Night Train to Paris by Fliss Chester (best romantic novels to read txt) 📗

‘He and Rose were arguing just before she died. So, if he is in the south, as Antoine suggested, he almost certainly wasn’t at the time of the murder.’

The pair of them mused over their theories as the bus pulled in alongside the stop on the Rue de Seine and they clattered down the stairs just in time, before the impatient driver took off again.

‘Seems we need to take our lives in our hands almost every day here!’ Fen gasped as she grabbed her hat from blowing off in a gust of wind.

‘Good thing you have the solicitor coming next then,’ James chuckled at her, sticking his hands in the deep pockets of his overcoat. ‘You can make your own will.’

Fen and James had barely had time to get back into the apartment, greet a waggly tailed Tipper and put some hot water on to boil for a decent cup of tea, when the flat reedy sound of the front doorbell buzzed. Tipper was the first to dash to the door, yapping away, while Fen was quick on his heels, scooping him up and shushing him as she opened the door.

Monsieur Blanquer was a short, fat man with a black goatee beard and sharp blue eyes. Despite his portly nature, he was dressed smartly in a well-tailored three-piece suit, complete with pocket watch and the shiniest of black leather shoes. The morning light in the atrium bounced off his bald head, which was the first thing Fen saw as she greeted him. He passed his hat between his hands and reached one out to her. ‘You must be Mademoiselle Churche?’

‘And you Monsieur Blanquer, please come in.’

Tea was poured and pleasantries and condolences made. Monsieur Blanquer had indeed brought Rose’s will with him and proceeded to read it out for Fen and James, in lieu of any of the actual beneficiaries being there.

‘She left a strange sort of c…codicil,’ he stammered, being a man who, although professional in the utmost, obviously found it hard to form the harder consonants. ‘She insisted that whomsoever be in her apartment c…could act as an exec…utor.’

‘How strange,’ Fen shrugged but didn’t argue as she was keen to hear who or what would benefit from her friend’s death. She wouldn’t have been surprised if a local dogs’ home was about to become considerably better off.

Monsieur Blanquer opened up the folio-sized document and cleared his throat before starting.

‘My apartment on the Rue des Beaux-Arts I leave in its entirety to my g…good friend Henri Renaud, and request that he uses it either for himself or uses any monies forthc…coming from its sale or rental to further our war work vis-à-vis the restoration of artworks to the Jewish c…community. My paintings I donate to the École des Beaux-Arts for the further educ…cation of the students therein, and any other chattels I request to be divided among my friends, of whom I supply a list.’ Blanquer flourished another piece of paper as he spoke, indicating that it was indeed the list of said friends.

‘Thank you, monsieur,’ Fen brought the will reading to a close and offered him another cup of tea. ‘I think we should make Henri aware of the situation and talk to him about Simone, and me, moving out of this apartment. Monsieur, was there anything else that perhaps Madame Coillard had deposited with you? Another list of some sort, or a code or cipher at all?’

Blanquer shook his head, but then seemed to suddenly remember something and raised his finger. ‘There was this… that is all.’ He slipped his fingertips into the small pocket in his waistcoat and rummaged around behind his watch chain to extract a small key. ‘The spare for the mailbox d…downstairs, I believe,’ he said, handing it to her as he began collecting up all of his papers. ‘You know where to find me, mademoiselle. If any bills or t…tabs need paying from the estate, then please send them through to me and I’ll settle them. I will be c…contacting Monsieur Renaud, but if you wish to give him the happy news of his inheritance, I should not stand in your way.’

Fen took the key and thanked the solicitor, adding, ‘I’m not sure it’s particularly happy news. We’d all rather have Rose alive.’

‘Indeed, indeed. But the fact remains, Monsieur Renaud is now the proud owner of this rather charming apartment.’

Which might well give him the perfect motive for murder, thought Fen as she showed Blanquer to the door. She made a mental note to check his alibi about buying those watercolours somehow.

While James washed the teacups, Fen trotted down the wide stone staircase to the communal hallway at the bottom. The key that Monsieur Blanquer had just given her fit like a dream as she turned it and used it to pull open the small metal door of the mailbox. A few flyers for theatrical nights and restaurant openings covered what looked like the real post: two brown, official envelopes and one handwritten one. Fen scooped them all up, closed and locked the mailbox and climbed back up to the fifth floor.

Once inside the apartment, she settled down in the saggy old armchair and let Tipper scramble up onto her lap and lick her nose a couple of times before he curled up in her lap.

Fen looked at the envelopes. ‘I’m sorry, Rose,’ she apologised into the ether, ‘I know it’s terribly rude to open someone else’s post, but needs must.’

‘If you’re going to talk to yourself, at least do it with a cup of tea,’ James said as he brought a fresh brew over to where Fen was sitting.

She smiled a thanks up to him as he moved over to the other armchair and sat himself down with the newspaper.

Fen went back to the post. The first was a bill from Rose’s grocer – seventy francs! Fen was grateful that Blanquer had offered to settle any accounts from the estate. The second brown envelope was even more