Intrigue in Paris

By Vee Williams Garcia

Bluesette Blue Stills, a magazine editor from Washington, DC, arrives at her sassy jazz singer friend Nareen Andersons apartment in Paris, France, ready to start her vacation. But shock and disappointment grip her when Nareen acts strange and suddenly vanishes! Blue enlists the help of another friend in Paris, Eddie Proctor, a tour guide. Eddie sticks with Blue through a police investigation into Nareens disappearance; while keeping his tour groups on schedule. With Nareens disappearance and the adventures of Eddies tour groups, Blue and Eddie are caught up in tension, romance, crime and passion on both sides of the Seine River.

Improvising their way through surprising and dangerous situations, the characters in INTRIGUE IN PARIS drive this story steadily towards an exciting resolution.

• Language: English
• Publisher: iUniverse
• Release date: Feb 6, 2012
• ISBN: 9781469746319

Vee Williams Garcia

Native Washingtonian Vee Williams Garcia majored in English and Literature at UDC, and USF in Tampa, where she was married to the late musician Robert M. Garcia and resided for many years. Garcia read from her poetry collections and novels in various states and in Paris, France.

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Intrigue in Paris

A Novel

Vee Williams Garcia

iUniverse, Inc.

Bloomington

Intrigue in Paris

A Novel

Copyright © 2012 by Vee Williams Garcia

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced by any means, graphic, electronic, or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, taping or by any information storage retrieval system without the written permission of the publisher except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

This is a work of fiction. All of the characters, names, incidents, organizations, and dialogue in this novel are either the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.

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ISBN: 978-1-4697-4630-2 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-4697-4631-9 (e)

Printed in the United States of America

iUniverse rev. date: 1/25/2012

Contents

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty-One

Chapter Twenty-Two

Chapter Twenty-Three

Chapter Twenty-Four

Chapter Twenty-Five

Chapter Twenty-Six

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Chapter Twenty-Eight

Chapter Twenty-Nine

Chapter Thirty

Other Books By Vee W. Garcia

NOVELS:

The Jazz Flower

Forbidden Circles

Whatever It Takes

NON-FICTION:

From Drums to Harp

The rhythm of life

Is a jazz rhythm.

Langston Hughes

Chapter One

July 2007

Paris, France

A taxi rolling along the rue Toray slowed and stopped near the curb in front of a gated courtyard. Bluesette Blue Stills paid the driver and stepped from the vehicle onto wet pavement. She stood tall, breathing in warm humid air while the driver pulled her luggage from the trunk and placed it on the sidewalk. Bluesette glanced at the dingy white sky and frowned. Well, whatever. It can’t rain every day I’m in Paris. She grabbed her luggage and moved close to the courtyard’s wrought iron gate.

The taxi driver steered away from the curb, drove down the street of shops, galleries and residences and turned, disappearing onto the boulevard Saint-Germain.

Bluesette pressed a button on the gate, releasing the lock. As she entered the courtyard, she tightened her golden brown fingers around the handle of her wheeled suitcase and pulled it along as she walked. The click-click-clacking of her luggage rolling across cobblestones sounded extra loud in that eight-thirty, Sunday morning environment. Bluesette was glad no one seemed to be looking out the windows of the three apartment buildings just ahead to find out who was making the noise. Greenery climbing the buildings’ walls and clinging to their window ledges gave them a quaint appearance. Once she reached the center building, Bluesette punched in the code her friend had given her during their recent phone talk. Inside the building, she climbed worn marble stairs to the second floor and knocked on the door to her right. No answer. She knocked again, harder.

All right, all right, I’m coming! A husky voice roared from inside the unit. The door swung open. A mahogany-colored woman with light green bloodshot eyes, her open robe revealing lacy underwear demanded What! Whadaya want?

The woman, who apparently did not recognize Bluesette, stood with one hand against the door frame and the other planted on her hip, blocking Bluesette’s entry.

Can’t you see it’s me, fool? Bluesette declared, half laughing. A flash of irritation then cut through her pseudo laughter as she glared at her friend. Let me in!

Nareen flinched and moved aside, dazed and swaying.

Grimacing at Nareen’s behavior, Bluesette stepped inside the apartment, onto the hardwood floor, pulling her luggage with her.

Blue? Nareen asked, trying to focus. She began calling Bluesette Blue when they were in elementary school together in Washington, DC. And their classmates followed suit.

Glassy-eyed, Nareen blinked. Oh yeah, Blue! Come on in girl, she said, as if Blue were an acquaintance who had only walked from the boulevard Saint-Germain to visit for a few minutes, and not her longtime friend who had flown across the Atlantic to stay with her during vacation from a stressful job as a magazine editor in Washington, DC.

"I’m in, Blue said in a cutting tone. You can close the door now." She had not expected to be having this crazy interaction and dialogue with Nareen, whom she had not seen in person for a few years. She had thought that at this moment they would be smiling, embracing and spouting bubbly words about how good it was to see each other again after such a long time.

Feeling let down, Blue pulled her tote bag from her shoulder and lowered it to the floor. She sank into a nearby upholstered chair. Irritated by unruly strands of brown hair touching her face, Blue pulled all her hair back with both hands for a few seconds, and then released it to fall forward and hang naturally just above her shoulders. In the apartment’s air-conditioning, she was comfortable in her beige blouse, jeans, and cork-colored sandals.

A glance around the room showed her Nareen was just as untidy as she’d always been before relocating to Paris. But Blue said nothing to Nareen about the condition of the place. After all, courtesy of Nareen she was not going to have any hotel expense for this trip. Blue felt compelled, however, to say something about another issue.

I would think you’d have a better hello for me, she said, glaring at Nareen with indignation in her voice. "It has been a long time since we’ve seen each other."

Well, what can I tell you, Nareen said, slurring her words but seeming a little more conscious of what was going on. I’m just not feelin’ that hugging thing right now. Her robe was still open as she slithered to a lamp table and picked up a cigarette package and a lighter. She lit a cigarette, took a long draw from it, held her breath for a couple of seconds; and then exhaled, blasting a line of smoke that irritated Blue’s eyes and nose a little on its way to infiltrating the room.

Nareen sat down in an armless chair, stretched out her legs, flexed her toes and relaxed her bare feet. She looked at Blue. Still looking like new money, I see, she said, holding her cigarette casually between her fingers.

That’s what a regular paycheck… or maybe even a sugar daddy will do for you, Blue quipped.

Which one have you got? Nareen asked in a sarcastic tone. Or have you got both now?

Just a pay check, darling, Blue said. I’m too independent to have a sugar daddy. I’d rather save my money to get what I want, instead of letting some guy I don’t love or even like be a sugar daddy to me. Everything costs. Having a sugar daddy costs too much as far as I’m concerned.

You just have to know how to work it, Nareen said.

Oh, you mean like you worked it with that French businessman you wrote me about—what was his name? Maurice?

Yeah, Maurice, Nareen said.

Okay. So you mean like you worked it with Maurice who brought you into this apartment and let you stay, even after he left your behind?

Yeah, I mean like that, Nareen said, looking and sounding arrogant. But just so you know… I’m paying my own rent now. That is… with a little help from various friends and fans—male and female. With a flippant laugh, she left it to Blue to process that last remark as she wished.

Hmpf, Blue muttered. Yeah, well, you know me; I just can’t take that kind of hassle.

Hassle is relative, baby. Nareen said. A nine-to-five job would be a hassle for me. She lifted a glass of liquor from the lamp table beside her, gulped some of it, and then took a drag from her cigarette, holding the smoke in for a long moment before letting it go.

Look, Blue… Do what you have to do to get settled in, right? She put out her cigarette stub in an ash tray. There’s a spare key on the dresser in the bedroom. You can go and come like you want. You don’t need me to be with you every minute. And you really don’t need me to help you navigate your way around Paris. I know you’ve never been to this apartment before, but it’s not like you’ve never been to Paris. You know what I’m saying?