Night Train to Paris by Fliss Chester (scary books to read .TXT) 📕

Fen nodded and then turned to him again. ‘Joseph, I wonder if I might be able to help?’

‘Well, Magda will love to spend time with you, too.’

‘Oh, well, yes, of course, me too. But I meant about your paintings.’

‘Really?’ Joseph looked at her keenly.

‘I think her solicitor should possibly go through Rose’s things first, but after that, well, we can have a jolly good go at trying to find the cipher and start decoding the list ourselves. Think about it, it was only Henri and Rose who knew about the list and her code. Rose was keen for them to be kept separate… and we know Henri had the list, so that suggests to me that the cipher is in this apartment somewhere.’

‘You might be on to something there.’ Joseph sucked his teeth, but looked brighter and reached across the chaise for his hat. ‘Thank you, Fenella.’

‘Don’t thank me too soon, I have no idea who her solicitor is yet, but don’t worry, I’ll do whatever I can to help.’

Fen saw Joseph out and walked back into the studio, letting Tipper down as she entered the room.

Simone had reappeared and was painting her nails a wonderfully vibrant shade of red. She held the freshly glossy tips of her fingers up to Fen. ‘Urgh, Tipper, non… non!’ She tried to bat the frenetic little dog away with her elbow and Fen ended up picking him up and taking him back into the hallway.

‘Slave to fashion, huh, Tipper? We better find those solicitor’s details by ourselves,’ Fen whispered into his ear as she carefully opened the door off the hallway that led into the box room. Squirmy as he was, holding the warm little body of the dog close to her was a lovely reassurance for Fen as she stood on the threshold of her murdered friend’s bedroom. It was untouched since the police had been in to take fingerprints, and of course she’d had a look around too in the commotion to try to see if anything had been taken by the supposed thief.

The room was smaller than either hers or Simone’s, but it was lit by another of the vast floor-to-ceiling windows that looked over the street at the front of the building. The light was marvellous, with a clarity to it that so often comes when rain has passed and the sun is gently suffused by scudding clouds. Rose would have loved this light, Fen thought. No wonder she chose this smaller room over the other spare one.

She caught sight of the upturned jewellery box on the small dressing table and a pang of grief stopped her in her tracks. Long strings of beads bled out over the side, while brooches littered the floor around the dressing table. Fen instinctively raised her hand to touch her own brooch, which had been stolen – but thankfully returned – in Burgundy. Having one’s belongings turned over like this was such a violation…

Not as violating as death, she thought, shaking her head and dispelling the maudlin thoughts. ‘We’re more sensible than this, aren’t we, Tipper,’ Fen told the small dog as she wiped a tear away from her eye.

Tipper didn’t answer but did poke his nose under the bed, nudging the floor-skimming quilt as he did so, and Fen followed his lead and started to look under there for anything that might point her in the direction of her friend’s solicitor.

‘Perhaps there was no will?’ Simone’s voice gave Fen a start and she looked up from rummaging under the bed to see the younger woman, resting her hip against the door jamb, her hands still splayed out in front of her as her nails dried.

‘Perhaps.’ Fen pushed a box of dried oil paint tubes back under the bed and sat back on her heels. ‘But she was a woman who made lists, we know that much for sure, and it makes me suspect that, far from being the scatty artist, she was in fact a meticulous record keeper.’

‘If you say so. Oh, one moment…’ Simone flapped her hands to help dry the polish and disappeared out of view.

Fen had just sat herself down on the bed and spread out a box of paperwork on the counterpane when Simone reappeared holding a thin piece of paper carefully between her thumb and forefinger.

‘It wasn’t like we had a formal agreement or anything, but when I moved in, madame did want a reference from me sent to a Monsieur Blanquer…’ She held out the piece of paper to Fen, who reached out and took it from her.

‘Well, would you look at that! Thank you, Simone. Monsieur Blanquer, notary etcetera, etcetera. Paris 8659. Perfect.’

Simone smiled and left Fen to telephone and make the appointment with the solicitor.

Twenty-Four

It was with more than a dash of good luck that Monsieur Blanquer’s assistant was available to schedule in an appointment for eleven o’clock the following morning, and Fen made the arrangements on the telephone accordingly. She then put a call into Joseph Bernheim, catching another of his building’s tenants on the communal telephone who promised to leave him the message that he should call round to Rose’s apartment at around noon the next day. With those tasks done, Fen decided that a visit to one or other of the Arnault brothers was in order.

Gervais sounded like he might have the most to gain from killing Rose, if indeed she had threatened to turn him in to the police for his Mob connections, but Antoine seemed like the brother with the most brain cells, and perhaps he’d be able to shed some light on what shady business his brother Gervais was caught up in. And if Rose was caught up in it, too.

But the rain that had been on and off that morning had settled in properly for the afternoon and Fen didn’t think her poor trench coat would keep her dry if it had to take another soaking. And as much