Page 10 of French Escapade

Ken

“Thank you, you’re saving our behinds.”

Élodie tilts her head and frowns, looking at Jimmy. And then her eyes sparkle and she smiles at him. “I’m saving yourasses,” she says. “It’s your ass, not your behind.”

Jimmy laughs. “I always get in trouble when I try to use idiomatic expressions. So much for wanting to impress you.”

“Oh, but I am impressed,” she confesses. “If my English was half as good as your French, I would be delighted.”

I take advantage of the fact we’ve relaxed a bit to observe Élodie Cossa. I’m not sure what to think about her. My first reaction is positive; a woman doesn’t join the crime division if she’s not good.

But then again, I also have this stupid, macho suspicion because she’s so pretty. I’ve seen too many lovely idiots promoted way past their level of competency because someone wanted to get into their pants. But the more I observe her, the less I think she’s the type.

No. Her direct answers, her way of looking us straight in the eyes … I would say that she climbed up the ladder all by herself.

“This Arkady guy, do you know what he looks like?” she asks us.

I’m shaking my head when Jimmy answers, “Not precisely, but we do have some interesting pictures…”

What the heck is he talking about?

“He sees my look and explains. On Miranda’s Insta.” He looks at Élodie and adds, “Miranda is Madison’s BFF.”

“BFF is—”

With sparkling eyes, Élodie cuts me short and finishes my sentence. “Best friend forever.”

Her French accent is so cute.

“So you speak teenager fluently,” Jimmy teases her, before getting back to business.

As pictures appear on his screen, I ask him, “When did you get an Insta account?”

“I don’t, but Miranda’s dad sent me her codes,” he explains.

“This is great. We’re going to be able to check her feed and access her stories archives,” Élodie says.

I stare at Jimmy and Élodie and feel ancient.

“You have an Insta?” he asks her, using the Frenchtuinstead of the more respectfulvous.

“No worries, tuis good,” she tells him after looking in my direction, as if asking for my approval.

I nod. It’s simpler for everyone.

“The service has an account we use for surveillance of various activities, that’s how I learned how it works,” she explains as if apologizing for being up to date on 21st-century technology.

“Good, because I’m out of my depth.”

“No big deal. By the time we become dads, kids will be using something else,” Jimmy mumbles with his nose on the screen. “Oh, here’s what I was looking for.”

He turns the phone around so Élodie can get a better look at the pictures.

“Those shots are two weeks old. That’s when the guys started their song and dance number on them. Those are restaurant pictures. Nice plates, right? Miranda took a picture of all the dishes they ordered and here, if you look close enough, you will see a hand of one of the two men.”

Élodie and I bend over to look closer. My sister’s delicate hand, recognizable by the infinity sign tattooed on her wrist, is trapped in a large and powerful hand, a man’s hand. Palm down, the man’s hand would be unremarkable if not for a huge ring.

“Do you mind?” Élodie asks, taking the phone in her hand without waiting for an answer.

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