Chapter 9. Arrival

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As I rode through French wine country with Sean, I couldn’t help thinking that my life was starting to read like a movie—a very exciting movie.  I was in a fast black car with a mysterious and gorgeous man in France, and we were going to investigate an art theft.  I could practically hear a James Bond soundtrack.

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Our plane landed in Paris late afternoon, and we picked up our rental car at the airport.  Sean had tracked Monique Chabon to a small village about an hour’s drive outside of Paris—I couldn’t even pronounce it, much less spell it.  We were on our way to a vacation home in that village that happened to be owned by one of Thornton Wolff’s colleagues.

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And that was the part that was making me nervous.  I would be staying in the French countryside in a vacation home with Sean.  Alone.

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“So….which role will have to do the most of whatever I’m probably bad at?” I asked.  We still hadn’t figured out who would be the assistant and who would be the rich art connoisseur.  Lucky for me, the roles were practically interchangeable, wardrobe-wise.

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Sean’s laugh reverberated loudly in the small car, before he asked, “Well, what are you bad at?”

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“Pretty much everything, right now.” I muttered.

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“Stop it.   You’re observant, and you’re good at piecing things together, and…..” he paused for a  moment, then said “…you won’t leave someone in a bad situation.  Even when you should.”

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“Uh…thanks.” I said awkwardly.  “So….personal assistant, or rich art collector?” I asked.

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“Well…what can you fake better—giving orders or taking them?” he asked.

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The idea of giving Sean orders was….delicious.

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“I really don’t know.” I admitted, trying to scoop my thoughts out of the gutter.

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“Then….let’s make you the art collector—anytime someone asks you a question you can’t answer, you can just act imperious and summon your assistant to handle it.”  Sean reasoned.

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“Fine.  What next?” I asked.

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“Tomorrow we’ll go into the shops in the village and throw your name around, make it clear that you are in the market for artwork and relics.  We should come up with fake names.”  Sean mused.

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“And what about Monique Chabon?  Do we have a way to track her exact position?”  I asked.

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“She’ll find us—don’t you worry.  But keep in mind that our objective isn’t to find her—it’s to find the vase.”  Sean said.

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I pulled some surveillance photos of her from the file Sean had pressed into my hands on the plane.

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“She’s a knockout.” I mumbled.  Though the photo I was holding didn’t show it, I knew from other information in her file that she was a redhead.

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“Not particularly.” Sean said with a frown.

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“Oh come on.” I said with irritation.

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“She’s a magic trick.  All smoke and mirrors and deception.  Nothing of substance.” Sean said.

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“But fascinating to watch.” I pointed out.

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“Not for long.” he replied stubbornly.

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“Whatever.” I said, exasperated.

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“Look at that.  We’re here.” Sean said cheerfully as we drew near the vacation home. I threw open the car door and hopped out as soon as we’d pulled to a stop.

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“This is not real.” I said, staring out over the view from the courtyard that framed the front of the home.

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“Come inside and pick out your bedroom so we can have a nap before going to dinner.” Sean urged.

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The inside of the home was just as impressive as the outside.

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“Wolff has some ridiculously wealthy friends.” I said in a loud voice, because Sean had already gone upstairs with our bags.

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“Let’s hope he points some in the direction of Rocca Investigations.” Sean called down from the stairs he’d ascended.  A few moments later, his voice floated down the stairs again.  “I think I’ve found your bedroom.”

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I walked upstairs and through the open door only to stop short and gape at the bedroom.

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“This is my room?” I said softly.

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“Yes—it’s beautiful, isn’t it?  The other room is quite nice as well, but this one is bigger.  We each have our own bathroom.  I’m going to my room to take a nap—how about we get up at 5:00?” Sean asked.

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I agreed, and he left the room.

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After a nice nap, we had a bit of coffee to perk up, and Sean suggested that we get ready for dinner.  We drove around for a bit until we reached the center of the village, and we found a little place called the Catania Café.  Once we were settled at our table, enjoying our authentic French food, I felt a little more talkative.

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“How does one track international thieves?” I asked, curious.  I kept my voice low because our server stood near the door, ready to jump the moment we beckoned.

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“One has contacts.  I know some people who work for Interpol, as well as some of the more…criminal elements in France—though mostly in Paris.” Sean explained.

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“Interpol?  And criminals?” I asked, obviously stunned.

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“From my job prior to working for Nick.” Sean smiled.

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“What did you do?” I asked.

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“I worked for a company that specialized in high-end security systems.  Occasionally, I would consult on jobs for insurance companies as well—I still do that, every now and then.”  Sean said in an offhand tone.

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“How did you get into that?” I asked.

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He hesitated before answering, and I became even more intrigued.  Of course.

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“I was…a bad kid.” he said, as if it explained everything.  I must have looked confused, because he continued.  “I was great at getting into places I didn’t belong and swiping things, but not so great at getting away.  I wound up in a juvenile detention center.”

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I didn’t know what to say, so I just kept silent.

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“Nick’s father kept trying to scare me straight.  He was a cop.  But what really worked was the guilt.  He told me that I was an embarrassment to my mother, and that my father would have been ashamed of me.”  Sean said, and his voice was slightly hoarse.  The fact that he’d said ‘would have been’ wasn’t lost on me.  Sean’s father had died before or during his tumultuous teen years.

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“I….I’m sure that’s not true.” I mumbled, and looked down at my food.

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“Oh I’m sure it was.  But it’s not all bad—see, my gift for criminal mischief was put to good use.  I was visited in juvie by some representatives from a security company who’d heard about my exploits, and they wanted to send me to college, then hire me.  So I let them.”  he said as if it was something that happened every day—a verbal shrug of sorts.

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“Wow.”  I breathed.  “I thought with the fighting skills and stuff…maybe ex-military or ex-cop.” I admitted.

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“Nah—the security company branched into personal security, and I took the opportunity to train as a bodyguard.  Nick’s the ex-cop in the family.” Sean said, watching me closely.

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“But now you work for Nick…” I said, neatly stepping over the info he’d just dropped about Nick’s former career.

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“Well, he called when he started up Rocca Investigations, and I wanted to help out.  He was…..going through some stuff.”  he said.  Suddenly, his expression lightened, and I knew that he wasn’t going to talk about serious matters anymore.

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“How do you feel about splitting a dessert?” he asked.

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“Depends on which dessert you pick.” I said, smiling. I allowed him to change the subject without a fight.  He’d revealed so much already that I had plenty to ponder.

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• February 17, 2010
• An Edith Prescott Mystery: Story 2
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