Emeline’s walking into the room gun-first and attempts to intimidate the guy into giving up turned into a bust when Joséphine Pradel melted down completely and probably pulled her ghost sister down with her.
The atmosphere in the room took a decided turn for the worse, to the point where Emeline had trouble breathing, let alone holding her gun steady and her wits about her. Knowing where the feelings came from didn’t make them any easier to handle.
The boss man with the gun must be somewhat sensitive to ghosts, too, because he retreated behind the kitchen counter, his eyes wild. He moved the gun from pointing at Joséphine to pointing at Emeline.
And Emeline let him, dammit.
Her head swam with whatever Clothilde did upon seeing her sister being threatened at gunpoint and she didn’t have the presence of mind to fire off a shot—even one simply to disarm or scare—before that barrel was pointed her way.
She was forced to drop her gun.
She couldn’t put Joséphine in danger, and she wasn’t particularly fond of the idea of taking a bullet herself, either. She did, however, kick the gun away from the guy instead of toward him.
Let his own prejudice against women and sports make him believe she didn’t do it on purpose.
Now they’re back in business. She has the gun and they are—at least for the moment—two against one. “What’s the situation upstairs, Malik?”
“One guy in cuffs and the other stuck in the attic,” he replies, never taking his eyes off the man in the kitchen.
“Stuck in the attic?”
“Closed the trapdoor on him.”
“But he’s still armed?”
Malik sighs. “Yeah.”
“Okay.” No matter, they could work with that. “Would you mind cuffing our new friend here, please? Then we’re going to have a little talk.” That last comment was for the guy with the greasy hair, but Malik sends a guilty and startled glance her way, proving he knows he isn’t following procedures as he should.
Yes, that talk will also need to take place. But not right now.
While Emeline keeps Malik’s gun pointed at the man’s head, Malik uses Emeline’s handcuffs to secure his hands behind his back. If they manage to catch the guy in the attic, they’ll have to improvise handcuffs.
They bring him out from his partial hiding place in the kitchen and shove him into a recliner. Emeline helps Joséphine back onto the couch she was on earlier, and Emeline whispers reassurances meant for Clothilde but could be understood as being for her living sister.
The high tension and general feeling of fear and anger that have been swirling around the room since Emeline first stepped in here calm down to a manageable level.
Here’s to hoping Clothilde will stay calm.
“Mathieu Redon,” Malik says. He’s leafing through the man’s wallet and has come up with a credit card. “That name rings a bell, doesn’t it?”
“Delphine Redon’s son,” Joséphine says. Her hair is a complete crow’s nest compared to the prim do she wore yesterday, and her makeup is smeared all over her left cheek. The right side has somehow been spared. But her voice is steady as she straightens in her seat.
“She’s the woman Edouard overheard when he was hiding behind that door,” she says. “The one who threatened mom into not having a public funeral for Clothilde.” Eyes dark slits, she stares down the man named Mathieu Redon. “If I ever get my hands on that woman, I’ll kill her myself.”
Emeline pats her shoulder awkwardly. “I’m going to have to ask you to refrain, Madame. If she had anything to do with your sister’s death or in denying her justice, I’d like her to pay for it the normal way. Through the justice system. Besides,” she adds with a smirk, “Saying you’re planning on killing someone in front of two cops isn’t the brightest idea.”
Joséphine tears her eyes away from Monsieur Redon. “But what about the statute of limitations? That was all a long time ago.”
“Yes,” Emeline agrees affably. “But this right here is happening today. And unless we believe in some pretty impressive coincidences, I’m guessing if the son’s involved, the mother’s involved.”
“Now, before I start in on him. Do you know what he might be looking for?”
Joséphine shakes her head. “No idea. I didn’t know what tonton Lucien was up to back then, nor now. I haven’t seen him in years. I didn’t even know he was dead.”
“Right.” Emeline takes satisfaction in seeing the understanding dawn on Redon. The woman he’d been threatening really didn’t know anything.
“So the person who knows the most right now,” Emeline says, “appears to be you, Monsieur Redon. What are you looking for?” She lifts a hand to stop the arrogant reply she can see forming on his lips. “We will find whatever it is you’re looking for. We came here for the same reason you did, which means there’s a good chance Monsieur Klein did hide something here. You can either stay quiet and let us search, or tell us what we’re looking for and buy yourself some goodwill.”
Joséphine inhales, ready to interrupt but Emeline squeezes her shoulder to get her to step down. The man won’t walk free, no matter what he says or does, but some goodwill can get him a lighter sentence, and it would make their lives so much easier right now.
He seems to consider her offer, his eyes going from Emeline to Malik and back again.
“There’s probably nothing,” he finally says. “But I wanted to make sure that’s the case. Except if the lady doesn’t know…” He shrugs. “No point in spending your time searching for something that doesn’t exist.”
Emeline keeps her sigh internal. So they’re going to have to look for it themselves.
But first… “Malik, exactly how secured were those guys up there?”
Malik’s eyes go to the ceiling and he winces. “Pretty secure.”
So, not really secured. “Are the doors still open?”
Redon’s brows lift at this, but Malik seems to understand as one hand goes to his pocket, where he must still have the blue bracelet. “I think so.”
Emeline gets the distinct feeling that somebody will look into it. It’s like working on a team where everybody knows each other so well, hardly any communication is needed. Something needs to be done, the best person for the job does it. Here, now, she doesn’t know her team that well.
Which means Robert most likely told her he’d take care of it and took off to check out the situation upstairs.
While she waits for his return, she sits down on the couch next to Joséphine Pradel. She keeps her voice low so Redon won’t overhear too much. “Looks like you’re our best shot at getting what we’re after. If we imagine your uncle had proof, either that Clothilde was murdered, or that something illegal was going on at the City Hall, where would he hide it?
“I didn’t know the man very well, but some symbolism for your sister wouldn’t be unheard of. A place or thing linking them. Or something important to her that he would know about.”
Joséphine wrings her hands in her lap. “I don’t—” She cocks her head and her brows draw together.
Is she thinking, or is Clothilde giving information? Emeline doesn’t hear or feel anything out of the ordinary, but maybe she wouldn’t when the ghost isn’t talking to her?
“Her room,” Joséphine mumbles.
Redon’s hearing must be above average. “She doesn’t have one. Don’t you think we looked? The girl’s been dead for thirty years and the mother didn’t even offer her a proper funeral? You really think she’d keep her room?”
Outrage courses through Emeline, probably from Clothilde. From learning her mother didn’t keep her room or from Redon’s tone?
She shakes it off. Joséphine, who completely ignores Redon, seems to be warming up to the idea. “He’d put it in her room, I’m sure of it. And it’s not all gone.” She sends a scathing glare at Redon.
Before Emeline can ask which room was Clothilde’s, a large crash sounds from upstairs.
Malik’s eyes go comically wide. “The trapdoor.”