Having spent most of her time in America, one of the things Vivian believed everyone else in the world did better than Americans was coffee shops. This was especially true of the French, and the shop in which they’d arranged to meet Julia and Regina. It was a cozy place that contained only a dozen tables and a small counter area. The scent of freshly ground coffee beans mingled with the sound of frothing milk and the occasional clangs of porcelain cups being set on tabletops.
Vivian Fox's eyes swept over the eclectic mix of patrons until they settled on two women sitting in the back. Their somber expressions stood out against the backdrop of the shop, making it easy to tell who they were. One was very short, her face framed by dark black hair. The other was of average build, and her blonde hair was pulled back into a sloppy ponytail.
"Those must be Nina's friends," Vivian said.
Sterling nodded and seemed to position himself slightly behind her. She wasn’t absolutely sure, but she saw this as his non-verbal way of letting her know he wanted her to run this interview. That was fine with her; while Sterling was amazing at getting people to talk, she knew she needed the practice—and that out of the two of them, she would likely have an easier time speaking to two young women who’d just lost their friend.
They approached the table where Nina's friends sat huddled together, their faces etched with grief and confusion. Vivian noted their red-rimmed eyes and bunched tissues, and her heart went out to both.
Vivian approached the table, Sterling shadowing her. “Julia? Regina?”
“Yeah, that’s us,” the blonde one said. She stood wearily and offered her hand. “I’m Julia. And this is Regina.”
"Thank you for meeting with us," Vivian began, her tone respectful yet firm. "I’m Vivian Fox, and this is my partner, Michael Sterling. We’ve been assigned to Nina’s case because it looks like there’s a chance her murder may be connected to another recent death.”
“Another one?” Regina asked, shocked.
“Maybe. We just don’t know for now. So, given that, I hope you understand that any information you can give us might be crucial."
“Of course,” Julia said.
“For starters, what can you tell us about last night? How was it supposed to go?”
The women exchanged a look, and Julia nodded to Regina, giving her the floor. "Well, Nina had been going on and on about this painting she'd always wanted. Even before she became rich, she joked that it was a painting that would end up on her wall. I guess sometime last week, she was finally able to buy it. She picked it up yesterday, hired someone to hang it, and she was going to have us over for wine and food—a little party—to celebrate it."
“The detective we spoke with said you don’t know the name of it,” Sterling said. “Is that right?”
“Yeah, sorry. I guess we sort of suck as friends,” Julia said. “But, I mean, Nina was always into art, you know? She was always talking about it, painters and their work. She tried so hard to get us interested in it.”
“Any idea what this painting looked like?” Vivian asked. “Did she ever show you guys a picture of it?”
“She did, one time,” Regina said. “I remember thinking that I just didn’t see the big deal, you know?”
“There was a lot of yellow in it,” Julia said. “Sort of muddy yellow, if that makes sense. I’m pretty sure the title of the painting had the word gold in it.”
Vivian had a decent knowledge of art and paintings, but if it was relatively modern, she was a bit clueless. The vague descriptions they were giving didn’t ring any bells.
“Do what can you tell us about Nina herself?” Vivian asked. “Any enemies or spurned ex-boyfriends?”
"Nothing that we can think of," Regina said. "The cops asked us the same thing. She had a boyfriend for a while, but they split up when he moved away on business."
“Where did he move?”
“Somewhere in Iceland. Not sure why. Nina never really talked about him much.”
"Do you know of any passions or hobbies we should know about?" Vivian asked.
“She was an avid reader,” Julia said. “Usually things about history. She was obsessed with Marie Antoinette.”
Regina chuckled, nodding sadly. “Oh yeah, she really was. But in terms of actual hobbies, I don’t know if she had any. She was just always really into her business. She was a natural. Started several social media ventures right out of college."
"Each one more successful than the last," Julia added. "Nina had this Midas touch when it came to tech startups. Her last project, a product comparison app, went big. Sold for four million dollars."
"Four million?" Sterling raised an eyebrow. "That's quite the accomplishment."
Vivian nodded her agreement. She knew what he was thinking. A young woman at that age making that sort of money; she had likely drawn a lot of interest from people. And some of those people may have been the seedy type. Four million could provide a motive, but something about the murder and the theft of the painting seemed a bit off. If the painting had truly meant that much to Nina, Vivian couldn’t help but wonder if the murderer stealing the painting had been personal.
"Is that how she afforded the artwork?" Vivian asked, finally breaking her silence.
"Must be," Regina said with a shrug. "She never bragged about money, but we all knew she did well for herself. That painting was her pride and joy."
“Do you know why she had such a fixation on this particular painting?”
"It was one she saw as a girl in a museum with her mother," Julia said. "Apparently, they both loved it. She'd always hung on to those memories."
As they spoke, Vivian observed the play of emotions across their faces – the sorrow, the shock, the shared memory of a friend they clearly adored. Yet beneath it all, there lurked a question no one could answer: Why Nina? Was it for her wealth or specifically for the painting?
“Which of you showed up first?” Sterling asked. “Who…who found her?”
“Me,” Julia said, her voice trembling a bit.
“Did you happen to pass anyone in the hallway? Maybe saw someone in the elevator?”
“No. The only people I saw on my way up were an older couple who got off the elevator on the second or third floor.”
Vivian felt the line of questioning coming to an end. She did her best to make sure she wasn’t leaving anything out and hoped Sterling would jump in if she was.
"Any other relationships we should be aware of?" she finally asked. The question hung in the air like a challenge, but no answer came forth. Just slow shakes of the head from the young women on the other side of the table.
"Look, Detective," Regina began, her voice faltering. "We're just as baffled by all this as you are. We thought, maybe..." She trailed off, struggling to find the words.
"Maybe what?" Vivian prompted, her gaze unwavering.
"Maybe it's about the painting. I mean, it was stolen, wasn't it? You think someone killed her for the painting?”
“It’s too early to know for sure,” Vivian said, “but at this juncture, I think it’s a possibility we have to consider.”
"Is there anything else you can think tell us?" she asked, hoping for a thread to pull, a lead to follow. “Anything at all that might help?”
But the friends had nothing more to offer—a shared history with Nina, an admiration for her success, a profound sense of loss. It was clear they were grappling with the reality of their friend's death, unable to fathom why anyone would want to harm her.
"We should let you go," Sterling said, standing. "Thank you for your time."
“Can you…can you keep us posted?” Julia asked.
"We can't offer sensitive case details during the investigation," Sterling said. "But when the murderer is caught, we'll make sure you're among the first to know."
“Thanks.”
Slowly, Julia and Regina left the coffee shop. Vivian also got to her feet but noticed that Sterling remained seated. He was deep in thought and looking toward the front of the shop where a patron was buying a coffee.
"Art theft," Sterling mused. "It could be as straightforward as that."
"Maybe," Vivian replied, though her instincts gnawed at her with persistent doubt. "But why kill for it? Nina's wealth was no secret; a thief could've waited for another opportunity. If he knew where she lived and knew she had the painting, why take the unnecessary step of murder?”
“It’s a good question. And hopefully a trip to the first crime scene will answer that for us. Before we get too ahead of ourselves, we need to know if these two murders are even connected at all or if it’s just a strange, bloody coincidence.”
“The first victim,” she said. “Peter Hart. A residence in Brisebois, wherever that is.”
“About forty minutes away by train,” Sterling said. “I take it you’ve never been?”
“No.”
“Small place, sort of in the middle of nowhere.”
"Brisebois," she echoed, feeling the name roll off her tongue like an omen. She envisioned a small town, quaint houses holding secrets behind neatly trimmed hedges. A forty-minute train ride from Lyon. She knew it might be a bit of the rookie blues, but she already felt like traveling away from where Nina Caldwell had been killed was a sort of defeat—that the killer had them on the run already.
Sterling was on his phone, scrolling quickly through something. "The train schedule says there's a departure in half an hour that makes a stop there."
“Okay.”
"So let's not waste any time," Sterling said, standing up, his tall frame casting a shadow over the table. “You want a coffee before we go?”
“Sure.”
She could sense the coldness in her tone—which was irritating because she wasn't intentionally doing it. She was pissed about being taken from her trip to finally find Olivia, and now she already felt like this case was getting away from her. She wondered if she'd ever get used to the push and pull of a job like this.
Vivian rose to follow, her mind flickering through the possibilities, each more sinister than the last.
“I’ll grab the train fare if you’ll get the coffees.”
“Okay. How do you take it?”
“As dark as possible and with just a little sugar.”
She nodded and made her way to the counter. As she did, she looked through the window and saw Julia and Regina. They were hugging, saying their goodbyes. And it looked like Regina was weeping.
“Bonjour?”
Vivian jerked her head towards the woman at the counter and placed her order slowly, having to point at the board for what she wanted because the woman did not speak English. Yet another annoyance to deal with.
Even as the woman behind the counter prepared their order, she looked back out where the friends had been standing. But they were gone now. They’d live out the rest of the day with the pain of having lost their friend, trying to understand why she’d been so brutally taken from them.
And with that, Vivian felt that electric stirring within her—a stubborn and cold determination to do her job, and do it well. She had to look past her own disappointments and, yes, even her own personal life. There was a man out there who had killed a young, successful woman who had never harmed anyone. And it was her job to find him.
So damn it, that’s what she would do.
***
The day wound past noon as Vivian and Sterling made their way to the train station. Sterling had already pounded down his coffee, but Vivian was still working on hers. As they made their way into the building, Vivian’s mind was recalling the scene back at Nina’s apartment. The blood on the floor, the paintings on the wall; on in particular had caught her eye. The thin woman, staring into the mirror with a sad face.
“Hey, Fox?” Sterling's voice broke through her thoughts. She was fairly certain he was irritated because his British accent was sharper and more pronounced when he was upset.
“Yes?”
He stopped walking, turning to face her fully just before they reached the entrance to the platforms. "I know this isn't where you want to be. You were pulled from your trip, and I get that it's frustrating. But we're here now, and I need you present, not half a world away."
Her first reaction was to argue, to accuse him of misreading her. Maybe even to act offended that he dare talk to her in such a way. But who was she kidding? She recalled her short tone in the coffee shop and her tense distance in Nina’s apartment.
She met his gaze, the steel in her own eyes softening just a fraction. It was true; she had been snatched from a path of her choosing, thrust into this grim puzzle. Yet, she knew Sterling wasn't her adversary in this. He was caught in the gears of duty, too.
"Fine," she conceded, her voice low. There was work to be done, lives to honor. "I can do that. And believe me…I am sorry for my attitude.”
“No need to be sorry. Hell, I get it. But…well, it’s hard. I know that. I know how difficult it is sometimes to have to separate your personal life from the job.”
It then occurred to her that she knew very little about Sterling’s personal life. While she’d opened herself up to him, telling him almost every bit of her sordid history with her father and Olivia, she knew almost nothing about him. What she did know, she’d picked up on her own simply from working alongside him. But she knew nothing personal.
“Yeah, it’s harder than I thought. But I’m good now, I promise. I’ll focus.”
"You’ll get it figured out,” he said, offering a smile.
The pair wove their way through the bustling crowd of commuters, the city’s heartbeat pulsing against the backdrop of honking taxis and chattering pedestrians behind them. The ground vibrated slightly as they took the stairs down to the platforms where people were coming and going.
The air inside the station was tinged with the scent of fuel and the tang of rust. People milled about, some rushing to catch their trains, others idly waiting, lost in their own thoughts.
"Next train to Brisebois leaves in ten minutes," Sterling said, checking the schedule board.
Vivian followed him to the automated kiosk. Her fingers danced over the touchscreen, selecting their destination with a practiced ease that belied her inner turmoil. It was quicker and easier than it should have been, as Sterling had handled it all on his phone from the coffee shop.
Ten minutes later, right on time, the train arrived with a screech of metal, its doors sliding open to allow a stream of passengers off before swallowing up those waiting to board. Vivian and Sterling stepped onto the carriage, finding a pair of seats near the back.
As the train pulled away from the station, the rhythmic clacking of wheels on tracks set the tempo for their journey. Vivian peered out the window, watching the cityscape dissolve into a blur of colors and shapes, hoping there were answers waiting ahead of them rather than dead ends and more questions.