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“Yes, they do.” At least this much I can promise. “I’ll be growing old right beside you.”
Our gazes remain locked for a precious moment of truth. I can see her weighing the words, testing their meaning, and finally trying to categorize them in her frame of reference. Zoe and I, we can’t be categorized. There isn’t a file with a label for what we are.
“Married or not, you belong to me,” I say. “You always will.”
Maybe that was the wrong truth to say. The line of her mouth hardens as she touches the mug to her lips. Pushing the sugar pot aside, I reach across the counter, take her wrist, and pull her hand away from her face. Now isn’t the time to hide behind a mug of tea. She wanted honesty without games. We’re facing our truths. I won’t let her shy away from them.
The black crumbs on the clean counter catch my eye. I’m an OCD personality type. Noticing is a reflex reaction. The crumbs are scattered around the sugar pot. Ants.
Dead ants.
With a sweep of my arm, I smack the mug from Zoe’s hands. It smashes against the wall next to the French doors, tea splattering over the curtains and glass panes.
“Maxime!” Her eyes are round in her white face.
A few more ants lie dead on Zoe’s side of the counter. They’ve been hidden from my view until I pushed the sugar pot aside.
“Wash your hands,” I instruct tersely, inspecting the floor. The ants never made it that far.
She hops off the chair and stands as stiff as a stick. “What’s going on?”
“Zoe, do as I say.”
My harsh tone jolts her into action. She grabs the dishwashing liquid from under the sink and washes her hands. I hand her a paper towel to dry them before doing the same.
Her gaze flitters to where mine is lingering on the counter. I can almost see the gears turning in her head as she connects the dots.
“Did you spray poison?” she asks in a hoarse voice.
Mine is strained. “No.”
“Do you think…?” She licks her lips, giving me a petrified look.
“The sugar.” Taking my phone from my pocket, I dial an old contact from the forensics department. “Don’t touch anything,” I say as I wait for the call to connect.
Hector’s voice comes onto the line. “Didn’t think I’d hear from you again.” He doesn’t sound happy. “I thought you retired.”
“I did. I need you to come over to my apartment.”
“What now?”
“Now.”
“I’m working.”
“I’ll make it worth your while.”
He lowers his voice. “You’re not in a position to cut deals any longer. I’m not covering up evidence. You can’t protect me.”
“This isn’t about evidence. I need you to sweep my apartment.” Correcting myself, I say, “My wife’s apartment.”
“If you’re hoping to catch her lover, it’s easier to hire a PI.”
“Cut out the jokes, Hector. Someone tried to poison her. At least I think so.” I hope to hell I’m wrong.
“Fuck.” He sighs. “You’re legit now. There’s a police department for that.”
“They’ll send you anyway.” Plus, I don’t want the police involved, and Hector knows perfectly well why. I’m going after whoever did this.
He sighs again. “Fuck, Max.”
“You owe me, Hector.” I have a few favors to call in for all the times I paid off his debts. His wife has expensive taste.
“Goddamn. Okay, fine, but I don’t want cash. It’s becoming too difficult to hide the extra revenue. I want diamonds.”
“Diamonds? That’ll be difficult to convert into cash if you don’t know the right buyers.”
“I don’t want to sell it. It’s our wedding anniversary soon.”
“Ah. What did you have in mind?”
“Earrings.”
“I’ll make sure you have two of my highest quality stones.”
“I’ll be there in an hour.”
“Thirty minutes.” It shouldn’t take him longer to drive from his side of town.
“For fuck’s sake, Max. I have a boss, you know. What am I supposed to say?”
“You’ll think of something.”
Cutting the call, I face the woman standing there looking so frail and vulnerable. “A friend is coming over. His name is Hector.” I take a pair of rubber gloves from the cleaning cupboard and pull them on. “Don’t open the door for anyone but him and keep your phone with you.”
“Where are you going?” she asks as I scoop a little of the sugar into a zip lock bag and seal it.
“I’ll be back as soon as I can.”
“Maxime!” She runs after me to the door. “You’re going to see Francine, aren’t you?”
We both had the same thought. Only one person has access to this apartment. Given what Zoe told me about the sugar war, this makes sense.
“Maxime, please.” She grabs my arm when I pull on my coat. “What are you going to do?”
“Stay put, Zoe. Don’t touch anything and don’t eat or drink. Call me if someone other than Hector shows up. Our code word is bouillabaisse.”
