Chapter 25
25
CARSON
P aris blooms below us, the city decked out in festive colors and the Eiffel Tower sparkling like a million gems.
“I can’t believe we’re already here.” May stares out the window, her nose pressed to the glass.
“Ever been to Paris?” I ask her.
“No, never.” She scratches Mousey behind her ears absentmindedly. “Have you?”
“A few times.” I don’t want to get into the details of my last few trips here. Busting a human trafficking ring is never a fun topic of conversation.
“I think I’m in love.”
My heart jumps at her words; then I realize she’s talking about the city below us. “I’ll bring you here anytime you like.” I lean over and drop a kiss on her hair.
“Really?”
“Of course.” I’ll do anything to make her happy, the sound of wonder in her voice somehow making my skin warm all over.
“I thought it would take at least a day or something. But look!” She squeals. “I can see Notre Dame!”
“I told Hans to step on it.” Mrs. Farrol slurps at what must be her sixth martini since she awoke about an hour ago. “This is serious business.” She checks her phone. “I’ve called and texted her again and again, but she isn’t answering.”
“Could you give us more intel on her?” I ask.
As soon as we boarded the luxury jet, Mrs. Farrol disappeared into the bedroom area, her snores practically rattling the wings. She wouldn’t wake, not until we were more than halfway across the pond. Then she flounced into the main cabin where our flight attendant had a martini waiting. Since then, she’s been drinking and crying at intervals. I’ve barely been able to get a coherent sentence from her.
“Sorcha is …” She’s started the same sentence several times, never finishing it, though.
“Is this about your wedding?” May asks gently, tearing her gaze from the window. “We saw a photo of it at the country club. She looked … less than thrilled about it.”
“Oh, that.” Mrs. Farrol reclines back, her sequined dress at odds with her plush house slippers. “She made a scene, for sure. That’s how I know this is her doing. Well, that and she’s always been jealous of my success.”
“Seems like you should’ve mentioned her at the start of this investigat–”
May elbows me, then gives me a scolding look. It only makes me smile.
“That was the past.” Mrs. Farrol waves her drink, spilling a slosh over the edge. “The distant past. I mean, my cats always won best in show. I was on top of the world. But Sorcha was there waiting in the wings, hoping to take me down. She hates me.”
“Like I said, maybe lead with that–”
Another elbow from May brings a grin to my face.
“But you’re saying all that ended a long time ago?” May asks.
“Yes.” Mrs. Farrol sighs. “It’s been years since I’ve spoken to her. We’d snipe back and forth on occasion at social events, fun little tit for tats, you know.”
May’s forehead crinkles. “That was fun?”
“Oh, sure. When you know you’ve matched wits with a true terror–one as vicious as yourself–it’s a pleasure. Truly, sparring with her …” Her voice goes quieter. “Those are some of my favorite memories.”
“So a frenemy situation?” May asks.
“We were the best of friends before I married my husband. Inseparable, really. We’d vacation together, endless girls’ trips, riding classes, vineyard hopping, galas–I didn’t spend a weekend without her for years. I knew everything there was to know about her, and she about me.”
“But the wedding changed all that?” I lean forward, hoping to get to the heart of the matter.
“Very much so. She begged me to call it off.” Her eyes go misty. “She even offered me her prized sphinx cat if I’d stop the wedding.”
“Because of Alfred?” May asks.
“Yes. Alfie.” Mrs. Farrol finishes her drink and holds it up. The flight attendant takes it and dutifully makes another.
“Did they have a relationship prior to yours?” I reach over and buckle May’s seat belt as I feel the plane begin to descend for landing.
“Alfie and Sorcha?” Mrs. Farrol raises a drawn-on eyebrow. “The two of them?” She snorts a laugh. “They could barely stand to be in the same room with each other.”
May’s mouth drops open.
“Are you sure that wasn’t some sort of an act? Maybe they were secretly–”
Mrs. Farrol lets out a belly laugh and sits up to take her drink from the flight attendant. “The only thing Sorcha wanted to secretly do to Alfie was knife him.” She giggles more, her face taking on an almost girlish look.
May cocks her head at Mousey, then her eyes light up. “It was you!”
“Me?” Mrs. Farrol asks, her eyes still crinkled with amusement. “Me what?”
“It was you that Sorcha wanted! Not Alfred!”
“What? No. We were just friends. We never …” Mrs. Farrol allows the flight attendant to fasten her seat belt as the descent begins in earnest. “It wasn’t like that … Well, I mean,” she amends, her eyes going a bit misty. “There was that magical spring in the Alps. We hiked–can you believe it? We hiked through the most beautiful meadows you could imagine.” She reaches up and brushes her fingers along her hair. “She braided flowers here, bright blue ones. Like a crown on my head. She told me I was the most beautiful woman she’d ever seen, like a nymph from ancient times, sent to lure foolhardy men to their deaths.”
I clear my throat and try to stow my incredulity. “And you were just friends ?”
“I mean, of course we enjoyed each other’s bodies.” She shrugs as if that’s a throwaway fact. “We were young then, just girls. But she knew I had to marry well. My family expected it. Though, I admit”–she sighs—“I was never happier than when I was with her. Those moments–I think of them often. Even when things went sour between us. Even when she hated me. I still … I still thought of her fondly. Foolishly, of course. Especially now that I know she kidnapped my sweet Fitzy. She’s my greatest enemy. The one who’s hoping for my downfall.”
“She wanted to marry you,” May blurts. “That’s why she was glaring in your wedding photo. That’s why she was so bitter and resented you. Not because she hated you, but because she loved you, and you broke her heart!”
The plane touches down with the lightest of bumps, and Mrs. Farrol shakes her head slowly. “I don’t think …” She gulps her martini, and when the flight attendant offers another, she turns it down.
We roll to a stop.
“I’ve had quite enough conjecture. This is all nonsense created by the runaway mind of a gifted cat psychic. Sorcha is guilty of stealing my beloved prince. This is a vendetta, nothing more. You’ll see. She’ll probably attack me the moment we set foot at her chateau.” She glances at me. “Be ready. You’re the muscle.” Mrs. Farrol wrangles herself free from her seat belt. “Now, let’s go get my boy.”