In spite of everything we spent a pleasant evening together. Mary was careful to make sure that the drapes were closed before Sid and Gus came into the salon at the front of the house. “I think that policeman just wanted to question other American painters for details of Bryce’s life,” Mary said, “but one can’t be too sure. He may have come here on a tip and wanted to observe my reaction.”
“We were scared stiff when he stayed so long, weren’t we, Sid?” Gus said. “I suggested we hide in the wardrobe, just in case he decided to come looking for us.”
“But I said there wasn’t much point. Our belongings were all over the room, which might have given away our presence if he decided to come up and look.”
“Thank heavens he didn’t,” Mary said. “I should have been so flustered if he’d wanted to go upstairs I couldn’t have invented a good reason for a bedroom that was clearly occupied. But we will have to be careful. Maybe we shouldn’t use this room unless the drapes are drawn. I’m going to ask Celeste to check whether anyone is watching this house.”
“In which case I wonder if I’ll be followed when I go out,” I said.
“Surely not. Now that he knows your husband is a fellow policeman,” Mary said. “He must think that your behavior is beyond reproach.”
Silently I thought that she didn’t know much about the police. I’d encountered several whose behavior left a lot to be desired.
Dinner was delicious. Mary might have retained her Pennsylvania accent but the cooking was pure French with even the vegetables covered in sauces delicate enough to make one weep. We drank wine and even managed to laugh a little.
“Tomorrow is Saturday,” Gus said. “Will you be going to Gertrude Stein’s, Mary?”
“Oh, I don’t think I’ll bother,” she replied. “I find these new young artists too tedious in their pretentious desire to be modern.”
“But you could take Molly with you,” Gus said. “You never know, she might learn something about Reynold Bryce.”
“That is a name never to be mentioned in the Stein household,” Mary said.
“Don’t be so sure.” I looked up from my coffee cup. “They may well enjoy discussing him now that he is dead. Carcasses often attract vultures, you know.”
The others laughed.
“That might be true,” Mary said. “I’m quite willing to go if you’d like to, Molly. The Steins’ salon is something to be experienced, at least once if you want to feel the pulse of the Parisian art world.”
“We certainly enjoyed it when we went,” Sid said. “I must say I’m beginning to develop cabin fever, however pleasant our surroundings are.”
“It’s not that,” Gus said. “It’s this terrible thing hanging over your head. We’re all waiting for doom to fall.”
There was an uncomfortable silence.
“I’ll go straight to work in the morning,” I said, trying to sound more confident than I felt. “The first thing to do is to see if I can interview the housekeeper, and maybe find a way to get in and see the studio for myself.”
“But what do you hope to find there?” Gus asked.
“I’m not sure, and it’s possible that the police have already carried away any incriminating evidence, but it’s always good to start with the scene of the crime. At least, that was what Paddy Riley, my old mentor, used to say.”
“From what Inspector Henri said the housekeeper didn’t sound like a pleasant person,” Mary said.
“Maybe she just had an aversion to the police,” I suggested. “Some people do. Besides, I’ll be using all of my Irish gift of the blarney. I’ll have her eating out of my hand.”
“Isn’t Molly wonderful?” Gus said. “You should see all the clever cases she has solved back in New York.”
I wished they weren’t quite so confident in my abilities. For one thing I was not at all sure that I could charm a hostile Frenchwoman when my French vocabulary was sadly lacking. Still, I had promised to do my best. Liam was sleeping soundly when I went up to bed. I stood looking down at him, thinking how easy life was for babies and how quickly they adapt. He had come across an ocean, then from a seaside pension to a noisy Montmartre attic, and now to this tranquil street and had slept peacefully in each of them. I bent to kiss his forehead.
“I wish your daddy was here,” I whispered. “He’d know what to do.”