Murder in the Palais Royal Read Online Free PDF Page B

her list, occupied a former bakery. Faded gold lettering and mill scenes on painted glass panels were still in evidence. ToutMoto nestled among upscale boutiques near the Madeleine and Hotel Ritz: an exclusive chunk of real estate.
    Aimée entered ToutMoto to a thumping heavy metal beat and whining strains of a guitar pouring from overhead speakers. “ Bonjour,” she called.
    “Un moment, ” came a woman’s voice from the rear.
    Aimée scanned the racks of pink lambskin leather jackets, Kevlar jeans and the displays of tiger-striped handlebars, and the helmets lining the walls. The Blue Fever helmet was featured, the type she wore.
    A woman in a figure-hugging red leather jacket and matching leathers emerged and set a coffee cup down on the counter.
    Aimée smiled. “My friend bought me this helmet here.”
    “ Mais oui. A chic line. We sell two or three a year. You want to return it? Only store exchange is permitted.”
    “ Non, but it’s a bit tight. Here,” Aimée pointed to the chin strap. “She said you’d know how to adjust it. I think it was you,” Aimée said. “Maybe you remember her?”
    “My clients range from ‘golden girl’ bankers to Sorbonne students. We’re the exclusif female motorcycle and scooter accessory store.” The woman sipped her coffee and checked the strap. “But this helmet’s worn,” she said. “There’s a scratch here.”
    A tiny scratch, almost unnoticeable, on the visor. Merde.
    She couldn’t pass it off as new.
    The woman took another sip, her gaze hooded now. “We carry the newest Blue Fever model. This is last year’s.”
    “ Vraiment? But I thought. . . .” Aimée paused, trying to think of another angle. “That’s confusing. She gave it to me for my birthday.”
The woman shrugged.
“It’s scratched already, and she’s trying to pass it off as new?”
“She’s your friend.”
    Two woman entered the store laughing and zeroed in on the sale rack.
    “Why does it matter, Mademoiselle?”
    Aimée blew air out of her mouth. “Like I’m going to buy her an expensive wedding gift if she bought my birthday present at the flea market? Bet she got herself the newer model, one of those.” She pointed to the Blue Fever helmet decorated with lightning bolts in the window.
    A delivery man entered, wheeling a dolly stacked with boxes.
    “Take the strap to a leather shop,” the woman said, wanting to get rid of her. “They’ll stretch it for you.”
    “Merci. But I can’t believe it! She told me she bought it yesterday. Or was it the day before? I’d like to understand.”
“I’ve helped you all I can, Mademoiselle.”
“But you remember her, non ?”
    Anxious for Aimée to leave, the woman scanned a sales transaction log. “Yesterday I show a cash transaction for a Blue Fever. It was a busy time. That’s all I can tell you.”
    Aimée’s shoulders slumped.
    The woman took a clipboard from the delivery man and signed. Desperate, Aimée tried again. “You’ve been so helpful. I know this sounds petty, but—”
    “ Ça suffit, Mademoiselle! I don’t know what kind of scam you’re trying to pull.” Anger vibrated in the woman’s voice as she stared at the sales transaction log again, then glanced at Aimée, a knowing look in her eyes. “It was you I sold the Blue Fever to, n’est-ce pas?”
    “What do you mean?”
    “Oh, the dark glasses, the scarf don’t fool me. You’re an amateur. Now if you don’t leave, and quietly, I’ll ask the delivery man to escort you out.”
    * * *
    A CROSS NARROW RUE d e s Capuchines, Aimée took a window table in the café-tabac : blond wood, Formica counter and a worn sixties interior, family-run by the look of children’s pictures on the mirror. A line formed before the cashier, who sold cigarettes, LOTO tickets, and Métro passes. Locals perched at the counter. She paused to think.
    A woman impersonating her had bought a helmet that looked almost like hers, entered Leduc Detective, and shot René with a