Read Online The Adventures of Mademoiselle Mac 2-Book Bundle by Christopher Ward - Free Book Online Page B

bright on Bastille Day, won’t they? So, lighten up!”
    She seemed glad to let the interview conclude naturally on this odd note and thanked him before returning to a recap of the crime for what was undoubtedly the hundredth time that evening.
    Fiat stood with a frozen smile as she wrapped up. Suddenly his eyes caught mine when the camera lights switched off. “You ... la petite ... where do I know you from?”
    I know I should’ve just smiled sweetly, and the moment would have passed, but I just couldn’t. Instead I held his oily gaze and said, “Califorrrniiiaaa,” before quickly slipping back into the crowd. Before I disappeared, I did see his perfectly waxed expression fail and change to something darker. I didn’t want to stick around to see what came next. I heard Rudee calling my name over the hubbub of the crowd and the growing chorus of car horns, and we hurried to the cab.
    â€œI have to take Sashay to the club. Do you want to come, or should I get Dizzy to take you back to the church?”
    I said I’d rather go with him, and we said goodbye to Dizzy. Sashay was watching out of her window when we pulled up, and soon we were speeding toward St. Germain. They wouldn’t listen to my repeated requests to assist Michelle, the cigarette girl, and I didn’t mention my little confrontation with Luc or Louche at La Bastille. I had to beg to go in with Sashay and promise to stay behind the curtains while I was there.
    I met Michelle. She thanked me for subbing for her and offered to pay me. I said no thanks, the experience was good enough for me. We chatted throughout the evening when she came backstage to refill her tray. It seemed that the Shadows were drinking and smoking even more than usual. Michelle thought they were celebrating something, maybe somebody’s birthday. I had other suspicions but kept them to myself. The lights dimmed for Sashay’s show, and the strange, hypnotic music began to seep into the club, along with the dry ice. I was finding a space where I could watch through the curtains when a voice whispered from the darkness, “Hey, gamine , you’re blocking the way, move back here.”
    â€œExcuse me,” I said, and was moving toward the voice that I thought must belong to the club manager when a pair of bony hands clamped my shoulders, lifting me up like I was weightless, and carried me quickly down a darkened hallway. I suppose I should have yelled or at least tried to kick my way free, but I was totally caught by surprise and I didn’t want to destroy the mood at the start of Sashay’s show. And yes, I was scared to death.

Sixteen
    Before I had time to exhale, never mind scream, I found myself between two billowing black coats, being slid into the back seat of a long, low car with darkly tinted windows. The seat was soft and cushiony. In the back of my mind, I recognized this as the part in those black-and-white movies my parents love, where the private eye gets taken for a ride and warned to keep his nose out of somebody’s business, or else, then he goes back to his office and completely ignores them. I waited for my warning from the bookends at my sides, but no one spoke, and not having anything to contribute, I sat in silence.
    Out of the corner of my eye, I caught glimpses of them in the dull light of passing street lamps. They both had wispy silver hair and oddly unlined faces with that ghostly bluish tint to the skin. One was the scarred shadow with the bony hands, the other no doubt his pal Phlegm. The coal-coloured eyes staring straight ahead were cold and fixed. The steady streams of cigarette smoke and the little evergreen tree hanging from the mirror failed to disguise the slight rotting smell that clung to these two. I couldn’t see the driver at all, just the shape of his shoulders and identical hat; he seemed to know where he was going. We moved smoothly along Boulevard St. Germain and across the Pont