enjoyed our week at Maulévrier. So foolish of me to have stayed away.”
“ Formidable. I’m delighted you feel that way because I want you to come back. Would this weekend be too soon?”
“Alexandre enjoyed himself immensely. He was particularly impressed with Odile’s cooking.” She turned another page. “And I was so happy to see you again. We must come down again soon. Maybe after Christmas.”
“Perfect! We’re going to walk up Saint Agnès’ field on Saturday. It’s in stubble and there will be excellent partridge. The weather will be perfect. Not too sunny. Not too cold. Alexandre needs to get out more. He has definite potential as a gun. I’m going to put him in the center of the line.”
Capucine turned another page. The lieutenant in charge of the investigation seemed to think there was a gang of at least twenty adolescents involved. She was going to have to adjust the duty roster and add more personnel to the case.
“No point in arriving too early on Friday. It will just be family. Jacques will be here, of course. That will please Alexandre. And we can eat whenever you shake off the dust of the trip.”
Capucine closed the file with a snap. “Mon oncle, we can’t possibly come this weekend.” A tiny furrow appeared
“Wait a minute!” Claude said. “Do you mean she’s done this before? We were taken in by a scam? I find that impossible to believe. She’s our friend.”
Bertrand stared into space, searching his memory, and breathed a sigh of relief. “Actually, she did look a teeny bit like a Modigliani sometimes, but her hair wasn’t blond. It was very dark brown, almost black,” he said triumphantly.
“Hair coloring,” Claude said. “Now that I think about it, it was one of those horrid home-dyes. That’s our Célestine. No doubt about it.”
“Good,” Capucine said, standing up. “At your convenience you need to call Brigadier Lemercier to make an appointment to give your deposition. Bring a copy of your appraisal. She’ll give you the affidavit for your insurance claim.”
The dancer called Claude looked like he would burst into tears.
Bertrand staved off the crisis by putting a hand on his partner’s thigh. “It all worked out for the best. We’re going to get cash for that eyesore, and Célestine, sweet creature whoever she may really be, will have enough to get by on for a month or so. What more could you ask for?” he asked with an only slightly cynical laugh.
CHAPTER 10
T hat afternoon Capucine indulged in a session of self-recrimination, a luxury she had only begun to permit herself once that she had established her authority over the commissariat and their arrest statistics had become the envy of the Paris force. The irritant was the interview of the two dancers. Isabelle had not lived up to expectations, clear proof that she was not being properly managed. David had stolen the focal point from her. Yes, the participants’ sexual orientation was a factor, but was that really all that was at work?
As she danced between the Scylla and Charybdis of under- and over-managing Isabelle, she began to nibble away at the pile of files on her desk that seemed once again to have risen in the night like a bowlful of bread dough. Just as she was immersing herself in the peccadilloes of a gang of pickpockets who were doing quite well off the American tourists at the Père-Lachaise Cemetery, the phone rang. She picked it up, still swimming in the file.
“ Allô! Allô! Ma nièce? ” asked Oncle Aymerie in the overloud voice of those who mistrust technology of any sort. “Are you there? It’s your uncle.”
“Mon oncle,” Capucine said, turning a page, “how good to hear your voice. I was just going to call you to tell you how much Alexandre and I enjoyed our week at Maulévrier. So foolish of me to have stayed away.”
“ Formidable. I’m delighted you feel that way because I want you to come back. Would this weekend be too soon?”
“Alexandre enjoyed himself immensely. He was particularly impressed with Odile’s cooking.” She turned another page. “And I was so happy to see you again. We must come down again soon. Maybe after Christmas.”
“Perfect! We’re going to walk up Saint Agnès’ field on Saturday. It’s in stubble and there will be excellent partridge. The weather will be perfect. Not too sunny. Not too cold. Alexandre needs to get out more. He has definite potential as a gun. I’m going to put him in the center of the line.”
Capucine turned another page. The lieutenant in charge of the investigation seemed to think there was a gang of at least twenty adolescents involved. She was going to have to adjust the duty roster and add more personnel to the case.
“No point in arriving too early on Friday. It will just be family. Jacques will be here, of course. That will please Alexandre. And we can eat whenever you shake off the dust of the trip.”
Capucine closed the file with a snap. “Mon oncle, we can’t possibly come this weekend.” A tiny furrow appeared
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