Murder in the Latin Quarter by Susan Kiernan-Lewis

room and she has nobody to come stay with her while she—”
    Laurent interrupted her with a loud Gallic snort.
    â€œThere are agencies for such things,” he said. “And care facilities.”
    â€œWhat is your problem?” Maggie said in frustration. “She’s your aunt . She’s a sweet little old lady who has no family left and she’s all alone in a very scary situation. Did she lock you in closets when you were little or something?”
    â€œI rarely saw the woman.”
    â€œWell, what is the deal? You’re nicer to people who cut and wrap your fish than you are to your own aunt!”
    â€œI just do not want you to be a bother to her. I know how you are, Maggie.”
    â€œOkay, that is BS. She wants someone to bother with her.”
    â€œAre you at Grace’s yet?”
    â€œI’m just about to go in. But she’s out again for the night.”
    â€œ Incroyable !”
    â€œWhat can I say? She’s in love.”
    Maggie allowed a moment of silence between them as she stood outside Grace’s apartment. The cathedral Notre-Dame was majestic in the gloom, lit up with the careful spot lighting that seemed to highlight all of Paris’s architectural masterpieces. A city as beautiful as this one needed to be dramatically illuminated even after the sun went down.
    â€œI am sorry, chérie ,” Laurent said with a sigh. “Your men are missing you.”
    Maggie picked up Mila from the stroller, holding her on her hip. Her heart swelled with longing for Laurent. She could imagine him, probably sitting in the courtyard in the back of their mas .
    â€œYour girls miss you, too,” she said softly. “But I really want to do this, Laurent. Our kids don’t just have my family—they come from your family too and I want them to know that.”
    â€œThey are too young. Delphine will be long—”
    â€œI know that,” Maggie said as she shoved the stroller into the foyer of Grace’s apartment building and parked it against the mailboxes. “But for the few days I’m with Delphine I thought I might interview her. It would be so cool for Jemmy and Mila to have these stories later when they’re older.”
    â€œ Peut-être ,” Laurent said.
    Maggie heard the sounds of a young boy on the other line. “Is that my Jemmy?”
    â€œ Maman ?” The little voice piped up and filled Maggie with delight. Mila heard her brother too and began kicking her legs in excitement.
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    T he tall , slope-shouldered man stood behind the postcard carousel and watched her as she talked on the phone. She was so focused on her conversation she didn’t even look up a single time. He could probably stand much closer to her—even hear her conversation—and she wouldn’t notice him.
    But it didn’t pay to take too many risks. He’d learned that the hard way.
    He watched her as if mesmerized. She had a baby with her. The way she hesitated on her walk to the apartment made him believe this wasn’t her address. She was either renting or visiting a friend.
    Who was she talking to? She’d thrown her head back and laughed at least once. Surely she had not a care in this world. By the looks of her, she was still well off financially.
    The memories of his last meeting with her created a roiling fester of fury that took all his power to tamp down.
    It was because of her that he’d had to leave France and hide. He’d hidden in pock-holed dumps that rats wouldn’t live in—from Marrakesh to Bagdagh. He’d lived in terror and dread for every moment of four full years until he’d finally received word that the man who hunted him had died.
    With crippling trepidation he’d returned to France but the axe had not fallen.
    He watched Maggie Newberry push the buttons to release the building’s security code and then disappear inside. He touched the thick ridge of a scar that