While on a soul-searching trip to Paris, Louise Lloyd is drawn into the mysterious disappearance of an artist in an exciting new Harlem Renaissance mystery.
Intrigued? Well read on to discover the synopsis and an excerpt from Nekesa Afia’s A Lethal Lady, which is out July 30th 2024.
CHAPTER 7
MADAME BLANCHET’S SALON was unlike anything Louise had ever experienced. In a dress of midnight blue, delicate beading in gold around the hem of the skirt, matching shoes, and a gold hair band, she felt incredible. Ciarán had also dressed up, as much as he was ever going to, with a dinner jacket and his hair slicked away from his eyes.
The Blanchet house wasn’t the biggest house Louise had ever been in—that honor would always go to the Schoonmaker manse— but it was imposing. A housemaid with the exact same shade of skin as Louise’s opened the door.
“Julie,” Ciarán said, his voice almost a purr. “You, my dear, are a sight for sore eyes.” He kissed the maid on both cheeks.
“Flattery will get you everywhere, Mr. Dunne.” Louise could tell that Julie was trying not to appear charmed by him. “How are you?” “I am much better now that I’m seeing you,” Ciarán said with a wink. “May I introduce my colleague, Louise Lloyd?” “Nice to meet you,” Louise said.
Julie smiled at her politely. “They’re expecting you and your guest, Mr. Dunne.” The maid nodded her head and was out of sight before Louise could say anything else.
Ciarán jutted his chin out to the wall behind Louise. She turned and was face-to-face with Iris Wright.
The auburn hair, the dancing eyes, the blemish-free white skin, all in an eight-by-ten canvas. She was behind glass, watching every entrance and exit.
“Ms. Wright is a regular here. Just follow me,” Ciarán said. He paused to light a cigarette and held his arm out to Louise.
***
THE ATMOSPHERE WAS different. Louise was used to sitting at Le Chat Noir, getting into arguments and passing drinks around. They were late, and the rest of the group was on to the second course of a five-course dinner.
“Apologies, I’m so sorry.” Ciarán turned on the charm as they entered. The host, seated at the head of the table, wearing a glittering dress of soft pink, rose to her feet.
“I’m used to it, Ciarán Dunne. You must tell me how the new play is going.” She turned to Louise, expression cool.
Louise looked around the table and found that she was the only Black person, only person of color there. She swallowed hard.
“I’ll tell you all about it, Coralie. May I introduce Louise Lloyd. She moved here about a year ago.”
Coralie Blanchet, tall, statuesque, didn’t turn her attention away from Louise. “Miss Lloyd. Are you an artist? A writer?”
Louise cleared her throat. “I’m a photographer.” It wasn’t really a lie. She had also finished the tube of lipstick that had come with the camera. It was a good gift.
“Have you shown anywhere?” a young woman at the table piped up.
“No,” Louise said. “I’ve never thought about it.”
Coralie waved toward the table. “Sit down, both of you. We have much to discuss.”
Louise was placed on Ciarán’s left, and to the right of the woman who had spoken up. As dinner resumed, plates being put down in front of Louise so elegantly and silently that it seemed like they appeared by magic, the woman turned to her. “I’m Margaux Blanchet.” She spoke softly and wore a dress of turquoise, setting off her black hair and blue eyes. There was something about her that Louise would never be able to place, something not exactly attractive, but alluring. Her smile crooked to the left, off-center. “Welcome.”
“Thank you,” Louise said as she placed her napkin over her lap. She wished Ciarán had thought to warn her that she’d be the only Black person in the room. She’d have to be on her best behavior. She was practically vibrating with nerves at the table.
“All you have to do is get through dinner, and then you’ll see everyone’s ugly side.” Margaux sipped from her wineglass. “It’s tough being new.”
“Well, I believe we’ve met,” Louise said. “I sold you our face-cream-paint-remover.”
Margaux’s blue eyes ran over Louise’s face. “Oui! Allaire’s. Of course. You were very helpful.”
“You’re so kind,” Louise said. Ciarán was already caught up in a discussion, the wine turning his cheeks a ruddy red.
Margaux nudged the woman sitting beside her, equally enthralling, with wavy black hair and a dress of seafoam green. It was sleeveless with a deep V in the back, exposing pale shoulder blades and a few moles trailing down her spine. “Estelle, she thinks I’m kind.”
“And we’ve found the only person in Paris who thinks so.” Estelle tossed her head back, her neck long and elegant. She was concentrating on lighting a cigarette, an emerald-green holder already between her lips.
Coralie tapped her butter knife against her glass, calling the table of a baker’s dozen to attention. “I would like to take a moment to acknowledge Iris Wright, the beautiful soul who is not with us tonight.”
Ciarán leaned back in his seat, crossing his arms over his chest, the height of bad manners. Beside her, Louise could feel Margaux shift in her seat.
“Where is she?” the man across from Louise asked.
“You know what she’s like,” Estelle said. “Temperamental, as all artists are.”
“Not all,” Margaux said. “I am a delight.”
“We both know that’s not true,” Estelle said. A look flashed between the two women, lightning quick, with no time for Louise to discern what it meant.
Ciarán looked toward both women. “We’re friends, and I wish she had told me where she was going.”
“More than friends.” Margaux snorted.
Coralie tapped her knife against her glass again, calling the room back to attention. “No more of that. Please, let’s finish, and Adam is going to give us a reading over dessert.” The man across from Louise blushed.
Louise couldn’t concentrate on the dessert, a personal chocolate cake with a scoop of vanilla ice cream. She had long gotten out of the habit of eating, and getting her appetite back was harder than she imagined.
She picked up her fork, cut off a piece, and chewed the sawdust in her mouth.
All she could really focus on was the fact that Ciarán had lied to her.
From A LETHAL LADY © Nekesa Afia, 2024 in partnership with Berkley
