Paris Love Match - By Nigel Blackwell Page 0,47

was squeezed in the tiny rear seat. The sights and sounds of Paris passed by, mainly honking horns and pedestrians shouting at passing cars. The smells went by, too. Mainly diesel and urine. Sometimes it seemed like there wasn’t a single piece of Paris that someone hadn’t peed on.

Little broke the silence. “What are you going to this place for?”

“A walk.”

“You better not be planning to leave Paris. And I mean it.”

“Nope. We’re going for a walk.”

“Why?”

“None of your business,” said Sidney. “Just drop us off on the corner and you two can go get a late lunch.”

“We’re not going to get lunch. We’re going to watch you two.”

“We could,” Large said, “I’m famished.”

“How can you think of eating at a time like this?”

“A time like what? It’s almost—”

“Stop!” said Sidney, thumping her hand on the dashboard.

Little jumped on the brakes and dived for the curb, ending up parked at an angle, poking out into the traffic. “What the hell?”

Sidney unbuckled her belt. “We’re close enough.” In a moment she was out of the car and holding the door open for Piers. He ignored it and pushed himself over the folding roof and out the rear of the car.

A delivery van behind them honked its horn.

She slammed the door and leaned over the open roof. “Right. You two go and enjoy your meal, and we’ll see what we can find here.”

“Oh, no. We’re going to stay here, watching you.”

The delivery van honked longer.

Sidney tapped the side of the car. “Better get a move on. You’re blocking the road. See you in an hour.”

She walked off and the Fiat crept out into the traffic. As it went by, Large put his hand up to wave. Little yanked his arm back down.

Chapter 21

Piers could see the square in front of Gare de l’Est. The police were clearing up the yellow tape and paraphernalia of a crime scene, and a TV van was parked in one corner.

“Not that way,” he said.

“Really?” she said. “Your brilliance amazes me.”

He pulled out the tourist map and folded it to get Gare de l’Est and Notre Dame visible at the same time.

Sidney looked over his shoulder. “Where did he come from before he jumped in our taxi?”

“I don’t know. I was too busy having an argument with this other person who jumped in my”— he looked at her sideways—“our taxi.”

She punched him in the ribs. “I saw it before you. It was my taxi.”

“Oh, right, the old Paris taxi etiquette. I forgot. Either way, I think he must have approached the taxi from behind, otherwise we’d have seen him running toward us.”

She pointed to the map. “If he was driving, the best route would be along Strasbourg, Pont Au Change, Saint Michael, then a right turn over to Montparnasse station. Easy, if the traffic’s not bad, which it always is, so he’d probably use the side roads.”

He looked along the route. “That’s a lot of roads.”

“What color was the car?” Sidney said.

Piers flipped through the sales receipt. “Blue.”

She grabbed the paper. “Is that all it says: blue?”

She studied it for a moment and shoved it back into Piers’ hands. “Must have been written by a man.”

Within a minute, Piers spotted a blue Renault 5. He ran to it. It looked old, but in good condition. There was no stripe, but it could have worn off. He cupped his hands around his face to look in through the windows. Empty fast food wrappers were everywhere and the ashtray was full.

“Can I help you?” said a voice behind him.

Piers spun around. “I’m, er, we’re looking for a friend’s Renault 5.”

A well-dressed man sneered at Piers. “Really. Well, this isn’t it. Get lost.”

“We are looking—” Piers said.

Sidney dragged him away by the elbow. “Don’t make a scene.”

Piers freed himself from Sidney’s grip. “Don’t make a scene? You’re a good one to say that.”

The man got into the Renault and pulled out to a chorus of car horns. Piers watched the car disappear in the traffic.

Sidney shook him back to the real world. “We need to find the painting. We have to focus now.”

“Wow. Suddenly, you’re all business.”

“What’s that supposed to mean? I thought you were the one who wanted to take this more seriously.”

“I do.”

“Then get walking and start looking.”

Piers took a deep breath and let his nerves calm. She was right. One minute he was the one focused on the painting, the next it was her.

For the next two hours, they walked along the alleys and side streets checking