A Million Different Ways (Horn Duet 1)

“Vera, you’re bleeding!” Mrs. Arnaud ran over with a paper towel and wrapped it around my finger, keeping pressure on it.

The police. Would they ask for papers? I immediately broke out in a nervous sweat.

“They only want to ask about the events this morning. There’s nothing for you to worry about. Mr. Horn and Mr. Winters are in the living room with them,” Mr. Bentifourt reassured in a sympathetic tone. Another surprise. He was rarely sympathetic…or reassuring.

A warm and comforting hand squeezed my shoulder. “Go chérie, Mr. Horn won’t let anything happen,” Mrs. Arnaud said in a super gentle voice.

I went to the sink and washed my hands, using the time to pull myself together. I could feel my heart pounding in my throat and it wouldn’t be wise to meet them with a guilty expression that could be read from across the room.

When I reached the door, I took a deep, calming breath and knocked. Once inside though, I went rigid under the intense scrutiny of four men. My eyes promptly searched for Sebastian. He was sitting in a stuffed chair, slouched casually. The warmth and encouragement in his gaze released a subtle tension I was unaware I was holding in my solar plexus.

Two men sat on the couch opposite him. One of them was young and hard looking, the other, middle aged and thick around the belly. The young one sat on the edge of the couch full of alert energy. The older one kept stuffing his face with Mrs. Arnaud’s freshly baked madeleines and licking his fingers.

“Vera, inspectors Duebel and Tribolet need to ask you a couple of questions about this morning.” My eyes lifted to the sound of the deep voice. Mr. Winters stood close to the window with his arms crossed over his wide chest. “It’ll only take a minute.” I walked to the empty chair next to Sebastian gripped by an overwhelming urge to touch him. For once, I needed the reassurance.

“Please have a seat, mademoiselle,” said the older inspector without looking at me. He reached for another cake with his fingers dangling over them, his attention entirely absorbed by the selection process. He was either incredibly sly or incredibly stupid. I wasn’t taking any chances so I sat perfectly still, perched on the edge of my seat with my hands in my lap, trying to remain as inconspicuous as possible.

“My name is Duebel,” he informed me. Crumbs spilled from a mouth that reminded me of a carp’s. “My associate here is Tribolet.” He waved a crumb covered hand in the general direction of the man next to him. Then he brushed them together, dropping crumbs on the antique Aubusson rug under our feet. My eyes fell on those crumbs and narrowed.

In the periphery of my vision, Sebastian forced down a smile. When I looked up, I found inspecteur Tribolet inspecting me with pointed interest and felt, rather than saw, Sebastian stiffen.

“Let’s move this along, shall we.” His brusque tone earned the attention of both the inspectors, his intense focus now completely trained on the younger man.

“Yes, of course, Mr. Horn,” said Deubel. “Mademoiselle, you were accompanying Mr. Horn on an errand through the woods on the north side of the estate? Correct?”

“Yes.”

“And on the way back, about––” He checked his notes. “130 meters from the house, you heard a loud sound, a crack?”

“Yes.”

“What happened next?”

“Mr. Horn pushed me to the ground. I had no idea what had happened at first––then I saw the blood on his bicep. I quickly inspected the wound and only then realized that he had been shot. I took off his shirt and secured it around his arm to stop the bleeding.”

“You were able to ascertain that you were no longer in immediate danger?”

“Not at all, sir. I guess that was ignorance on my part. I thought it might have been a stray bullet.”

“And then you walked back to the house? You heard nothing else?” he asked in an insipid tone.

“Correct, sir.”

“Your last name, mademoiselle? For my records,” Tribolet cut in.

“I think you have enough for your records, inspectors. Mr. Winters will show you out. Please keep him apprised of any developments,” he announced in his usual ‘heir-to-the-throne and I own you’ voice.

Tribolet didn’t take too kindly to it; his eyes narrowed and the side of his mouth curved up slightly in a creepy grin. Deubel gave Tribolet a quieting glance and motioned towards the door––thank heavens, before the bulls locked horns. Both men stood and proceeded to walk out with Mr. Winters bringing up the rear. Before exiting, however, they paused in the doorway.

“Thank you, Mr. Horn. May I call if I have any more questions?” Tribolet asked, his tone bordering on mockery.

There was an explicitly tense moment of silence as Sebastian’s glare warned Tribolet to heel. “Of course, inspector. I’ll help any way I can.” The touch of something sinister in the smile that followed gave me goose bumps. I never saw this side of him.