The Paris Librarian by Mark Pryor

seems . . . well, I should leave.”
    â€œProbably a good idea.” He indicated the stairway leading up to the circulation desk. “This way is best.”
    She gave Hugo a small smile and walked toward the staircase, stopping when she got there. She turned and said, “You’re staying down here?”
    â€œI may have to help out.”
    She cocked her head. “How come?”
    Smart woman , Hugo thought. “The police were called just in case. A formality, just routine. But I was there when he was found and he’s a dual citizen, so I may have to linger a little.”
    â€œThat’s weird. I mean, that someone called the police for a heart attack.”
    â€œThat was me.”
    â€œOh. Look, I don’t mean to be nosy or inappropriate,” Miki said. “But did something make you think it wasn’t a heart attack? I mean, isn’t that kind of your job?”
    â€œIt used to be my job, but not anymore,” Hugo said. “And I only called them because it was a body in a library, an at-least partly American citizen in a foreign place. Just seemed like the right thing to do.”
    She gave him a little smile. “Sounds like a game of Clue.”
    That might be amusing in a week or two , Hugo thought. But not today. “I’ll walk you upstairs,” he said. “The circulation desk is up here. If we bump into Madame Juneau, we’ll say you were with me.”
    â€œCan we tell her we were doing something exciting?”
    â€œNot today.” Again with the insensitive comments , Hugo said to himself . Everyone deals with the news of death differently, of course, but some people . . .  They reached the top of the stairs and slipped past the librarians at the desk, moving into the area where the books were laid out for the sale. “Here we are, safe and sound.”
    â€œThanks, Hugo,” she said. “Maybe see you tonight?”
    â€œI’m planning on it.”
    He followed her to the main doors, and Hugo held one open for her. He watched as she walked away, still not sure what to make of her. He made a mental note to look her up online, see if she had a body of work as a journalist, something credible and professional that might justify her intrusion into the library basement, and perhaps even her insensitivity. Although that seemed more like a personality issue.
    A voice behind Hugo made him turn. “ Monsieur? You were looking for me?” She spoke in French.
    â€œMadame Juneau?” He’d seen her at the library in previous visits, but they’d never been introduced.
    â€œMichelle Juneau, oui .” She was an attractive woman, probably in her late thirties, with glossy, russet hair. Her green eyes and bright-red lipstick made Hugo think of Christmas. But there was a formality to her, one that Hugo thought hid either a fiery temper or an unusually gentle nature. Maybe both.
    Hugo offered his hand. “I’m Hugo Marston, a friend of Paul Rogers.”
    â€œI recognize the name; it’s a pleasure to meet you. How can I help?”
    Hugo was suddenly aware of people passing by, close to them, and the curious eyes of Nicole Anisse. “Is there somewhere we can talk in private?”
    â€œWe have a large book sale this morning, Monsieur Marston, so I hope we can be brief.” She gestured toward a nearby door. “We can use my office.”
    She led him past the circulation desk, alongside the main stacks. A third of the way down, she turned into a short hallway and led him through a door into a large and open administration area. Tucked around a corner, out of sight from anyone in the main library, sat a large safe. It was chest height, was roughly four feet wide and deep, and looked a hundred years old. Hugo’s first thought was how much it must weigh, but he was also interested to see it was accessed by a key, not a combination. Past it lay Michelle Juneau’s office and