The Bookseller Read Online Free Page B

or beer at their favorite dive, Chez Maman, but it wasn't close to the tip of his tongue, and he felt a little ashamed about that. Instead, he dialed the police prefecture and asked for Detective Durand. Three dead-ends later, a man's voice came on the line.
    â€œMonsieur, you are looking for David Durand?”
    â€œ Oui .”
    â€œ Alors , he is not available. Can someone else help you?”
    â€œIs he on duty and not available, or gone-home-for-the-day not available?”
    The voice hesitated. “I'm not sure. Unavailable is all I know. Would you like to leave your name and number?”
    â€œThat depends,” Hugo said tautly. “When will he get the message?”
    â€œI can't say for sure. When he is available, I suppose. I know he works on Sundays.”
    Hugo hung up the phone, swore under his breath, and thought about calling his boss, the ambassador. But he had no real reason to pull strings, not yet at least. As far as he knew, Durand was out searching for Max, directing a manhunt on both sides of the Seine. But when he pictured the lethargic detective, he couldn't help but doubt it.
    Instead, he perched on the bed and took a calming breath. He was not used to being shut out of an investigation, either by intent or through bureaucracy, and it was especially frustrating when his friend was the one who needed help, who needed very badly to be rescued—and soon. He looked at the phone. If he couldn't help Max, he thought, then maybe he could do something positive about the situation with Christine.
    He picked up the phone and dialed. When her cell phone sent him to voicemail, for the second time that day, he tried her home number.
    A man answered. “Hello?”
    â€œMay I speak with Christine, please?”
    â€œCertainly.” The familiar voice paused. “Is this Hugo?”
    â€œThat's Mr. Marston to you, doc.”
    â€œLook, I'm glad you called. I never had a chance to explain—”
    â€œThere's nothing to explain,” Hugo interrupted. “You had an affair with a married woman who also happened to be your patient. And my wife. Now hand her the phone because there's nothing you have to say that I want to hear, and anything I have to say will be uncivil.”
    A moment later, Christine came on the line. “Hugo?”
    â€œHowdy. So is the good doctor a permanent resident now?”
    â€œI'm a divorced woman, remember. You don't have the moral high ground anymore.”
    â€œFunny thing, Christine. Even when I had the moral high ground, you were the one who acted outraged.” He took a breath. “I'm sorry, I didn't call to argue with you.”
    â€œGood, I don't want that either. Your message said something about coming over.”
    â€œYes, but I can't now. Something's come up.”
    A moment's silence. “Well, there's a surprise.”
    â€œTake it easy, Chrissy, it's not my fault.”
    â€œIt never is.” She sounded weary now. “That's just how it works in your world.”
    â€œAnd yet still you blame me.”
    â€œYou chose that world, not me.”
    â€œI don't want to rehash old arguments, Chrissy, I'd just like to be able to come over and talk to you. If this…situation gets sorted out.”
    â€œHugo, no. I'm sorry, I really am. But…I've moved on.”
    â€œMoved on? I suppose I shouldn't blame you for that.”
    â€œThank you.” He could hear the sadness in her voice, but tempered by a smile. “You always were insufferably understanding.”
    â€œThanks, but I'd like to know if there's any chance of you moving back.”
    â€œNo, there isn't.”
    â€œYou're not even willing to talk about it?”
    â€œNo, Hugo. I really have moved on, so there's nothing left to talk about. I'm sorry.”
    He thought, for a few seconds, about pushing harder, but he knew her well enough to take her at her word. “Well, you can't blame me for trying,” he said.