Chapter Eleven

As David unpacked over the next few days, he continued to visit the library occasionally, and despite his lingering cold he always seemed eager to talk. Rachel supposed it was natural that when faced with a figure from his past he should want to reminisce, and airing memories was part of his mourning process too. Whatever his reasons, she was happy to listen.

It was clear from what he said that Edgar had loved him very much. They’d spent a great deal of time together while David was growing up, and while that time had included plenty of sober guidance it had also included plenty of fun: afternoons browsing in the comic book stores so dear to French boys and men, ice cream at Berthillon’s, ice-skating outside the Hotel de Ville, and once a ski vacation in Switzerland. When David described all this, his voice was warm with affection and past happiness.

His adult relationship with Edgar sounded equally strong and sympathetic. Whereas Mathilde had pushed him to take a prestigious major in college—architecture looked good on a résumé and in conversation—Edgar was the one who understood when his high grades had yielded no jobs. “He read the news; he worked in finance,” David explained. “He told me, ‘I know you did superbly well, but I also know there are no positions.’ ”

Certainly David’s version of Edgar had liked money and the admiration it brought. David didn’t say this directly, but it became clear from his stories of Edgar’s bargaining skills and his excellent taste. Yes it seemed he had also been willing to be generous, at least to his son. “My mother,” David said half-jokingly, “even with family, even with me, she holds onto her euros as if she’s promised to look after each one personally. But Dad always had an open hand, and he was always willing to help me out when things were tough.”

“Does he tell you anything useful, or is it all just glowing paternal memories?” Magda asked after one of Rachel’s daily reports. Mathilde’s fondness for rosé had come up since the initial conversation.

“You were the one who said I should pay attention to the people I met,” Rachel pointed out, stung. “Besides, it depends what you think of as ‘useful.’ He tells me a lot about what Edgar was like, and what life with him was like, which is fleshing out our picture of Edgar.”

In truth, David’s stories soothed Rachel. She’d often wondered whether he’d flourished, whether Edgar had been as good a father to an adolescent as he had been to a child—but these weren’t questions one could fit into small talk over canapés at a bank’s cocktail party. The conversations with David might not give her many chances to ask hard-boiled questions or ferret out details, but what she learned made her feel better about the people she’d left behind all those years ago. And they did also offer her a clearer sense of what Edgar had become; that was no lie.

“We’re building a picture, remember?” she said. Magda looked none too pleased at this reminder.

In fact, despite Magda’s remark Rachel had focused on other aspects of life in the appartement. She now said, “Mathilde never comes over. Which suggests to me that if she did continue to visit Edgar after David was grown, it was for some reason other than David’s welfare.”

“Like jealousy, for example.”

“Yes, like jealousy. I remember your favorite interpretation. But I also thought maybe she hoped that Edgar would continue to think of her fondly and leave her money, or maybe she was trying to get money out of him while he was still alive.”

“Both plausible,” Magda allowed. “Well, I’d say her absence does seem significant, but I’d also say we can’t yet say why.”

“Incisive,” Rachel said, getting back at her for the remark about usefulness.

Magda looked at her closely, but Rachel’s kept her expression bland. All Magda could do was say testily, “And what about Elisabeth? Remember her? Our prime suspect?”

“Ah.” Rachel nodded. “Now there is something interesting. I don’t really see her in the appartement, but I hear her, and she seems to be around every day. Edgar’s bureau must be some sort of hoarder’s paradise, because she arrives before me and leaves after, and we’ve both been there for two weeks. I think she’s doing more than just organizing papers.”

“It’s taking you more than two weeks to organize the library,” Magda pointed out.

“Yes, but it was in chaos when I arrived! This girl has been Edgar’s aide de bureau for a year, and presumably she was keeping his documents in order all that time. I think—” She took a breath.

“You think what?” Magda waited, but Rachel, suddenly unsure, stayed silent. “I know,” Magda said, leaning forward. “You think she’s back there doing something related to whatever she stopped herself saying about Edgar.”

Rachel nodded.

“What do you think that is?”

Rachel caught her upper lip between her teeth. “I don’t know.”

Magda closed her eyes in exasperation, but then opened them. “No, that’s okay. We’re still building a picture. And actually,” she said, cocking her head, “we’re not doing too bad a job of it. Mathilde’s lack of presence is suspect; Elisabeth’s constant presence is suspect. Two suspects.”

“And don’t forget Catherine,” Rachel added. “Even if the cases against Elisabeth and Mathilde are growing stronger than just rosé and facial expressions, we still can’t forget her very handy inheritance.”

“No, indeed.” Magda’s eyes began to sparkle. She smiled at Rachel. “I’m sorry I was snippy. Even without David, I’d say we’re doing very well.”