Picking Up The Pieces

Chapter 7

As we drew closer to the city, the road widened and traffic was heavier. I closed the Bible and placed it back in my tote as we crossed over the Loire River. Shallow boats slid over its surface and a stiff breeze flicked the water into ruffled peaks. The sky had clouded over and now threatened rain. Flags snapped along the ramparts of the bridge as we rolled into the old centre of the city. My pulse quickened.

Marcel slowed the truck as we edged through traffic and merged left to turn onto a one-way street then passed through another intersection and found the Central Hotel. The building stood back from the street on a semi-circular drive, attractively lined with flowering shrubs on either side of the glassed main entrance.  Over the portico, three flags flew against an imposing, white façade. Marcel pulled in against the curb down the street from the hotel entrance and switched off the ignition.

“Okay,” he said, hopping out. I grabbed my handbag and jumped out, too. We could just see the entrance to the hotel through the shrubs lining the street and were about to set off when we saw the black sedan manoeuvre onto the circular drive. Claire and her companion leapt out of the car, slammed the doors, and ran to the hotel entrance.

“Marcel, look,” I whispered, grabbing his sleeve.

Crouching low, we both took off toward the hotel. Even if Claire got to Dr. Diederich first, she was not going to get away with snatching this stone from under my nose. It belonged to my uncle and I meant to get it. From behind the shrubs, we peered through the glass entrance and watched the two disappear into the elevator. When the doors slid closed, I yanked the front door open and ran to the front desk.

“Dr. Diederich,” I demanded. The desk clerk, balding and middle-aged man, eyed me impassively.

“Chambre 312,” he replied, “le troisieme étage.”

“Third floor,” I said. “Let’s go, Marcel.”

“Wait!” Marcel pulled me away from the counter and into a seating area where tall windows looked out on a pretty garden. “We need a plan.”

We deduced that Claire probably believed she had lost me, since she would assume I did not know the pick-up location in Tours. Marcel and I agreed to let Claire meet with Dr. Diederich upstairs, then when she came back down the elevator with the stone we would make our move. A pair of potted palms stood on either side of the elevator doors. I felt like I was acting in a two-bit detective show as Marcel and I concealed ourselves behind the foliage and waited. I hefted my tote bag over my shoulder. Inside it were Neil’s Bible, an apple, my journal, the stone artifact, a language dictionary, plus a makeup bag and a wallet heavy with French coins. In a few minutes, the numbers above the elevator indicated its descent. My pulse began to race and I flung a quick, silent prayer to God, “Please help me make this count.”

The elevators doors jerked open. Through the palm fronds I could see Marcel crouched and ready to spring.

Claire exited first, looking over her shoulder at her companion. She was laughing. Smug cow, I thought. You’re in for a surprise. As the doors of the elevator closed and the two strode into the lobby, Marcel lunged. With one swift blow, he lambasted Claire’s companion across the back of the head. The man sprawled into a small table and metal chairs in the breakfast area, sending the furniture flying, and landed with a thud, face down on the tile floor.

Claire let out a little shriek and spun around. On her face, a look of recognition then shock was followed by pure loathing. She whirled and headed for the door but before she could take two steps, I swung my tote bag over my shoulder. My bag struck her squarely on the side of her head. She screeched and staggered sideways, dropping her purse. When it hit the floor, the clasp popped open and out rolled a little stone wrapped loosely in tissue. Claire wobbled onto one knee and tried to push herself back to her feet, grabbing for the stone.

“Oh, no you don’t,” I snarled. Planting my foot squarely on her rump, I shoved with all my might. She collapsed on the floor. Marcel grabbed a nearby armchair and placed it on top of her, pinning her down. While I scooped up the stone, he leapt over Claire’s legs and ran for the door. I heard Claire’s companion moan as I clutched the stone in my fist and raced after Marcel.

A light rain had started, dampening the pavement. By the time I yanked the truck door open and threw myself up into the high seat, Marcel had already started the engine. He rammed the gearshift, jerked the steering wheel, and we surged into the traffic, barrelling down the busy street. As we rounded the corner, I stole a look back toward the hotel. I saw Claire run outside and her friend stumble after her holding his head. I grinned as she stomped her feet. Shaking her fists, she screamed at her companion, her face turning an unhealthy shade of purple. Then she smacked him on the shoulder and ran for the car door. He lurched for the passenger door and jumped in just before she spun out of the concrete driveway and turned our way.

Marcel cranked the wheel, taking the next right turn, and the truck swayed to a stop behind a girl on a yellow scooter. Leaning to my right, I stared into the rear-view mirror and watched for the black sedan. In a moment, the traffic began to move and the truck ground forward. On the street behind us, I saw the black sedan roar straight past the corner and disappear. Marcel saw it too.

“They didn’t turn,” I said, glancing over at him.

“Okay,” he replied, flashing a wide grin at me as he stomped on the gas pedal. “No problem.”         

Picking up the Pieces is available for sale in print book and Kindle from Amazon and e-book in numerous other places and formats.