Free Marie Antoinette, Serial Killer by Katie Alender Page A

the curb with Monique safely loaded into the backseat, Rochelle smiled and stretched her arms. At last she could relax and enjoy her day. The best part was, she and Giancarlo didn’t have to sneak around anymore.
    Although, without all the sneaking around, he already seemed less fun. He used too much hair gel. And his cologne smelled like shoes.
    Well, maybe it would be a short fling. But Rochelle was determined to enjoy herself nonetheless.
    She went out to the kitchen to get a snack, taking the loaf of bread out of the pantry and grabbing a long serrated knife from the drawer by the sink. She set them on the butcher-block countertop and turned to get the cheese from the tray in the corner. As she did so, she caught sight of a black smudge on her arm. Had some of Monique’s dripping mascara gotten on her? Disgusting.
    When Rochelle turned back to the counter, what she saw made her jump and drop the cheese, which fell to the ground with a sickening splat.
    A woman stood in the kitchen with her, wearing an elaborate ball gown that looked like it came from the eighteenth century.
    “ Mon dieu! ” Rochelle exclaimed.
    The woman stared down her thin, imperious nose at Rochelle.
    Rochelle put on her best snarl, the one she used on bouncers who wouldn’t let her into clubs, or waitresses who took too long with her food.
    “ Qu’est-ce que vous voulez? ” she asked, a challenge in her voice.
    But the woman didn’t answer the question, didn’t tell Rochelle what she wanted. Instead, she pointed to the counter.
    Rochelle looked to see what the woman was pointing at —
    And just as she turned her head, the large knife sailed through the air, straight toward the softest part of her neck. JULES WALKED BACKWARD in front of us. “Probably the most celebrated work of art on display here at the Louvre is Leonardo da Vinci’s La Joconde , or as it is commonly known, the Mona Lisa .”
    Hannah rolled her eyes and yawned. “Kill me.”
    “It’s famous,” Pilar said. “Don’t you want to see it?”
    “I’ve been to Paris seven times without being dragged into this tourist hole,” Hannah said. “I’m supposed to celebrate now?”

“If you like art, I guess,” I said.
    “I like art as much as anybody. I’m the one who talked my dad into buying that painting in our foyer, the one of the purple horse. And that was like twelve thousand dollars.”
    As Hannah spoke, she slowed, and we slowed with her. She would have been completely happy to go back outside and sit on a bench for the four hours we were scheduled to spend inside the museum. But I glanced ahead at Jules, who was involved in a conversation with Audrey.
    “Um … I think I’m going to catch up with the group,” I said.
    “Why?” Pilar asked.
    “Curious, I guess,” I said. “I don’t get to a lot of art museums.”
    Hannah closed her eyes as if my very words were giving her a migraine. “Whatever.”
    I pulled away from them and dodged the groups of tourists to rejoin the others.
    We crowded into a smaller gallery where the Mona Lisa hung on the wall. I had to admit, the painting wasn’t as impressive as I’d thought it would be. It was small — smaller, in fact, than most of the posters I’d seen of it. I fought my way to the front of the room, where a low barrier kept the crowds several feet away from it. With the pulsing group of bodies moving behind me like pounding ocean waves, I wasn’t eager to linger and absorb the painting’s more subtle merits. I found myself pushed up against the barricade with some guy’s giant camera stabbing me in the arm, and the air in my throat seemed to thicken.
    “Here, Colette, this way,” Jules said, taking me by the shoulder and leading me to a patch of open space.
    “Thanks,” I said, breathing deeply and trying not to show how relieved I was.
    “How are you today?” he asked. “Tired?”
    I looked at him in alarm — did he know we’d snuck out last night?
    “The second and third days are usually