“BONJOUR.” AIMÉE SMILED at the stocky man puffing on a hookah in the reception cubicle in the hotel around the corner from the luggage store. “You’re Aram?” He nodded and inhaled, the water bubbling. He exhaled a long plume of smoke, scrutinizing her with his close-set brown eyes through the haze. Fruit notes laced the thick tobacco aroma. Not unpleasant, but it would cling to her skin, her clothes. Aram smiled back, his teeth gleaming. “May I help you, Mademoiselle?” About five-foot-eight. Brown, wavy hair; a sparse beard and thick jowls. Familiar, but from where? “He’s expensive, your dentiste?” “Not when his cousin eats my couscous every night on his security guard break.” Her ears perked up. Nice gig. “And that’s where?” Aram scratched his beard. “Vous êtes du type curieux, non? Lots of your kind sniffing around here.” She threw up her hands. “Can’t hide anything from you, Aram.” She pushed her détective privé card across the gouged counter.
What do You think about Murder At The Lanterne Rouge?
