deep breath while staring down Amina’s front door. She’s been standing here for at least five minutes already, working up the nerve to knock. The elevator has gone by twice without stopping on this floor. She hears voices coming from inside, as well as clanging of pots and bouts of laughter. Amina and Madame Villemur seem to be getting along.
It’s not just nerves at coming face to face with Amina again holding her back—although she wouldn’t mind being able to maintain some of her usual sangfroid when in the presence of her lovely neighbor.
She doesn’t want to bring her anger and annoyance at Divisional Commander Spangero to dinner.
After meeting with the lawyer, Emeline went straight back to the police station like Diome requested. She was met at the main entrance by a frowning officer she’d never met before who kindly, but firmly, accompanied her to a meeting room to meet with Spangero. A normal meeting room and not one used for interrogating suspects, but the interview that followed had more elements of an interrogation than a simple meeting.
Emeline told the divisional commander of the events leading her and Malik to Clothilde Humbert’s childhood home, always proving they were searching for the link between the two dead bodies, investigating the case they were set to work on. She didn’t leave out any of the information Monsieur Pradel told them, implicating the old mayor and several City Council members in something fishy concerning Clothilde’s death or funeral.
She did leave out the storage closet with Clothilde’s things and the third envelope with Emeline’s name on it. She wants to keep those documents, thank you very much.
She trusts Joséphine Pradel not to talk when Spangero’s officers inevitably show up—but not her husband. Besides, there was always the chance that Spangero would look into the fishy behavior Edouard Pradel described on the subject of his colleagues.
One could always hope.
Shaking away the last of her frustrations, Emeline lifts her hand and knocks.
The chatter from inside stops but the clanging continues. Five seconds later, Amina flings open the door, her brilliant smile lighting up the dreary hallway.
“There you are!” Amina is wearing a bright yellow sundress with a frilly pink apron on top. Her curly hair sports some white spots that might be flour, and the yellow nail polish on her hands matches her dress perfectly.
Before Emeline can think of anything to say in reply—like hello, how are you, thank you for your help…any of the basics, really—Amina leans forward to greet her with a kiss on each cheek, and she’s surrounded by a mix of cinnamon, nutmeg, curcumin, and…coconut? That last must be from whatever Amina puts in her hair.
Emeline still can’t figure out what to say, but suddenly it’s not all that important. The stress of the day washes off her back, and she couldn’t stop a huge smile from spreading on her face if she wanted to.
Not that there’s any point in stopping it.
“Come on in,” Amina says and pulls Emeline into her apartment. “We’ve made tajine. How was your day?”
In the kitchen, Madame Villemur is doing the dishes. She’s wearing a pair of jeans and a red blouse that feel a little out of character but they’re probably from Amina’s mother. She’s also wearing a pink apron matching Amina’s, making them look sweet and silly together.
“My day had its ups and downs,” Emeline replies as she kicks off her shoes. “But we made some headway on our case, so I guess that’s good.”
“Any news on when France can go back home?”
Emeline sits down in the chair she occupied last night, apparently her spot now. “Actually, yes. We arrested two men today who were probably the men who threatened and possibly killed Lucien Klein. Even though one of them got away, I’m pretty sure we got the leader, and I’ve made sure the officers dealing with him will impress upon him the fact that Madame Villemur doesn’t know anything that might hurt them.”
She meets Madame Villemur’s gaze. “You’re safe to go home when you want. To be on the safe side, police will check in and show their presence on your street for at least a week, but I really do not believe you’re in any kind of danger.”
Spangero hadn’t been happy when Emeline asked for the extra protection for a woman she’d never heard of, and she clearly knew there was more to the story than the bare minimum Emeline gave her—omitting the fact that Madame Villemur had talked to Monsieur Klein mere minutes before his death, for example—but she’d let it go and accepted the request. Madame Villemur wasn’t part of whatever Spangero was working on, so wasn’t worth the time and effort to figure out all the details.
“That’s great news,” Madame Villemur says, a hand to her heart. “I’ll take a taxi home after dinner. Thank you so much, Captain Evian.”
“Just doing my job.” Emeline smiles at the old woman—then groans with pleasure as Amina pulls the tajine out of the oven. The spices Amina’s scent hinted at earlier come out tenfold, and Emeline’s mouth waters. “That smells delicious.”
Amina’s cheeks pink adorably at the compliment. “It’s my grandmother’s recipe. I hope you don’t have an issue with spicy food?”
An hour and a half later, the tajine dish is scraped clean—quite literally, first with the serving spoon, then with bread. Madame Villemur is in a taxi on her way home, after losing the battle with Emeline over who should do the dishes and lots of warm hugs to thank Amina for her hospitality, and Emeline is happily full and enjoying the last sips of her white wine.
She’s going to do the dishes as soon as her body’s able to move again.
“I went to a thrift store today,” Amina says casually as she runs the tip of one finger along the rim of her empty wine glass. Emeline’s eyes follow the movement of the yellow nail polish, sinking deeper into her digestive stupor.
“Find anything interesting?” Somehow, Emeline isn’t at all surprised to discover her neighbor enjoys treasure hunting in thrift stores.
Such a bright smile. “I bought a Ouija board.”
Emeline’s eyes snap away from the yellow nail polish, over to the closed guest room door, and up to Amina’s knowing gaze.
“That’s going to work, isn’t it?” The excitement in her voice would be catching if she wasn’t talking about trying to communicate with the ghost that scared the living daylights out of Emeline mere days ago.
“I don’t know.” Emeline’s voice is flat, sullen, and there’s nothing she can do about it. “You’ll have to tell me about it when you’ve tried.”
“Please try it with me.” Amina leans forward over the table, extending a hand toward Emeline’s but not quite touching. “I’ve tried similar things in the past and it yielded nothing. But I don’t think it’s because of the method. It’s because of the medium.”
Her eyes can only be described as puppy-dog eyes and Emeline is spellbound and unable to look away. “You’re a natural medium, Emeline. I know it. You felt that ghost in my guest room the other day.”
Emeline swallows. “Which is why I have no wish to ever go in there again. That’s not a benign ghost you have in there.”
Some of the excitement in Amina’s eyes are replaced by worry. “I don’t think she’s mean. Not really. She’s just…lost. And alone.”
“I thought you said you couldn’t communicate with her.”
Amina cracks a smile. “I’ve been trying for years. I might not have gotten very far, but I haven’t gotten nowhere. Otherwise, I think even I would have given up by now.”
Emeline knows she has lost. She knew the moment Amina mentioned the Ouija board. “What exactly do you expect to get out of this?”
Her eyes drifting to the closed bedroom door, Amina lets her hands fall into her lap. “I want her to find peace. I can’t communicate with her, but I know she’s unhappy. I can’t stand the thought of someone being stuck and miserable like that forever.”
Emeline downs the last drops of her wine and sighs. “Fine. Bring the damn thing out before I change my mind.”