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Bernier and Bellange thought I lied about my bag being stolen—they thought I tried to make it look like someone else killed Juliet. They just couldn’t prove it.
    The September night air was cold. I shivered when I stood out on the sidewalk in front of the station. Hugging my bag to my chest, I headed off in the direction of the Hotel de l’Elysee in search of a metro station as a dark green Peugeot with tinted windows pulled along side me. The passenger-side window began to roll down, but I heard someone call my name. Monsieur Marcel, my tour group guide, stood by a waiting cab parked across the street. His snowy white hair shone like a beacon in the moonlight. I practically flew to him. The Peugeot sped off.
    “Madame Sinclair, are you okay? You have not been harmed, have you?” The Frenchman was genuinely concerned.
    He was still dressed in the same immaculate blue suit and red bow tie he’d worn to meet us at the airport. It seemed like a lifetime ago. I assured him I was as well as could be expected and he ushered me into the waiting cab. As it turned out, Brian and Jarrod had called him when the police had whisked me off to the station. He’d been waiting for me the entire time.
    “Thank you for the ride, monsieur. ” I could feel the tears coming again. He handed me a crisp white handkerchief with a gold monogram.
    “Not a problem my dear. I’m always happy to help out a beautiful damsel in distress. I’ve taken the liberty of arranging a new hotel room for you, although, regrettably I was unable to book you into different hotel at this late hour.”
    “But there were no rooms available until the morning.”
    “As circumstance would have it, Dr. Rice’s murder has made many people upset and fearful for their own safety. Guests checked out en masse. There are now plenty of rooms to be had at the hotel.”
    “I’m so sorry to put you to so much trouble.”
    “It is I who should apologize to you. This isn’t at all the trip you should be having. It is my sincerest hope that while the police work to clear up that unfortunate professor’s death, you can put these bad memories behind you and get to know Paris as you were meant to.” He patted my hand and gave me a smile.
    I was relieved to be treated like an innocent person, but could I really get to know Paris as if nothing happened?
     
    I slept through breakfast the next morning. If the maid hadn’t knocked on the door I’d have still been sleeping. As long as I was asleep, I didn’t have to think about everything that had happened the night before. But a maid running the vacuum would have keep me up, making it hard to escape reality. I asked if she could please come back later to clean my room. She apologized profusely and backed down the narrow hall like she was afraid I might stick something sharp and pointy in her neck. However, one look in the mirror and I understood why I had scared the maid. Wearing slept-in clothes, a puffy, sleep-swollen face and bed-head from hell, I looked like a hot-ass mess. Even a shower wouldn’t help matters too much. All of my things, including the new clothes I’d bought for the trip, were now considered part of Juliet’s crime scene. I had a feeling I wouldn’t be getting them back any time soon.
    I started to crawl back into bed when there was yet another knock at my door. Hoping it wasn’t the police this time, I opened the door to find Brian and Jarrod loaded down with shopping bags.
    “Don’t get your undies in a knot, babe.” Jarrod pushed past me. “It’s just a couple of gays bearing gifts. Are you okay?” He dumped his bags on the rumpled bed and gave me the once-over.
    “I’m fine. What’s all this?” I ran my fingers through my messy hair, trying in vain to smooth it down.
    “We saw the police carting bags full of stuff from your room last night and figured you’d need a few things. I hope this stuff fits. We weren’t sure about these European sizes. Things tend to run smaller over