The Paris Librarian (2 page)

“Thirty-five, in US dollars.”

“That'll pay your salary for a couple of years.”

“I wish you were joking,” Rogers said lightly.

“You're worth every penny. Any stocking stuffers I might be able to afford?”

“You like the literature side of things, if I recall. As opposed to photography, religion, and philosophy, I mean. Couple of good travel books, too, if that's your thing.”

“It is in theory, but I have to focus my collection. Until you mistakenly sell me a first-edition Jack London or H. G. Wells for a couple hundred bucks.”

“Lord, I'd lose my job for that.” Rogers laughed. “Let me think. We have a first-edition of Cormac McCarthy's
The Road
for a few hundred dollars.”

“I prefer something a little older. Signed, too, if possible,” Hugo added. “Almost all the ones in my tiny collection are signed.”

“Nothing springs to mind, I'd have to look and see which ones are,” Rogers said. “Oh, wait. How about a Truman Capote?
In Cold Blood
. I know it's a first edition and I think it has his autograph in it, too.”

“How much?”

“Three thousand, I think. Let me pull it up on my computer.”

“For that price, it better be signed.”

“Here we go. Yep, three-and-a-half thousand, and it's signed. Want me to put it aside?”

“Let me think about it. That's still pretty expensive—I'm just a lowly government employee, you know.”

Rogers laughed. “I know, Hugo, I know. The sale starts tomorrow, so I'll hold it for you until you get here, does that work?”

“Perfect. I'll take the morning off and be there by ten.”

“Do me a favor. Bring your buddy Tom, he's a blast. And I like the way he spends your money.”

“I'll think about it.”

As soon as Hugo hung up, his phone rang again.

“You coming or not?” Tom asked.

“I'm on my way, five minutes at the most. What's going on?”

“It's a secret.”

“Yes, one that I'll find out in five minutes. Why can't you just tell me now?” Hugo waited for a response. “Tom. Hello?” The screen on his phone was dark. “Typical,” Hugo muttered to himself, and resumed his walk.

It took him ten minutes, and he breathed in deeply as he pushed open the door to Café Laruns, the aromas of coffee and freshly baked bread welcoming him into the large, cool room. He saw Tom at the back of the café, sitting with two people, a young lady he didn't recognize and another slight figure who was sitting with her back to him. He started toward them and waved when Tom looked up.

He was ten yards from their table when the young lady with her back to him turned around. Hugo stopped in his tracks, a smile of surprise and delight spreading across his face. She smiled, too, then sprang up and ran over, wrapping her arms around him and squeezing tight.

“Well, now, what are you doing here?” he asked, hugging her back.

She looked up and grinned. “I'm pretty sure you said I could visit anytime I liked.”

“I'm sure I did,” Hugo said. “But we have phones here; you're allowed to call in advance.”

“Ha!” She released him, tucking her arm through his and leading him to the table. “Don't you remember our trip to the cemetery? The party we went to?”

“How could I forget?” Hugo grimaced playfully. “Ah yes, that's right. You're one for surprises, no doubt about that.”

She squeezed his arm. “Especially where you're concerned.”

They stopped beside her empty chair and Hugo looked into those clear, almond-shaped eyes. “It's good to see you again, Merlyn, it really is.”

CHAPTER TWO

They sat around the table and Merlyn introduced Hugo to “my partner,” Mikaela Harrison. She was, like Merlyn, a beautiful young woman. Her dark hair fell either side of an oval face, but where Merlyn's skin was
café au lait
, Mikaela's was just the
lait
, classic English pale, the perfect canvas for her striking blue eyes and cherry-red lips. She was slender, but not in the same way as the waiflike Merlyn, more athletic.

“Call me Miki,” she said, shaking Hugo's hand. She smiled and held his eye for a shade longer than he expected.
Confident girl
, Hugo thought.

A waitress appeared and Hugo ordered coffee for himself and croissants for everyone. When the waitress left, Hugo turned to Merlyn.

“How did you get hooked up with this guy?” He thumbed toward Tom, who was looking smug. “And are you in Paris for fun or work?” He paused. “Or one of your . . . parties?”

Merlyn laughed. “Same old Hugo, full of questions. Someone I did some genealogy work for gave me access to his apartment as partial payment. We can even use his Smart car, though I can't imagine driving around Paris is a lot of fun. Anyway, we got in yesterday and we went to your apartment and then the embassy to find you. Tom was talking to the security people and heard me asking. He said we should surprise you here this morning.”

“He's like you in that way,” Hugo said. “Always a bundle of fun.”

“Hey, be grateful I've included you at all.” Tom winked but didn't elaborate. He didn't need to—sitting at a café with two pretty girls was about the only thing in the world likely to get him out of bed in the morning.

Miki rummaged in her bag and then stood. “I don't smoke much, but something about being here . . .” She gave an embarrassed smile, and Tom stood to let her out.

“Maybe I'll join you,” he said, ignoring Hugo's
So you smoke now, too?
look.

When they'd gone, Merlyn reached over and squeezed Hugo's hand. “It's really good to see you again, you look good.”

“So do you.” Hugo smiled.

It had been several years but she looked the same, that hint of Asia around her eyes, the smooth olive skin. Her black bob was now streaked with a line of blue, but otherwise she looked the same as when she'd stumbled into the first investigation he'd conducted as an RSO, when he was heading up security at the US Embassy in London. Merlyn had been friends with a movie star Hugo was supposed to babysit, one who disappeared moments after they'd met. Without Merlyn he'd have had no idea where to look for the man. With her, he found himself chasing through the English countryside and, to his chagrin, wearing leather pants and a matching vest at a secret party at an English mansion. She'd opened his eyes to a different way of living, and loving, testing the unjudgmental part of himself that he so valued. In her world, anyone could be anything, and sexual exploration was to be encouraged, no matter how out-there it seemed. Hugo had gone along, mostly out of necessity, and had gained a valued friend in the process. They'd swapped a few e-mails after that case but, as often happens with hurriedly formed friendships, the lines of communication had thinned out and they'd not corresponded in almost a year.

“So tell me why you're here, and for how long,” he said.

She released his hand and sat back. “I'm really just tagging along with Miki. She's a journalist and wants to write about the movie star Isabelle Severin. She lives here, and apparently her papers are now available at some local library. She's a little obsessed, seems to think Severin was a spy during the war.”

“A spy for whom?” Hugo knew that the 1940s actress, now in her late nineties, lived somewhere in Paris, after having moved here in the 1970s when she upped and left Hollywood, ending her career on a high note and on her own terms. She'd never attended any embassy events despite numerous invitations, but Hugo's boss, Ambassador J. Bradford Taylor, claimed to know her, a little anyway.
She's still beautiful, Hugo, I promise you. The sweetest, kindest, and most elegant woman I've ever met
, he'd said. And something of a recluse, Taylor acknowledged, attended to by one or two close friends and a carefully vetted and fiercely loyal personal assistant.

“For the Allies,” Merlyn said. “Her theory is that she used her stardom to buddy up with top people in the Vichy government, then passed on secrets to the Americans, British, and even the Resistance.”

“You know, I may have read about that somewhere, many years ago.”

“There's even a dagger involved.”

“How so?” Hugo asked.

“The story goes that she was delivering secrets to a Resistance cell in 1944 and two Gestapo officers showed up. She pretended to seduce one and used his own dagger to kill him.”

“That so?”

“Yeah, well.” Merlyn rolled her eyes. “It's on the Internet, so I assume it's true.”

“So what happened to the other officer?”

“No idea. I suppose the Resistance fighters killed him but you'd have to ask Miki, she knows all the gory details.”

“I will. So where is this dagger and stash of papers?” Hugo had a pretty good idea, and he made a mental note to call Paul Rogers.

“No clue.” She grinned. “Like I said, I'm just tagging along so I can see you.”

“I'm glad you did.” Hugo hesitated. “You said Miki was your partner. I wasn't sure if you meant in business or . . .”

Merlyn waved a hand. “It's complicated. We're good friends but . . . It's complicated, but mostly in a good way.”

“Yeah, well, watch out for Tom. He likes complicated, and he especially likes innocent-seeming pretty girls from England.”

“You know I can look out for myself,” she said with a wink. “And don't call me innocent.”

“I said innocent-
seeming
. And I know you can look out for yourself, just look out for Miki, too.”

Merlyn chuckled. “That girl can handle herself, don't worry. Last night Tom came on a little strong and she shut him down lickety-split.”

“That's good to know. So who is she writing this article for?”

“Freelance. She thinks it might even be a book. As well as the mysterious dagger, she's convinced there is a bunch of Severin's stuff that's never been seen before and that puts some people in a bad light. Politicians who are now dead, and a few old movie stars, but still. Those people have families and estates to worry about, which means it'll be controversial.”

“. . . And therefore will sell.”

“Precisely,” Merlyn said. “Assuming all that stuff exists and she can get her hands on it.”

“Some grand conspiracy to hide the truth, eh?” Hugo said.

“Yeah, well, don't be sarcastic with her,” Merlyn chided. “She'll stab you with her pen.”

“Maybe I can help. I'm headed to the American Library tomorrow to look at some books they're selling. I'll ask my contact there; he'd know the whereabouts and extent of the collection.”

“But will he tell you if there's secret stuff? Miki's made several calls, had important people pull all kind of strings, and the best she's got is, basically, ‘Come have a look, we'll let you see what we'll let you see.'”

Hugo spread his hands. “I can ask. Isabelle Severin is still alive, and living here in Paris. You guys should try to talk to her.”

Merlyn raised a delicate eyebrow. “Bloody hell, Hugo, what a great idea, she'd
never
have thought of that. You don't have a high opinion of journalists, do you?”

“Ah, you tried already. Sorry.”

“Miki can't even get close to her. Apparently she doesn't like a lot of attention and her former personal assistant was a little, shall we say, tight-lipped. You know anyone close to her?”

“She and I don't move in the same circles,” Hugo said. “Although my boss claims to know her a little. I can ask him, but no promises.”

They sat quietly for a minute, watching the morning activity of the café, then Merlyn said, “We may be going to a party tonight, you wanna chaperone us?”

Hugo's mind flashed to the last party he went to with Merlyn, an underground, highly secretive BDSM event where he'd found an important clue in the case he was working on.

“What kind of party?” he asked suspiciously.

“Same as last time,” she said lightly. “But French. Strict dress code, of course, but I can help you with that.”

Hugo smiled and shook his head in mock disgust. At the party in England, she'd told him that he would be allowed in only if he was wearing leather, the party's dress code. She forgot to mention that a tuxedo was also permitted—a rule he would have followed quite happily, and one he discovered once he was already inside the party dungeon.
One of those things
, he thought,
that's a lot funnier in hindsight than at the time
.

“I'll pass,” he said. “Feel free to take Tom, he may actually enjoy it.”

“Scaredy cat.”

They looked up as Miki and Tom rejoined them. Miki poked at her coffee and frowned. “That went cold fast,” she said. She looked up at Hugo. “Merlyn said you're head of security at the US Embassy here.”

“That's right,” Hugo said.

“What does that mean, exactly? What do you
actually
do?”

“That depends on the day, the week. It varies a lot. Sometimes I'll escort guests, sometimes I'll arrange security for dignitaries, sometimes I'll work with local police when there's been a crime involving an American citizen.”

“Do you carry a gun?”

“Whether or not RSOs carry weapons is decided by the two countries involved, so that also varies from embassy to embassy.”

“I was asking about you,” Miki pressed.

“I know you were.” Hugo smiled. “Tell me about your writing project. Merlyn said you're writing an article about Isabelle Severin.”

“I'm actually hoping it'll be a book. Amazing person. She wasn't just the most beautiful woman who ever lived, she was a good person, too.”

“And brave, if she was a spy.”

Miki watched him, as if wondering whether he was making fun of her. “Merlyn told you about that.”