Amanda waited a few seconds. Then her patience reached its limit.
“Please, please!” said Amanda, raising her voice. “We’re wasting our time. Every second counts. Moreover, think carefully about this: the murderer is among us.”
A total silence struck the room. Guests exchanged sideways glances with the people sitting around them.
“All right, so let’s vote,” said a guest. “Who agrees to let Amanda solve this?”
Two thirds of the room raised their arms immediately. Amanda put her hands on her hips.
“All right. Now, let’s start solving this,” she said.
Chapter 28
F lora joined Paul in his suite. She sat on the sofa facing his bed where he was lying.
“Are you OK?” she asked.
“Yes. I suppose,” he answered vaguely, looking at the ceiling.
“I’m really sorry,” said Flora. “This is horrible.”
“Well, don’t act too sorry,” said Paul in a bitter tone. “You were not exactly fond of her.”
“That’s unfair, Paul. She was the one who treated me like crap all the time. And don’t act too sad either. Did you really love her?”
Upset, Paul sat on the bed abruptly. “What are you even doing here, Flora? Didn’t you tell me yesterday that when the wedding was over, we wouldn’t be friends anymore? Well, the wedding is really over, so you can leave now. You don’t have to pretend to care about me anymore. I’m fine.”
A heavy silence filled the space. Flora walked to the little fridge and pulled open the door. She found a bottle of red wine.
“I understand why you’re mad at me,” she said. “Do you want some?” She showed him the bottle.
Paul simply shrugged.
Flora poured wine in glasses and handed him one. Then she walked to the large window and looked outside. Strong winds bent the tree branches in the Italian garden, the ocean was agitated, and a large flock of seagulls stood by the cliff.
“How funny. Now, you and me, stuck here together…” whispered Flora.
“What?” asked Paul.
“Nothing,” she answered. “We should talk about what you’ll to say to the press.”
Paul drank from his glass and smirked. “Not your problem either, if I recall. Didn’t you say you’d quit your job too?”
Flora slapped her glass on the desk.
“For once, stop acting like a teenager, Paul! I’ve had enough of this. I’m just trying to help you. I did everything for you all these years. Everything. I was dedicated to you and to your career. I helped you build it. I helped you become the famous Paul Dumont. And never, never ever once, did you take a moment to tell me how much you were grateful for all the hard work I’ve done and all the sacrifices I’ve made for you and your career for over twenty years. Not once!”
He stood up. “What the heck are you talking about, Flora? What sacrifices? I never forced you to do anything! I thought you loved your job. I thought we were friends!”
Flora grabbed her glass and drank it all in one shot. There she poured herself more wine.
“Friends? Only ‘friends?’” Flora let out a wry laugh. “Oh, no, no, no. Not just friends, Paul. I’ve been your sister, your mother, your nurse, your doctor, your shrink, your confident, your everything for twenty years, and yes, on top of that, your publicist too, who helped you become very famous! And during all these years, I watched you play the Don Juan with all these young actresses, one after another, even the most insignificant ‘starlettes.’ I guess you got them all into your bed, Paul, didn’t you? And you were about to marry the worst one only to reboot your career! How pathetic. You know what Paul? Maybe that’s just life paying you back. I’m glad that spoiled brat is dead!”
Flora froze. It was too late. She realized she could never take back the words that had just left her mouth. But she felt relieved to let go of these feelings she had kept inside for two decades.
Paul stood in the middle of the room, staring at her, in shock.
“Flora. Did you kill Élodie?” asked Paul.
Chapter 29
Room 18: Interview of Mr. and Mrs. Gladu
“O h, it was quite a night! People kept coming and going from their rooms.”
The woman nodded, looking at Amanda straight in the eyes. She was adamant about this: last night had been a busy one in the castle.
“How come?” asked Amanda, surprised. She had been sleeping like a baby. “I didn’t hear a noise last night. Although, I ought to admit, I was extremely exhausted yesterday and fell asleep very quickly.”
Amanda and the guests from room 18, Mr. and Mrs. Gladu, a couple in their sixties, sat in armchairs in the small library where Amanda led the interviews, assisted by Liliane who took notes on a yellow notepad.
Mr. Gladu listened to the conversation, his hands joined on his lap.
“So, what did you hear or see, exactly?” asked Amanda to the woman.
“Well, after I heard a few doors opening and closing, people coming and going, I looked in the corridor to see what was going on. It was quite late, and I wanted to sleep. It was annoying. I saw three people there, in their twenties I would say, walking in the corridor and doing strange things.”
Amanda and Liliane both frowned.
“What do you mean by ‘strange,’” asked Amanda.
“They lifted the paintings on the walls to look behind them; inspected objects on the console tables; they also touched the walls and the floor as if they were looking for something.”
“Touching the walls and the floor? Why?” asked Amanda.
The woman shrugged. “No clue,” she answered.
“Mrs. Gladu, could you please show me what these people were doing exactly?” asked Amanda.
The woman stood up and slid her hands along a wall, sometimes tapping gently on it, then she kneeled on the floor and moved her hands around her, tapping it too, as if she were in the dark, looking for something she had lost. Then she went back to her seat. “Like that,” she said.
“Did you talk to these young people?” asked Amanda.
“No,” answered Mrs. Gladu. “They acted so strange, I thought it was better to give up and go to bed.”
“What time was it?”
Mrs. Gladu looked at the ceiling.
“Hum… around midnight, maybe?”
“What about you Mr. Gladu?” asked Amanda.
“What?” asked the man, talking loudly, leaning toward Amanda. He adjusted his hearing aid that whistled with a high-pitched noise.
Amanda raised her voice. “What about you, Mr. Gladu. Did you see or hear anything last night?”
“No, I didn’t eat anything. But it’s good you’re asking because I’m hungry.”
*
Room 3: Interview of Jennifer, Bastien, and Thomas
Jennifer, Bastien, and Thomas—three guests in their twenties—talked fast, at the same time. They had booked only one room because of their modest finances. Staying in the castle had been one of their goals for a while.
“Please, please, stop,” said Amanda. “You’re talking too fast. One at a time. So, Jennifer, explain to me what you were doing in the corridor on the second floor, when your room is on the first floor.”
“You know, we were looking for the thing that would open the secret door,” answered Jennifer.
Amanda and Liliane exchanged a sideways glance.
“A secret door? And what thing? Can you be more explicit,” asked Amanda, “because I’m lost.”
Bastien decided to answer the question. He squinted and lifted his hands, moving them as he talked in a deep, dramatic tone that sounded like a historical documentary voiceover. “It’s year 1310. Francisque d’Orvilly, the lord of this castle, ruling the land at that time, ordered his servants to build a secret door to a hidden room in the castle to save his family from hordes of horrible, violent thieves who terrorized people in the region. These horrid criminals, who had no heart, stole food from peasants and treasures from rich nobles.
They were very, very brutal and cruel. They killed everybody they found in their path, just because they had seen them. They were animals. They had no mercy.”
Jennifer and Thomas nodded.
There was a moment of silence in the room as Amanda and Liliane looked at the three young people facing them.
“So, if I understand correctly,” said Amanda, “you believe there’s a secret room in the castle?”
The three nodded.
“And you were looking for this secret room?”
They nodded again.
“And you think there’s something in the castle that will open a hidden door to this secret room? Am I correct?”
The three smiled and nodded.
“We’ve found nothing, though” answered Thomas, very disappointed.
“I’m curious to know where you read about this story,” said Amanda.
“Online. On Wikipedia,” answered Jennifer.
“Ah…” said Amanda. “And, what time was it when you were looking for this… secret room?”
The three young guests consulted each other.
“Between midnight and 3 a.m. Unfortunately, as we couldn’t access the other rooms, we had to stop our search,” said Bastien. “But we would like to do it now, if you don’t mind?”
“Hum… Not possible at this time, I’m afraid,” said Amanda. “While you were searching the corridors, did you see or hear anything?”
The three guests thought for a few seconds.
“Ah, yeah,” said Jennifer. “I saw a ghost.”
“Ah, I see,” said Amanda. Liliane gave her a sideways glance. “I doubt a ghost could kill someone though. Can you describe it anyway, please?”
Liliane wondered if she was supposed to take notes about a ghost’s description. Would it seriously be on the suspects list?
“I think it was a woman because she wore a long white dress,” continued Jennifer. I couldn’t see her face because I was at the other end of the corridor, too far away. She appeared very quickly behind a pillar, as if she were coming out of it, and then she immediately went back into the pillar!”
“Where was this?” asked Amanda.
“Upstairs. At the end of the corridor on the second floor,” answered Jennifer.
“Which end of the corridor?” asked Amanda.
The young woman indicated the west side of the castle where the lobby and the parking lot were located.
“And what time was it?” asked Amanda.
“Hmm… Hard to say… We spent quite a lot of time in the corridors,” said the young woman.
“Was it at the beginning, middle or end of your search?”
“I would say… middle. Yeah, middle,” answered Jennifer.
Amanda turned to Bastien and Thomas. “What about you, did you see the ‘ghost’ too?”
The young men shook their heads.
*
Room 24: Interview of Richard Barquet
“I can’t stay here, you understand? I have employees waiting for me in Paris. I’m the director of a very important P.R. agency. My clients are big movie stars. Do you understand? All this is ridiculous!”
Amanda and Liliane couldn’t believe the arrogance of the guest seated in front of them. Between Élodie Faber’s tantrums and Richard Barquet’s condescending attitude, people in the movie business lived up to their reputation: they were self-centered and seemed to think they were superior to everyone else.
“Mr. Barquet, I’m sorry but it’s not possible for you to leave now,” answered Amanda. “You can try if you wish, but I’m afraid the policemen posted outside will stop you, anyway. It’s the same rule for all of us. We’re waiting for the new Judicial Police Off—”
“Yes, I know, you said this before. By the way, you should be on the phone, talking with the Judiciary Police Headquarters in Paris to ask them to move their asses to send this Officer ASAP instead of talking to me!”
Amanda remained calm and didn’t give up. “Mr. Barquet, did someone visit your room last night?” she asked.
The man’s face turned red. “Pardon me? What kind of question is that?”
“I’m not trying to pry. I’m just trying to help us all. You have no obligation to answer, of course, but I would appreciate if you did. Is it possible that someone visited you last night? That’s a simple question, after all.”
“And what would make you think someone visited my room last night?”
“Apparently, a guest saw someone behind the pillar on the second floor, which happens to hide your room door, when one stands at the other end of the corridor.”
“Well, guess what? People say silly things and lie all the time. If this guest keeps spreading this rumor about me, he or she’ll have the pleasure of talking to my lawyer! This phony interview ends now. Call me once you have something substantial instead of wasting my time.”
And Richard Barquet left the library, slamming the door.
On her yellow notepad, Liliane wrote a note beside Richard Barquet’s name: Liar and total jerk!!!
She underlined it twice.
Chapter 30
I t was everywhere. Newspapers’ special editions, phones, tablets, computers, TV channels… The major headlines in all French media were about Élodie Faber’s murder.
Who Killed France’s Sweetheart? asked Le Parisien, one of the most widely read French daily newspapers; Worse Than a Drama Movie was the front cover of Libération, another major national paper; Action, a TV show about cinema had prepared a special show titled The Bride Wore Red; and Ghostly Weekly, a new independent magazine practically unknown to French citizens, suddenly sold millions of copies of their special edition Élodie Faber Murdered in A Haunted Castle: The Whole Story. Thirty pages dedicated to recounting a drama the ‘journalist’ who had written it knew nothing about. It was pure fiction.
But the worst were the gruesome pictures and videos of Élodie Faber, dead, on the floor of her suite, with this outrageous makeup on her face. Someone in the castle was feeding the press. But who?
Isabelle and Anita stood in the laundry room, leaning on the washing machines. They couldn’t keep their eyes off their phones.
“This is incredible! Everything goes so fast now. Who took these pictures and filmed this? Did you see anybody filming with their cell phone this morning?” Isabelle asked Anita.
“How would I know?” answered Anita. “Everybody has a cell phone now. Anybody could’ve done this.”
“This is disgusting,” continued Isabelle. “The media really have no respect, even for the dead.”
“Come on,” said Anita, “let’s start our rounds. We have a lot to do.”
The women put their phones back in the pockets of their aprons and pushed their carts out of the laundry room.
“You do the first floor and I do the second?” suggested Anita.
“Sure,” answered Isabelle.
They encountered Liliane on their way, coming from the kitchen and walking back to the library, holding a platter with two cups of fresh coffee and a few treats for herself and Amanda.
“So, have you found out anything yet?” asked Isabelle eagerly.
“Not really,” answered Liliane. “Just a few interesting things, but not sure we can link them to the murder.” Liliane was about to walk away when she stopped and turned around. “Oh, by the way, Amanda wants you to pay attention when you clean the rooms. You might notice something that could be helpful.”
“Like what?” asked Anita.
“To be honest, I don’t know,” answered Liliane. “Anything that attracts your attention or seems odd to you, just tell us. It could be nothing, but again, you never know.”
Liliane walked away. The housekeepers pushed their carts in the corridor.
“I’m not exactly paid to play the investigator or to look in people’s private stuff,” said Isabelle. “This request makes me quite uncomfortable.”
“Then just ignore it,” said Anita. “Unless you really see something weird or scary. Remember: the m
urderer is among us.” And she pushed her cart in direction to the elevator.
Isabelle knocked on the first door beside her. No answer. She pulled out the master key from her apron pocket and opened it. She felt chills running along her spine when she read the number on the door. It was room 13.
Chapter 31
F lora turned off her cell phone and shoved the damned thing into a drawer. Calls from reporters who wanted to know everything about the murder kept calling. Her voicemail was already full, and texts kept coming in. She decided to ignore them.
She knew this weekend would be difficult, but she would’ve never imagined it would be such a nightmare.
She laid on her bed after a relaxing bath and opened a magazine about tourism in Normandy that had been left on the nightstand, but after turning a few pages, she put it back. Pictures of old farmhouses and cows in green fields didn’t succeed in distracting her. She opened a pocketbook she had brought with her, read a few lines, and closed it too. She couldn’t concentrate on anything.
She sighed and gave up on the rest she hoped to get. She sat on the bed, tapping her fingers nervously on her knees. The laptop bag on the chair facing her was tempting. She hesitated. Although she had promised herself not to go online to avoid seeing the headlines about the murder that had probably already inundated all the French media, she grabbed the bag, pulled out her laptop, turned it on, and opened a browser window.
And as she was expecting, it was all there. Every single media had a dramatic headline about Élodie’s murder.
Should she read the articles? No, she shouldn’t. It was probably a bad idea. She was about to close her laptop when something attracted her attention. It was a video. A video of her and Paul talking when they were in the veranda, yesterday. She played it. It was these few minutes of conversation when she and Paul joked about Flora wanting to kill Élodie, and Paul answering that a dead bride would be good publicity for him. There was a title above the video: Paul Dumont and His Publicist Flora Guardian: Did the Diabolical Duo Kill the Bride?
French Weddings Can Kill You Page 8