Murder in the Latin Quarter Read Free

Grace. They’d talked long into the night and shared a bottle of wine although Maggie noticed that Grace most of it. While Grace seemed happy and effervescent all evening, something still didn’t feel right with her. Was it the problems Grace was having with Windsor? Would he really try to get full custody of both children?
    Maggie knew Laurent talked to Windsor now and then. Perhaps he knew more about what was going on. She made a mental note to ask him.
    Beatrice walked into the room with a sleepy Zouzou in her arms.
    â€œThis little one has a runny nose,” Beatrice said. “I think it best to keep her home today.”
    â€œOh, I hope she’s not sick,” Maggie said. She instantly put her hand on Mila’s forehead but the baby was cool, her face placid.
    As Beatrice settled Zouzou in her chair at the kitchen table and turned to make her breakfast, Maggie’s phone began to vibrate. Unless it was her mother again—unlikely at this hour—it could only be Laurent. She hadn’t expected him to call so soon after last night. Her stomach clenched in anxiety.
    â€œHey,” she said, answering. “What’s wrong? Is Jemmy okay?”
    â€œHe is fine,” Laurent said. “I need you to run a quick errand for me.”
    â€œAn errand?” Maggie relaxed and spooned some stewed apples into Mila’s open bow of a mouth.
    â€œ Oui . I have a phone call from a doctor not far from Grace’s apartment. My great aunt is sick. Go check on her, yes? Five minutes, no more. Just to see she is well.”
    Maggie was speechless. Laurent had a great aunt? He’d never mentioned having any family. Except for his lowlife brother Gerard whom he hadn’t heard from in five years, Maggie assumed there was none.
    â€œAre you serious?” she said, the spoon poised in midair toward the baby’s mouth.
    â€œNot to make a big deal of this, chérie ,” Laurent said gruffly. “I don’t have time to come up and do it myself.”
    â€œYou never told me you had an aunt still alive,” she said, putting the spoon down on the table.
    â€œHer name is Delphine Normand. She lives at 16 rue du Bac in the Latin Quarter,” he said. “Call me once you have seen her.”
    â€œSure. No problem,” Maggie said. “I’ll go this morning.”
    â€œ Bon . And chérie ?”
    â€œYeah?”
    â€œJust five minutes, oui ?”
    â€œOf course, Laurent. Trust me.”
    She heard him exhale a long sigh before signing off.
    â€œWho was that?” Grace said as she came into the kitchen, her eyes were bleary and her hair uncharacteristically unkempt.
    â€œYou’re not going to believe this,” Maggie said “I’m about to meet someone who can confirm to me that Laurent had an actual childhood and wasn’t hatched.” She picked up the spoon and aimed it at the Mila’s mouth. “Oh, we are going to have such fun today, aren’t we, baby girl?”

    â€œ T his is a very ritzy neighborhood , darling,” Grace said as she and Maggie stood on the rue du Bac where it intersected rue de Lille. “Did you know Laurent came from money?”
    Maggie jostled an unusually restless Mila in her sling as she peered up at the apartment building.
    â€œHe doesn’t come from money,” Maggie said. “His aunt must be rich through a marriage or something.”
    â€œI’d say Great Aunt Delphine isn’t just well off—she’s seriously loaded.”
    â€œSo strange,” Maggie murmured. “Laurent was on her next of kin contact list. The hospital called him late last night when she was ill. So she knows he’s alive. And vice versa.”
    â€œOur Laurent is nothing if not a conundrum,” Grace said, stopping to light a cigarette in the bright Paris morning.
    â€œWell, not this time,” Maggie said. “I’m squeezing the old dame for all her secrets. Laurent