“It can’t be. She’s kind to everyone,” Ali shook his head firmly. “In fact, she’s a good friend of Madame Perrault.”
“Even so, she might have seen something. We need to talk to her,” Spion insisted.
“Where is she now?” Trevor asked, trying not to sound too demanding.
“She’s in a private room on the second floor,” Ali explained. “Madame Perrault felt exhausted after meeting with the dignitaries and requested a place to rest. Snow is looking after her.”
“Can we talk to her right away?” Lady News asked, trying to ease the tension. “We promise we’ll be polite.”
Ali reached for his badge to call Snow, then paused. “No. We’ll go to the room together. Madame Perrault might not be asleep, and she may be able to tell us more.” Ali gestured toward the door with an open palm.
As they all left the office, Ali locked the door, leading them to the elevator for the second floor. He continued, “Snow and Madame Perrault are quite close. They usually discuss books and art. They’ve been friends for nearly two years now. Madame Perrault even invited Snow to her manor in southern Frank for her birthday three months ago. I hope Madame Perrault can convince you to drop the idea that Snow murdered her husband.”
None of the friends spoke. If Snow and Madame Perrault were truly friends, the situation was far more complicated than they first assumed.
The corridor on the second floor stretched endlessly, covered with a soft purple carpet and scented heavily with violets. Ali led them to the private suite where Madame Perrault was resting.
Ali knocked only twice. The dark ebony door opened, revealing Madame Perrault herself, dressed in a cream nightgown embroidered with the golden Dressrious flower on the breast.
“Ali? Did you bring my wine yourself?” Madame Perrault asked, surprised. Her expression turned to confusion when she noticed the group standing behind him, with no wine bottle in sight.
“Madame, is Snow here? We have a few urgent questions we need to ask her,” Ali said.
“I asked her to fetch me a wine. She should be back soon.” She eyed the group. “Come in, we can wait for her.” She walked back into the room, picked up her phone from the coffee table, quickly typed something, and put it back down.
Everyone filed into the room, seating themselves awkwardly on the white sheepskin sofas surrounding the coffee table.
“What exactly do you wish to know? It’s very late, and I hope it doesn’t concern my husband’s death. I truly need my rest,” Madame Perrault said in a surprisingly calm tone.
“Madame, I’m deeply sorry for your loss, but I need your help,” Trevor said, leaning forward. He quickly explained the impossible situation he faced with the FBI. “We think Snow might have seen something crucial. She could help clear me.”
Madame Perrault looked at him, sighed, and then said peacefully, “There is no need to bother Snow. She knows nothing.” She paused, her eyes growing distant. “I did it. I poisoned my husband. Because he was a monster.”
A stunned silence filled the room. The air was thick with sudden, terrifying tension.
“He was a monster, a bastard,” she continued, her voice hardening. “I know he had affairs with countless women. He promised me he would change, but he never did. I told him I wanted a divorce last month, and in return, he beat me.” She rolled up the hem of her nightgown, revealing bruises—black and blue—on her legs. “My back, too.” Tears welled up in her eyes.
“That bastard!” Report Man whispered, his voice full of anger. The others shared the same fury.
Lady News immediately moved to sit beside her, taking her hand. “I’m so sorry.”
“He didn’t want a divorce because he relied on me and my family’s diplomatic connections. He was utterly incompetent; he was only Ambassador because he is Queen Cinderella’s nephew. And his family never helped Queen Cinderella when she lost her father and lived miserably with her stepmother and stepsisters. They only came calling when she married the crown. He has no real access to the Queen privately. So he refused the divorce. And, truthfully, I couldn’t afford a divorce either. It would be social suicide for a noblewoman. My son is only twelve, a sensitive age. It would bring him shame. Killing him was the only way to relieve me from that tragic marriage.” Her voice shook violently, a wet, rattling sound that gave way to a ragged sob.
“Madame,” Trevor stammered, completely speechless. He felt sympathy for Madame Perrault, yet something about her confession struck him as strange.
Madame Perrault took the tissue from Lady News, quickly dried her face, and checked her phone. When she spoke next, her voice was completely resolved. “I’ll tell the FBI everything. I don’t want innocent people to be blamed.”