“How miserable for you.”
She laughed. “I don’t mean to be such a downer. I’m feeling great now, so I just wanted to say hello, and see how you’re doing and assure you I’m not usually such a bitch. I haven’t talked to you at all since we’ve been in San Francisco, but we actually met briefly in Paris. Do you remember?”
“Yes, of course I remember.” Now I wondered if she’d come to Savannah’s Paris flat that day looking for Baxter. Had she and Baxter been cheating on Savannah and Raoul?
And if Colette had been cheating on Raoul, she had to be the dumbest woman in the Northern Hemisphere.
“Are you still working with books?” she asked cheerily.
“Yes,” I said, glad that she couldn’t read my mind. “That’s how I make my living. I restore old books, give them a new lease on life, so to speak. I love it.”
“That’s so fascinating.” Colette looked as though she actually meant it. Most people’s eyes began to glaze over when I told them what I did. “Savannah said you made that gift she gave Baxter. That book box thing? I saw it up close later in the evening and I was so impressed. It was beautiful and intricate.” She shook her head. “You’re so talented. I’m not sure how I would ever begin to make something like that.”
“You saw the book box?” I said, pouncing on her words. “Where? Who had it? Do you remember the last place you saw it?”
“Um.” She took a step backward and I couldn’t blame her. I was like a rabid dog when it came to that book box.
“I’m sorry,” I said quickly. “It’s just that I spent so much time on it and now the police can’t find it. Do you know where it might be?”
“Not at all. Baxter set it down on one of the counters while we were talking, then I took off. That’s about all I remember. But as I was saying, it’s really beautiful. I suppose I wouldn’t blame someone for taking it.”
“Thanks.” She probably didn’t realize that whoever took it was most likely Baxter’s killer.
“Did you have to take a lot of classes to learn how to do that?”
“It’s definitely an acquired skill,” I said. “Like your cooking ability. I wouldn’t know how to begin to make a chicken potpie, so I guess we’re even.”
She laughed and then continued to compliment me until I couldn’t quite remember why I had disliked her so much before. Oh, yeah, that’s right—Colette was the one who had gone out of her way to make my sister appear suspicious to the police. So what was her excuse for doing that? Another migraine? I doubted it.
I listened to her fawn over my talents and continued to smile and chuckle with her. I realized I was enjoying our conversation, probably because it was all about me, but I still refused to trust a single word she said. As my father would say, it was fine to forgive, but don’t ever forget.
We talked until Raoul approached and draped his arm around Colette’s shoulder. “And what are two such beautiful women talking about that they look so chummy?”
Colette gave his stomach a friendly pat. “Oh, honey, I don’t think that’s a word.”
“But you know what I mean,” he said, and grinned at me. “How are you, Brooklyn?”
“It’s great to see you, Raoul,” I said, thinking that chummy sounded like a perfectly good word to me. “Are you both cooking tonight?”
He smiled down at Colette. “Yes, we have each devised something special for our contribution to tonight’s dinner.”
“Raoul is making the most sinful dessert,” Colette said, beaming with pleasure. “My dish is not quite as dynamic, but I think everyone will like it. It’s an appetizer of spicy wild boar sausage served on a bed of soft polenta.”
Two things I really loved talking about. Books and food.
“Oh, my God,” I said. “My taste buds are trembling with excitement. That sounds wonderful.”
“Colette grinds and stuffs the sausage herself and it will melt in your mouth, Brooklyn.” Raoul brought his fingers to his lips and kissed them dramatically. “Fantástico.”
Colette blushed pink and smiled up at her husband. “He’s slightly prejudiced.”
“Maybe just a little,” I said, smiling from one to the other. “But it really does sound unusual. I can’t wait.”
“I hope you like it.”
“I know I will.” I took a quick sip of champagne, then leaned in closer. “Can you give me a little hint about the dessert?”
“I can give you a one-word clue,” Raoul said in a confidential tone. “Chocolate.”
I fanned myself and whispered, “Thank you.”
Colette and Raoul laughed. Just then Margot waved at them from the kitchen hallway. They excused themselves and walked over to speak with her.
“I’m beginning to think your sister doesn’t exist,” Dalton said right behind me.
I turned. “She does, I promise. She must’ve gotten delayed by some kitchen emergency, but she’ll be out here soon.”