Cut her gaze. Refrained from sharing her thoughts, though she was certain her expression spoke volumes. To Pippa’s left, Arjun grinned, then produced a slender blade to begin sharpening the point of his graphite pencil.
The snick, snick, snick of metal against wood was as comforting as it was infuriating.
“Were you able to rest at all, Miss Rousseau?” Detective Grimaldi asked Celine directly.
She inhaled through her nose. “It’s kind of you to ask after me, Detective Grimaldi. I slept as well as can be expected.”
Placing his tweed fore-and-aft cap on the desk, the detective leaned back in his wooden chair. “Then I suppose you did not sleep well at all.”
“I’m not certain how to respond to that, sir. Are you making an indirect inquiry as to whether I slept as a guilty person would? If so, you must know . . . it won’t work.”
The snick of the knife against the pencil ceased midstroke.
Michael Grimaldi arched a brow. “You share your thoughts quite candidly, Miss Rousseau.”
Celine considered baring her teeth in a fierce smile. The cursed wretch was deliberately trying to provoke her. Again. She smoothed her skirt, locking her attention on a faint green stain along its hem. “I suppose you’d prefer if I kept my thoughts to myself.”
“No. I appreciate your candor. I hope you continue sharing it with me.”
In response, Celine said nothing.
Utterly unruffled, Detective Grimaldi turned to Pippa. “A good night’s rest is something I value highly. As the first of five children, it was a luxury we could ill afford when I was a boy. How many siblings do you have, Miss Montrose?”
Pippa startled at his question. “How do you know I have siblings?”
“A simple deduction. The inner sleeve of your dress is worn through. The color is no longer fashionable, though it was made for a young woman not too long ago, suggesting it didn’t belong to your mother.” He peered at her intently. “Stands to reason you’re not an only child.”
Outrage caught in Celine’s throat the instant Pippa’s face flushed crimson. Celine opened her mouth to rebuke the detective, but caught herself, looking to Arjun for guidance.
Their attorney finished sharpening his pencil. He rested his monocle atop his right eye and cracked open his small, leather-bound notebook. Without a word, he started writing in it, the scratch of graphite to paper the whole of his contribution to their inquiry.
Infuriating man, Celine thought.
“The dress was given to me by my cousin,” Pippa replied, her voice clear. Guileless. “And I’m also the eldest in my family.”
“Of how many?” Detective Grimaldi asked as if they were sipping afternoon tea at Claridge’s.
“Three. I have a brother and a sister.”
He considered her for a moment. “You must have been an excellent role model for them. Undoubtedly far better than I.”
Pippa looked away. Swallowed. “I did my best, Detective Grimaldi.”
“You don’t feel comfortable being candid in my presence, Miss Montrose?” A furrow marred his forehead.
It was . . . unexpected of him to accuse Pippa of being dis-ingenuous.
“I am being forthcoming,” Pippa said.
“Would it help if I told you I don’t harbor any suspicions toward you, Miss Montrose?”
Pippa took a careful breath. “It would help, most definitely.” She bit her lower lip. “But that must mean you don’t have suspicions about Celine either, since we were together the whole time.”
Arjun glanced up from his notebook.
The detective inclined his head, his colorless eyes unblinking. “Are you quite certain you were in Miss Rousseau’s presence for the entirety of the evening?”
Celine’s heart thrashed about her chest like a caged bird.
He’d trapped Pippa in a lie. So easily.
Pippa paled. “I . . .” She glanced at Arjun, who continued scribbling in his notebook, offering her not a single word of advice. “There was a brief time in which I left her side. But it could not have been for more than fifteen minutes,” she finished in a hurry.
“During that time”—Detective Grimaldi looked to Celine—“did you interact with anyone else, Miss Rousseau?”
Celine didn’t even bother glancing toward Arjun for cues. It was clear Detective Grimaldi already knew the answers to the questions he was asking. He was trying to trip them. To muddy the waters. To what end, Celine could only hazard a guess.
“I believe you know that answer already,” Celine said primly.
Nevertheless he waited for her response.
With a small sigh, she continued. “During that time, I shared a brief conversation with the owner of the establishment.”
“Mr. Saint Germain.”
Celine nodded.
“And was he present throughout the entirety of your visit to Jacques’?”