And then things got even better.
"Capitain!" Officer Number Two shouted to the first guy.
We all turned to face the second officer, holding Felix in one hand. And pulling the diamond necklace out of his pocket with the other.
Officer Number One looked from Felix to me, a smug smile on his face. "Oui, voler."
Felix and I looked at each other.
Oh. Shit.
Chapter Seven
No matter what country you travel to, what culture you come from, or what language you speak, there is one almost universal truth about human beings – we don't like to pee in front of each other. Which is why, as I sat on a wooden bench in the square ten-by-ten holding cell, I uncrossed then re-crossed my legs for the gazillionth time since Officers One, Two, and Three had brought me here in handcuffs.
They'd spilt Felix and me into two separate cars and I had no idea where they'd taken him or even if he was in a cell of his own somewhere. Or, for that matter, where my cell was. Somewhere in Paris was about all I knew. I'd tried talking to Officer Number One on the car ride over, but either he didn't speak English or he just didn't want to talk to me.
Luckily, the booking officer had spoken English and explained I was being charged with trespassing, breaking and entering, and burglary. All of which I protested vehemently as I'd been fingerprinted, photographed and shoved into a holding cell to wait. Oddly enough, if you traded in the donuts for croissants, the entire process had been eerily similar to the American one. (Don't ask me how I know this. Let's just say my karma really sucks.)
And similar also was the lone toilet sitting in the middle of the room. I un-crossed my legs again and tried not to think of clear streams, faucets, or waterfalls as I checked out my cellmates. To my left was a short, brunette woman in spandex tights and a stained T-shirt. She was mumbling to herself and her hair looked like she'd attacked one side with a pair of safety scissors. Across the room sat two women in black jeans, flannel shirts and bandanas, looking like they'd walked straight out of Compton. And next to them a woman with stubble on her upper lip in a tube top and hot pants, with a red feather boa draped around her neck.
I glanced at the toilet again, wondering how long I could wait.
I closed my eyes, wishing like anything that I hadn't had the large latte that morning and wondered where Felix was. Surely he explained to the officers that the necklace was his. I mean, you couldn't really be arrested for stealing something that already belonged to you, could you?
Which made me wonder, had Gisella stolen the necklace? She hadn't struck me as the sharpest crayon in the box when I'd met her, but I guess it didn't take a whole lot of brains to pocket a piece of jewelry. I wondered. If she had stolen it, what did that have to do with her death? Had someone found out she was pocketing the jewelry? Maybe someone who'd seen her wear it at the party? Maybe Mystery Man. But that didn't explain why they'd want to kill her. I mean, why not just turn her over to the police? Or Jean Luc? It still didn't make sense. And I still wasn't 100% convinced that Gisella hadn't just shoved it into her pocket after one too any glasses of champagne and forgotten all about it.
"Bonjour."
I opened my eyes. And did a little yelp. Miss Tube Top was sitting so close to me she was practically in my lap.
"Uh, hi." I scooted to the left.
" Ca va?"
"Uh, sorry, I don't speak French."
She just looked at me.
"I. Don't. Speak. French," I said again, louder and more slowly.
The woman grinned, showing off a row of slightly yellow teeth. Most of which were all still there. "I heard you the first time, my girl," she said in perfect English.
"Oh."
She leaned in and I could smell her breakfast vodka on her breath. "Tell me, what's a darling little thing like you doing in here?"
I heard myself gulp loudly as Tube Top gave me an up-and-down. Then licked her lips.
"Uh, a slight misunderstanding."
She did a short bark of laughter. "Ha! Me, too, doll." She reached over and laid a hand on my knee. "Wanna tell me about it?"
Suddenly peeing in public just got replaced as the worst thing about being in a holding cell by being groped by a prostitute of ambiguous gender.
"Springer?" A tall, thin officer with a crooked nose opened the cell door.
I popped up from the bench like a Jack in the Box, shoving my crutches under my armpits. "That's me!"
Tube Top looked disappointed, but gave me a little one finger wave as the officer took me by the arm and escorted me down the hallway.
I breathed a sigh of relief. I had a feeling I'd been one knee grab away from being someone's be-atch.
My relief was short lived, however, as the officer steered me around the corner and I spotted the man who had sprung me from the pokey. Arms crossed over his broad chest. Eyes dark and unreadable. Lips pursed into a fine white line. Jaw set into those hard granite angles of Bad Cop.
Ramirez.
"Uh… hi." I gave him a little wave. No reaction. "I see you made your flight." Still nothing. "Nice to see you, honey?" I tried. Though it sounded more like a question.
Ramirez ignored me, addressing the officer. "I'll take it from here." He put his signature down on the officer's clipboard, then grabbed my upper arm in a vice grip and steered me down the length of the hallway.
"See, the proper response here would be, 'Hi, nice to see you, too, Maddie,'" I said as I hopped to catch up to him. "Or maybe, 'Are you okay? Wow, how traumatic this must have been for you.'"
Ramirez paused just long enough to shoot me a death look, then propelled me past booking, the front desk, and the glass doors of the police station, outside onto a street that was busy with afternoon shoppers and sightseers. He walked me a full block in silence before backing me into an alleyway that smelled like urine and rotting fish and spinning me around to face him.
"What the hell were you thinking?" he growled, his voice doing a tightly restrained thing I knew could easily snap at any moment.
"Look, it was all a misunderstanding. We just wanted to look around. Angelica said they'd been fighting."
"Who?"
"Angelica. The friend who's not a friend."
Ramirez just stared at me.
"Look, we were just looking for evidence that someone else did this. We were gonging to put everything back where we found it. Well, except maybe the necklace."
Ramirez's Bad Cop face did give away any emotion. Though I could tell from the long, blue vein in his neck starting to bulge just a little that I wasn't making any headway with him.
"Didn't I distinctly tell you," he ground out between clenched teeth, "not to do anything stupid until I got here? I think this qualifies."
I put a hand on my hip. "Yeah, about that-"
But he cut me off, shaking his head. "God, do you know how guilty this makes you look, Maddie? Being found pawing through the victim's belongings?"
"I didn't do anything wrong. You and I both know I'm innocent."
He stared at me. Silently.
For one horrible second doubt hit me as I looked into his unreadable eyes.
"You do know I'm innocent, right? Jack?"
He rubbed a hand over his face. "Jesus, Maddie, of course I know that."
I let out a breath I hadn't realized I'd been holding. "I'm sorry you got dragged down here. Thank you for getting me out."
His eyes softened and he reached a hand out, running the tip of his fingers lightly along my cheeks. "What am I going to do with you?"
"Well," I said tentatively, "you could start by giving me a kiss hello."
His Bad Cop face cracked, the corner of his mouth lifting up into a deceptively boyish grin. He leaned in close and brushed his lips softly over mine. I tasted the mingled flavors of coffee and Dentyne and think I sighed out loud.
"What about Felix?" I mumbled onto his lips.