By Michaela Thompson
Florida transplant Georgia Lee Maxwell doesn't take to Paris at the start, although she's no less than leaving a no-good guy and a hated activity as a society editor. Now she's a Paris correspondent, thanks very much—a dream come real for any journalist.
There's only a mild down side—she arrives in freezing rain, will get stuck in a traffic congestion because of a bomb scare, and hates her condominium; however the actual Bonjour is discovering herself face down on a museum ground in the course of a theft. "Killed for a humdrum story!" she thinks. yet because it occurs, she isn't the person who dies. 3 terrifying masked gunmen shoot the unlucky safety guard.
They may have stolen all of the treasures of Monte Cristo's cave, as a way to communicate, however it seems they've made off with just a replicate. actual, it as soon as belonged to the French seer Nostradamus, however it could be the museum's least worthwhile item.
Does it have a few prophetic skill? Does anyone comprehend whatever the gendarmes don't? Here's what Georgia Lee understands: If she reveals out first, she's a journalistic hero. If she doesn't, she's lifeless.
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Extra resources for Magic Mirror: A Parisian Mystery (Georgia Lee Maxwell, Book 1)
Probably he’d unbend when we obtained to the museum. via now, we have been gliding down the quiet, tree-lined streets of the 16th arrondissement, the main posh and correct district in Paris. We pulled up in entrance of a sq., solid-looking condo of grey stone, chestnut-shaded and discreetly luxurious in the back of a hedge. whereas Overton (to my aid) paid the taxi driving force, the large darkish eco-friendly entrance door opened and a small, sharp-faced guy donning rimless around glasses emerged. The day’s 3rd challenge offered itself. The small guy, who had a headful of darkish curls and was once donning a nubby brown wool swimsuit too heavy for the elements, shot a disapproving examine me and instantly all started chatting with Overton with excited Gallic volubility. He used to be evidently protesting approximately anything, however it took me your time to determine that he was once protesting approximately me. as soon as I bought the glide, i began selecting up a couple of phrases. I amassed that Overton hadn’t enable the little guy recognize i used to be coming alongside, and it used to be too early for professional vacationing hours, and the whole lot used to be heavily opposed to rules. (Going opposed to laws, I had already came upon in the course of my short time in France, was once now not whatever an individual may well count on to do with no ache for it. ) The Frenchman’s glasses flashed, he gestured, he acknowledged— and that i understood him exceedingly— “You take an excessive amount of upon your self, Monsieur! ” Overton, at the very least a head taller and much bulkier, appeared completely unmoved. “Madame —” he glanced at me for aid. “Maxwell. ” “Madame Maxwell is the following at my invitation. ” His French was once beautiful. “Yes, yet you see—” and the little guy used to be off back, bringing up the intricacies of museum establishing hours and unforeseen viewers from the clicking. Overton waited stolidly for him to complete, then repeated, “Madame Maxwell is right here at my invitation. ” i used to be surprised that Overton felt obliged to champion me, rather than bundling me into one other taxi and sending me on my method. I stood via, peering previous the Frenchman’s shoulder to the dim inside of the museum, the place a shield in a military blue uniform hovered. Overton gained. The Frenchman gave means with a shrug that concerned his complete top torso. Overton became to me and stated, “Georgia Lee Maxwell, enable me current Bernard Mallet, director of the Musée Bellefroide. ” making an attempt to not glance successful, I shook Mallet’s hand and we him inside of. Overton had paid for the cab. I hadn’t been grew to become away on the museum door. The day had began to move correct. within the Musée Bellefroide whilst I walked into the Musée Bellefroide, for a few cause i assumed of Cecilia Driscoll and her condominium on Rhododendron street, which supposedly had a lobby with a “cathedral ceiling. ” Cathedral ceiling, pooh. Even offered with a ticket-taker’s table and a twine rack of postcards, the Bellefroide’s lobby made Cecilia’s glance unwell. It was once oval-shaped, the ground a checkerboard of black and white marble. a large staircase with an ornate railing swept upward below an enormous, unlit chandelier. Tall urns stood in niches, sconces flowered from the partitions.