Free The Serpent's Daughter by Suzanne Arruda Page B

and slipped back into the street and to Rue de la Petite Maison.
    Several lights burned inside Madame Laferriere’s residence. Jade pushed back her hood to expose her full face lest Madame think robbers were afoot, and knocked at the door. From inside came the shuffling of slippered feet.
    “Who is there?” the woman asked in French. The voice sounded much older now than it had yesterday.
    “Jade del Cameron. I’m an American. We spoke yesterday about your automobile.”
    “My automobile? Go away.”
    “Wait. I’m sorry you had to report it stolen to the French. I was delayed.” When the woman did not respond, Jade added, “I will be happy to pay you more in recompense.”
    The door opened a few inches, but where Jade expected to see a woman an inch or two shorter than herself, she saw a tiny, old, hunched crone. “Madame Laferriere?” Jade asked. The woman nodded. “I must have spoken with your daughter yesterday. Is she here?”
    “I have no daughter. And I do not know what you are speaking of. I have not been to see any police. I have been ill. At least I think so.” She rubbed a clawlike hand across her forehead. “Someone left me a gift of new wine at lunch yesterday. I drank it and fell asleep. I did not wake until this morning. Ooh,” she said as she passed her hand across her eyes. “My head still hurts.”
    “Madame, may I please come in and talk?”
    “No!” She started to shove the door closed, but Jade stuck her boot in the crack and blocked it.
    “Then at least let me hire your motorcar again for several days.” Jade had no doubt that someone, the same person who later reported the robbery, had drugged the old woman and taken her place yesterday.
    At the mention of possible revenue, the old woman pulled the door back a few inches and peered up at Jade. “How much will you pay?”
    Jade opened her canvas bag that hung from her shoulder and extracted several francs. “Will this be enough?”
    The crone began to reach for the money, then hesitated. “No one has used it for many months. It may not even run anymore.”
    Jade smiled, gratified to see that the little creature had a conscience despite her need. “That is no problem, Madame. I am a mechanic. I served France during the Great War, driving an ambulance for the army.”
    At the mention of a beloved homeland, now so distant, the old woman’s eyes misted over. “Ah, I would love to go home again and see my country and my nieces.”
    Jade pulled out all but a couple dozen francs from her pocket and held out the roll of money. If the amount in the carpetbag was not enough to pay a ransom, and she knew it wouldn’t be even without spending this, she would wire for money from home. Right now she had a better use for it. The Panhard, new, might have cost over ten thousand francs. Now the woman would be lucky to get five hundred, but to Jade it was invaluable. It was worth her mother’s life.
    “Take this, Madame. Let me buy the car. If you sell your house, together it should be more than enough to get home again.”
    “It is yours, and bless you,” said the woman without counting the bills. She picked up a jerry can from beside the door and handed it to Jade. “There are a few liters of extra fuel in here.”
    Jade went into the alley and fastened the can to a sideboard. She’d just finished when a calloused hand touched her shoulders. She jumped and spun around, landing in a crouch, her right hand slipping the knife from its boot sheath. The man in front of her raised his right hand directly in front of his face, palm out, fingers spread. It might have been an expression of peace, but something about the action seemed familiar.
    “Who are you?” Jade asked in French. “What do you want?”
    “I can help you get to Marrakech.” The man stepped forward one pace into the dim light. Both hands were empty.
    “You! You’re the man who showed me the tunnels in Azilah.” She sprang forward, gripped the man by the neck with her