Just Pardon My French (Hetta Coffey Series, Book 8)

by Jinx Schwartz

  Rhonda looked a little doubtful until I added, "You'll be back by late afternoon. Just park our car somewhere nearby and if by some chance Rousel's shown up, tell him you went for a walk. There is no way he'll be any wiser. When you get a chance, just give the Harbor Master the keys."

  She eyed us. "You two are good at this."

  Jan toasted her. "Oh, you have no idea!"

  Chapter Fifteen

  Back in the day, when Thomas Jefferson was the American ambassador to France, he'd visited the Canal du Midi and checked out Les Ecluses St. Roch à Castelnaudary because they were an engineering doozy for all time.

  The total drop is over thirty feet, meaning we had to tie up, feed the lines out as we descended, untie, go into the next lock and do the whole thing over again, four times for this quadruple set. At least down-locking is easier than up-locking, and we had two people on board to handle the lines, unlike when Jenks and I had to do it on our own.

  I didn't tell Rhonda and Jan that I was more than a little concerned about handling the boat through those locks, but for me and Jan, this was not our first rodeo. We'd been boating long enough to handle almost anything and concluded it was just like docking Raymond Johnson, albeit without the aid of twin screws. Or reliable steering.

  We'd walked over to the locks the day before our departure, joining the usual crowd of rubberneckers. After watching others' really crappy boating skills, I was feeling more confident, figuring we sure as heck couldn't do much worse. One guy's crew tied his lines—tying up instead of just looping is a huge no-no—tightly to the bollards, so when the water dropped out from under him, his boat was left hanging by the lines, almost dumping his crew overboard until they figured out they had to let go. With a mighty splash that rocked all the other boats in the lock, the barge righted itself, no thanks to the inexperienced crew.

  I used this snafu to emphasize to Jan and Rhonda that they never tie up to anything while in the locks, but instead to loop and hold so they could easily take in and let out lines around the bollards. I didn't mention to my own inexperienced crew that I noticed the lockkeeper here was much too busy herding boats to be the helpful, standing-by-the-side-of-the-lock eclusiers Jenks and I met along the canal; this guy had his hands full.

  We had left the dock early so we'd be first in line when the locks opened. No boats, dogs, or swans were harmed during our departure, although Po Thang, from the safety of the highest deck, set up a half-hearted ruckus as we passed his feathered attackers.

  By my estimate, if we were first-in/first-out of the locks, we had less chance of ramming someone.

  When the gates opened at nine on the dot, we smartly cruised into the lock and Jan, who always has her own way of doing things, whirled a looped line over her head, let it fly with a, "Yee-Haw," and lassoed the first bollard from ten feet out.

  "I gotcha, Hetta," she hollered as she reeled us forward, leaving just the right amount of slack, "put 'er in reverse."

  I gave it full left rudder, goosed the throttle, and the aft cozied up to the dock so Rhonda could step off and loop her end.

  We'd nailed it like we knew what we were doing, and Jan's rope trick garnered clapping and cheering from on-lookers. One declared, "Coup d'èclat!" A great feat.

  "Dang, we're good," Jan bragged, as we watched other boats entering the lock bang into gates, and bounce off stone walls and each other, all the while yelling at feckless line-handlers (usually female) struggling to overcome the "captain's" (always male) lack of skill.

  Our adoring public gathered by the boat and wanted to know how we came to be an all-American, all-female crew in France, then followed us from lock to lock. They videoed Jan's goat-roping skills and taunted disgruntled "captains" who shot us dirty looks. Some of the bicyclists followed us several miles to the next set of locks.

  It seemed they weren't the only ones in pursuit. When Po Thang suddenly started raising all Billy hell, I was glad we'd secured him to the rails if he was going to act like a dog.

  Jan stuck her head through the door to the steering station and asked, "Say, Hetta, can swans fly?"

  "I dunno. Maybe. Why?"

  "Cuz we have bogies on our tail."

  I poked my head out the door and saw what looked like the swan thugs from Castelnaudary paddling behind us. We were doing a little over six kilometers an hour—four mph—and they were matching our speed. "Wow, look at 'em go. Who knew they could swim that fast?"

  Rhonda was standing on deck next to me. "Not me. And look at those markings on that one's beak. That's Odette for sure."

  "Quick, someone Google the speed of a swimming swan. I'll bet they can't do eight kilometers an hour." I edged the throttle forward to the max speed allowed on the canal. "Eat our wake, you bullies."

  Not.

  Nine hours later, when we pulled into Carcassonne for the night, they were still with us. When they fell behind, they semi-flew to catch up. They didn't even have to go airborne, they just used their wings to walk on water. When we hit a lock, they waddle-walked to the other side.

  And FYI, the buggers can swim up to five miles an hour in calm water.

  We arrived at Carcassonne dog-tired after our unrelenting push to get through all twenty-five locks before the last one closed for the night. Luckily we found a tie up with amenities near the harbor master's office, and he recommended a hotel a few blocks away. Rhonda and Jan went to find a room while I took Po Thang for a walk.

  Finding a nearby boulangerie, I scored a baguette for dinner and noticed they opened early the next morning, so we'd be able to buy fresh bread before leaving for Argens.

  Back on the boat, I heated up soup, poured a glass of much-needed Merlot, and was eating when I heard a raucous squeal of metal on metal, the thunder of clack on track, and the growl of a locomotive. Multiple tracks ran way too close to the canal and I soon longed for those nights spent tied to a peaceful, grassy bank.

  I dug out the earplugs.

  At seven the next morning, Jan and Rhonda returned, much to the delight of Po Thang. Even the swans wagged their tails.

  "Coffee's ready. You guys had breakfast? I have eggs for an omelet, and if you want fresh bread, there's a boulangerie right over there." I pointed. "Or, I can make French toast with last night's baguette."

  "Ooh, French toast sounds wonderful. What can I do?" Rhonda asked.

  "Get out the syrup, butter, and cut thin slices of bread."

  "Will do." She looked around the galley. "Uh, where's the bread?"

  "It's...gone. And no, I did not eat the whole thing last night," I said, before Jan accused me of gluttony.

  Jan, Rhonda, and I glared at Po Thang, who assumed a hangdawg stance.

  Jan took Po Thang with her to get another baguette and pain au chocolat for all of us, as we had to get going to be first in line at the locks and by now cooking breakfast was out. It was going to be another hard day on the canal, but at least by bedtime Jan and I would be settled into a much more spacious boat, and Rhonda could sleep in her own bunk back in Castelnaudary.

  Once again, we were exhausted when we reached Argens, but we'd successfully covered twenty-eight miles and another twenty-three locks that day.

  Rhonda was as tired as we were but so freaked out that Rousel might return unannounced that she was reluctant to stay the night.

  "He's in Paris for cryin' out loud. You just talked to him," Jan said, her tone of voice clear she was losing patience with Rhonda's lovesick, bordering-on-panicky, behavior.

  Rhonda, too concerned to pick up on Jan's chagrin, whined, "But what if he's doing something like I am? He said he was in Paris, but how would I really know? What if he's decided to surprise me and shows up at the boat?"

  "Call him back and ask for a selfie with the Eiffel Tower in the background?" I suggested. Rhonda was trying my patience as well.

  Rhonda looked sheepish. "Well, he could be planning a surprise."

  "Oh, I think you're in for a surprise, all right," Jan muttered.

  I gave her a
throat-cut sign to cool her jets. "Look, Rhonda, if you're so concerned, go ahead and take the car tonight. You'll be back in Castelnaudary in less than an hour."

  "Oh, thank you. Yes, I think I will. I won't be much fun if I stay here and fret, anyway."

  Jan mumbled something under her breath that I read as, Who said you were ever any fun? Or some such.

  I gave Rhonda the keys to the Fiat, then walked her to the office to let them know I was springing my car from the storage lot. Po Thang trotted along behind us, as we now pretty much trusted him not to jump into the canal after his swans or anything else. My two suitcases took up the entire backseat of the tiny car, so she threw her knapsack into the trunk, and we stuffed what we could of Jan's smaller bags where we could.

  The Cinquecento is fairly simple to operate, but I gave Rhonda a quick overview of where everything was, like the headlight switch in case she got caught in traffic and arrived after dark. She had little trouble mastering the quick clutch because, luckily, her mom's old car had a stick shift, and she was soon on her way.

  When Po Thang and I returned to our new tri-cabin boat, Jan had stored the things we dumped from the suitcases that would fit into the car, set us up with coffee makings, wine, and toiletries, and made the beds to get us through until morning.

  "Thanks, Auntie Jan."

  "I cannot tell you how happy I am that that pathetic creature left before I was forced to put her out of her misery."

  "Oh, come on, Jan, a little empathy here. We've dragged her way out of her comfort level. She's in love, probably for the first time in her life, and desperate not to do anything to mess it up. Trust me, I've been there."

  "Ha, you sure got over the habit of not messing up. Yes, I know you fell ass over teakettle, whatever that means, for a couple of heels, but lemme ask you this; if one of them ever told you you couldn't do something, like drink alcohol, what would you have done?"

  "I'd'a gotten drunk and told them to go you-know-what themselves."

  "See? Therein lies the difference."

  "Yabbut, I know the warning signs now on how not to fall for them in the first place. Saw a check list somewhere. I even went to the website and downloaded it, lest I ever fall victim to abuse again."

  "Abuse? You? You gotta be kidding me."

  "That's what I thought, but then I took a test they offered online, and oddly enough, the two rats who dumped me never ticked a single box, but I remember that list. This Rousel has already waved the red flag with two of them. Lemme bring it up and you can see for yourself."

  I'd bookmarked the page and read the warning signs aloud as she opened a bottle of wine for us. She handed me a glass. "Yep, two big ones already. Forbids her to drink, and wants her where he wants her when he wants her there."

  "I guess the good news is, she's defied both edicts, but only because he's gone, and she's fallen in with a bad crowd."

  We clinked glasses, toasting ourselves. "She does need to grow a pair. By the way, the insurance on that rental only covers me and Jenks as the drivers, so I swear, if she wrecks it because she falls asleep at the wheel I'm gonna say she stole it."

  "How very empathetic of you."

  I shot her the finger. "Want to get the rest of our stuff transferred from Villepinte before I collapse in a heap?"

  "Nah, I got us what we need for now. You said there's a good restaurant right next door, so let's go find it and finish hauling stuff over here in the morning. And speaking of morning, are we going back at the same pace that got us here? That's gonna be a bear with only two of us on board."

  "Why should we? We got nuthin' but time. We'll leave sometime tomorrow and break this return voyage up into three days or even more. That sound okay?"

  "Absotively. Let us go out in search of fine cuisine, even finer wine, and lots of both. I'm sick of sandwiches."

  The quayside café at Argens served up the promised great food, wine and dessert, and dogs were welcome. At least French dogs. I'm not sure how they felt about the likes of Po Thang's eye-begging everyone in the place. I tied him to my chair lest he hoover plates from unsuspecting diners, who would probably chalk up his lack of manners to being American.

  "Ya know, Hetta," Jan said when we were happily entrenched back in our new digs and enjoying a final glass of wine before crashing, "that Rhonda? She was telling me her story while we were underway. I'm dead sure she's destined to get taken for a ride. If not Rousel, then someone else, but my money's on Rousel."

  I nodded. "Tell me about it. She's spent her entire adult life taking care of Mom, then mom dies, she inherits a bunch of money, and now she's in the South of France with a guy she hardly knows, but who is already controlling her."

  "Sounds like you in Paris a long time ago. Without the dead mom and a bunch of cash."

  I laughed. "But I was young and stupid and had little to lose. She, on the other hand, does."

  "Yeah, maybe we should do her a favor and steal her money before someone else does."

  Our new boat, even though only a few feet longer, boasted two master cabins with our own showers and an aft cockpit with seating for two. No bow thruster, but, as I learned during our shakedown the next morning with an instructor, much easier to handle.

  Now that Jan and I were self-proclaimed canal cruising experts, our reverse trip to Castelnaudary was much more relaxed. We broke it up into a three-nighter, and Jan's unorthodox locking techniques made life easier on both of us. Sauzens, as our boat was named, actually went where I aimed it and as long as I was even close to my target, Jan pulled me in like a rodeo pro. Once again, she attracted admirers in the eclusiers and gawkers alike. The fact that we had two swans dogging our dawg added to our élan.

  I called Rhonda each night, letting her know of our progress. She was down in the dumps; Rousel, true to his word, had failed to pop out of a cake to surprise her, so she was stuck in Castelnaudry by herself and was eagerly awaiting our return.

  She was standing on the quay when we arrived, motioning us into an empty space two boats down and behind her this time.

  Taking a line from Jan, Rhonda was practically jumping up and down with glee. I thought all this joy was for our return, but then she announced, swallowing air in her excitement, gasping between sentences, "Guess what? Rousel is coming back later tonight! We're gonna cruise the canal to as far as we can toward Toulouse, then," and here I was afraid she'd pass out from oxygen deprivation, "we're taking the train to Paris!"

  "Calm down, girl," Jan drawled, "before you bust a gut."

  "I can't. You haven't heard the best part. He's flying home with me! He already bought our tickets!" Her cheeks were bright red and those blue eyes popped. I could imagine her as a child, before her crappy life with Mom stole her youth.

  "Gee, that's...amazing," was all I managed to say. I was in no way going to steal her moment by saying something like, "Rousel's probably a gigolo who will break your heart and steal your money."

  I'm an incurable romantic that way.

  She took a deep breath. "Sorry, it's just that I never dreamed someone like him…something like this, would ever happen to me." She stepped on deck and hugged Po Thang who was doing his tail-bashing welcome of an old friend.

  I heard Jan hiss, "Dream, my rear. More like a nightmare," under her breath.

  We secured the boat, checked in with the Harbor Master, hooked up to power and water, then settled on deck for a glass of wine. I offered Rhonda one, but she held her palm out in a stop sign. "I'd love one, but Rousel will be here in a few hours and he'll smell alcohol on me."

  Jan, standing behind her, did the mock finger down the throat gag me thing, then asked, "So this dreamboat of yours wants you where he wants you, when he wants you, and doesn’t let you drink?" My best friend has never been one for subtlety.

  Rhonda, oblivious to the scorn in Jan's tone, gushed, "Isn't having someone care for you so much just wonderful?"

  "Oh, for cryin'—"

  I cut Jan off before she busted a gut. "Yes, Rhonda, I'm su
re it is. Take a load off—" I patted the deck next to me, which Po Thang decided was meant for him. Shoving my dog out of the way, I repeated my invite for Rhonda to sit. "Okay, tell us details. This is quite a dramatic twist for such a new relationship. He's going home with you? Wow, that's some move. Maybe he has business in the States and he worked you into his schedule?"

  "Oh, no. He arranged it as a surprise. Well, I should have known something was up when he left, because he took my plane tickets, credit card and passport. He said it was to get me a refund so I could stay longer, but he really just wanted to make arrangements for us to travel together."

  Jan's eyebrows threatened to climb into her hairline. "Whoa, you gave someone you hardly know your passport and credit card?"

  I was thinking the same thing. Maybe Rousel just wanted to make sure she didn't go anywhere until he got back. I wondered if she'd checked her credit card balance recently.

  Rhonda frowned. "Yeah, I guess that's not too smart, huh? Handing over my passport like that?"

  Jan opened her mouth, but for once was so incredulous she was at a loss for words.

  Not me, of course. "Um, no, it's really not. Never let your passport out of your sight. That's my hard and fast rule."

  "Okay, lesson learned."

  Jan had recovered enough to ask, "What exactly does Rousel do for a living? I know you said he's part of a family business, but what kind of bidness?"

  "I'm not sure. Something with import and export."

  Jan rolled her eyes. The import/export business is a well known euphemism for drug smuggling in most of the world. I pinched my lips in our let it go signal, but she can be a mite on the stubborn side. "Hey, Hetta, wasn't that French dude who broke your heart all those years back in the so-called import bidness?"

  "Thanks for the memory. That was eons ago."

  "Bad memory, I'd say. You came home from Europe in a body bag over that jerk. He freakin' broke your little heart and you mooned for years."