Murder at the Lanterne Rouge

Saturday, 2 P.M.

“BUT I TELL flic this morning,” said Madame Liu, “I no see le petit, or you. I go to funeral service last night.”

Aimée stared at Madame Liu, the manager of Chez Chun, a tiny woman with an upswept hairdo of lacquered curls. Her hair didn’t move when she shook her head, but her jade bracelet jingled as she speared a receipt on a nail.

“Can I speak to the waitress who worked last night?”

“She live far away, work Monday.”

Convenient.

“But flics tell her my food make le petit sick. True?”

No one forgot René. Aimée shook her head. Looked outside on the narrow, slush-filled street.

Aimée pointed to the shuttered luggage store. “But you must know the Wus and Meizi. Any idea where I can find them?”

“Quartier change. New shops. People come and go.”

“What about this man with bad teeth. Tso?”

Madame Liu averted her eyes. “I semiretired.”

Aimée wouldn’t know it from the way Madame Liu whipped around cleaning tables. She noticed the woman’s knuckles had whitened around the dishtowel she clutched. Was she hiding something?

But it made her think. This narrow street was the shortest route from the Conservatoire to Pascal’s great-aunt’s.

“Have you ever seen this man?” She showed Madame Liu Pascal’s photo.

Madame Liu lifted her reading glasses from the chain around her neck. Stared. “Him? No eat.”

As she suspected, Madame knew him. A local in the quartier. Aimée suppressed her excitement. “Last night? What time?”

“Not eat here.” Madame Liu took her reading glasses off. “Busy, now prepare for dinner.”

“Where did you last see him, Madame Liu?”

“Not sure.”

“Here in the quartier? On the street?”

“Dead man, right?”

Aimée nodded.

Madame Liu grabbed a dry dish towel. “Come back later.”

Aimée had to get some kind of information from her. “But the flics suspect a Chinese gang killed him.”

“Flics don’t speak good Wenzhou dialect.”

“They’re lazy, too,” Aimée said. “But that’s between you and me.”

Madame Liu leaned forward. “Flics like my noodle soup. Like no pay.”

She imagined Prévost enjoying a free lunch. Flics took it as their due, and her godfather Morbier was no exception. That grated on her.

“Me, I pay for information. I keep it quiet, too.”

Aimée pulled fifty francs from her wallet. Set it on the table. This search was getting expensive, and her bank balance was getting low, but she pushed that out of her head. “Do you know anything about his family?”

“Family? He have very old auntie?”

Aimée nodded again. Not only was Madame Liu a good observer, but she knew who lived in this village-like warren of medieval streets.

“He teach class and eat here Fridays. Order #32 shrimp wonton soup.”

“So last night …”

“Every Friday, but not last night.”

And he was murdered around the corner.

“But did you see him yesterday? Going in the luggage shop to see Meizi, to buy a bag for his auntie?”

“Sad for auntie. Nice lady.” Madame Liu rubbed the towel over the cracked tiled counter.

“His auntie knows no Chinese would hurt him,” Aimée said. Time to stretch the truth. “But I need Meizi’s help to prove that to the flics.”

Madame Liu nodded to a young man arriving in the back door.

“He walk by maybe seven o’clock,” Madame Liu said. “No stop like usual. I go funeral service. That’s all.”

At seven in the evening it would have been dark, the shops closed.

“Was he with Meizi? Black ponytail, sweet face, jeans and green sweater?”

Madame Liu shrugged. “He wave. Alone. That’s all.”

On the way to meet his killer.

Aimée looked out the window again. Saw how close the luggage shop was. Her mind went back to last night, this table: Meizi ladling the soup, her face lighting up upon seeing René, how her smile reached her eyes. Not the face of a woman who’d killed a man and wrapped him in plastic before dinner. When Meizi excused herself to take a call, Aimée couldn’t help believing, she intended to return to her birthday meal, her present, and René.

“My restaurant full soon, dishwasher sick. I’m busy.”

In a swift movement Madame Liu joined the young man at the counter, turning her back on Aimée.