Fear No Evil

Chapter 25

Paris

Across the Atlantic, it was almost nine p.m. when Bree climbed out of her taxi wearing her only other outfit suitable for an evening at a swank bistro like Canard de Flaque. Her pencil skirt was black, above the knee, and tight-fitting. The silk top featured a colorful pattern and was equally flattering. Gray hose and lipstick-red pumps completed the look.

She glanced sidelong at her reflection in a storefront window, smiled, and thought, Bree St. Lucie. Strolling along. Dressed to kill. Ready to see what havoc she’s caused.

At the front door to Puddle Duck, she hesitated, concerned about spending too much time in one place. But what choice did she have?

Bree opened the door and went inside; she saw Henri look up and smile.

“Madame,” he said. “You honor us two days in a row with your presence.”

Bree grinned. “It’s the duck.”

“It always is,” Henri replied. “The bar? I have the same spot available.”

“That would be perfect, thank you, Henri.”

“My great pleasure, madame.” He grabbed a menu and led her to the stool at the far end of the bar, closest to the dining area and booths.

Crossing the room and sliding into her seat, Bree avoided the temptation to scan the crowd. She took the menu, thanked Henri, and smiled at Carole, the bartender, who appeared in front of her.

“Champagne?” Carole asked.

“The same as last time, please. Thank you, Carole.”

Bree pretended to consider the menu while taking occasional slow glances in the mirror as if checking her makeup. By the time the flute of champagne arrived, Bree knew that five of the other bar stools were taken.

To her left, on the stools Abelmar and his assistant had occupied the previous evening, a cute couple in their fifties were flirting. The next two stools were empty. Another couple and an older woman occupied the far three.

Only after Bree had taken a sip of the champagne and smacked her lips approvingly did Carole move off, at which point Bree dared to glance in the bar mirror at the tables in the dining room. Most of them were filled with happy, chic patrons.

Philippe Abelmar was not among them. She waited, sipping her champagne, before casually twisting her stool toward the long narrow mirrors between the big windows. As she did, the front door to Canard opened. A big, muscular man with a shaved head entered; he was wearing a black V-neck T-shirt, black slacks, and black loafers. He gestured at the bar. Henri nodded. He walked over by himself, took the fourth stool, and got out his phone.

Abelmar was not in any of the booths that she could see. But there was one still empty. As she noted it, the billionaire entered, alone, glancing at his phone and appearing highly distracted.

Henri led Abelmar to the empty booth, and he sat, disappearing from Bree’s view. Bree took a few more sips of champagne, told the bartender she’d like to start with escargots, and then twisted to look at the narrow mirrors.

Abelmar was on his phone in the booth, gesturing wildly, obviously having an animated conversation. Although she was dying to know to whom he was talking and whether it was about the note she’d sent to the three judges, Bree reminded herself that the man was a business tycoon with enterprises all over the world. He could easily be upset about something completely different.

She’d no sooner had that thought when Judge Adele Marchant entered the bistro, dressed more casually than she’d been earlier. She worried a ring on her right hand.

Judge Claude Alsace waddled in a moment later in his suit, sans tie, his hands clenched in fists and his pudgy jaw set tight. Judge Domenic Les Freres, who followed him, had abandoned both his tie and jacket. His white shirt was open two buttons and he was sweating so much, he could have opened a few more.

Eeny, meeny, miny, Bree thought as Henri led the three judges toward Abelmar, who stood to greet them. And now moe. This couldn’t get better. Could it?

The foursome disappeared into the booth. Bree ordered the duck and another glass of champagne before casually looking over at the mirror and the reflection of the booth where the billionaire and the judges were all huddled, speaking intensely.

Bree had a clear view of Judge Marchant’s distraught face. Judge Les Freres waved his phone angrily at Abelmar. Judge Alsace had his head down, as if he found the white tablecloth fascinating.

When Bree turned back, Carole set down her second flute of champagne, along with a sliced baguette and a plate of six escargots cooked in butter, minced garlic, and shallots that made her groan twice with pleasure. She knew sopping up the butter with the bread was not the most couth thing she could do in a restaurant of this caliber, but she did it anyway after the couple beside her departed.

Bree noticed in the mirror that the big guy a few stools down was smiling and chuckling at her. She looked over at him. “What’s so funny?”

Still smiling, he bobbed his chin toward the escargot plate and in a pleasant growl said, “I do the same when I eat here. The sauce is just too good to pass up, and they bake the bread here every afternoon.”

Bree smiled, relaxed. “The duck is incredible too. I had it last night.”

“The duck,” he said, putting his hand over his heart. “Already put in my order.”

Henri the maître d’ led two women in their early thirties to the bar. They took seats next to the big guy and immediately engaged him in conversation, which suited Bree, as Carole had just placed her duck dinner before her.

The dish was even better than Bree remembered, each bite an intoxicating brew of flavors that shocked, morphed, and lingered on the tongue.

She was so absorbed in her meal, she almost forgot why she was there. After eating more of the succulent meat, she set down her knife and fork and casually pivoted in her chair. To her surprise, the judges no longer seemed upset. They were all grinning and clinking glasses of red wine.

And Abelmar?

He was full of good cheer as well, laughing as he turned to peer across the room at the same mirror Bree was looking at.

Their eyes locked.

Abelmar’s grin crumbled and fell away.