as she places the plates on Amina’s dining table. The plates are covered with painted poppies, possibly handmade, the glasses are a deep orange creating colorful shadows on the off-white tablecloth, and the cutlery the same red as the poppies, with bubbles of air frozen in time inside the plastic handles.
It’s all colorful, all vibrant, all beautiful. Just like Amina.
A woman she barely knows shouldn’t be having this effect on her but there’s no denying the fact. She was frozen with embarrassment and uncertainty when she first came into the apartment, but somehow, the conversation with Madame Villemur calmed her down. After all, what was the harm in being attracted to her neighbor who was helping her out by housing a key witness, as long as nothing happened? She should simply enjoy the other woman’s company and count herself lucky to have been invited over for dinner.
Madame Villemur sets her mixed tomato and mozzarella salad on the table, then goes back to the kitchenette for a pitcher of water—decorated with painted dark orange flowers, of course.
“You look like you’ve had a long day, Captain Evian,” Madame Villemur says as she takes a seat at the table.
Emeline follows suit and practically collapses onto her own chair. “It was a long day, Madame. And you can call me Emeline,” she adds with a slight smile.
“Certainly,” Madame Villemur replies, before adding smoothly, “as long as you’ll call me France.” She chuckles at what must be a horribly rude expression on Emeline’s face. “Then we’ll stay Madame Villemur and Captain Evian, shall we?”
Amina appears at the table, just in time to catch Emeline’s rising blush. The ship of playing it cool has sailed long ago for Emeline on this one. “I will opt for the first name options for the both of you, if you don’t mind,” Amina announces. And adds in yet another wink for Emeline.
She might as well accept it—the blush is going to be a permanent fixture as long as she’s in the same room as Amina.
The hostess slides into a chair of her own, then jumps right back up. “There’s no wine! France, did you really plan on us having a nice dinner while drinking only water?”
Madame Villemur chuckles and the twinkle in her eye gives Emeline great pleasure. It’s the first time she’s seen it, and she hopes this means the elderly woman will be able to continue on with her life, even after burying her long-dead son.
“One does not help oneself to other people’s wine cellars without invitation,” Madame Villemur primly says.
“Hah!” Amina pops up from behind the counter separating the kitchen from the rest of the living room, her curly hair bouncing around her head as if greatly amused. “Well, consider yourself invited, France. White should be good for this, right? And I think…” Her voice trails off as she sticks her head into one of the cupboards. “How about some Muscat to start us off?”
Emeline is about to refuse, to argue she doesn’t drink on the job.
Except she’s not working right now, is she? Madame Villemur is a witness on the case she’s currently working, but they’re not discussing it, she’s off the clock, and she’s had a very long, exhausting day.
She deserves a glass of dry, sweet wine with her food.
And it might help with the constant awkwardness she feels around Amina. Some other thought in relation to Amina swirls around the back of her mind, but she shakes it off. She’s found her excuse for accepting and won’t hear of anything else.
“That sounds great,” she replies, and even manages to throw in a genuine smile while she’s at it. See, that wasn’t so hard.
The happiness in Amina’s returning smile would have made Emeline’s knees buckle if she wasn’t already sitting.
“So,” Amina says as she serves half a glass of Muscat first to Madame Villemur, then Emeline, and lastly herself. “Did you find out anything about the persons who might be after France? Do you think she’s safe?”
The return to the case is a bit of a cold shower, but it is the reason Madame Villemur is stuck here, so it stands to reason it’s the first subject they will broach.
“We’ve made some headway on the case,” Emeline replies truthfully. “But we haven’t come across any information relating directly to Madame Villemur. The situation at the station is…odd.” She doesn’t quite know how else to explain it without telling these two outsiders that her boss knows Madame Villemur’s name and existence but pretends not to, that she is somehow under investigation by the IGPN, that something fishy is definitely going on with the higher-ups, and that she this afternoon had to add a deceased mayor and several members of the City Council onto her list of suspects.
“I dare to hope Madame is not in any actual danger but if it is not too much trouble for either of you, I’d like for her to stay off the grid for at least a day or two longer. Until we understand the lay of the land a little better.”
“I love having guests,” Amina is quick to say. “France is welcome to stay as long as she likes. Seems like she isn’t even bothered by the ghost, so that’s a win, right?” She lifts her glass in a toast before taking a quick sip.
The reminder of the ghost in the guest room makes a chill run down Emeline’s spine, but she hides it behind a sip of wine of her own.
The fruity aroma explodes in her mouth, bringing back memories of hot summer days working the vineyards around her grandparents’ house close to Perpignan in her youth. Heat and earth and sun takes some of the power out of yesterday’s memories of that damn ghost.
The chill disappears—and a quick glance confirms the door to the haunted room is firmly closed. She’ll be fine.
“I can’t stay away from my home for too long,” Madame Villemur says. “I did not expect to be gone more than a few hours. Food will spoil and my neighbors will worry. But I can certainly wait one or two days more. If you believe this will help?”
Emeline carefully sets her glass on the table, admiring the glittering yellow pattern the Muscat in the orange glass makes on the tablecloth. “I can’t guarantee we’ll get to the bottom of this case in two days, but it would reassure me greatly to know you are safe here.”
And this would greatly increase her chances of meeting Amina again, her treacherous mind helpfully supplies.
“Then she’ll stay,” Amina says firmly, punctuating with a nod and a bounce of curls. “Meet again for dinner tomorrow night to see where we stand?” She lifts her glass toward Emeline.
Odd way to seal a deal, but Emeline lifts her glass to toast to Madame Villemur’s continued safety. Like tradition dictates, she holds onto Amina’s green gaze while their glasses clink.
If Amina hadn’t broken the eye contact first, Emeline would have been lost in those green depths forever. Although they are predominantly green, some spots of golden brown cling to the iris.
Emeline clears her throat. And downs the rest of her Muscat.
The case. They were talking about the case. About murderers, rapists, and corrupted politicians. Pretty eyes to drown in will have to wait.
“I did have some discussions concerning Lucien Klein today,” Emeline says and Madame Villemur winces at the memory of the old man who was shot in the back right in front of her eyes yesterday morning.
“It appears he kept quite a few secrets from his family when it came to the burial of his niece. I don’t suppose he told you anything on this subject?”
Madame Villemur shakes her head. “He was very fixated on the men following him, both in the past and in the present day. Everything he did was to keep the threats at bay and ensure a proper burial for his niece.”
“He didn’t mention the family at all?” Emeline insists. “We discovered today that the rest of the family believed Clothilde’s body to have disappeared.”
“What?” Amina’s eyes are comically round. “But that’s terrible! Why would he do that?”
Madame Villemur’s wrinkled face folds into a frown. “They will not have found any closure. Much like me and my Robert.”
“The family did suffer from this decision,” Emeline confirms. “Which is why I’d really like to know why he did it. Something those men did or threatened with must have scared him a lot, if he didn’t even trust his own family to keep the secret.”
Madame Villemur is quiet while she thinks back to her discussion with Klein. She comes up empty. “I’m certain he never made mention of this secret-keeping. I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be sorry,” Emeline says. “It is in no way your fault.”
Unfortunately, the men who were after Klein won’t know what he said or didn’t say, so they’ll probably continue hunting Madame Villemur on the off chance Klein told her something they don’t want known.
A ninety-year-old woman is in danger because of something she could have known.