“That’s horrible’” said Liliane, shaking her head.
“Yes. Anita’s parents paid for their daughter’s surgeries, which were very expensive,” continued Amanda, “but they couldn’t afford to pay for her education anymore. She had to quit her studies and work. This fire changed Anita’s life for the worse. But what she couldn’t accept was how Élodie got away with it because her parents were rich. Élodie never apologized to anybody. Even more disturbing, students reported seeing her excited when watching the school burning down, finding it entertaining, as if she was proud of it.”
The employees shook their head. “Crazy,” said one of them.
“But how did you figure out it was Anita?” asked Camille.
“I found pictures on Barbara Clément’s blog,” answered Amanda.
“On Spread the Word? This horrible blog full of trash info?” asked Fred, surprised.
“Yes, this blog. It has many articles and pictures about Élodie. And one of the pictures showed Élodie with schoolmates from the boarding school a few days before the fire. A detail on this picture attracted my attention. A girl had a pendant around her neck with the initials T. B.”
Isabelle lifted her head. “Yes! Anita had a pendant with the initials T. B. around her neck. When I asked her what the letters meant, she told me it was her grandmother’s initials.”
“It was a lie, because she had to hide her identity. When I met Anita for her job interview, she introduced herself as Anita Lebrun. But her real name is Tania Brunel. This name was mentioned below the picture. She simply switched the letters. This, the pendant and the fire story allowed me to put everything together.”
“OK. So, you discovered Anita was in fact Tania, and she hid her identity. But how did you find out she killed Élodie?” asked Bertrand.
“Simply by cross-referencing information collected during the interviews,” answered Amanda. “Anita told us a guest knocked at her door the night of the murder, asking to turn the volume of her TV down. What I found out was a bit different. Her TV was on, and guests in the rooms beside hers heard it. But nobody went to her room to ask her to lower the sound. She just set the sound loud enough to make people think she was in her room that night. When putting all elements together, she was the only one without an alibi—well, apart from me, Liliane would argue—and she had the strongest motive to kill Élodie in an act of revenge. Changing her name just proved she had something to hide. Because nobody recognized her face, she thought she didn’t need to be creative with the name change. That is where she made her mistake.”
Amanda paused for a moment. All her employees were staring at her, eyes wide open, still processing the gruesome details of the story.
“Let’s talk about the crazy Brigitte Plansec,” said Liliane. “What the heck was wrong with that woman?”
“I feel sad for her,” said Amanda. “She will probably be sent to a mental institution. I believe the woman has a good heart, but her blind obsession for Paul Dumont made her do something irrational and sick.”
D’artagnan arrived in the dining room. He had smelled coffee, and he knew when people drank coffee, there could be sweet treats to go with it too.
The dog walked around the table, looking for any piece of food. But he couldn’t even find crumbs, either on the tops of the tables or the floors underneath. Where was the food?
The Great Dane forced his head under Amanda’s arm and looked at her with an expression she knew too well.
“Let me guess, d’Art. You want food?”
The Great Dane wagged his tail.
“All right. I think I have an idea.” Amanda went to the kitchen, closely followed by d’Artagnan, and came back with the layered wedding cake. The dog was jumping all over the place.
She put the cake on the center of the table. The employees looked at her, horrified. She wasn’t seriously thinking eating this cake?”
“Come on, don’t make these faces. If we don’t eat it, it will go in the garbage, anyway. It would be such a waste. Pierre worked hard to make it and there’s nothing better than eating cake to feel better, right?”
Agreed! Thought d’Artagnan.
“So, let’s eat it,” said Amanda. She took a knife and cut a generous piece into the small layer cake on top. “Who wants the first one?” she asked.
D’Artagnan put his front paws on the table. Me, me, me!
But Amanda gave it to Isabelle. Then she cut more pieces and put them into plates the employees passed around the table. D’Artagnan growled.
“Be patient, d’Art. You’ll get your piece last.”
The dog frowned. What? Why? He grumbled and laid on the floor. Damn! This is torture!
Chapter 50
“O ne step to your right, please, so we have a better view of the castle in the background.”
Fred followed the director’s instruction and moved one step to his right. He felt intimidated by the camera and the TV crew bustling about, but he was willing to do it for the love of history. And for a little fame on social media too. After the picture of him sleeping on his book, a pasta glued on his cheek, that his roommate had taken and forwarded to his friends, it wouldn’t hurt. The infamous picture had been retweeted 650 times on Twitter.
“Sound rolling!” yelled the boom operator.
“All right,” said the director to Fred. “Just be natural and all will be fine, OK? Camera!”
“Ready!” answered the cameraman.
Fred’s stomach tightened. He forced a smile. Could he do this? The crew was waiting for him to say something. The director pointed a finger at him and moved her lips, whispering “Go!”
Fred took a deep breath and cleared his throat. “My name is Fred and I’m the tour guide at the Château d’Orvilly that you can see behind me. The castle was built in several stages during the 11th century and was the home of the prestigious d’Orvillys, one of the most prominent and powerful noble families of The Duchy of Normandy during the medieval period.”
The director gave Fred a hand signal. It was his cue to start walking toward the castle. Not too fast as advised by the cameraman. Fred walked at a slow pace, followed by the careful tiptoeing crew members. As they were filming at night, a bright light on top of the camera was on, and off-screen spotlights were placed along the path that led to the castle.
Fred went up the stairs of the front porch and put his hand on the doorknob. He had to stop by the large wooden doors to deliver the next part of the script.
“Follow me for an exclusive visit of the Château d’Orvilly to discover its mysterious past and unveil its deepest secrets.” Fred gave a mysterious look to the camera to emphasize the adventure awaiting the viewers. The cameraman and the director wondered what Fred was trying to accomplish by moving his eyebrows. The director waved her hand. It was the signal to open the doors.
Fred pushed them open. The thick doors creaked like century-old medieval doors. Perfectly creepy for the show.
“We are in the original main entrance of the castle,” continued Fred once inside. “Our guests don’t use this entrance though, but rather enter the castle by the reception area recently built on the west side.” Fred walked a few steps and stopped beside a fireplace, above which was hung a large portrait of a beautiful woman in her twenties, wearing an elegant white dress from the early 19th century. She posed beside a chair, a dog at her feet.
“This is a portrait of Mélie d’Orvilly. Mélie was the gorgeous daughter of the Baron Victor d’Orvilly. Unfortunately, both of them suffered tragic fates. Mélie was poisoned on her twenty-fifth birthday, and the Baron was murdered one evening in the piano lounge, a place where he enjoyed resting and reading in the company of his dog, Wilbert. We will visit it later.”
Fred went up the marble stairs, followed by the crew. As they climbed, the cameraman stopped for a few seconds to show other portraits hung on the wall. Fred pointed at them one by one, explaining briefly who these ancestors were and how they had died. Typically, it had been under terribl
e conditions, victims of violent and gruesome murders. The director gave a thumbs-up to Fred. He was doing well in recounting these horrific events. The young man gained more confidence and reveled in the attention he was getting from the TV crew. Maybe he was a natural-born show host?
The crew arrived on the first floor but encountered difficulty in following Fred into the little library. The cameraman removed the camera from his shoulder and held it in front of him as he went up the narrow staircase cautiously, followed by an assistant, to assure his safety. The soundman stayed close, managing to point the microphone boom pole in the right direction. Another man and a woman in their mid-twenties followed them too.
“I’m standing now in the little library,” said Fred. “Notice the full-length, wooden bookshelves along the walls. We have a wide collection of antique books, the oldest dated from the early 17th century.”
They heard a meow. Bronx was resting on a bookshelf, curled up between two rows of books. Who dared to disturb him at this late hour? The cat had just started his night.
The man and the woman in their mid-thirties joined Fred in front of the camera. The man carried a small device he pointed randomly in the room, paying attention to the fluctuations of an arrow in a little dial. The woman held a thermal digital camera with a screen showing variable patches of green, yellow, red and blue.
“Fred, you told us you have made an amazing discovery in this room, haven’t you?” asked the young man. “Can you tell us more about it?”
“That is correct. I was standing in the library the other day when I accidentally discovered a hidden entrance that leads to a secret room.” Fred was smiling proudly.
Bronx frowned. The nerve of him! I’m the one who discovered the secret door, not you, idiotic history buff!
“And what happened? What did you see behind these bookshelves?” asked the young man.
“I saw amazing, incredible things. I’m not sure you’d believe me if I told you,” answered Fred.
The young man and the young woman smiled at the camera.
“Nothing would surprise or scare us,” said the young woman. “You told us you saw ghosts. Is that right, Fred?”
Fred nodded. “Yes, several ghosts. Some of them quite scary, I have to say.”
“We believe you Fred,” continued the young woman. “That’s why we’re here today, to meet these ghosts and prove their existence. I have my thermal camera to identify heat zones which will indicate the presence of entities, and Philippe is using his ghost meter to track electromagnetic fields.”
They both showed their equipment to the camera.
“Now, how do we get to the secret room behind these bookshelves?” asked Philippe.
Fred grimaced. “That’s the problem. My colleagues and I searched for the secret entrance, but we couldn’t find it. Hopefully, today we will.”
And the whole crew moved all the books on the bookshelves in the hope to activate the hidden door.
Fed up that nobody ever gave him credit for anything, Bronx extended his paw to a book nearby and dropped it on the floor. In a fraction of a second, the whole TV crew disappeared with Fred behind a bookshelf that did a swift 180 degree turn.
The cat was alone in the library, which had regained its tranquility. Satisfied, Bronx yawned and stretched.
You wanted to see ghosts? Have fun!
Epilogue
P ierre brought a plate with two Religieuses au chocolat. Literal translation: chocolate Nuns. Amanda had developed a passion for the double-puff pastry with the funny name.
The delicacy had been named because of its shape: a large puff at the base and a small one on top filled with chocolate cream, covered with chocolate icing, and joined in the middle by a white, butter cream ruff, giving it the sober but elegant figure of a nun.
Amanda smiled when Pierre put the plate on the coffee table in front of her.
“Religieuse au chocolat for Madame,” announced Pierre like a butler, but with an irresistible sexy smile. “Freshly baked for you this morning by your servant.” The handsome baker bowed. Amanda laughed. “The coffee maker is doing its job and we should have fresh cups of coffee in a few minutes.”
“This is perfect, Monsieur Pierre. I appreciate your professionalism and diligence as usual. I think you deserve a kiss.”
Pierre immediately sat beside Amanda on the sofa to collect the promised kiss. She leaned toward him and gave him a tender kiss. A growl stopped the romantic moment.
D’Artagnan was on the other side of the coffee table, glaring at Amanda and Pierre. The Great Dane had disapproved of their relationship since the beginning. The dog saw Pierre as a troublemaker who interfered in his perfect relationship with Amanda. ‘Before the baker,’ Amanda focused on him only. Now, he had to share all the care and attention with him. And worst of all, the guy cooked pastries and delicious stuff he never got to eat. It was pure provocation. It was torture. So d’Artagnan had no other choice but to steal them. And this is exactly what he was about to do. The Great Dane snatched a Religieuse with a quick move of his big tongue and ran away.
“D’Art! That is terrible manners, and chocolate isn’t good for you!” yelled Amanda. She was about to run after the dog, but Pierre grabbed her wrist.
“Let him have it,” said Pierre. “I’m sure he’ll be fine. He’s doing it on purpose because I’m not in his good books… yet. I can easily understand why he’s jealous. Don’t worry about the Religieuse, I have more in the bakery downstairs.” Pierre winked. “So, now everything is back to normal at the castle?”
Amanda sighed. “Finally, yes. And I hope it will stay this way for a while. The staff and I have had enough to deal with these last days.”
“Anita—” Pierre corrected himself, “I mean Tania is in jail now?”
“Yes, and I doubt she’ll ever be able to regain her freedom. It was a premeditated crime. Can you believe she strangled the poor girl with her own hands?”
“Well, my understanding is Élodie Faber wasn’t exactly an angel. She destroyed Tania’s life. That can awaken the monster in anybody.”
Amanda looked at Pierre with a worried expression on her face. “Pierre Sablon, are you telling me you could kill someone?”
Pierre laughed, held Amanda’s shoulders and kissed her forehead. “Are you crazy? No! I’m just saying this poor woman had strong motives. Not an excuse though, I agree. What about Paul Dumont and his publicist, Flora Guardian?”
Amanda chuckled. “Well, the funny thing is Paul Dumont has a new publicist now. And guess who it is? It’s Richard Barquet himself! Yes, the guy whose former dead bride had an affair with!”
“What?” asked Pierre in disbelief. “Wow! Cinema is a weird business.”
“It is. And this is exactly why Flora Guardian finally quit it for good. She sold her clients’ portfolio to a young woman who has sharp teeth. I believe she’ll need them. Flora doesn’t want to hear anything about media and French movie stars anymore, especially Paul Dumont. She moved to a small island in French Polynesia to start an early retirement. Well deserved, I guess.”
Bronx arrived in the cozy living room and jumped up on the sofa arm. He looked at the couple, hitting the sofa with his tail, as though he were waiting for something. So, are we going to watch this, or what?
“It’s time. The show will start in a few seconds,” said Amanda excited. “Fred didn’t want to tell us anything. He said to watch the show and that we wouldn’t be disappointed.”
Pierre took the remote control on the coffee table and turned the flat screen TV on. He switched to Channel 13, Ghostly Yours. Commercials were ending and the opening credits of the show Crypts and Creeps began with an eerie music playing in the background.
“Right on time!” said Amanda. She picked a Religieuse au chocolat and snuggled up against Pierre’s shoulder.
The opening credits ended, and Fred appeared on the screen. He stood in front of the castle, at night.
“Oh! That’s Fred!” said Amanda.
&nb
sp; Oh. That’s the idiot, thought Bronx, unimpressed.
The camera followed Fred as he recounted the castle’s story.
“He’s quite good at his job,” commented Pierre. “He looks natural on camera.”
Bronx rolled his eyes. Seriously? Give me a break!
Then, the moment arrived when Fred entered the little library. While Fred was talking with the show hosts, we could see Bronx in the background, curled up on a shelf, between books.
Bronx meowed with joy on the sofa arm. Watch this out! You’re gonna like it!
Bronx (on the screen) extended his paw and threw down a book. The bookshelf did a 180 degree turn, and the screen went black.
The cat turned his head to Amanda and Pierre. See! See what I did? Did you see? You got this, right?
“Oh, my God! What happened?” said Amanda. “I can’t believe this! They found it. Fred was right, they found the secret entrance!”
“That’s amazing,” exclaimed Pierre.
Bronx’s fur bristled. ‘They found it?’ ‘They?’ You must be kidding me! I found it! Me! I’m the one who did this! Not them! The cat smacked his tail loudly on the sofa arm, but Amanda and Pierre didn’t even notice him. They had their eyes fixed on the TV screen. That’s it. I’m out of here! The cat left the room with a determined gait, planning to destroy the first cushion he would find on his way. Maybe two.
There was a moment of confusion on the screen. The team had technical issues. There was no image, but the sound was still on. The crew members talked in the dark, asking where they were, wondering what had happened. The cameraman finally turned his light back on.
“Follow me,” said Fred. “But I’m warning you: you might see things you’ve never seen before. I’m talking about supernatural manifestations.”
French Weddings Can Kill You Page 15