“It’s really rather important,” I said. “I was just speaking with the housekeeper, Claudette, and it seems that you forgot certain items…” I gave her what I hoped was a meaningful stare.
Ellie’s face was now bright red. She licked her lips nervously. “Perhaps I’d better…” she began. “If you could possibly excuse me for a moment.”
“Really, Ellie, I don’t see what can be so dashed important that you have to interrupt a pleasant meal,” Peter said. “Especially for a near stranger.”
“I wouldn’t dream of interrupting a family reunion but this matter can’t wait,” I said. “If I can just have Ellie to myself for a few minutes, I’ll be gone. I have friends waiting for me elsewhere.”
Peter stood, ungraciously, allowing Ellie to slide out of her place. I let her go ahead of me out of the restaurant. The moment we were out of earshot she turned on me. “What do you think you’re doing, embarrassing me in front of my in-laws? I felt like a complete fool. I don’t know what on earth you want with me. We only shared a couple of casual conversations in our whole life.”
“Oh, but I think you do know, Miss Hatcher,” I said. “And it’s up to you. You can have the conversation with me, or with the inspector from the S?reté.”
Those blue eyes opened wide. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Yes, you do. I’m talking about Reynold Bryce’s murder. I was curious as to why you didn’t mention that you had seen Mr. Bryce on the day he died.”
“It didn’t come up in casual conversation. Why should I tell you anything?” she glared defiantly. “I hardly know you.”
“And yet you wanted me to lie that we had been together during all of your stay in Paris. At the time I thought you merely wanted to give your in-laws the impression that you were chaperoned during your stay here if they discovered you had been in Paris longer than you had told them. But later I realized it was quite different. You wanted an alibi, didn’t you?”
“For what?”
“For killing Reynold Bryce.”
“But I didn’t kill him.” She looked around in case anybody was within earshot, then took my arm, dragged me into an alcove, and sank onto the bench there like a deflated balloon. “I swear I didn’t kill him.”
“That’s not what the police think,” I said. “They know you came to visit him right before he died. The housekeeper has testified that you looked flustered and uneasy and insisted on seeing him. And she heard you say, ‘I don’t want your money.’” I decided to risk pushing this one step further. “And the H?tel d’Alsace is missing one knife from their kitchen—a knife that has fingerprints on it.”
She gave a sob and buried her face in her hands. “Then it’s all over, isn’t it? The truth will come out and Peter will never want to marry me now.”
“I believe they still use the guillotine in France,” I said matter-of-factly.
She dropped her hands with a look of pure terror on her face. “But I didn’t kill him,” she whispered.
“The police won’t believe you. After all, you had the best motive, didn’t you?”
She looked utterly hopeless and a tear trickled down her cheek. “How did you find out?”
“That Reynold Bryce was your father? I didn’t, until now. But I started putting two and two together and making four. The fact that he left America suddenly eighteen years ago, and that must be around your age. And his wife refused to come with him—broke off all contact with him actually. And I learned that he had a predilection for young girls and he was actually painting another one when he died. Is that why you came to Paris early—to see him and to kill him?”
“I didn’t know,” she whispered. “I swear I didn’t know. The first visit really was a courtesy call. I’d heard about Reynold Bryce, of course, and that he had helped our family financially, and was extremely wealthy so I thought at least he’d treat me to a good meal—maybe ask me to stay with him until Peter arrived. But he didn’t want to see me. He was most unwelcoming—rather rude actually. He told me to go away; he was busy. You were right. He was painting a young girl—younger than me, I think. And the way he spoke to her and looked at her made me feel strange. And the way he looked at me too. There was something I couldn’t quite explain … he seemed angry but at the same time almost triumphant, amused, pleased with himself.”