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“I’m ready to leave at once.” He stands up. “Is Angie coming?”
“Of course, my lord,” Rudy says. “Her migraine is over. She can handle the sunlight once again.”
Satisfied, Louis heads to the door. I dart into my room for my purse, while Rudy fetches Angie. Five minutes later, our quartet is in the car, making for the heights.
CHAPTER16
LOUIS
Just as Rudy predicted, the traffic is slow. I use the time to share with Rudy and Angie what Camille and I discovered about Pierre Housard’s autopsy report and how that supports our theory that he’s a MESS agent.
Both listen without interrupting.
When we’re done, Angie turns around in the front seat and trains her gaze on Camille. “May I speak frankly?”
“Sure thing,” Camille says.
“I have an alternative theory regarding your sister’s motive.”
“Go ahead,” I urge Angie.
She nods at me before squinting at Camille. “I’ve been thinking about Linda Driessen’s comment.”
“That Jeannette had become too grabby?” Camille asks her.
“No offense, but she might’ve stolen something valuable from Prince Theodor’s quarters.” Angie’s eyes dart between Camille and me. “We can’t exclude that possibility just to spare some people’s feelings.”
Camille clamps a hand to her forehead. “Oh my God! Now that you mention it, I do remember her bringing home prince Theodor’s diamond earrings and his favorite ruby brooch!”
Angie’s eyes widen. Clearly, Camille’s sarcasm is lost on her.
The moment she gets it, her expression sours. “It could’ve been an antique vase or a painting by an old master. The palace is full of precious artifacts. She could’ve used arson to cover up her theft.”
“She could’ve,” Camille says. “And then, while she was hiding in the woods, she doctored the autopsy report for one of the victims and launched a virus that destroyed the digital archives of the police.”
Angie purses her lips and turns back toward the road.
“Sometimes, the best explanation is the simplest one,” I rush to her defense. I don’t think she was trying to be mean—just helpful, as usual.
Camille cuts me a narrow look. “Sometimes, yes. But not this time.”
“Chins up, everyone!” Rudy smiles in the rearview mirror. “We’re on our way to a potential answer to this conundrum.”
I catch his reflected gaze. “You don’t expect Carlo’s widow to know everything her husband knew, do you?”
“No, but when I worked at MESS, Carlo had a reputation for working around the clock. He would read reports and send emails to his deputies at midnight from home. And he never read on screens, only on paper.”
“You think Elaine may have some of his documents or copies at home?” I ask him.
“We’ll soon find out,” Rudy replies, pulling up to an ornate gate.
He announces us to the CCTV camera eye. Someone unlocks the gate, and we drive onto the property.
Elaine Bodden-Bock, a graying middle-aged woman accompanied by a butler who looks even older than Grandpa, greets us in the mansion’s foyer. Camille, Angie, Rudy, and I follow them into a salon on the ground floor. She invites us to sit down around a coffee table. A maid serves coffee, tea, and bite-size pastries.
“Madame Bodden-Bock,” I begin, “may I express my wife’s and my deepest condolences? Carlo was the principality’s sturdiest rock.”
“Thank you,” she replies. “I miss him every day.”
