The house was quiet, the dishes were washed, and Katherine sat on the divan with Gracey at her feet, nibbling at the last of the open box of chocolates and trying to read Emile Zola’s La Débâcle, which seemed to her a long and tedious chronicle of a long and tedious war. She was only doing it because Yves had assured her it would be good for her understanding of both French language and French history. Katherine suspected he had also been trying to make a sale. Setting up a shop that dealt in rare books in a tiny hamlet like Reigny was a dubious recipe for success. Perhaps that’s why he had offered her a discount on the price, the only way she could have afforded the little, leather-bound edition with the thin paper and the pen and ink illustrations. Maybe she should ask Michael to bring back an English translation since she was still mired in the early chapters and had to admit to herself she had no solid idea of what was happening in the story. The Avallon murder was more intriguing, although the instant she thought that, she apologized mentally to the victim. Murder as entertainment? She had looked away from the victim as quickly as she could once she understood what had happened. But Madame’s face had burned itself into her memory.
Was Pippa right in saying the gendarmes would think first of the husband as the killer? Working side by side every day, the couple could have built up resentments that their customers never saw. And then there was that snoop’s salacious speculation that the woman was off having an affair. The mannequin in the river was a complete puzzle. Why? And Pippa had it in her head that a missing wig and a cross dropped in a puddle were clues. Katherine was about to get up for a cup of herbal tea before bedtime when the cell phone next to her rang. The best news, the caller was her husband.
“Hello, darling,” she said. “I’ve been hoping you would call. What time is it there?”
“Hi, Kay. Noon here, and I’m happy to say, I’ll be on a plane soon. We finished everything last night, listened to it this morning, and we’re done. No looking back. This is it.”
“I’m thrilled, not only for you and Betty Lou, but selfishly for me. I’ve missed you so much.”
“Want to hear the title of the CD?”
“I think so unless it’s Holliday and Goff, which sounds like a sleazy law firm.”
“‘Looking Back, Looking Forward.’ What do you think? See, it hints at the new version of ‘Raging Love’ and both of our former styles, but also says we’re going somewhere new.”
“I like it, although I’m still nervous about Eric’s reaction when he hears that you’re singing that song.”
“Here’s the big, big news. I was going to wait to tell you, but I can put your worries to rest, Kay.”
She waited, holding her breath.
“J.B.’s lawyers talked to Crazy Leopards’s lawyers, who said using the song was fine. Then—can you believe this—Eric called J.B. and asked to meet with us?”
Katherine’s stomach fluttered and she swallowed hard. “He did? And?”
“He not only is fine with us doing a new arrangement but he wants us to open for the Leopards on their next tour, which happens to be next spring, when we want to schedule ours.”
“I’m stunned. What’s the catch?”
“Yeah, I fished around for that too. We had dinner with J.B. and Betty Lou, then Eric suggested he and I go out for a beer. I think he feels guilty for all the crap, for the way they cut me out of the band and tried to copyright my songs without sharing the copyright.”
“He said that?”
“Not exactly, but he did say the band got a lot of bad advice back then and that they changed managers three or four years ago. Remember, that’s when they offered to settle about the copyrighted material?”
Katherine was happy for Michael, but her protective instincts were aroused. If Eric was scamming her husband a second time … well, she didn’t know what she’d do but she would be livid. “I think this will be great for you and Betty Lou, and I imagine J.B. and his lawyers will make sure it’s all spelled out in an unbreakable contract before you bank on it.”
Michael laughed. “You don’t have to warn me, sweetie. I’ve been burned before. Yes, J.B. is all over it. I have to say he’s also so happy he acts like someone who’s taken a few too many snorts.”
She was silent again. Michael had never been into drugs, but was Memphis and the high from this news tempting him?
He laughed again. “Your silence speaks volumes, Kay, and no, I’m excited but sober. Sober and, I swear, cautious. But you have to agree, this is potentially the biggest boost we could have dreamed of. The Leopards fill huge stadiums and sell millions of songs. There isn’t anything that could be a bigger push for Betty Lou and me, and, of course, J.B., who’s having a hard time waiting for the lawyers to get the contracts in order so he can start telling the world.”
“It’s the best news, darling, or almost. Knowing you’ll be here soon is the best. When do you leave Memphis?”
“Day after tomorrow. I’ll be home Friday. Can you pick me up at the train station?”
“Can I? I’ll be the one jumping up and down and waving like mad from the parking lot. Will you be bringing the music so I can hear it right here?”
“Absolutely. That and your Elvis bobblehead doll.”
* * *
Katherine was too wary of Eric’s double dealing from the past to be completely ready to relax, but if—if—it were true, Michael was finally going to be doing what he loved the most, after a long time existing at the margins of the music world he had loved. If audiences liked what they heard, it would change their lives in ways she couldn’t see yet.
Money, for sure, and in her heart of hearts that was a big deal. She was tired of being broke, of having to weigh every purchase against the danger of overstepping their budget. She liked their little stone house, but simple things like a reliable water heater and a roof that didn’t leak would be heaven. Bones every week for the dogs, a new winter coat. She stopped herself. This was precisely what she couldn’t allow herself to do.
Jumping up so quickly that Gracey snapped out of a sound sleep and struggled to her feet, Katherine told herself the dogs needed their last, short walk, and then time to lock up and go to bed. With Michael coming home Friday, she had to shop, plan a good dinner for him, and do whatever detective work the crumpled paper required. Michael would try to talk her out of getting involved, she knew. The yellow cat, who had found a warm spot next to Katherine’s thigh, seemed to be standing in for Michael. It looked up at her with eyes full of disapproval at her plans, and stalked off on stiff legs.
* * *
Wednesday passed in a flurry of preparations for Michael’s return. Katherine had tried to fill the void left by his absence with activity. But the moment there was a specific day set for his arrival, the hours until the evening train was due threatened to stretch into something untenable. So, she looked around her and found a thousand ways to distract herself. The cobwebs festooning the dried herbs hanging over the doorway between the kitchen and the living room were unappetizing. The layer of dust along the top of the bookcase was thick enough to write in. The ordeal of cramming sheets into the peculiar French washing and drying machine could not be put off another day. She hadn’t trudged up to the poubelle with the bag full of trash after the ladies’ lunch because it had been so cold. She worked in a storm of determination to fill the time productively. By Wednesday evening, she was too exhausted to do anything but let the dogs out into the yard instead of a last walk, and to make herself an omelet.
She needed to go to Avallon tomorrow to lay in food, fill the gas tank, and see if the religious tract in the drapery had come from the local church and what it might mean. It hardly seemed like a clue to anything, more likely a discarded scrap from the meeting of the church ladies that had drifted to the window during the confusion after the discovery of Mme Sabine’s body. Katherine ignored the little voice that asked her if she really believed that.
Before it was completely dark, a flurry of raps on the door and a familiar voice calling “Ç’est moi” brought Jeannette into the kitchen. “Bonsoir, Katherine,” she said as Katherine closed the door behind her.
“English, please,” Katherine said in mock seriousness. “You want to practice, right?”
“Yes, thank you.” The girl’s English was improving and, although Katherine was not going to say so, her accent and choice of words were going to make some American boy fall hard for her when and if she made it to the States for the visit she dreamed of. “I will stay later than the bus comes to Reigny to do my work after school at the museum because Madame tells me Thursday—”
“Told me,” Katherine said.
“—told me that the police may be with her for a while. If you will be in Avallon in the afternoon, is it possible that I come in your car, please?”
Katherine told herself she could time her chores in town so she could give Jeannette a lift. Why not? Maybe she could even sketch in the studio early in the day if the weather stayed as clear as it seemed tonight. “Absolutely, that is, yes.” With a kiss and a grin, Jeannette ducked out into the night and Katherine heard the gate squeak as she headed back down the hill. These days, Katherine thought as she closed the door, it wasn’t necessary to count the silver or see if the little objects picked up at flea markets were still in their places on tables and bookshelf tops after the daughter of Reigny’s resident petty thief had left. She smiled and felt a small surge of pride in Jeannette.