“Mercy me,” Mary Cassatt said in English, and took a hasty sip of her wine.
“And if the killer was not a person Mr. Bryce knew but perhaps a Jewish man, angry at his anti-Jewish sentiments, as has been suggested?”
“He was alone in the house, madame. He was hard at work, painting, and did not like to be disturbed. I do not think he would have admitted such a person, if he even bothered to answer the front door himself while his housekeeper was away.”
“The person could have forced his way in,” Mary suggested.
“Then Mr. Bryce would not have been sitting down,” I said before the inspector could answer. “The intruder would have stabbed him in his foyer, not been brought through all the way to his studio.”
“Alas, there was the window,” the inspector said. “Mr. Bryce always kept a window open because of the smell of paint and turpentine. The window was high enough above the street to make entry difficult, but an agile person could have managed it, entered when Mr. Bryce left the room, and waited for the right moment to strike.”
Mary shuddered again. “Too horrible to contemplate,” she said.
The inspector smiled. “You do not seem to have the strong stomach of your relative here,” he said. “But then she was once a detective, was she not?”
I could tell from his tone that he hadn’t quite accepted my story. He was not sure who I was and was suspicious about why I was here and whether I had anything to do with Mr. Bryce’s death. I realized I had to tread carefully or I might find myself cast in the role of prime suspect.
“But surely anyone attempting to climb in would have been seen,” I said. “The Rue François Premier is quite busy.”
“You forget those houses have small gardens facing the street. One could hide among the shrubs for the right moment.”
“Dangerous, surely,” I said. “Anyone going over to the window would spot the person immediately.”
“Criminals often enjoy risks, madame, as you, being a detective, should know. So tell me, where was this detective agency of yours?”
“In New York,” I said. “I closed it when I married. Now I am only a wife and mother and enjoy the leisure to visit family and friends.”
“Your husband is generous to allow you to travel without him.”
“He is busy at work, like most men. He thought it would be a perfect chance for me to travel when I had friends in Paris.”
“Your husband, what profession does he have?”
Oh, dear. I suspected this might be coming and didn’t really see a way to avoid it. “He is a police captain in New York,” I said. At least that might allay suspicions about me, but I now ran the risk that he would contact New York for verification. And the last thing I wanted was for Daniel to hear that I was somehow mixed up in a murder investigation.
Twenty-six
“Thank heavens he has gone,” Mary said as she returned to the salon, having escorted the inspector to the door. “Such a lot of questions. I began to think he had been tipped off that our friends were hiding out here.”
“I know. It was most uncomfortable, knowing that they were upstairs, within his reach. And he is obviously suspicious of me.”
“You met him before, I understand?”
“I went to Mr. Bryce’s house, knowing that he had been in recent contact with Sid and Gus and hoping he might know where they had gone. I arrived to find the police stationed outside and Bryce dead. In order to gain entrance I said I was a friend of his family with a message for him. I got the feeling he thought the message I had come to deliver was in some way significant and that I was hiding the truth from him.”
“Ah, so no wonder he was interested when I claimed you were also a dear friend of my family at home,” she laughed. “What a mess, Molly.” She broke off and extended a hand to me. “I may call you Molly, may I not? Since we are now almost related?”
“Please do,” I said. “And I can’t thank you enough for taking us in.”
“The little one looks as if he’s ready to sleep,” she said, looking fondly at Liam who was snuggled against me, sucking his thumb. “I can finally have Celeste show you to the room I have prepared for you. Or do you want to let him meet his anxious aunts first?”
I glanced down at Liam. “I think we should make the most of a sleepy child and put him down,” I said. “Sid and Gus will have ample time to spoil him later.”
Mary smiled and rang the bell. Celeste appeared and escorted me up two flights of stairs. It was an attic room like the one in Montmartre, with French doors opening onto a balcony, but much more cozily and elegantly furnished with blue and white wallpaper and a blue and white chenille bedspread and curtains. The crib had been assembled in the far corner, and looked most inviting with lace pillows. I put Liam down. His thumb came into his mouth and he was asleep straight away. I went over and opened the French windows, stepping out onto the narrow balcony. The street below was quiet, apart from the distant sound of a horse’s hoofs moving at a fast trot as it pulled a light carriage or a cab. The sky beyond the rooftops held the last lingering glow of red and etched in black against that sky the Eiffel Tower rose. Seen close like this it was an awe-inspiring sight. It reminded me that whatever was happening, whatever difficulties we might be facing, we were, after all, in Paris.