Page 35
Poe reached out and snatched the photo from Helene’s hand. For a split second, he thought about tearing it in half in front of her, or setting it on fire in the wastebasket.
But he knew he couldn’t. Not ever.
He put the photo down on the bed and wrapped his arms around Helene. “I love you. You know that.”
Helene’s voice cracked. “As much as you loved her?”
Poe squeezed tighter. “That’s not a fair question. It’s not just about how much I loved her. It’s how I lost her.”
“You never talk about that.”
“I can’t.”
“Why not?”
“Because it hurts too much. Annie would be alive today if it weren’t for me.”
“And if she were,” said Helene, “maybe you and I would never have met. Would you be okay with that?”
“Don’t be stupid. I’d be lost without you.”
Grey leaned back and pushed him away. “I think you still have some things to work out, Auguste. You should do it on the sofa downstairs.” She reached for the photo and handed it to him. “There are already enough people in this bed.”
CHAPTER 36
THREE HOURS LATER, at 5:00 a.m. sharp, Margaret Marple was standing in the kitchen of La Forêt for day one of Luc Gestard’s seminar. She had always been good at compartmentalization. It was one of her superpowers. But today would require a superior mental effort.
She knew that Brendan Holmes and Auguste Poe would be furious with her for going AWOL in the middle of an important case. They’re big boys, she kept telling herself as she drove into town. They can spare me for a few hours. Besides, they’re not the bosses of me.
Never have been.
She’d managed to sneak out without them noticing.
The class was small—even smaller than Marple had expected. Just four students, all women.
As they gathered along one side of the prep table, Marple guessed that she was the oldest. They exchanged quiet hi’s and hello’s, but everybody seemed too nervous to make small talk. So far, Luc Gestard was nowhere in sight.
Suddenly the dining room door opened. Gabrielle Desan walked in. She wore a gray chef’s uniform, crisp and tidy. Based on their previous encounters, Marple wasn’t expecting a warm greeting. She did not get one.
Desan walked to the other side of the table, her dark eyes flashing. “Okay, ground rules. This is a three-day intensive, no absences permitted. All cell phones off. This course will require complete focus and commitment.” She looked along the row. “Left to right, state your first name and one thing the others should know about you.”
Marple was relieved to be last in line. She couldn’t wait to see what she was up against.
The woman on the far left looked like a peppy teenager, all bright teeth and long legs. “I’m Mandi. I’m a senior in hospitality management at Cornell.” Her voice sounded a little shaky.
Next in line was a Black woman, a little older, with more polish. “I’m Lisa. I run a catering service for high-end corporate events.” Perfect, thought Marple. Lisa would look right at home in a board meeting. She exuded class and confidence.
Next was a petite woman with horn-rimmed glasses and a frizz of blond curls. Late twenties, Marple estimated. “I’m Stacy. I’m a culinary influencer with a million followers on Instagram and TikTok.” Stacy looked a bit flaky, thought Marple, but she’d managed to work in her stats. Well done.
Desan turned to Marple and raised her eyebrows. “And finally…”
Marple had stewed for days about her lack of qualifications. The truth was, she felt lucky just to be in the room. The less the others knew about her, the better.
“I’m Margaret,” she said. “And why I’m here is a total mystery.”
There were a couple of light chuckles. But not from Gabrielle Desan. At that moment, the door at the back of the kitchen slammed open and Gestard walked in. Stalked in, actually. A frown creased his forehead and his eyes were cold. His dour expression contrasted with his fresh chef whites.
“Morning, Chef!” Desan called out. She turned toward the students, who immediately took the cue.
