By Cara Black
The moment Aimée Leduc research set in Paris
When Anaïs de Froissart calls Parisian deepest investigator Aimée begging for aid, Aimée assumes the lady desires to rent her to do surveillance on her philandering baby-kisser husband back. Aimée is just too busy instantaneously to indulge her. yet Anaïs insists Aimée needs to come, that she is in hassle and scared. Aimée tracks Anaïs down simply in time to determine a motor vehicle bomb explode, injuring Anaïs and killing the lady she used to be with.
Anaïs can’t clarify what Aimée simply witnessed. The lifeless girl, Anaïs says, is Sylvie Coudray, her dishonest husband’s long-time mistress, yet she has no concept who sought after her useless, and Anaïs formally hires Aimée to examine. As she digs into Sylvie Coudray’s murky previous, Aimée unearths that the lifeless lady is probably not who Anaïs concept she used to be. Her Belleville local, filled with North African immigrants, should be hiding clues to Sylvie’s identification. As a fashionable Algerian rights activist levels a starvation protest opposed to new immigration legislation, Aimée starts off to ask yourself even if Sylvie’s demise was once an act of terrorism, and who else can be at threat.
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Additional info for Murder in Belleville (Aimee Leduc Investigations, No. 2)
Example text
Aimee stumbled on the slippery concrete, caught her heel and lurched outside. She grabbed hold of something rusty that flaked in her hands. Straightening up, she took another step. She skidded and lost her balance but held on to her penlight, shining the beam ahead. A stone wall five or six feet high stood in front of her. Jagged glass, like a string of grinning teeth, lined the top. No exit. Aimee tried not to panic. Returning to Ana’fs, she noticed the buttery leather Dior bag strap tangled around Anais’s shoulder.
She heard strains of music wafting over the narrow, wet street. Outside the bistro a blackboard announced in blue chalk, QUINTET JAZZ! She opened the glass doors plastered with accepted bank cards and edged past the tall potted plants. The warm, hazy smoke hit her. She’d chew nails for a cigarette right now. The quintet had paused while the female drummer did a solo. The piano player sat upright, eyes closed, with a cigarette stuck in the corner of her mouth, while the saxophonist, trumpet player, and contrabass player stood together, swaying to the notes.
Asked the man. Of the two, he appeared the more personable. “My wife’s friend, Aimee Leduc,” Philippe said reluctantly. ” Both men smiled and nodded to Aimee. Guittard gave her a once-over. Already she didn’t like him. It had nothing to do with his Cartier watch or perfectly brushed hair. 5 blond children. Kaseem turned to Philippe. ” He spoke with a slight Algerian accent and seemed intent on cornering Philippe. She saw Philippe stiffen. ” Philippe said, his tone even. He put his arm around Kaseem and shot a look back at Aimee that read, Keep your mouth closed.