The Paris Secret by Angela Henry Read Free Book Online

I really wanted to see it.” Jarrod gestured toward the very center of the courtyard, which was obscured by scaffolding. I caught a glimpse of black-and-white marble tiles.
    “Me too,” I commiserated as we hurried to catch up with Brian, who was headed past the long lines.
    For the next two hours we toured the palace and I snapped picture after picture of gaudy fabulousness. Practically everything at Versailles was covered in gold. Even the ceilings were decorated with elaborate frescos framed in twenty-four-karat gold. I took a picture of Brian and Jarrod in the newly renovated Hall of Mirrors. They took one of me in Marie Antoinette’s floral-and-gold bedroom by the railing in front of an ornate feather-and-fringe-canopied bed. It was the bed in which she publicly gave birth to all of her children. By the time we emerged from the palace and headed into the ornamental gardens, it was early afternoon. Brian was pale and breathless. Jarrod guided him to a stone bench to rest and catch his breath.
    “Is he okay?”
    “He’s got a heart condition. He couldn’t sleep last night with all the excitement at the hotel and now all this walking we’ve done has wiped him out. I should really get him back to the hotel.” Jarrod rubbed Brian’s back. Brian didn’t protest.
    “No…you stay here…Maya,” said Brian between breaths when I started to follow them. “We can come back another day.”
    “Yeah, don’t worry about us. You stay and enjoy yourself. Don’t forget to see the Petit Trianon. We can meet up later for dinner.”
    “Okay, here’s my cell number.” I quickly scribbled my number on a napkin from my bag and thrust it into Jarrod’s hand. “Call me and let me know when you want to meet.” They left and I felt both concerned and relieved. I wasn’t ready to leave. Since ditching the cop, I was finally starting to enjoy my trip.
    After the over-the-top grandeur of the palace, the natural beauty of the gardens was a welcome change. I was heading down the garden steps to Versailles’s two largest and most famous fountains—the tiered Latona fountain, depicting titaness Latona and her children, Diana and Apollo, and the Apollo fountain, featuring the bronze god Apollo rising from the water, being pulled by horses—when my camera died.
    I looked around for a place to put in the extra batteries I had packed. The few stone benches in the garden were taken. I went past the statues lining the walkway to the Apollo fountain and noticed an entrance to the garden hedge maze. Hoping there might be someplace to sit in the maze, I ducked inside. It was cooler and quieter there. Nobody else was in sight. I didn’t have to walk far before coming upon an open gate, through which I could see a pond.
    In the very center of the pond was a large golden statue of a man struggling to free himself from the pile of black rocks. One golden, muscled arm reached out toward me. He was holding something in his hand that I couldn’t make out. A quick peek at the brochure I picked up inside the palace identified it as the Encelade Fountain depicting the fall of the Titans.
    Something sailed over my head and landed with a loud splash in the pond. I jumped and bumped into someone.
    “I’m so sorry—” I began before I saw it was the cop from the train. My blood started to boil. He dropped the large pebbles he’d been holding.
    “Look, you can follow me around all you want but you’re wasting your time. I didn’t kill Juliet Rice and I don’t know what happened to the damned corkscrew. So you can tell Bernier and Bellange to kiss my ass.”
    “Where’s the crucifix, Ms. Sinclair?” he asked, shocking me more by the fact that he was American than the fact that he knew my name.
    “You’re American? I thought you were with the French police.”
    “I’m not going to ask you again.” There was an edge to his voice that made me uneasy. I hadn’t realized just how isolated the spot we were in was until that moment.
    I