by Nell Goddin
“You are such a bad influence,” Molly said to him, grinning.
“I’m sure you have a little champagne squirreled away somewhere, I can tell just by looking at you. You’re a woman who likes to celebrate, and in France that means champagne! Or is that just a cliché?”
“No, no, the French in fact do love their champagne. Who wouldn’t?”
“You do have some.”
“Yes.”
“Well, come on! I’ll buy it from you, it’ll be my treat for everyone. Look at how much fun your guests are having! And they’ll have even more fun if you spike their orange juice with a splash of champagne.”
“It’s a waste, drinking it that way.”
“Well, I’m not picky, where are your flutes? I’ll get them out and set everything up.” He smiled at her then, such a winning smile of warmth and good humor, of wanting to give others pleasure while getting plenty for himself, that she couldn’t say no.
Not that she wanted to anyway. He was standing close to her and she put her hands on his broad chest and pushed him back a few inches. “Oh, all right, champagne it is. It’s practically lunch time now anyway. But I have to warn you, it’s not cold…”
“It’s an eagle,” Ira was saying to Patty. He pushed the sleeve of his T-shirt higher so that she could see the entire tattoo.
“Are you some kind of rah-rah nationalist or something?” she asked, her nose wrinkling.
“Are you some crazy liberal or something?” he shot back, pulling his sleeve down. Darcy appeared at his side, taking his chin in her hand and turning his face toward her for a kiss. “We are not going to be talking politics on this vacation,” she said matter-of-factly.
Ryan came over with a tray and several flutes of champagne. “Take one, everybody! Seize the day!”
“I’ve used up my alcohol allotment for the week in the first twenty-four hours,” mumbled Ira.
“Oh come on, now,” said Darcy, stroking his bicep. “A little splurge would be good for you.” They each took a glass, Ira managing a slight smile as Darcy rubbed his back.
“Three cheers for Molly!” Ryan shouted to the crowd, and they all lifted their coffee mugs or champagne flutes and cried out “Three cheers for Molly!” while Molly opened the narrow closet where she kept wine and brought out two more bottles.
It seemed like such a convivial, happy moment—the group of strangers all crowded into Molly’s kitchen, laughing and getting to know each other, wanting their vacation to be as special as possible. They thought—or at least most of them did—they were making real friends, people they would keep up with once they returned home. But instead of reminiscing about the carefree time they’d spent in Castillac, those phone calls of the future would turn out to be something quite different indeed.
5
When Molly woke the next morning, she wriggled back under the warm covers and thought about Ben’s private investigator idea. After the Amy Bennett case, she had briefly considered hanging out a detective shingle herself. But as kind and welcoming as the Castillaçois had been since she moved there, she thought that perhaps hiring an expat with no actual training in investigative work might be a stretch. And it could look as though she were trying to capitalize on the unfortunate events that had been occurring far too often around Castillac lately. But with Ben Dufort as her partner? None of that would matter at all. Being in business with Ben, who had grown up in Castillac and knew absolutely everyone, would give her all the credibility anyone could ask for.
She was thrilled he thought highly enough of her detective abilities to ask her. All in all, once she got over the mild disappointment of the proposal being something other than what she had expected, Molly was excited about the idea and eager to talk over the details with him. She swung out of bed, wondering where Bobo had gotten to, and hoping to have at least one cup of coffee before any guests showed up.
But coming into the kitchen in her bathrobe, Molly saw Patty’s face peering in through the French doors, and resignedly, she opened the door.
“Bonjour, Patty,” she said weakly, “do you need something?”
Tiny Patty slipped inside, hopped on a stool, and put her elbows on the kitchen counter, looking for all the world like a fourth-grader waiting to be fed breakfast before the school bus arrived. Well, at least it was the quiet one, Molly thought.
“Hey. I was wondering if you have any tape? I’m planning to buy some souvenirs today and then send them home.”
Molly looked confused. “You want tape to wrap a package, but you haven’t bought the stuff that goes in the package yet?”
Patty nodded brightly. “Just getting organized.”
“Um, there’s scotch tape in the drawer in the living room. Packing tape…I don’t think I have any of that. You can probably get it at the Presse, it’s right on the Place, let’s see…southwest corner. With all the newspapers out front.”
“Did you see how angry Ira got yesterday?” Patty said, confidentially. Molly had the clear impression that she wanted to gossip more than find tape.
“Angry?”
“Oh, yes. After a few rounds of champagne, Darcy was in the corner talking to Ryan. I guess they got a little too close and Ira was absolutely furious. And you don’t want a big guy like that mad at you, is all I’m saying.” Patty delivered this news with relish.
Molly shrugged. “Well, as long as nobody started throwing punches, I guess we’re okay.” She stared at the coffee press, willing the brew to drip through faster.
“It’s just sort of funny how people go on vacation, something they’ve probably saved up for and looked forward to for a long time, but they can’t manage to leave all their resentments and jealousies behind. All of it gets packed in the suitcases along with the toothpaste and good walking shoes.”
“You have a point,” said Molly. “What’s that saying? We take ourselves wherever we go.”
“The seduction of travel,” Patty said, leaning in so close that Molly backed away and pretended to look for something in the refrigerator, “is just the opposite, wouldn’t you agree? That you can go somewhere foreign and be an entirely different person? Leave your boring old self and all your troubles behind, and be someone, I don’t know, glamorous? Even dangerous?”
Molly laughed lightly. “I know what you mean. Though maybe not everyone is so unhappy with their regular lives. Or has such an imagination.”
Patty hopped off the stool and came up close to Molly. She was so short that even Molly felt like a giant around her. Patty peered up through round glasses that were too big for her small features, nodding and gathering steam.
“You’re welcome to have some coffee,” said Molly, hastily pouring herself a cup and moving toward the door. “And any number of places in the village are open now if you’d like something to eat. Have a wonderful day exploring, and I’ll see you later! Give my best to Ashley….”
Whew, Molly thought, closing her bedroom door. I just want to climb back into bed and pull the covers over my head.
Bobo came skidding over and licked her hand. “All right. Let’s go for a walk. Just a short one, I really am tired. But maybe some fresh air will perk me up.” She got dressed and left quickly before any other guests could appear.
Once in the woods, she felt immensely better. It was a cold morning and a dusting of frost still showed in spots where the sun hadn’t hit. She walked across the meadow, footsteps crunching on frozen grass. Bobo sprang here and there, following her nose. Molly re-tied her scarf so that it covered her ears, and they entered the forest that backed up to Molly’s property.
It was Molly’s second February in Castillac and she felt as though she was just getting to know the woods in different seasons. She found the trail and walked slowly along, thinking about Ben and pondering what sort of business card she would get, now that she was about to become Molly Sutton, P.I.
She was thinking so hard about the design of the card that at first she didn’t notice anything amiss. The forest was quiet, as th
ough she and Bobo were deep in the wilderness, though La Baraque was just the other side of a copse of junipers. But then something caught the corner of her eye. Something was out of place, and she turned her head to see what it was.
Then she screamed. And once she really saw what it was, she put her hand over her mouth and said, “Oh, no. Oh, not you.”
6
Molly stood well back, watching as the forensics team did their work under the direction of Gilles Maron, acting chief of gendarmes in Castillac. The coroner, Florian Nagrand, stood with his hands folded on his big belly, looking around at the forest as though hoping to spot an interesting bird.
Molly walked over to him and asked, “Can’t you cut him down?” She had never seen a hanged person before in real life, and it was far more horrible than she had imagined. She tried to keep her eyes down but she couldn’t help it, she kept looking up at Ryan, dangling there, his limbs limp and his eyes unseeing.
“Soon, my dear,” he said, still looking up into the trees. “You know, I once saw a gray-headed woodpecker in a tree like that. Quite rare, you know. Far too early in the year now, though.”
“All right then,” said Maron, walking over to Molly as Nagrand drifted away, still looking up. “I’ve got a few questions, if you don’t mind, but it should be quick enough—there’s nothing suspicious about this situation, we can say that, at least.”
“Oh, there certainly is, Gilles. I know he’s only been here for a few days, but I…I feel like I knew him…at least, I knew him well enough to say that it is impossible—okay, highly unlikely—that Ryan Tuck killed himself. He was so energetic—sort of impish, really—the life of the party!”
Maron shrugged. “Eh, sometimes people hide their sadness very well. Perhaps being the life of the party was an attempt to distract himself, and ultimately, it failed. Well, obviously it failed.”
“But if it’s so clear what happened, why do you have forensics here?”
“I don’t believe in leaving things to chance, Molly. Unless the body is of a ninety-nine year old with a heart condition, I’m calling forensics. And maybe even then,” he added, with a rare attempt at a joke.
“But—”
Maron’s deputy, Paul-Henri Monsour, approached. “Excuse me, Chief. Monsieur Nagrand would like to examine the body. We can get it down now?”
“As long as the team is done on the ground.”
Monsour nodded and went to take care of it. Molly watched over Maron’s shoulder as a young man climbed the tree as easily as though it were a ladder, and hacked at the rope with a sort of machete.
“This is beyond horrible,” she murmured.
“Agreed,” said Maron. “He’s young and good-looking. A waste. Allow me to ask—is the tree in question within your property boundary?”
Molly looked confused. “Um…I don’t think so, but I’d have to walk back and get out the map to make sure. My property does extend into the forest but not this far, I don’t think. This section probably belongs to Madame Sabourin. What difference does it make?”
“Merely being thorough, as I’m sure you’ll appreciate.”
Molly suppressed a sigh. “I should get back home. The other guests are going to be in for a shock.”
“Indeed. Had there been much interaction among the guests? How many do you have currently?”
“Six—now five. And yes, they are a social group. Extremely so.”
“And how did Tuck seem, overall? You said ‘life of the party’…so he was happy, convivial?”
“Absolutely. He told stories, made people laugh—he was the spark, you know?” Thinking of how he had cajoled the champagne out of her the day before made her eyes get moist. “He liked to celebrate,” she added quietly.
“Well, I guess we all have sides that we don’t show to others,” Maron said.
Molly shook her head. “I’ll never believe it. Even if it ends up proven that he struggled mightily with depression, I’ll never believe he committed suicide. It’s just not possible.”
“You can’t turn every death into a murder case, Molly.”
Molly stared. “That’s a low blow.”
Maron shrugged again. “It wasn’t meant as a blow, simply a statement of fact. Sometimes people’s moods are unpredictable and they act impulsively. I’m afraid that was the case for Mr. Tuck. If you want to look on the bright side, if there is such a thing, at least he had a bit of fun in his last days, if it was not all an act.”
Molly bit her lips to keep from speaking and walked away from Maron. Ryan was lying on the ground and the rope had been cut away. “Bless you,” she said to him, feeling the inadequacy of the words but not able to come up with anything else.
“Ah, Molly,” said Nagrand. “Always in the middle of everything, aren’t you?”
“Put a sock in it,” said Molly, and headed for La Baraque.
As Molly walked back to La Baraque, half-numb, she kept picturing the merry expression on Ryan’s face the day before as he made the rounds, serving champagne to everyone. She thought of the way he would come into a room and immediately, everyone’s spirits would lift. She thought of how he had charmed the grumpy Darcy, how he loved to be teased, how he had adored gougères with an intensity that made her feel they were food soulmates.
How he had kissed her.
He hadn’t meant anything by it, she knew that. Nor had she wanted him to. It was only an example of the kind of irrepressible affection that made Ryan so popular with everyone.
She shook her head to push away the image of him dangling by his neck in the woods. It made no sense. Intellectually, she knew he was dead, of course. But it felt as though her whole body was revolting, working strenuously to reject the idea, to come up with some other explanation for the grisly event she had discovered: a terrible joke, a misguided prank, something.
Back inside by the woodstove, she let out a mournful sigh and squatted down to put her head on Bobo’s speckled neck.
“Oh, Bobo, how in the world? How in the world can this have happened?”
She saw a flash in the corner of her eye, and turned to see Patty, once again standing by the French doors. Did these guests not ever plan to go sight-seeing? Patty waved and let herself in.
“Hi Patty, come on in.” Molly wondered what the best way to tell everyone the news was. Well, there was no right way; nothing she did was going to soften the horror for all of them. “I’m afraid…I have some bad news.”
“Uh oh,” Patty said, but grinned as though she were starving and a terrific-smelling grilled steak had just appeared in front of her.
Molly sighed again, feeling as though she wasn’t quite getting enough air. “It’s Ryan,” she began, and then she felt the force of tears beginning to come and she stopped talking to hold them back. Crying was all fine and well, but she would much rather do it in private.
Patty went on tip toes. “Yes?” she prodded. “Ryan?”
“It’s unbelievable, but I’m afraid he’s hanged himself. I found him a few hours ago, in the woods.”
Patty stared. She blinked. “Hanged?”
“I’m afraid so.”
Patty shook her head rapidly. “That’s not…Ashley’s not going to….”
“I know, it’s going to be terrible news for everyone. Ryan was really the spark here these last few days, wasn’t he?”
“I didn’t have much to do with him.”
Molly looked hard at the other woman. Because of her looks, it was sometimes hard to remember that she wasn’t just a kid. Patty was a thirty-year-old in a child’s body. And like some children, she seemed to focus on other people’s bad behavior;, at least that was how she struck Molly in the moment.
“Did you get the idea Ryan was unhappy?” Molly asked.
Patty shrugged. “For sure I got the idea he wanted to look happy.”
“Maybe. Though I have to say, if that’s as deep as it went, he sure fooled me.”
“So, now what? Do you want me to get everyone together so you can m
ake an announcement?”
Molly considered for a long moment. “Okay, let’s do it that way,” she said finally. “I don’t think I have it in me to break the news to everyone individually. Just repeating the words that many times would be more than I could handle.”
Patty took off down the hallway on the way to her room. Molly put another log in the stove and looked out the window. If Ryan had been that sad, that desperate, how could I have missed it? Am I that callous? Were we all more interested in having a superficial good time than in really getting to know each other?
In a few minutes, Ashley wandered in, her blonde hair falling in curls past her shoulders, wearing white cowboy boots and a short skirt with fringe.
Molly smiled. “Love your outfit. It makes me smile, which at the moment counts for a lot.”
Ashley looked confused. “Thank you. I do love some fringe. What’s going on? Patty said you’ve got something to tell everybody? I hope it won’t take too long because we’re planning to drive over to Beynac to see the château, and there’s this place I’ve read about where we’re going to have a late lunch that is supposed to be absolutely divine—”
“An announcement?” boomed Ira, coming through the front door without knocking. “Did we win a prize? Is there food?”
Nathaniel knocked at the front door and came in, wearing a small backpack. Patty entered last and closed the door, her face expectant and a little excited.
“Thanks for coming over, everyone. I’m glad you were all still at La Baraque and hadn’t set out on the day’s adventures.” She paused again, fighting back tears. “I wish there were some easy way to say this, but there absolutely isn’t, so I’m going to just come out with it. I found Ryan in the woods this morning. He had hanged himself.”
A long, silent pause.
“What did you say?” asked Darcy.
“Ryan is dead?” asked Ira.
“What?” said Nathaniel.