Chapter 39
One week later.
Another literary salon was being held, and Josée and her group were en route to Count Phil’s estate by carriage. Lisette was coming along as well, though she wouldn’t be contributing to this issue of their doujinshi.
This time, the featured contributor was Josée.
As always, Madame Mélias and Brian had been roped into participating in the review session. But this salon also marked the debut of two newcomers: Bernard and Brice.
The pair from the brothel, the detective, and the banker all rode together in the same carriage, bumping along the road toward Count Phil’s estate. Bernard grumbled under his breath.
“Why the hell am I going to some fancy literary salon...?”
Josée replied without missing a beat.
“The culprit is there. When I present my story, I’m sure they’ll slip up. That’s when I need you to catch them.”
“You seriously think the person who killed Florent is at the salon?”
“I do. Especially today—since the doujinshi’s theme is ‘detective stories,’ the setting couldn’t be more perfect.”
“Then just tell me who the killer is already.”
“Hmph. If I told a useless detective like you, you’d probably bungle it and let them escape while I was away. That’s why I pulled some strings to get an outsider like you into the mix. You should be thanking me!”
Brice clasped his hands together in mock prayer.
“Ahh... being around nobles makes me nervous.”
“You were just selected for a regional literary award, weren’t you?” Josée pointed out. “Why not use this opportunity to expand your network and aim even higher?”
“That’s easy for a business owner like you to say... but for a commoner like me, a place this flashy is just too much...”
“Really? I’m glad you’re here, Brice. You cared about Florent, didn’t you?”
A flicker of guilt crossed Brice’s face, but he soon nodded firmly, as if shaking off his hesitation.
“Yeah. That’s true. If the person who killed Professor Florent is at that salon... then I want to see them with my own eyes.”
“That’s the spirit. You need at least one honest person in the room if you want to expose the truth.”
At that, Lisette let out a soft chuckle.
“Oh, Lisette? What’s so funny?” Josée asked.
“Hehe. You just looked like a stage director prepping the actors backstage. I couldn’t help it.”
Well, if you're trying to fool the criminal, it made sense to take the planning seriously.
The group arrived at Count Phil’s estate.
In the reception room where the salon was being held, Barnabé de Calvet and Raymond de Sey were already there. Count Phil stood at the back, chatting amiably with several writers.
Meanwhile, Arsène looked utterly dejected. Josée walked over to greet him.
“It’s been a while, Arsène. Let’s both do our best at the doujinshi review session.”
He noticed her immediately. His voice trembled as he spoke.
“About Florent…”
Josée nodded several times, encouraging him to continue. Arsène leaned in and whispered,
“I couldn’t tell anyone, but… um… I gave him Calvados the other day.”
“……”
“Florent was an alcoholic. I knew that, but I still gave it to him. He probably got completely drunk… and then he lit one of those cigarettes Count Phil gave him. And just like that—”
Arsène choked up, unable to finish the sentence.
When the true culprit goes unpunished, people who did nothing wrong end up blaming themselves like this. To save kind souls like him from such pain, the criminal had to be brought to justice—quickly.
Josée spoke gently, trying to soothe him.
“It’s not your fault. But the truth hasn’t come out yet. Don’t worry—we’re going to uncover it and make an arrest. The detective is here today too.”
Arsène glanced over at Bernard, who stood stiffly in the corner of the room like a bodyguard.
“I wonder what caused the fire. Do you think the detective knows?”
“Hehe. It’s kind of funny, isn’t it? He’s just standing there, totally clueless.”
“?”
Josée thought back to the story she’d written.
Had everyone read it already—?
The doujinshi was distributed.
Its cover bore the title of Josée’s mystery: *The Literary Salon Murder Case.*
The contents immediately stirred unrest in the salon.
A novelist who perished in the Fourth Avenue fire. The events leading up to his death were described in vivid, painstaking detail.
Brice reacted at once.
“Josée, this is—!”
Josée gave him a sly smile.
“Oh, it’s fiction, of course. But it seems someone here finds the events in this ‘fiction’ a little too familiar...?”
Barnabé and Raymond turned pale as they read, sneaking repeated glances at Josée.
Bernard, recognizing how the information he’d provided had been skillfully woven into the story, stood along the wall, reading intently with a look of admiration.
Count Phil read Josée’s novel without so much as a flicker of emotion crossing his face.