“He’s good with a gun,” Michael said, “and I think the cavalry have arrived.”
Katherine followed his glance in the rearview mirror and, sure enough, there were flashing blue lights and headlights and, soon, a handful of men in bulky black outfits moving quickly and silently down the driveway, guns pointing at the house. Katherine gasped when one of them pulled her car door open. “Vite, vite,” a woman’s voice said, and almost dragged her from the car. She looked at Michael for help, but he was already out of the car. One of the gendarmes marched them up the driveway and onto the street, where the captain who had interviewed her and Pippa was standing next to an unmarked car.
“What’s happening?” Katherine said, going up to him. “Is Pippa all right?”
He held up a finger but said nothing, listening instead to his cell phone.
There were shouts and slamming noises coming from Pippa’s house, and the closer sound of static and garbled speech. The captain barked something into his phone and walked away from Katherine. Their minder indicated a police car that was vacant, its rear doors open. “Ici, s’il vous plaît.”
“Come on, Kay,” Michael said in a gentler tone than she was used to. “You’ve done all you can. We have to stay out of the way. If Pippa’s in danger, they’ll find her.”
“Danger? Oh, Michael, you don’t think she’s in there, do you? If she were, wouldn’t she answer the door, or yell or something? Unless … oh, Michael, you don’t think she’s dead, do you?” And, to her shame, she began to cry.
She heard loud, hiccupping sounds coming from her own mouth, and she put her head between her knees to drown out the sound. This was the worst, the very worst thing that had ever happened. She couldn’t seem to stop crying. There was shouting outside the police car, running feet, and into every corner those rotating blue lights that unnerved her. She put her hands over her ears, ignoring Michael’s murmured comfort. Her nose was running and her hair had fallen in her face. Pippa, the silly, sweet woman, gawky and shy, and so determined to do the right thing. Why hadn’t she insisted Pippa leave this dangerous business alone?
“You must let me see her.” A plaintive voice, cracked but familiar. “I say, Katherine, it’s all right, truly.”
Katherine pulled herself into a sitting position and, looking through her tears and the strands of loose hair that half-covered her face, she saw, of all people, Pippa. Philippe and his partner were holding her up, one on each side, and Philippe was looking into her face, his eyebrows drawn into a single line of worry. Pippa’s mouth looked raw and she stumbled as she approached the open door of the police car. Katherine tried to wipe her face with the sleeve of her coat, and she managed to say, “Is that you? You’re alive?” before crying again, this time with relief.
“She will be all right,” Philippe said, his own voice gruff with what Katherine felt was emotion. And Marianne, on Pippa’s other side, said, “She is one—how do you say—the very brave?” Then, they bore her off to an ambulance that stood at the end of the line of police cars.
“What happened to her?” Katherine was suddenly so tired she could hardly hold up her head. She wanted to know everything, but couldn’t form words. Michael, who had gotten out and come around to her side and was squatting next to her open car door, patting her awkwardly, said, “Someone was holding her, but he didn’t hurt her. See? There he is.”
Katherine stood up, leaning on the car door for support. Michael pointed in the direction of a small knot of policemen holding a man. Yes, it was the butcher’s brother. “I was right,” she said, but her words were slurred and it was doubtful even Michael heard them.
“Sweetheart, you’ve had a rotten night. Pippa’s all right and the police say there’s no danger. Someone told me they have the killer in custody in Avallon. But they’re taking Pippa to the clinic in Auchan to watch her overnight. She had quite a shock. You need some looking after yourself. Let’s go home.”
“But, no, I need to talk to the captain,” she said, pulling her arm away from his hand.
“Tomorrow, Kay. They have this under control. You need quiet, and maybe a glass of wine.”
Because their car was parked in by at least four others, a gendarme offered to lock it in place for the night and ferry them home. Katherine was only dimly aware of the activity around her, but how could it be that police didn’t realize who the killer was? And, something was bothering her. “The cats,” she said out loud to no one and anyone who would listen. “Pippa’s cats.”
The gendarme sat her gently in the backseat of his car. “Les chats? Oui, Madame. Your friend said the same thing. Someone will feed them, although they cannot go in the house until our investigation is complete.”
“Oh,” she murmured, “I’m not sure…”
“Honey,” Michael said, “I’ll bet you a silver dollar they’ll sleep under our car tonight. Safe, dry, and the engine is still warm. We have you to take care of and you’ll need more than a warm engine tonight. I think you’re in shock.”
* * *
Later, after she had taken a hot shower, he tucked her under two duvets, with a cup of sugared tea and a small glass of bourbon. She felt sleepy, but whenever she dozed off some unnamed fright woke her up with a start. “She’s really all right?” she said more than once.
“She is. Remember, the cop who drove us home said she was tied to a bedpost, a cloth gag in her mouth, and her hands were bound? But she wasn’t hurt.”
“She must have been terrified.”
“He says she told the police that she was more frustrated than frightened. The man who tied her up apparently talked nonstop, but in French, for hours. She thinks he wanted her to know all he needed was a little time to get away.”
At that point, she had faded away, but a few minutes later, she jerked awake again. “But the murderer is out there somewhere. We have to tell Jean so he can protect Jeannette. She knew something too.”
“No, sweetheart. Remember, I told you the bad guy is in custody. The guy in Pippa’s house is his brother.”
“Yes, I knew that. That’s what I figured out tonight from what Jeannette remembered.”
“You knew that the butcher killed his wife?”
“What? No, it was his brother.”
“I don’t think so, although you know my French isn’t any better than Pippa’s. But we’ll find out more tomorrow. You know, you’re not such a bad detective, figuring out that something was wrong at Pippa’s house. But please don’t take that as my blessing to get yourself in a situation like this again, you hear?”
“Ummm,” she said, drifting off again. Had he put something in her tea?
The next time she woke up, the house was dark. Michael was in bed with her, his arm around her, and there was something pressing against her knee. Raising her head a bit, she saw the yellow cat curled up there. When Katherine moved, the cat opened its eyes, stared meaningfully at her as cats do, to say she should not move. “All right,” Katherine said. It was an honor, really, the yellow cat coming onto the bed for the first time to guard her. She smiled in the dark. “Thank you.”