Murder in the Sentier

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AIMÉE LEDUC OPENED THE tall windows of her apartment overlooking the Seine, which bordered the tree-lined quai. She inhaled the scent of flowering lime. Despite the humidity she was glad to be home.

She knew it was time to let the past go. The hard part was doing it.

She sank into the Louis XV sofa, ruffled her short, spiky hair, and reached for her laptop. Time to concentrate on Leduc Detective’s computer security contracts. Rent loomed. So did other bills.

Her phone rang. “Allô?” she answered irritably.

“Aimée Leduc?” a woman’s voice asked.

“Who is it?”

A pause. “Daughter of Jean-Claude and Sydney Leduc?”

Aimée lost her grip on the phone. No one had referred to her that way in years. She recovered and put the phone to her ear again.

“You were looking for information about your father?” the woman’s heavily German-accented voice asked.

Had word of her inquiries reached the right person … at last?

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