Page 4 of Nothing Watching

Her father had used a storage facility near their old home in London.Everything that he had not needed on his travels was sent there. Since her mother had died three years ago (and had shown no interest in retrieving whatever was in the storage place), she guessed the items were still there.

All she needed to do was to give them a call. For some reason, her instincts were telling her this was going to be important, and she should do it now.

Quickly, Juliette looked up the number of the storage facility, forgetting its name but managing to find it because she remembered where it was.

She called them immediately, hoping that the items would still be there and that too much time hadn’t passed. What would happen in that case? Destroyed? Sold to defray expenses?

Anxiety rose inside her as she waited for the call to be answered.

Finally, someone picked up. “Hello, Thames Storage, how can I help you?” a man’s voice said on the other end.

“Yes, hello. I’m calling to inquire about a storage unit that my father rented. He took a long-term rental, but it may have lapsed a while ago. His name was Mr. Hart,” Juliette said, trying to keep the urgency out of her voice.

“Mr. Hart, let me look for you.” The man had a brisk, rapid-fire way of speaking, with an accent that Juliette knew was pure London. She imagined him in the storage facility, probably a few miles outside the London that the tourists knew, and she was going to take a guess that it was not called Thames Storage because it had a view of the Thames River. Nope, she knew that London had its grim, utilitarian side that contrasted with the incredible beauty and history of its tourist areas.

“Okay. That unit is a year overdue for payment,” he said.

“It is?” Juliette asked, in a voice that was uncharacteristically squeaky with surprise and relief.

“Yes. It was rented for five-year periods, and the last payment was made six years ago, by a Mrs. Hart, who sent a few household items over the following year.”

Juliette nodded. Her mother, who had been beautiful, troubled, and depressed after her father had died, had also been a chain smoker who had been afflicted by emphysema when in her fifties. She’d packed up her house and moved into a care facility which Juliette had paid for and had visited when she could. Her mother had passed away from her illness three years ago.

“So the items are still there?”

“Not for long, if payment isn’t made. I see here that we’ve tried to contact the owner for six months now and been unable to trace them. This unit was actually due to be opened and cleared out three months ago, but there were strict conditions attached to it. Either family or legal counsel had to be present.”

“I’ll make the payment as soon as I can,” Juliette said breathlessly. “For last year, and for another year. I’m so sorry about the delay. The unit belonged to my parents, and they are unfortunately both dead now. I only remembered about it very recently.”

“We do get a lot of that happening,” he said with brisk sympathy. “Let me have your email and I’ll send you the invoice later today.”

“Thank you,” she said, reading it out.

“If you’re intending to clear it out at some stage, please bring ID with you when you arrive, and proof of your relationship to the original leaser. We’ll also need the death certificate, for security reasons, which were very strict for this unit. Immediate family only can have access,” he said. “When you give us the proof, we’ll give you a key.”

“I’ll do that. I can send that information to you as soon as you email me,” Juliette promised.

Immediate family only? Was that usual for the type of storage unit? She’d never had experience in opening a deceased relative’s storage unit, and she guessed it might be normal, and in place to prevent theft and lawsuits.

At any rate, she’d gotten hold of the owner and could now make the necessary payment as soon as he sent the info through.

It was almost seven thirty a.m. and that meant it was time for her morning ritual—on fine summer days, at least. And that was a walk to the train station with her new boyfriend, Lucien, who worked at the nearby Paris police precinct.

He’d worked late last night, which meant that the dinner date they’d planned had been postponed, but Juliette felt her heart lifting as she grabbed her jacket and her laptop bag, glanced into the mirror to check her hair, and then locked the door behind her before rushing downstairs.

The morning was already bright and warm. Sunshine was streaming through the lobby windows, even though Paris itself was a little slower to wake up, and at this hour, the streets were still quiet.

And there was Lucien, approaching at a brisk walk, his dark good looks making her stomach flip over with desire at the same time she smiled hello.

“Sorry about last night,” he apologized, walking over to kiss her on each cheek—and then, finally, one on the lips. She slid a hand around his back, feeling the strength of his broad, well-muscled frame.

“No problem. If I remember, last time we canceled a date, it was my fault,” she said wryly.

“That’s police work for you.”

With hands loosely linked, they began the mile-long walk that would take Juliette to the Metro station where she’d catch the train to the offices of the new task force she was a part of—the FBI international task force, tackling crimes involving American citizens outside their home country.

Lucien would then catch the bus to work at the Paris police precinct. His alternative mode of transport was his motorcycle, but in summer, walking through Paris was something both of them enjoyed. Even though fighting crime was a serious business, Juliette couldn’t help feeling as if she was on a mini vacation every time she embarked on this lovely morning stroll.

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