Birds of a Feather: 3: Fly the Nest (Bennett Sisters Mysteries Book 16) by Lise McClendon (websites to read books for free .TXT) 📗

on the case. “She’ll get back to me if she finds out.” Merle took a drink of wine. “I think I’ll switch to tea.” She summoned the waiter and requested peppermint tea. “Their wine leaves something to be desired,” she whispered to Pascal.

He agreed. They drank in peaceful silence as a few more people entered the bar and someone put some music on. A couple began to dance.

“Still in a party mood here,” Merle observed. After half an hour a text arrived from Elise. Merle read it out loud.

“Isabelle says her full name is Pauline Lajoie. A perfect name for a good-time girl, right?”

Merle spelled the last name. Pascal entered ‘Pauline Lajoie’ into his search bar. A few people showed up, mostly from social media accounts. No models. He clicked through the results until one made him stop.

“No picture but possible. Works at a temp agency in London as a server or sous chef or cleaner. Age twenty-five.” Pascal looked up. “The name on the agency— Louis Bordeaux.”

They agreed to wait until morning to confront the family with this tidbit. ‘Confront’ was probably not correct, Merle thought. ‘Inform’ then. The Albions could do the confronting of Pauline as they wished. Maybe it didn’t matter that she wasn’t a model. Maybe she dreamed of being one, had tried out for jobs, was aspirational. Merle lay in bed wondering whether they should inform the family at all.

But in the gray morning light she was more certain. Pauline had misrepresented herself. Duncan, at least, should know. If he did already know and had played along with her charade— which seemed very possible— then the family should be aware.

Conor and Elise picked up Pascal and Merle again in town. His aunt and uncle had taken Bree and Sally to Newport to the rail station. They were headed back to university, glad to be done with their horrid family holiday. They had taken the Range Rover so Conor drove the Fiat into Monmouth. The foursome went to the Swan for lunch again. After they ordered Elise leaned in and whispered, “Well, what did you find out?”

Merle looked at Pascal. He took a long drink of water and set down his glass carefully. He dabbed his mouth with his napkin.

“It appears our Pauline is not a model. She works for the same agency as the chef and the maid, the Louis Bordeaux agency. He must specialize in French girls.” Pascal raised an eyebrow skeptically.

“Oh. Maybe she’s trying out for modeling jobs? He sends her out?” Elise said. She glanced at Conor. “She is striking, right?” He shrugged.

“We thought that too, at first. She is listed as a server, sous chef, or cleaner on his website. He must assure his clients that those they contract with are honest and bonded. That is the term— bonded?”

“Yes,” Merle said. “Against losses.”

“Such as stealing from clients. So I wonder,” Pascal said. “If she is honest about all of it, you know? So I call in a favor at the Police Nationale. To look her up in the records.”

Conor had perked up. “And?”

“The only record of someone by that name is a grandmother in Lyon.”

“So the agency guy is misrepresenting her,” Conor said. “That makes him liable for— what?”

“Anything she does, I would suppose.” Pascal shrugged. “I call him too.”

“So many phone calls,” Merle said, rolling her eyes.

“It is my secret power,” Pascal said, holding up his mobile phone. “I spoke to him yesterday so I change my voice a little. I tell this Louis Bordeaux— or whatever his real name is— that there have been complaints about his workers for theft. I demand that he tell me the real names of the three of them— Audette, Gini, and Pauline— or, I say, I will have to send over detectives to investigate him in particular for false identification.”

“Did you tell him you were working with Scotland Yard?” Conor asked.

“I implied. I said I was Police Nationale— mostly true— working with Interpol for cross-border crimes. Since he is obviously using a false name I hoped he might comply to the simpler request of the women’s identities. And I spoke to him in French. The French in general are very leery of the police.”

“I can see by your smile that he complied,” Elise said.

“He did. He gave me Audette and Gini’s complete names then he gave me Pauline’s. Her name is in reality Agnés Loup.”

“Not Pauline at all,” Conor said, a bit shocked. “I hadn’t thought her quite so devious.”

“It seems she reinvented herself in London,” Pascal said. “And I found out why. She attacked her boyfriend in Paris three years ago. She was convicted for domestic battery and received probation. She was not to leave the country.”

“Attacked her boyfriend?” Conor repeated. “Does Duncan know, do you think?”

“A question,” Pascal said.

“I doubt it,” Elise said. “How would he feel safe around her?”

“He should be told,” Merle said.

“I knew there was something fishy about that girl.” Elise looked at Conor. He looked unhappy at the prospect of interacting with his brother on any level. “Just tell your mother. She’ll handle it.”

“Did Elise tell you what we overheard her saying, out by the hedges?” Pascal asked Conor who nodded. “What job do you suppose is ‘done’?”

“I don’t know. The seduction of my brother? The impersonation of a model?”

“Someone would pay for that? For what purpose?” Pascal frowned.

“I have no idea,” Conor said.

Conor had parked the little hire car in a carpark behind the high street shops and restaurants. They exited the Swan through the alley door, navigating icy spots and garbage bins, down a couple blocks to a parking lot on a side street. Elise clung to Conor’s arm, Merle to Pascal’s, as the footing was treacherous. Conor clicked the key fob as they reached the carpark. The Fiat chirped in response.

Halfway down the row of vehicles Pascal stopped abruptly, causing Merle to skid. “Whoa there,” she cautioned him, squeezing his arm.

“Look,” he said, nodding across the closer row of autos