Birds of a Feather: 3: Fly the Nest (Bennett Sisters Mysteries Book 16) Lise McClendon (ebook reader with built in dictionary .txt) 📖

and a heave, Duncan flung one arm over and rolled onto his back. Isabelle frowned at his greasy hair, four-day beard, crusty mouth and nose. His skin was gray and his eyes were closed. “Look at me,” she demanded.

Duncan’s eyes fluttered open and he squinted. “Is it daytime?”

“Barely,” Isabelle said. “I want you to shower and come down for dinner in exactly half an hour.” She checked her watch. “It is now five-thirty. Meet me in the drawing room at six o’clock. You too, Pauline.”

At the door she turned back. “Sit up now, Duncan.” She waited for him to sigh again and struggle upright. “Legs over the edge.” He obeyed, revealing white ankles and toes dangling above the floor. “Clean yourself. You smell.”

Isabelle was two doors down the hallway when Pauline called to her. She waited for the girl to skip to her. “Qu'est-ce que c'est?”

Pauline put on a brave smile. Isabelle noticed again how very pale and thin the girl was, with her cheekbones protruding and those narrow shoulders. She looked emaciated. Modeling was a terrible profession for personal health.

“I was wondering. Could I eat dinner in my room again? I am really not dealing with all this very well.” She wrung her hands. “I feel so anxious.”

“About Duncan?” Pauline nodded. Was the girl on medication? Or drugs maybe? Isabelle looked at her pupils but it was too dim in the hallway. “D’accord. Make sure he showers and wears something decent when he comes down. And you’ll have to get dinner in the kitchen yourself.”

Dinner was immaculately prepared by Chef Audette— a huge beef roast, the tartiflette of potatoes and cheese, two vegetable dishes, and much bread. It was all enjoyed but you wouldn’t know by the sour faces around the table. Bree and Sally were pouting and sending eye daggers their father’s way. Conor and Elise sat close together, whispering. Richard seethed, stuffing food in his mouth mechanically as he hunched over his plate. Evans wasn’t much better, waving his fork around the way he did when he was having an internal discussion. He could barely look at his older son. Cecily looked at Isabelle now and then as if wondering what was going on but said nothing. Aubrey, Freddy, and the children were the only bright spot, chirping away with Pascal who fascinated them with his accent and engaged them on the subject of birds.

Isabelle gave Gini the nod to bring on dessert as soon as the majority were finished. Audette had made panne cotta in individual ramekins and spooned honey over it. Gini quickly distributed the dishes and clean spoons and disappeared back into the kitchen.

Duncan said little, sullenly chewing his food. No one poured him wine and he demanded some in an angry, ungrateful voice. Aubrey admonished him, told him to think of the children, but he didn’t care. He wanted wine. Conor stood up and poured him a splash of claret.

“Aren’t you the greedy gus,” Duncan muttered.

“Duncan.” Isabelle’s tone cautioned him. “We will talk after dinner in the library.”

“Will we? Will I get the switch?” He sneered at his parents. “Oooh. Have I been a naughty boy again?”

Toby laughed. “Yes, you have, Uncle Duncan!”

“Unkie Dunkie did a naughty!” Little Michael chanted. Freddy put a hand on his shoulder, quieting him.

“Did he poop his pants?” Toby cried.

“Toby, stop now,” his father demanded.

“Please,” Aubrey pleaded with her brother to behave.

An ugly silence descended, punctuated by the boys’ giggling. At last dinner was over and everyone pushed back their chairs, eager to leave the table. Merle and Elise were the last to stay seated.

“We should head back to the inn,” Merle said. “Can Conor give us a ride?”

“Sure.” Elise leaned closer to her sister. “That was the worst dinner atmosphere I’ve ever had the displeasure to attend.”

“Is it because of the Jag?”

Elise shook her head. “They told their parents about Duncan. What he did— to me and some other stuff.”

“Ah. That’s the library meet-up.” Elise nodded. Merle folded her napkin on the table. “I don’t want to be around when that ends. Can we go?”

As they left the dining room to find the men, Pauline backed through the swinging door to the kitchen, carrying a plate of food and a glass of wine. She had her head down, shuffling along, until she saw them watching her. Then she straightened and put on her runway walk with a little sway from side to side, head high. She wore a fuchsia blouse with her leggings and the pink suede boots that she had apparently cleaned and repaired. Her blonde hair was piled on her head with a few careless wisps on her neck. Exactly the way Isabelle wore her hair, Merle observed.

“Hi, Pauline,” Elise said as she passed. “Bonsoir.”

Pauline had nothing to say.

Chapter Thirteen

Pascal and Merle sat in the bistro at the King’s Hearth that transformed itself into a bar after nine o’clock. They each had one last glass of wine as Pascal hunched over his large mobile phone, punching through websites and photographs. They didn’t know Pauline’s last name and it was more difficult than expected to find out information about her.

“There are at least five French models named Pauline on Instagram, possibly more,” he growled. “None of them look like her. Could she have dyed her hair?”

“Of course. Let me see.” Merle spun the phone around and tapped at some photos. The models were in various states of undress, many completely nude. “Wow. Okay. This is France.”

Pascal swiped the screen. “Look at this one.”

Another model popped up. She was tall, glamorous, and thin but otherwise didn’t resemble the Pauline they knew. Merle gave him his phone back. “Maybe she made up that name, or even the whole model thing.”

“She wants to be a model? I can see that.” He kept searching. Finally he sat back and took a sip of wine. “Text Elise. See if she can find out Pauline’s last name.”

Merle did as requested. In a moment Elise replied that she was