kneeling in front of a serene winged angel. With one hand, the angel presented the nun with a book whose cover contained a horizontal figure eight. The letter S was written in one of eight’s sections, the letter M in the other. With the other hand, the angel held up a sword. The nun’s head bowed reverently; the folds of her habit obscured her face. She clasped her hands as if in prayer.
Both characters were bathed in rays from a brightly shining sun in the upper right hand corner of the picture. Dimensions, four inches wide by six inches long, were listed in the margins. I’d seen that letter and figure eight combination before. And it had been recently. I just couldn’t remember where.
“And you think your brother was killed because of this?”
“ Oui. Luc must have been hired to make a replica of this crucifix for Juliet Rice. I think the minute Luc turned it over either she or someone connected to her killed him because he knew too much. Juliet must have stolen the real crucifix and left the fake in its place. The guy she stole it from killed her and now he thinks you have it. This has to be what this is all about.”
“But I don’t get it! What makes this thing worth two people’s lives?”
“I don’t know. But since Luc died I’ve been doing research on that symbol on the book the angel is holding.” He got up and grabbed a file folder lying next to the laptop and opened it. “That figure eight on its side is the symbol for infinity. I didn’t know what the S and the M meant until I found this.”
He handed me a sheet of paper that looked like it had been printed from an online book. The title, Secret Societies of France, was in the upper left corner. The page number at the bottom was 315. The page was a list of strange symbols and Greek letters, as well as the names of the societies they represented. Simon had highlighted in yellow the infinity symbol with the S and M about halfway down the page. Underneath, it read, “Society of Moret.”
“Society of Moret? What is it, some kind of secret society like the Freemasons or something?”
“Unfortunately, that’s the only page of this book available online. It was published by a small university press in 1992 and is out of print now. I haven’t had any luck finding a copy anywhere let alone finding another mention of the Society of Moret anyplace else. However, as luck would have it, the author lives right here in Paris. Her name is Dr. Evalyn Hewitt. She recently retired from teaching medieval studies at the American University. After I put you in a cab to the airport tomorrow morning, I plan to go see her.”
“Oh, really?” I fixed him with a hard look. “I don’t remember saying anything about leaving Paris?”
“You need to go home where you’ll be safe.”
“I need to stay here and clear my name. Do you know how it’ll make me look if I leave the country? They might even arrest me for trying. At least now I have a chance to prove I didn’t kill Juliet.”
“They didn’t arrest you. Did they take your passport?”
“No. But—”
“Then you can go home. If they were truly trying to keep you here, they’d have confiscated your passport. They were just trying to scare you.”
“Well it worked! I’m not going home and you can’t make me.”
Simon let out an exasperated sigh.
“Your life is in danger. Two people have already died. You need to get out of here before—”
“Forget it, Simon.” I stood, letting the sketchbook slide onto the floor. “I’m not going home to spend everyday looking over my shoulder waiting for either the French police or that crazy fucker who killed Juliet to come after me. I need to lay low and find out what the hell is going on.”
“When I find out exactly what happened to Luc, I’m afraid of what I might do,” Simon said quietly. “Do you want be a part of that with the trouble you’re already in?”
We stared at each other. I had to break my gaze because he was dead
Both characters were bathed in rays from a brightly shining sun in the upper right hand corner of the picture. Dimensions, four inches wide by six inches long, were listed in the margins. I’d seen that letter and figure eight combination before. And it had been recently. I just couldn’t remember where.
“And you think your brother was killed because of this?”
“ Oui. Luc must have been hired to make a replica of this crucifix for Juliet Rice. I think the minute Luc turned it over either she or someone connected to her killed him because he knew too much. Juliet must have stolen the real crucifix and left the fake in its place. The guy she stole it from killed her and now he thinks you have it. This has to be what this is all about.”
“But I don’t get it! What makes this thing worth two people’s lives?”
“I don’t know. But since Luc died I’ve been doing research on that symbol on the book the angel is holding.” He got up and grabbed a file folder lying next to the laptop and opened it. “That figure eight on its side is the symbol for infinity. I didn’t know what the S and the M meant until I found this.”
He handed me a sheet of paper that looked like it had been printed from an online book. The title, Secret Societies of France, was in the upper left corner. The page number at the bottom was 315. The page was a list of strange symbols and Greek letters, as well as the names of the societies they represented. Simon had highlighted in yellow the infinity symbol with the S and M about halfway down the page. Underneath, it read, “Society of Moret.”
“Society of Moret? What is it, some kind of secret society like the Freemasons or something?”
“Unfortunately, that’s the only page of this book available online. It was published by a small university press in 1992 and is out of print now. I haven’t had any luck finding a copy anywhere let alone finding another mention of the Society of Moret anyplace else. However, as luck would have it, the author lives right here in Paris. Her name is Dr. Evalyn Hewitt. She recently retired from teaching medieval studies at the American University. After I put you in a cab to the airport tomorrow morning, I plan to go see her.”
“Oh, really?” I fixed him with a hard look. “I don’t remember saying anything about leaving Paris?”
“You need to go home where you’ll be safe.”
“I need to stay here and clear my name. Do you know how it’ll make me look if I leave the country? They might even arrest me for trying. At least now I have a chance to prove I didn’t kill Juliet.”
“They didn’t arrest you. Did they take your passport?”
“No. But—”
“Then you can go home. If they were truly trying to keep you here, they’d have confiscated your passport. They were just trying to scare you.”
“Well it worked! I’m not going home and you can’t make me.”
Simon let out an exasperated sigh.
“Your life is in danger. Two people have already died. You need to get out of here before—”
“Forget it, Simon.” I stood, letting the sketchbook slide onto the floor. “I’m not going home to spend everyday looking over my shoulder waiting for either the French police or that crazy fucker who killed Juliet to come after me. I need to lay low and find out what the hell is going on.”
“When I find out exactly what happened to Luc, I’m afraid of what I might do,” Simon said quietly. “Do you want be a part of that with the trouble you’re already in?”
We stared at each other. I had to break my gaze because he was dead
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