She rolled over and sat there, ignoring the people asking if they could help her. Too readily. As if he was making a getaway. As if he had something to hide.

The necklace.

But what else could she remember about him? Nothing, except . . . the mask. The black mask with the gold accents. Likely, part of the huge costume department at Versailles.

She let out a shaky breath. Maybe she’d never know who killed Claude Lachance, but now, light was falling on the identity of the jewel thief. Yes, that could be it. That could definitely be it.

Diana jumped to her feet just as the bald man broke through the crowd and extended his hand to help her up. “Bonsoir,” he said to her, in what had to have been his deepest, most charming voice.

“Thanks for the drink,” she said hurriedly, already pushing through the crowd. “Maybe we’ll meet again. But right now, I have somewhere to be.”

And without waiting for his response, she pushed her way out of the café and into the warm summer night.

CHAPTER TWENTY FIVE

Diana barely slept at all that night. Too many things were going through her mind.

Last night, she’d wanted to rush right over to Versailles and see if her suspicions were correct. Unfortunately, when she arrived at the hotel, the shuttle bus driver was off-duty, and then concierge told her that Versailles had closed at 8:30 p.m. Paris, unlike New York, was a city that slept. So she’d gone up to her room, ordered a salad via room service, and wolfed it down quickly as she plotted her answer-finding itinerary for the following day.

That was why, at precisely seven-thirty in the morning, she was dressed and downstairs in the lobby, ready to be the first stop on the shuttle driver’s list. As she walked through the reception area, the concierge waved to her. “Mme St. James? A package arrived for you.”

“Oh?” she asked, at first thinking that it might be a gift from someone. But as the concierge pulled out a flat envelope, Diana’s spirits fell. Oh, right. The divorce papers from Evan. “Keep them there, for me, please? I’ll get them later.”

She rushed outside. When she got to the shuttle station, he wasn’t there, so she kept checking her phone and tapping her foot until he arrived.

It was the same driver as the day before. She climbed into the shuttle, he looked back at her. “Let me guess. Versailles?”

“Oui,” she said.

“I should warn you, it’s not open for tours for another couple of hours . . . but I get the feeling that’s not why you’re going there.”

She nodded distractedly, checking her itinerary for the day and scratching out just about everything on it for the morning. Maybe, if she was lucky, she could make it back in time to visit Notre Dame. “Yes, I need to speak to the concierge.”

“Still looking for that wrap of yours?” he asked, scratching his fleshy chin as he pulled out from the curb into the early morning traffic.