He doesn’t agree, she thought.
“I’m off then,” he said but stopped halfway. “Oh, would you please remind Ben about the documents he asked about? I assume he mentioned that, at least.”
“Yes.” Remi didn’t like his tone. “He mentioned something of the sort.”
“Very well then. If you are in agreement, he can come to get them at his leisure. I’ll send along some paperwork with a courier this evening.” He added, “You’ll need to sign them, Madame.”
“Of course.” Remi nodded.
“Then I’ll be off.”
Remi watched him go, tottering off into town as though nothing had happened. As if he hadn’t floored her, shaken her world again with suspicions and rumors that Leith might have been murdered. And Ben knew. He’d seen the body and inspected it for himself. There were so many complicated feelings taking up space inside of her, and she wanted them gone.
“How could he have known?” she asked herself quietly, her voice barely a whisper.
“Psst.”
Remi’s ear twitched.
“Psst.”
She spun on her heel, jolted by the interruption. A young man with brown curls and hazel eyes peered around the corner from the alley of Manette’s home. He beckoned her closer, wary eyes trained on everything. He shifted slightly, making room for Remi in the small space.
“Who are you?”
“Don’t trust the lawyer,” he said. “It’s true; Leith was murdered.”
Remi’s heart skipped. “What? How do you know that?”
“I was there,” the young man said. His eyes were red and puffy, a telltale sign that he had been crying. “He was with me, but I’d hidden myself away before we were caught. Leith wasn’t fast enough.”
“Didier?” She recognized him from Leith’s description. “How—do you know who it was?”
He shook his head, shaking his curls. “No. It was too dark, but we heard voices and men approaching. He told me to hide, to run if things went badly.”
Remi covered her mouth. She pressed her back to the wall and held herself up as best she could, even though her knees felt weak and she wanted to fall.
“I saw it,” he said again. “I saw it happen.”
Who would murder Leith? And for what? Remi wondered.
“I have to go now before someone sees me.”
Remi only heard him, unwilling to stop Didier from running off. Her arms felt numb, grief weighing heavily on her chest. Too many things were taking up space inside her mind, and Lamotte’s words followed by Didier’s admission of the truth he’d witnessed had tipped her over the edge. She lost herself in the alley, crumbling while the fragile pieces of her sanity spiraled downward.
SEVERED
BEN
After Remi left for her drive around town with Elise, Ben spent most of his morning in the wine cellar. He grappled with his distress, bouncing back and forth between cutting his father open and taking him back in broad daylight. Jacques would wring his neck if he chose the latter.
The late night in the cemetery had done both of them in.
“We have to get on with it.” Jacques’s voice cut in from the stairs. He’d left to take stock of the staff and keep an eye out for Remi.
“I know,” Ben clipped, his jaw ticking with irritation.
“Need I also remind you that we’re working on borrowed time.” To emphasize his point, he looked back up the cellar stairs. “Madame won’t be gone for much longer.”
Ben forced himself to his feet. Jacques was right. Remi would be back soon, and he didn’t want to think about her finding him bent over her husband’s dead body. With a careful hand, Ben undid the tie and the buttons of his father’s shirt. He stripped away the collar and pulled the fabric apart to expose his throat and chest.
“Fils de pute!” Ben’s hands flew to the sides of the table, gripping them with all of his strength.
Jacques hurried to his side, noiseless as he observed.
Deep bruises stretched the length of Edgar’s torso, with pockets of stitched flesh sewn haphazardly together. There were fingerprint-sized marks at the base of his throat, similar to the ones he’d seen on Remi. Ben’s eyes burned with fury at the sight.
“By God,” Jacques said. “You were right.”
“I didn’t want to be right.” Ben choked on his words.
“But you are. You might even be right about all of it. Your sister included.”
“I wanted to be wrong!” Ben snapped, pushing away from the table.
Jacques took Ben’s place to get a closer look. He scrutinized the wounds, his face turning up as he moved part of the shirt further back. There were several visible lines from chest to waistline that they could see.
“These are stab wounds,” he said.
