Marie Chavanon’s anger burrowed into Agnes’s back with the bite of a sharp stick. Their relationship had disintegrated.
“You don’t need to stay and watch,” Agnes said from the steps of the porch. Marie stood on the threshold of her husband’s workshop, darting glances inside, following every move made by the police officers documenting the interior. “They’re professionals; they know what to do.”
She’d not had a real conversation with Marie despite managing to arrive at the Chavanon property ahead of her. The woman had run from the car, leaving a grim Patel in the driver’s seat, and headed straight for the workshop, where the police were still working, apparently intent on doing the thorough job they’d promised. Now Marie stood silently in the open doorway, her slight frame rigid. Anger rolled off her.
“It’s ruined. They’ve ruined it. Picking through everything.”
“Someone was here before us,” said Agnes. “You saw the broken window and the door wasn’t closed.” She heard a spray of gravel. Patel leaving.
“How do you know someone did this?” Marie demanded. “Perhaps Guy left it this way?”
“The note he left indicates—”
Marie turned on Agnes, fury in every crease of her face. “You believe everything you read, Inspector? I don’t understand why you can’t lock it up and leave everything alone. I wanted time before I went through Guy’s things. There is nothing here to steal. Nothing of real value. Only memories.”
Agnes didn’t repeat the possible connection between the break-in and Guy Chavanon’s death. Marie Chavanon didn’t need words. She needed time and distance. Something she wouldn’t get right now.
“They’ll lock the workshop tonight after they finish,” Agnes said. “We’ve already replaced the windowpane to keep rain and animals out. Tomorrow they’ll bring photographs for you to look through. You may notice something you didn’t today.”
“I don’t need to see them. I won’t look at them.”
“We want to be sure that nothing is missing. Or you may notice something out of the ordinary. Both Christine and Monsieur Dupré mentioned that your husband was on the verge of an important invention, for want of a better term. What can you tell me about that?”
“Invention? Guy? You can see for yourself. He couldn’t focus on one idea long enough to invent anything.” Marie glanced inside the cottage. “Paper and more paper. All ideas. All nothing.” She spoke so forcefully one of the officers glanced up.
“Monsieur Dupré and Christine didn’t remember the workshop being so … full. Monsieur Dupré remembers it as more organized. Would you agree?”
“What should I say, Inspector? Guy was chasing dreams that would never be realized, descending into a spiral of delusion.” After a final glance inside she shoved past Agnes and ran across the lawn. She reached the steps leading to a side patio of the house and steadied herself on the thick iron railing.
Agnes caught up with her. Clouds covered the sky and an early dusk was falling. Lights were on in the house. Time was passing too quickly.
“Guy died as a result of his allergies,” Marie spat, not turning to look at Agnes. “He wasn’t well, but that has nothing to do with his death. Your inquiry into what he had become in his last months—this past year—will make us the topic of speculation. My son, his son, deserves more than that. Please think of Leo. Memories are all he has left.”
Without a backward glance, Marie entered the house, leaving Agnes alone on the lawn.
* * *
Marie Chavanon poured herself a glass of wine and drank it down swiftly. Only then did she take her coat off. Stephan Dupré closed the shades on the front windows, knowing they were illuminated by the interior light and visible across the neighborhood.
“Inspector Lüthi wasn’t a stranger,” he said. “Christine called her.”
Marie started, as if she hadn’t seen him. She lifted the bottle to pour herself another glass. Instead she poured one for Dupré.
Stephan took the glass like the peace offering it was. “I happened upon them. I walked over looking for you. I thought you might have changed your mind and left the show in the more than capable hands of Gisele. I wanted to talk about what you said yesterday.”
“You should forget what I said, forget everything I’ve said since…”
“Since you told me you love me? Do I erase everything these last months?”
She crossed the dining room, turning the lights off as she left. A long salon ran the length of the back of the house. The old-fashioned room, pleasing to sit in during the day, was lined with doors opening to the veranda. Marie clicked a lock open and stepped outside. A few minutes ago she had been cold, now the house was claustrophobic. She gripped the metal railing of the veranda, thankful it faced away from the other houses in the neighborhood. It was enough that Christine was across the lawn, watching the main house, fuming. Righteous anger, Marie thought, at how her father’s inadequacies were revealed. His pathetic papers pawed over and photographed, exposing him as the failure Marie had known he was. He was the one who’d destroyed the family honor, not her. And not Christine. He couldn’t live up to the past.
“I didn’t go to Baselworld,” she said. “I had to see Leo.”
Dupré touched her shoulder. “I shouldn’t have snapped. But this is what we wanted. You wanted to be free of Guy.”
Marie moaned softly.
“Don’t let guilt stand in the way of our happiness. Yours, mine, and Leo’s.”
“What of Christine’s happiness?”
“You’ve said it before. She has her own guilt. She knew Guy was troubled and was too busy to care until he was dead and it was too late. It’s only been a week. She’ll settle down—”
“Settle down? You think that’s what we need to do? The women need to settle? He’s dead, Stephan. He’s not coming back.” Marie had wanted to leave the workshop abandoned until the contents decayed to dust.
“I didn’t mean it to sound that way.”
“What way then?”
“I understand that he’s dead. Guy was my first playmate, my oldest friend, and I’ll miss him.” Dupré raised a hand. “Wait. You know that I liked him.”
“You have a nice way of showing it.”
“That’s not fair. What happened between you and me was unexpected.”
“Happened. Past tense.”
“I meant the start. We’re not past tense. And Guy had turned in upon himself. He was always intense, and these last years, mainly this last year, he was circling around himself, cutting us out. You know that’s true.”
“He left a note saying he was afraid.”
Dupré gripped the back of a wrought iron chair, his knuckles white with strain. “Maybe he was crazy and none of it was true.”
“He was a genius.”
“Likely.” Dupré sighed. “I always thought so. Crazy ideas, a million ideas.”
“You told Inspector Lüthi he was on the verge of a great invention. Why would you say that, Stephan? Why create this trouble for me?”
“It was before we saw the workshop. It was casual conversation.”
“Don’t lie. You thought he created something and I didn’t tell you. That I was on the verge of a great fortune.”
Marie flipped a switch. The outside lights blinked on, and soft light cascaded up the white façade of the house, illuminating the terrace. “He had good ideas.” She spoke softly.
“Yes, he did.”
“But it wasn’t enough.”
They were both silent.
“Was it?” Dupré asked.
She reached for his hand. “I owe him respect, at least. I won’t talk about the end. His death.”
“You’re going to have to. Someone broke in. Christine was already upset, stirring up this notion of Guy being killed, and now the inspector thinks she has proof. After this evening, she is probably convinced Guy was murdered, and the inside of his studio is God knows what. Although I can’t imagine anything was stolen. It was all papers. It was nonsense.” Dupré hesitated. “At least I think it was.”
In the distance the porch light of the far cottage clicked off, plunging that section of lawn into shadow. Every light in the workshop still blazed, like silent alarms.
Marie released Stephan’s hand and crossed her arms in front of her chest. The cold catching up to her. “I don’t think Leo should go inside. Not like it is. I wanted him to go in. I’d told him that we would sit in the workshop and light a candle for his father. But we can’t now. He’ll know it’s not right. It will trouble him. Neither of us have been in there for…” She paused as if counting backward. “Since last summer.”
“I should leave.” Dupré started toward the edge of the terrace. When he stepped onto the grass, he stopped. “She’s not going to leave it alone. Christine, I mean. Guy was always so careful. This afternoon, Christine called him paranoid and I can’t disagree. Especially now. He was certainly obsessive. These last years he was careful, not like when we were kids. I couldn’t believe that he’d died that way.”
“It was an accident.”
Dupré didn’t respond.
“Are you accusing me of something?” she said.
“No.”
“But now you think Guy was a genius and he was killed for his idea?” Marie gave a wild laugh. “Is this how you hope to bring him back? By building up a hollow legacy? Guy is dead. There is nothing to be done and I have to think about the future. I have to find a way to keep the company going for Leo. Fiction and dreams won’t help. I learned that long ago from my husband.”
Dupré returned to put his arms around her. “Then talk to Christine. She’s never been able to let anything go. After today she thinks he had a big idea and it was stolen. I could see it in her eyes.”
Marie relaxed against Dupré. “I’ve forgotten how hard this is for her. I’ll talk to her tomorrow and help her understand.”