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

“What is the name of the club?” Conor asked.

Pauline shook her head, blonde hair flying to and fro. “I don’t remember. Wait. No. I go to many clubs, I confess.”

“To pick up men?” Conor suggested.

Pauline gasped dramatically. “Oh my god. You think I am a prostitute?”

“Only if Duncan— or someone— is paying you for this ‘job.’”

Pauline stood up angrily, hands fisted at her sides. “I don’t have to take these insults from you. I am a decent woman!” She took several steps toward the door before Conor put out an arm to stop her.

“Sit down, Pauline,” Isabelle commanded. “Now.”

The younger woman slunk back to the chair, flopping down and glaring at Isabelle. “You disgust me. This whole family disgusts me.”

“We overheard your phone conversation, Pauline,” Conor said, crossing his arms near her chair. “You said your job was finished. What job was that?”

“Quoi? I have no idea what you speak.” She was done crying now and looked at Conor with hate in her eyes.

“In the hedges. You told someone ‘le travail est fait.’”

Pauline stared at him. “That? I was speaking to an agency about a job I completed in December. I was looking for more work. Is that a crime?”

“What sort of work?” Isabelle asked.

“Modeling,” she said, flipping back her hair. “Sometimes I help with the parties for Louis, for the money. But I am trying to get modeling jobs. I am trying to have a life.”

Isabelle glanced at Conor. What more was there to ask? Her story more or less checked out, although they hadn’t confronted her about the assault charge. That could be brought up with Duncan privately.

“All right, Pauline. We will see you at dinner. Make sure Duncan is awake and dressed. That is your job, it appears.”

After she clomped down the hall, Conor turned to his mother. “We need to search their room. If for nothing else, to find your laptop.”

Chapter Fifteen

At five o’clock they assembled as usual for cocktails in the drawing room. Freddy and Aubrey brought the children this time and made them grape juice and seltzer kiddie cocktails at the makeshift bar, still going strong after Conor’s creation of it a week ago.

Pascal and Conor had spent an hour or so whispering, planning, conjecturing what had happened to Sabine and Gabriel. Merle and Elise had their own ideas but nothing solid. Merle told Elise that Pascal had asked some French government agency for a full background analysis on Agnés Loup but was told it wouldn’t happen for a few days. The Detective Inspector had not returned with more information today. No one had heard from him.

“Maybe nobody cares about a rude Frenchwoman who gets herself gutted in the hedgerows,” Elise said, putting on a posh accent. “I know I struggle with the notion.”

Merle smiled. “I’m sure they’re working on it. These things take time.”

“But we’re supposed to leave tomorrow. Or maybe the next day, I’m not sure. It’s Twelfth Night.”

Merle shrugged. “Does that mean we get the réveillon?”

“The larder is getting bare. All these meals. Breakfast was pretty skimpy.”

“What happens to Audette and Gini? Where will they go?”

“Back to London, I suppose,” Elise said. “But, who knows how.“

“Maybe the black limo will magically return.”

Richard and Cecily were chatting, liquor in hand, with Isabelle and Evans. Richard was indeed thrilled to have his beloved Jag recovered. He would get it back tomorrow, he’d been told, after the Forensics Squad went through it. He had bellowed at the police, warning against pulling out seats and touching a stitch of original upholstery. Cecily had rolled her eyes, a lot.

“Did I tell you, Merle,” Elise said, sipping champagne, “that Cecily has spoken to Trevor at their law firm? He’s Conor’s attorney and sports agent.” Merle raised her eyebrows. “Conor talked to him too but Cecily is a senior partner there. Anyway Trevor has no interest in actually being a sports agent for Conor. He’s agreed to relinquish his duties to me.”

“Oh. What does being a sports agent entail?” Merle asked.

“I guess I’ll find out.” She grinned. “I’m excited. I think I can take some courses or something. Or find a mentor in the US.”

“So you’ll do contracts for him?”

“And sponsorships. You know, all that advertising on their clothes. That’s where the money is.”

“Would you be paid or get a cut of—”

Merle stopped mid-sentence as Pauline stumbled into the room on white high heels, wearing another ridiculously short, flimsy dress better suited for Saint-Tropez. Everyone turned to look at her as she righted herself and smiled.

“Good evening. Bonsoir, vous tous.” She blinked and glanced at the bar, stepping over to it with her model’s sway.

Isabelle intercepted her. “Where is Duncan, Pauline?”

Pauline spun from the bar with a glass of white wine in her hand. “Oh! I almost spilled.” Isabelle tapped her foot impatiently. “He wasn’t feeling well enough to come down. He sends his apology.”

“You had one task, Pauline,” Isabelle said in an angry whisper. “One task.”

Conor moved to his mother’s side. “I’ll check on him.” He turned to Pauline. “Is the door locked?”

“No, of course not.” She looked indignant but Conor held out his hand and glared at her. She resisted his entreaty for a long moment then caved in, reaching into a pocket for the skeleton key. “I just want him to be safe.” She leaned closer to Conor and whispered, “From all of you.”

Conor kept his face neutral but Elise could see the dislike in his eyes. Pauline was a fraud. Why were they even calling her ‘Pauline’? Why was she still a guest? Elise touched Merle’s arm and nodded toward the hall.

She skipped up to Conor. “I’ll go with you.”

Merle watched Elise take Conor’s hand as they went upstairs. Pascal was pouring himself a glass of Pinot Noir. “What is the latest theory?” she whispered.

“About Sabine? Not a clue.” He glanced around the room as if sizing it up for potential suspects. “One of us? A random hater? Particular enemy? Hoisted by her own sharp petard?” He shrugged.

“What