The first thing Loretta noticed was that nothing in Monte Carlo ever truly disappeared.
People claimed memories faded here, drowned in champagne and sunlight, but that was a lie. In this city, memories merely changed costumes—like the people who carried them. A smile replaced a confession. A silk glove covered a trembling hand. Truth learned how to walk elegantly without being recognized.
Loretta adjusted the brim of her wide hat as she stepped into the Café des Sirènes, her reflection sliding across the mirrored walls in fragments. Today, she was Madame Claire, a French widow with impeccable posture and a voice trained to reveal nothing. Yesterday, she had been a British tourist who asked too many questions. Tomorrow—well, tomorrow would decide who she needed to be.
The café buzzed with its usual mid-morning crowd: socialites pretending not to eavesdrop, gamblers pretending not to worry, and waiters pretending they had seen nothing unusual the night before. Loretta ordered an espresso she didn’t intend to finish and took the corner table that allowed her to observe without being observed.
That was when she saw him.
Julien Moreau sat near the window, hands folded too neatly, eyes fixed on the harbor. He looked like a man waiting for something inevitable—and hoping it might still forget him. Officially, he was here to identify a lost watch. Unofficially, half the city believed he had something to do with the disappearance of his business partner three years ago.
Loretta smiled faintly.
People always assumed detectives chased evidence. She had learned long ago that evidence rarely ran. Guilt, however, wandered freely.
She approached his table with the practiced hesitation of a stranger asking for directions.
“Excuse me,” she said softly, in flawless French, “is this seat taken?”
Julien blinked, startled, then shook his head. “No. Please.”
She sat, placing her handbag carefully between them—an invisible line of courtesy. For a moment, neither spoke. Silence, Loretta knew, made people uncomfortable enough to fill it with truth.
“You dropped this,” she said at last, sliding a folded napkin toward him.
Julien frowned. “I don’t think—”
He unfolded it. Written inside was a single line: Some things are heavier when you carry them alone.
His fingers tightened. Loretta watched the subtle change in his breathing, the way his shoulders stiffened as if bracing for a storm only he could see.
“You’re not with the police,” he said quietly.
“No,” Loretta replied. “I’m worse.”
He laughed—a short, humorless sound. “A journalist?”
“An observer,” she corrected gently. “I notice patterns. People repeat themselves when they think no one is listening.”
Julien stared at the napkin. “Then you already know.”
Loretta leaned back, her expression sympathetic but unreadable. “I know that your partner vanished on a night when the sea was unusually calm. I know you kept his watch, even though you told everyone it was lost. And I know you come to this café every Thursday at ten, hoping to see a man who will never walk through that door.”
Julien’s face paled. “If you know all that,” he whispered, “why are you here?”
“Because,” Loretta said, lowering her voice, “the question isn’t what happened to him. It’s why you’ve punished yourself ever since.”
Outside, a yacht’s horn echoed across the harbor, loud and intrusive. Julien flinched.
“I didn’t kill him,” he said.
“I didn’t say you did.”
“But you think it.”
Loretta shook her head. “No. I think you failed him. And sometimes, that feels worse.”
The words struck deeper than any accusation. Julien closed his eyes, and for a moment, the elegant café faded away, replaced by a memory neither of them could see—but both could feel.
“He wanted to disappear,” Julien admitted. “He begged me not to stop him.”
Loretta said nothing. Confessions, like fragile antiques, shattered if handled too roughly.
“I told him he was a coward,” Julien continued. “That he’d ruin everything. I said… terrible things. The next morning, he was gone. And everyone kept asking where, when the real question was why.”
Loretta reached for her coffee at last, taking a small sip. It was bitter. Appropriate.
“Monte Carlo loves simple answers,” she said. “They fit nicely into headlines and gossip. But the truth is rarely simple—and never tidy.”
Julien looked at her with a mixture of relief and fear. “Who are you?”
She smiled, just a little. “Someone who understands that people don’t vanish. They reinvent themselves.”
At that moment, a waiter approached, placing the check on the table with an apologetic bow. Loretta stood, smoothing her coat.
“Go to the harbor tomorrow,” she said. “Pier Nine. Noon. If you’re brave enough to listen.”
“And if I’m not?”
“Then you’ll keep coming here every Thursday,” Loretta replied, “waiting for a ghost.”
She turned to leave, already feeling the familiar shift inside her—the subtle shedding of one identity in preparation for another. As she passed the mirror by the door, her reflection looked back at her with amused familiarity.
Somewhere in the city, rumors were already growing. Whispers of a woman who solved mysteries without chasing criminals. Of a detective who never wore the same face twice.
Loretta adjusted her hat and stepped into the sunlight of Monaco.
After all, legends weren’t born.
They were carefully disguised.
在蒙地卡羅，沒有什麼是真的會消失的。
至少，洛麗泰是這麼認為的。
人們總說，這座城市會把記憶泡進香檳裡，再讓陽光蒸發掉。但事實正好相反——110Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡ2Q8O9JuUYO
記憶只是不再以原本的樣子存在。
它們會換個名字。110Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡDSpZBpIAvB
換張臉。110Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡ13pLHDH5wp
然後若無其事地活下去。
「……就跟我一樣。」
洛麗泰在心裡這麼想著，同時伸手調整了寬邊帽的角度。
今天的她，是『克萊兒夫人』。110Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡRnZMipsOQu
一名來自巴黎的寡婦，舉止端莊，聲音溫柔，眼神裡卻藏著不該屬於她年齡的冷靜。
她推開『海妖咖啡館』的門。
鈴聲清脆地響了一下。
室內依舊是那副樣子——110Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡs2XPsx6pJk
假裝沒在偷聽的名流、假裝很悠閒的賭徒，還有假裝什麼都沒看見的侍者。
洛麗泰選了角落的位置坐下。110Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡjDPwxc8SkM
這裡視野最好，也最不顯眼。
她點了一杯濃縮咖啡。
雖然很苦，但反正杯子很小，她也不打算喝完。
就在她把視線慢慢掃過整間咖啡館時，那個人映入了眼簾。
靠窗。110Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡRtPzaObymX
深色外套。110Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡjNtaL57vhe
雙手交疊得過於工整。
「……找到了。」
朱利安・莫侯。
表面身分，是來協助確認一只遺失手錶的關係人。110Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡoUzNNmqUUn
私下身分，則是『三年前失蹤案中，最令人議論的那個名字』。
洛麗泰微微揚起嘴角。
人們總以為，偵探是追著證據跑的。110Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡXjYG5WEy0y
但她很清楚——證據不會逃。
會逃的，是內疚。
她端起咖啡，起身，走向他的桌子。
腳步刻意放慢。110Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡaZmZcn9H3m
像是不太確定該不該開口的陌生人。
「不好意思。」
她用一口柔軟的法語開口。
「這個位子，有人嗎？」
朱利安抬起頭，顯然被嚇了一跳。
「……沒有，請坐。」
「謝謝。」
洛麗泰坐下，把手提包放在兩人之間。110Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡosBOSOOFxf
不多不少，剛好一個「安全距離」。
沉默降臨。
她沒有急著說話。
因為她知道——110Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡnVGn0MCzFe
沉默，會讓人主動說出不想說的事。
「你掉了這個。」
她將一張摺好的餐巾紙推到他面前。
「咦？我不記得……」
朱利安一邊說，一邊打開。
下一秒，他的表情僵住了。
餐巾紙上，只寫著一句話。
——「有些東西，一個人背著，會特別沉。」
他的手指微微發抖。
「你……不是警察吧。」
「不是。」
洛麗泰立刻回答。
「那你是？」
「比警察更麻煩一點的存在。」
朱利安苦笑了一下。
「記者？」
「不。」
洛麗泰輕輕搖頭。
「我是觀察者。」
「我只是在看——人們什麼時候，終於不想再演戲了。」
朱利安沉默了很久。
久到港口外傳來一聲遊艇汽笛。
他肩膀明顯一震。
「妳已經知道了，對吧。」
「知道什麼？」
「……所有事情。」
洛麗泰沒有否認。
「我知道他是在海面異常平靜的那一夜消失的。我知道那只手錶其實在你那裡。也知道你每個星期四，早上十點，都會來這裡。」
她看著他接下去說：「等一個不會出現的人。」
朱利安的臉色變得蒼白。
「那妳為什麼來找我？」
「因為大家都在問——」
洛麗泰語氣放得很輕。
「『他去哪了』。」
「卻沒有人問，『你為什麼還留在這裡』。」
「我沒有殺他。」110Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡyUMgFV2KkX
朱利安立刻說。
「我知道。」
「你不懷疑我？」
「不。」
洛麗泰搖頭。
「我只覺得，你沒有阻止他。」
朱利安睜大眼睛。
這句話，比任何指控都還要殘忍。
「……他想離開。他拜託我，不要攔他。」
洛麗泰沒有插話。
她只是靜靜聽著。
「我罵他是懦夫。說他會毀掉一切。然後，隔天早上，他就不見了。」
朱利安的聲音低得幾乎聽不見。
「大家都問我，他去哪了。可是……我一直想知道的，只有一件事。」
洛麗泰端起咖啡，喝了一小口。
苦得剛好。
「蒙地卡羅很喜歡簡單的答案。因為那樣比較輕鬆。」
她站起身，拿起外套：「但人心不是那樣構成的。」
「你是誰？」朱利安問。
洛麗泰停下腳步。
回頭，露出一個幾乎稱得上溫柔的笑。
「一個知道人不會消失的人。他們只是——換了個身分活下去。」
她走向出口。
門口的鏡子映出她的身影。
克萊兒夫人，正在慢慢褪去。
流言，卻正在這座城市裡成形。
——有一名不追犯人的偵探。110Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡQzbsNLP3hX
——有一名，永遠不使用真名的女人。
洛麗泰踏入陽光之中。
畢竟——
傳說，都是靠偽裝完成的。
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