Ambushed in the Alps Page 2

  I jabbed the air with a knitting needle. “I may not know you well, Luc, but I can always tell when someone messes with me. What’s up?”

  “Not messing, I swear. Do you two still want to become private investigators?”

  Sidney and I exchanged wary looks, then nodded in unison.

  An impish grin spread across Luc’s overly handsome face. “In that case, I have a job for you.”

  2

  That grin did a number on what remained of my self-possession. For an instant, the smells, sounds, and sights of the café receded, and I was aware only of Luc and me. A burning blush crept over my cheeks, pulling me back to reality. “I knew it. You are messing with me. What’s the job? Investigating the case of the missing sugar shaker? Newsflash: the gnome lady did it. I saw her slip it into her knitting bag five minutes ago. But, hey, maybe you’ll luck out, Luc. She might gift you a gnome-topped toilet paper doily as compensation.”

  Luc regarded the woman in question and groaned. “Not again. Madame Benoit has a touch of the klepto.”

  Sidney winked at me. “A trait she has in common with you, Angel. Are you sure you don’t have a stray sugar shaker hidden up that enormous sweater?”

  I tugged at the hem of my oversized long-sleeved T-shirt, suddenly hyperaware of my dowdy outfit. Knowing Luc would be at the café tonight, I’d dressed down for the meeting. I hadn’t wanted him to think I’d made an effort to impress him. Now I was irritated with myself for caring what Luc thought of my appearance. This irritation made my response to Sidney sharper than his teasing warranted. “I haven’t nicked so much as a toothpick for nearly two months.”

  “You’re a reformed character,” Luc drawled. “Perfect for the job I have lined up for you.”

  Sidney placed his knitting on the table and leaned forward. “Come on, Luc. Don’t leave us in suspense. What is this mysterious case? Do you need us to search for Mélisandre’s missing chew toys again?”

  “This has nothing to do with my cat. Have either of you met your knitting comrade Ghiselle Dubois?” Luc pointed at a wiry forty-something redhead who was currently quizzing Maurice. I couldn’t hear what they were saying, but I could tell she was obsessed with getting her complicated colorwork sweater right.

  I pulled a face. “Oh, yeah. We’ve met. She’s pretty…intense.”

  “Ghiselle, the Seaside Psychic?” Sidney squinted through his black-rimmed glasses. “I’ve seen her around, but we haven’t exchanged more than a bonjour.”

  I perked up at the mention of Ghiselle’s profession. “She’s a seaside psychic? As in, she tells fortunes on the beach?”

  “As in, she makes a living scamming tourists.” Luc’s tone was wry. “Enough of a living to hire your amateur detective services. How do you two feel about taking on an unofficial case?”

  I side-eyed him hard. “A case not sanctioned by Jerry or my mother?”

  He struggled to control his facial muscles but failed to hide his smirk. “Okay, ‘case’ might be an overstatement. Let’s call it a small side job. Don’t you two want to try out your sleuthing skills?”

  “Why does Ghiselle need us? Can’t she pull a tarot card and have a vision or something?”

  “Hang on, Angel. Let’s not dismiss her just yet.” Sidney sounded serious. “If we want to convince your mother and Jerry to train us as P.I.s, we need the practice. Besides, Ghiselle’s supposed to be uncannily accurate. If the idea of getting my fortune told didn’t scare me rigid, I’d stop by her tent.”

  I wrinkled my nose. “I can’t believe any half-rational individual would take that claptrap seriously.”

  “And yet newspaper horoscopes are perennial favorites,” Sidney pointed out. “Not everyone who reads them is a fool.”

  That was a matter of opinion, but I could see I wouldn’t convince him. “Regardless of what we think of Ghiselle’s chosen profession, she doesn’t strike me as easy client material. When I met her at my first Yarniacs meeting, she scrutinized me so thoroughly that I felt like I’d been strip-searched.”

  Luc’s dirty laugh sent a prickle of awareness zinging through my veins. I took a deep breath. Nope. I would not fall for this man. He spelled trouble in all-caps, blazing neon letters.

  “Ghiselle can be full-on,” he conceded, “but she pays well. And she’s willing to pay you two.”

  Sidney regarded me with a hopeful expression. “Come on, Angel. It can’t hurt to talk to the woman.”

  I wasn’t as sanguine. We both wanted to score our first official Omega Group assignment. A successful conclusion to a sideline case might help us persuade my mother. Unfortunately, I had a sinking feeling that any job Luc offered us would be more Austin Powers and less James Bond.

  “If Ghiselle needs a private investigator, why don’t you take the job?” I asked Luc. “Or one of the other investigators at the O—” I dropped my voice, “—at the place that shall remain nameless?”

  This time, nothing was appealing about Luc’s grin. “The sort of investigating she needs doesn’t require a professional. Just someone with good internet search skills.”

  I mimicked a cat scratching the table. “Meooow. Sharp claws, mister.”

  “I’m not saying that to offend you. You guys aren’t licensed investigators. You just happened to get lucky during all the action in July.”

  His words unraveled the loose threads of my patience. “Seriously?” My voice rose with each syllable. “We used our brains to solve not one but three cases. Three big cases.”

  “Sure you did.” Luc’s easy drawl pushed my anger up into my rib cage. “You did well…for amateurs. I’m sure you’ll do a great job for Ghiselle.”

  Walking away from a challenge was never easy for me. Walking away from a challenge issued by an alpha male? Never going to happen.

  I was out of my seat before I had time to think. “You bet we’ll do an awesome job for Ghiselle. Sidney, want to talk to her now?”

  Luc’s expression went from amused to smug. I wanted to quick-knit a lasso and then hog-tie him to the chair. Instead, I turned my back on him and marched across the café.

  Sidney and his long legs wasted no time catching up with me. He grabbed my arm and drew me to a halt in the middle of the café. “Steady on, partner,” he said, keeping his voice low. “Do we have a plan before we tackle Ghiselle?”

  “We don’t need a plan. We’ll tell her we want to hear more about the job. If she doesn’t want to spill her guts at tonight’s meeting, we’ll arrange a time to chat later. Then we decide if we want to take her case or not.” I cast a black look back at the still-grinning Luc. “However much I want to annoy our beloved housemate, I’m walking if Ghiselle wants us to help her scam clients.”

  “If that’s the case, I’ll walk with you. But we don’t know what she wants from us yet. Try to keep an open mind, okay? And let me take the lead. You’re pricklier than a cactus this evening. We want the woman to confide in us, not run screaming.”

  I opened my mouth to object to being called prickly but closed it again. Sidney had a point. I’d been on edge all day, and not just about Luc. “I’m sorry for being grumpy. I’ve had my brother’s birthday on my mind, and Maurice has been particularly trying today.”

  “I’m sorry about Maurice. That’s all the more reason for us to handle Ghiselle with care. If she hires us, we can dazzle Desirée with our investigative skills. Then she’ll have to agree to let us train to be private investigators. That’ll get you out of the yarn shop and away from Maurice forever.”

  A tantalizing prospect. I eyed our quarry and squared my shoulders. “Okay, partner. Let’s do this thing.”

  In a few strides, we were at Ghiselle’s side. She sat alone now that Maurice had made his escape, frowning at her knitting. The pattern was a gorgeous winter scene and something I could recreate only in my dreams.

  “Hi, Ghiselle.” Sidney turned on his money-making smile. “I’m Sidney. We’ve seen each other in passing, but we haven’t been introduced. I believe you’ve met
Angel already? Luc mentioned you wanted to talk to us.” He stretched out a hand, expecting her to shake.

  The woman recoiled like he’d sucker-punched her in the abs. “I don’t shake hands. Too many germs.”

  Sidney let his arm drop. “Okaaaaaaay.”

  I fought back a laugh and schooled my features into calm and professional. Time for my prickly personality to prevail over his practiced charm. “Can we sit at your table? Or would that be another faux pas?”

  “Sure. Sit.” She pushed her chair as far back from us as the wall would permit.

  I exchanged a loaded look with Sidney. I wanted excitement, sure, but I wasn’t convinced Ghiselle Dubois was our ticket to Funland.

  We took the seats opposite Ghiselle, trying to play it cool. With the weird tension in the air, I wasn’t sure we succeeded. I placed my hands on the table and spread my fingers wide. “So…what’s this job you want us to do for you?”

  Ghiselle darted a nervous glance around the café, then dropped her voice to a funeral-home whisper. “I need you to find my late husband.”

  3

  We stared at her, stupefied, for several long seconds. The sounds in the café receded, leaving me hyperaware of this weird woman and her outrageous request.

  Finally, Sidney broke the silence with a series of rusty-hinge-style squeaks. “Late husband? As in, late to meet you? Or late of this world?”

  “She means he’s dead.” I looked across the table at Ghiselle. “That’s right, isn’t it? You want us to look for a dead man?”

  Ghiselle cocked her head to the side, reminding me of a robin redbreast perched on a branch. “My husband drowned in a boating accident five years ago. I need you to find him.”

  The woman sounded crazy, but she looked sane. But her request? Totally in the crazy-pants territory. No wonder Luc hadn’t wanted to take on this case. No wonder he’d been amused when he’d dumped it on us.

  My gaze slid to the bar. Luc leaned against the counter, watching us and clearly enjoying the show. When I caught his eye, his gotcha-grin widened. My middle finger itched to flip him the bird.

  Instead, I curled my fingers into the palm of my hand and focused on Ghiselle. From her deer-in-the-headlights eyes to her white-knuckled fingers, everything about the woman screamed neurotic desperation. I hated to add to her burdens, but I couldn’t string her along. “I’m sorry for your loss, Ghiselle. We’re the wrong people to turn to. We have no idea how to find a body that went missing so long ago, especially one that fell into the sea. That’s a job for the police.”

  She dismissed my suggestion with one expressive jerk of her head. “The police? They’re useless. They think I’m a fraud.”

  I was no friend to the police, but in this instance, I was Team Cop. I tried to keep an open mind about most things. However, I had a reason to be wary of anyone claiming to be a psychic. When I was a kid, a woman my grandmother believed to be a medium had conned her out of several thousand euros. The incident had made me distrust horoscopes, tarot cards, and anything smacking of hocus pocus.

  Despite my misgivings, Ghiselle’s mad request intrigued me. Even if we didn’t take the case, I had to know more. “Have you been searching for his body all these years?”

  “No, of course not. Like everyone else, I assumed Pierre was dead.”

  “And now you don’t?” Sidney practically bounced in his chair, toddler-style.

  The fine lines across Ghiselle’s freckled forehead deepened. “Two weeks ago, Pierre started appearing to me in visions. He’s not in the afterlife. I’m convinced he’s in this world, and he needs my help.” Her doe eyes filled with tears. Either she was a talented actress, or she was genuinely upset.

  “Even pro psychics must have dreams that are just dreams,” I said. “Why are you convinced what you saw was the real deal?”

  Ghiselle let her guard down for the barest moment, and I caught a flash of contempt in her eyes before she slid back into her dizzy-neurotic routine. “These are visions. Pierre’s hair is shorter and graying around the temples. He’s grown older. Dead men don’t age.”

  Ghiselle’s wild story had hooked my interest. Her incongruous flicker of disdain had reeled me in. What game was she playing? What was the cause of her stress? Her late husband? Or a living man she regarded as a threat? “If you have psychic powers, why can’t you contact Pierre and find out where he is?”

  This time, there was no mistaking her annoyance. “Clearly, you understand nothing about psychic abilities. The closer I am to a person or situation, the less I can see.”

  I looked at Sidney and tried to mentally message him to bail us out of this situation. His mouth twitched once, then twice. Message received.

  Now that he’d recovered from his initial shock, he’d shifted into one of his many public personas. It was a trick of his I found both admirable and alarming. I had a hard time blunting the edges of my personality when dealing with people. In contrast, Sidney dug into his treasure trove of acting skills and presented the persona best suited to the situation.

  He leaned forward in his seat ever so slightly and adopted his wise-counselor act. “Do you have someone to talk to about all this, Ghiselle? Like a therapist?”

  His sotto voce delivery had the desired effect. She unhunched her shoulders. Her lips trembled, and the floodgates opened. If this was an act, Ghiselle was in line for an academy award. Unfortunately for her, I was a picky critic.

  I pulled a pack of tissues out of my bag and gave her one.

  She took it and honked her nose. “No one understands me. No one wants to listen. I know what I saw, and I know it was real.”

  “I want to listen. I want to know what you saw. And I want to know what happened the day your husband died.” Sidney drew his phone from his pocket and swiped the screen. “Is it okay if we record this conversation? It’s easier to chat if Angel and I don’t need to take notes.”

  Sidney’s soothing voice softened the tension lines on the woman’s face. “Sure. Record away.” She waited until he hit the record button. Then she took a deep breath and began her tale. “One morning, Pierre went out in his speedboat and never returned. A passing fishing boat found the capsized speedboat and contacted Search and Rescue. They looked for my husband for two days but never found him. Everyone assumed he’d drowned.” She curled and uncurled her fingers, seemingly unaware she was doing it. “For months, I waited for a phone call telling me his body had washed up somewhere. That phone call never came. Eventually, Pierre was declared legally dead.”

  “Did you believe he’d drowned?” Sidney asked. “Or did you suspect he was still alive?”

  “It took me a while to process what had happened. I tried to connect with Pierre’s spirit and never received a response. That’s not unusual—it’s easier for mediums to connect with strangers’ spirits than those of loved ones. So yes, I accepted my husband’s death.” Her eyes grew large and held a manic glint. “These visions tell a different story. I now know he’s alive.”

  Even if Pierre was alive, why did Ghiselle want to find him? Love? Closure? Revenge?

  After exchanging a look and a nod with Sidney, I took up the conch. “Assuming Pierre is still alive, why hasn’t he come forward in all the years since the boat accident?”

  “Isn’t that obvious?” Ghiselle’s sigh was deeper than the Mariana Trench. “He was kidnapped and forced to work at a casino.”

  I slow-blinked and swallowed the what the…? that hovered on my tongue. “Let me get this straight. Pierre was trafficked to work at a casino? Why in the world would anyone want to do that?”

  “My husband could’ve been a professional poker player. He was that good. And he spent a lot of time at the casinos in Nice and Monte Carlo.”

  I seized on this information, the first logical-sounding tidbit she’d provided so far. “Do you think Pierre’s death, faked or real, was connected to gambling?”

  Ghiselle shrank back in her seat and instinctively turned to sympathetic Sidney. “Pierre just l
iked to play poker. He didn’t run up debts. He had no enemies.”

  “I’m sure he didn’t,” Sidney replied in a calming voice. “What was Pierre doing in your visions? Playing poker?”

  She shook her head, loosening the lone gray curl in her vibrant red mane. “He was working as a croupier at a roulette table.”

  “That’s great, Ghiselle.” He gave her an encouraging smile. “Keep the details coming. Did you notice anything to indicate where the casino was located? Like the language people were speaking? Or the landscape visible through a window?”

  Ghiselle fluttered her eyelashes at him. As in, actually batted them. And then she inched her chair a little closer, a clear indicator of her growing trust. Jeez Louise. How did Sidney do it? He was a natural at getting people to confide in him.

  “Almost all the people around the roulette table spoke French,” Ghiselle said, “but Pierre addressed one man in English. I didn’t see any windows in the room. A series of photographs on the walls looked like mountain landscapes. I’m certain one was the Matterhorn, but I didn’t recognize any others.”

  I turned this info over in my mind. “Assuming the photographs were of local mountains, the casino could be in Switzerland, most likely in the French-speaking area.”

  Ghiselle fiddled with one of her rings. Now that I looked closer, I identified it as a wedding band. “Switzerland would make sense,” she said. “Pierre sometimes went to a casino in Geneva. Clearly, a gangster wanted to use Pierre’s card skills to make money and kidnapped him. It all makes perfect sense.”

  Maybe to her, but not to me. “If Pierre was kidnapped for his poker-playing prowess, why wasn’t he playing poker in your visions? You described him working as a croupier. That’s a whole other level.”

  “How should I know why he was working at a roulette table instead of playing poker?” A note of testiness crept into her voice. “Perhaps he was helping out. All I know is he wore a uniform—a waistcoat with a candy cane pattern. Pierre would never wear a jacket like that voluntarily. He prided himself on looking suave.”