Murder in the Latin Quarter Read Free Page A

will be an open book by the time I’m finished with her.”
    â€œRemind me not to get old and feeble when you want something.”
    â€œYou just can’t appreciate how long I’ve wanted to know Laurent’s story.”
    â€œSomething tells me, darling, even after one of your famous interrogation sessions, that Laurent’s secrets will still be intact.”
    â€œYeah, well, we’ll see about that. See you back at mi-casa-su-casa ?”
    â€œLet’s try to master French before we branch out, why don’t we?” Grace said, smiling and giving Maggie a small wave before leaving her on the sidewalk in front of the apartment building.
    Grace was right. It was a really nice block. And that was saying something for Paris, where all the wealthy residential blocks were gorgeous. This one, of course, was slightly different since it was in the Latin Quarter. Maybe the area didn’t have its reputation for being bohemian back whenever this building was built? Maggie crossed the street and immediately saw the builder’s plaque on the corner of the building. 1865.
    Seriously cool before its time.
    With its angled mansard roof, garret rooms, and dormer windows, the building was classic Haussmann—like any idealized version of Paris rooftops from Madeleine to Rattatouie . The building was fronted with the local cream-colored Lutetian limestone that gave the whole street a light, elegant presentation which continued on to the next building and the next, each with balconies and cornices perfectly aligned.
    Maggie glanced at the GPS map on her cellphone. This was definitely the place. Not fifteen minutes from Notre Dame and five from the Université Paris-Sorbonne. Maggie felt a squeeze of sadness at the thought. Her sister Elise had attended the École des Beaux-Arts ten years ago.
    A massive pair of towering walnut double doors were tucked into an ornate shelf of cut stone in the building she now faced off rue du Bac. Maggie looked to see if there was a directory to show the names of who lived inside but wasn’t surprised not to find one. She gave Mila a quick kiss on the head and pushed open the doors to reveal a large green courtyard within. The windows and balconies of the apartments that looked down onto the little garden were full of the usual geraniums and climbing roses and while the building looked understated and sedate on the outside, inside it was clear that the wealthy of the Left Bank lived here.
    Maggie followed the brick walkway through the courtyard to another set of doors, wondering how a ninety-two year old woman easily came and went across the bumpy brick walkway. Maybe she didn’t have trouble walking? Most people Maggie knew back in the States were on walkers by the time they hit eighty but perhaps a lifetime of perambulating Paris had kept Aunt Delphine limber and sure footed.
    Laurent said his aunt had become ill yesterday and her housekeeper had called an ambulance for her. He didn’t believe it was a particularly close call—but at Delphine’s age anything out of the ordinary was cause for alarm. She had a home health nurse but it had been the woman’s night off. By the time the hospital had presumptively called Delphine’s next of kin a friend of the family had come to drive her back to her apartment.
    Even so. The call had been made and Laurent clearly felt he needed to respond in some way.
    Was there bad blood between them? Maggie wondered. Knowing Laurent, it was a pretty safe bet that Aunt Delphine didn’t even know Maggie existed—let alone her little great-grand nephew and niece. Perhaps this was a good opportunity to heal any family rifts? Laurent was a family man now. It was way past time to embrace the concept of family.
    And that included his own.

4
    T he soldiers and their dogs swarmed the baggage claim for the Amsterdam carrier. Noel Lorraine carried his leather valise across the hectic setting and headed toward