The Red Brick Cellars: A Tolosa Mystery Read Online Free Page B

momentous if this had been true. “But you have to admit it’s a very…fantastic story. I can’t put it in print if I can’t double-check it anywhere.”
    The girl barked a throaty laughter. “Double-check! As if you people ever do that. You find something you like on the net and print it right up.”
    Catherine’s need to show goodwill toward her interviewee diminished. “Well, that’s how I do my job, Mademoiselle Diatta. There were no other witnesses there that night?”
    A perfectly manicured hand flicked an imaginary crumb from the table top. “Nobody who saw the woman before she turned to dust, no.”
    Abandoning that venue, Catherine asked, “Where exactly were the bodies?”
    The prostitute stood up and went to lean against one of the windowsills. “They were in the Galerue.” The covered walk was under the arcades facing the Capitole and had a great number of paintings on the ceiling, depicting various themes or persons important in Toulouse’s history. “They were underneath the painting of the two women. You know, almost at the center?”
    Catherine didn’t know exactly which painting that was, but nodded anyway. She’d check it out on her way home. She couldn’t think of anything else to ask, so she thanked the woman for her time and left. She hadn’t learned much, but no matter. With what she heard at the mayor’s wake, her article was sure to get attention. But first she had to convince her boss to print it.
    ***
    Catherine planted her feet next to her boss’s chair and folded her hands loosely in front of her. Mathieu Lambert was giving his heavily worn leather chair quite a challenge with his ex-rugby-player body. His gaze switched back and forth between the two screens on his desk before looking at Catherine over the rims of his black glasses, wordlessly asking her why she was bothering him.
    Catherine pointed at her boss’s screen and looked him straight in the eyes. “I just sent you an article by email. You’ll want to print that in tomorrow’s paper.”
    Mathieu pursed his lips, but made no move to open his emails. “Will I.”
    “I know you’re still angry with me”—Catherine folded her arms—“but I discovered something big on the mayor’s death. You really will want to print it.”
    He leaned back in his chair and pushed his glasses up his nose. “You wrote an article on the mayor?” he said so low it was almost a whisper.
    Catherine put her hands out in a placating gesture. “I didn’t set out to go against your orders, Mathieu. Really. But I came across information I couldn’t ignore.”
    “You went against my express orders by accident?” Mathieu’s eyes bored into Catherine. “Or were you forced? Was your French suddenly not good enough to simply give this information to Arnaud who is supposed to cover the mayor’s death?” His voice still low and calm, spots of color appeared on Mathieu’s cheeks and his nostrils flared.
    Catherine was certain the reason she hadn’t managed to make more headway in her career was her inability to communicate with her boss. They simply didn’t understand each other. She put some ice into her voice to remind him she was not without a temper of her own. “You would not expect any other journalist to give away a hot lead, no matter the case. Why should I?”
    “Because you are unfit to cover this subject.” The sharp riposte made Catherine flinch, but she made a conscious effort not to take a step back.
    Hands on hips, Catherine kept her voice calm. “I made one joke you blew out of all proportions—”
    “You said, ‘Rather extreme way to get out of campaign promises, don’t you think?’”
    “That was a joke!” Catherine drew a deep breath and counted to three. She didn’t have the patience to go all the way to ten. “His motto when getting elected was ‘Nothing can stop us.’ I commented that death had stopped him. It’s a play on words.” At first, she’d been so proud to manage a joke in French, but