"This is getting worse and worse. If I can get a message through to her friend, Rhea, maybe she can clear this up. She'll know when Rhonda makes it back home, because she's keeping an eye on the house for her."
I sent Rhea a private message, explained who I was and the situation with Rhonda, not mentioning our suspicions Rousel was a gigolo. I only said we hadn't heard from her friend since she left the boat a few days before and that Rhonda had told us her phone wasn't working properly.
"That sounds reasonable. No scary enough to set off a 9-1-1 call, but still alerts her so she knows what's happening in case Rhoda hasn't clued her in. Add our phone numbers and email addresses, as well."
"Done. What say we go to Cannes?"
"Where did that come from? We gonna go there and look for a dastardly ring of gigolos preying on teachers?"
"Actually, that's not such a bad idea, but that wasn't what I had in mind. I just think we should do something...extravagant."
"I'm in. Let's pack up some cool beach duds, and...ooops, what are we going to do with you-know-who?" She tilted her head at Po Thang. "Can he go with us?"
"Too much trouble. Nope, I think I'll take René up on his offer and dump the dawg in Gruissan for a visit."
The dog in question stuck out his tongue. How does he know when we're talking about him?
Chapter Twenty-three
After Jan and I decided to take off for Cannes and dump Po Thang on René, I called him. He said Charles would be delighted with his company, as would the rest of the household. I wondered if when we returned, they would still be so delighted. My beach-and-boat dog wasn't exactly accustomed to upscale living.
"We're going to have to fetch the car from Negra tomorrow, then we'll come to Gruissan the next day, drop off your guest, and go on to Cannes for a short stay. Any suggestions on a hotel?"
"We always stay at a friend's guesthouse. I'm sure this time of the year there are no other guests, so I would be happy to enquire, if you would like to use it. I think you would really enjoy it."
"Oh, I don't know, René. That's a wonderful offer, but I'd feel uneasy staying with someone I don't know."
"The main house is not occupied this time of year. Let me make a call, and, I assure you, you will not regret taking me up on the offer."
"Well, okay, go ahead and find out, but let me talk to Jan about it. Anyway, I'll call you tomorrow after I've picked up our car at Negra. Á bientôt."
"What do you want to talk with me about?" Jan asked.
"René has use of a guest house in Cannes and says we can stay there. Knowing him, it might be really nice, but it seems almost like we're taking advantage of his generosity."
"Yabbut, I think he enjoys his ability to help us out. Besides, there's that gift horse thing, and all."
"Okay, then. I'll call him—"
Jan's phone rang. "Oh, hi, René, were your ears burning?"
I looked upward for heavenly intervention. This witticism of hers was going to cost me at least a ten minute translation.
"Uh, look I'll let Hetta handle that when we finish talking." She listened for a couple of minutes and nodded her head. "I like it and we accept."
René must have asked a question for she shook her head. "No, I don't need to discuss it with Hetta. We accept," she repeated. "Yes, thank you. We'll see you in the morning. Here's Hetta to explain that ear-burning thing." She handed me the phone.
I mouthed, "I'll get you for this," then was delighted to learn the French also use a similar term when discussing someone who is not present. I didn't bother to ask what he and Jan had conspired on that didn't need my approval, for once deciding to give over control.
When I hung up, Jan waited for me to grill her and when I didn't, she demanded, "Well?"
"Well, what?"
"Don't you want to know what René and I agreed on?"
"Nope. Surprise me."
"Fine, go pack those beach duds. He'll pick us up early tomorrow morning."
"Fine. What's for dinner?"
"What do you want?"
"Anything you want. I'm going to take Po Thang for a walk."
The "W" word brought Po Thang, leash in mouth. As we left the boat, I turned to wave and saw Jan frowning, hands on hips.
Once in a while it's just soooo much fun to confound your friends.
Dinner was poached salmon with a lemon, butter and parsley sauce. Jan had outdone herself so I decided to play nice.
"Oh, man, that salmon was to die for. Okay, now tell me is René picking us up in the morning?"
"I thought you'd never ask. You haven't been into the Valium again, have you?"
I hadn't told her I'd smuggled my favorite drug and a gun into France. "Of course not."
"Then how did you manage to go," she looked at her oversized watch, "an entire two hours without asking what I'd agreed to without consulting you?"
"Maturity," I said airily. "I've decided to mature."
"Ack."
"Just kidding. Okay, dish."
"He, or rather, André, is driving us to Cannes. They'll stay in the main house tomorrow night, then haul the pooches back to Gruissan. We get the pool house."
"Cool. We're gonna be doing the French Riviera in style."
"Hetta, we do everything in style."
"Well, our own style, that's for sure."
We fell into silence, each of us probably thinking about some of our less than stylish moments. At least I was.
When René, André, and Charles arrived the next morning, we loaded up and headed for Cannes. I had not been there in years but doubted much had changed. Boy, was I wrong.
Before we went to our digs, André gave us a driving tour of the town. While the basic shoreline was how I remembered it, there were a few new hotels. I was surprised by so many mega-yachts med-tied in the marina. The last time I was in the town, there were a few hotels near the beach—none of which I could afford—but now mega-yachts, luxury hotels, restaurants, and designer stores had taken over. Spoiled by the pristine and unpopulated beaches in the Sea of Cortez, I couldn't imagine sitting under one of the jillion umbrellas obliterating a view of the sand.
"Gee, it's just like in the movies," Jan said in awe. "I can't even imagine what it's like during the film festival."
René grunted. "It is ruin-ed. It was a small fishing village when my friend bought his villa here. It is a good thing he purchased in Le Suquet, or his view would be block-ed by now. Of course, he has updated the house over the years, thank God, so we no longer 'ave to use an outdoor toilet facility."
Yes, thank you, God. "I remember Old Town," I said. "I loved it. I wish I could remember where I stayed, but it's probably gone by now, judging by what's happened on the waterfront."
"Non, Le Suquet, it does not change. Oh, there are many more chic shops, but the basic buildings, they remain the same."
My heart sank. I've stayed in decaying villas over the years and the enchantment wears off fast. They are charming to look at, but in practicality, moldy, and damp. Especially here on the coast. Had I packed my sweats?
We left the Plage du Casino/Cannes la Croisette—the popular crescent beach area—and turned onto a cobblestone street, yet another visually endearing feature that quickly wears down the spine and kidneys, even in an Austin Princess. Five bumpy minutes later, André stopped before a set of giant ornate gates, spoke into a speaker box, and the heavy gates swung slowly open. Entering a tree-lined drive, we pulled under the portico of a three-story stone mansion. And yep, it was covered in ivy and looked a little moldy. Call me unromantic, but in my book, ivy equals spiders. I am such a romantic.
A young, willowy, elegantly dressed woman met us, shared air kisses with both the men, and shook hands with us. She introduced herself as the gestionnaire de propriétés, which I guessed was property manager, said she hoped we would be satisfied with the pool house for a few days, gave us her card, jumped into a Porsche, and exited through those grandiose gates.
"Jeez, Hetta, how do we g
et jobs as property managers over here?" Jan asked.
René shook his head. "Do not be misled. They give themselves job titles for tax purposes. She is a relative, the daughter of one of the owner's cousins."
I looked at her card and quipped, "Nice work, Nicole, if you can get it."
I insisted on taking René and André to dinner at a restaurant of their choice. Quite naturally, they picked a dog-friendly place on the touristy Le Croissette beach walk where we could eat outdoors while admiring designer everything, mega-yachts, and fancy dogs.
"Paris Hilton, eat your heart out," Jan said, as a woman walked by with a fluffy white chicken stuffed in her designer bag. "I could sit here for days, just watching the parade."
"Me too. Matter of fact, let's walk back here for breakfast tomorrow morning. Thanks, René for introducing us to your Cannes. Our pool room," I put finger quotation marks around pool room, "is wonderful. Meeting you on the beach in Gruissan was the best thing that could have happened."
"It is my pleasure. Making new friends like you, Jan, and Po Thang has given these two old men something to look forward to. We will miss you when you return to Mexico."
"You can visit us."
"We might do so. It is easy at my age to settle in and spend my days with Charles. Not that he is bad company, but our household can use a little young blood."
"Calling us young just earned you major Brownie points," Jan said.
Oh, hell. Now I have to explain Brownies?
Our cabana, as they called it, was actually a two bedroom cottage off a spectacular infinity pool. What with the pool's water melding with sky and ocean in the distance, the impression was one of being on the beach, rather than smack dab in the middle of Old Town. Whoever designed the pool was a genius. Also, much to my relief, everything was upgraded inside the cottage walls, while the outside retained an old-world look. René told us the house was over a hundred years old, so whoever owned it must have hired a pro to do the upgrades. Not a spider in sight, nor any mold.
We helped the men load up the Austin the next morning, kissed both them and the two dogs goodbye and went back to our pool house to plan our day.
Jan checked for any replies from Rhonda and declared, "No luck. But after our tour of Cannes, something struck a note, et voila! Look familiar?"
I walked behind her and squinted at the screen where I saw a field of umbrellas on a beach. "Sure does."
"Now, check this out." She brought up a selfie of Rhea and Rhonda under one of those umbrellas, and I yelled, "That's Rousel!"
"Jeez, Hetta, my ear."
I lowered my voice. "Sorry. Rhonda said she and Rhea first saw Rousel and a friend in Cannes and here they are, in living color." In the selfie, the two women were in the forefront, but behind them, two men, one of them Rousel, were clearly captured. And, although Rhonda told me the men totally ignored her and her friend, that was clearly not the case when the women's backs were turned. I know snooping when I see it, and said so.
"Yep, you've got a PhD in snoopery. I wonder where exactly this was taken."
"Let's go find out. We got nothing but time and the day is beautiful. Let us go on a fact-finding mission."
Returning to where we had dinner the night before, we bought a map from a street vendor, found a table, and ordered coffee. Jan had loaded the selfie of Rhonda and Rhea into her iPhone so we could compare backgrounds around us.
I pointed to an outcropping down the beach. "See that? I visited it years ago, but it's worth a revisit. That was before all this," I swooped my arm toward the huge marina, "was even here. It was called the artist's castle or something like that."
Jan looked at our map. "Château de la Napoule?"
"Yeah, that's it. Anyhow, if we walk in that direction, we should be able to find where Rhonda and Rhea were sitting when they spotted Rousel and friend."
"And we are doing this, why? Never mind, why not?"
It didn't take long to zero in on the spot, even the very table where Rhea snapped the selfie. Just for fun I took a selfie of me and Jan, with the now unoccupied table from which Rousel le Roué and his friend were eavesdropping. I thought it would be fun to give it to Rhonda someday if we were dead wrong and she and her dreamboat got married or something.
After the waiter took our orders—since it was mid-morning we decided it was okay to have champagne—we dug out our map again and planned a day of playing tourists.
My phone rang and, miracle of miracles, it was Jenks. I told him we were goofing off on the Riviera and staying at a chateau with a pool house.
"I'm glad you're having a good time, but I would rather you didn't hang out in tourist areas right now," he said.
"We're only here for two days, then we'll take the train to Negra and pick up the car."
"Hetta, please, no trains or planes. If you have to rent another car, I'll cover it."
"Jenks, you're worrying me. What's up?"
"We aren't sure, but you need to be on the alert. Stay away from crowded areas."
The beach was filling up, as was the café. Matter of fact, the table next to us was now occupied. I grabbed my champagne and took a gulp.
Jan, who was watching me intently, did likewise.
"Okay, Jenks, I read you, loud and clear. We'll head back to Castelnaudry soon and keep a low profile here. Dang, and here we were, planning to dance on the tabletops tonight."
He sighed. "Sorry, Red. I don't want to throw a wet blanket on your fun, but do it somewhere safe, okay? Gotta go. Love you."
"Wait a minute, where are you?" I asked, but he was gone.
"What?" Jan asked.
"I'll tell you later. We should go."
"Don't have to tell me twice."
While she packed up her laptop, I signaled the waiter for our check.
"Hetta," Jan whispered. "Act like you're taking a selfie and reverse it so you get the table next to us, okay?"
"Why?"
"Just friggin' do it. I'm gonna move next to you so it looks more natural."
The check arrived just as I snapped off two selfies, I threw too much money on his tray, and we left. A block away, I asked, "What was all that about?"
"You'll see. Slow down and let's window shop along the boulevard."
"Jenks said to get out of here, or anywhere else people gather."
"We will, but first we gotta check out those photos you just took."
I pulled out my phone. "I look like crap in the first one. Gotta delete this one for sure. Why do you always look so danged good?"
"Send me the second one, right now."
"Jeez. Okay, sent."
Jan's phone dinged and she pulled up the photo and zoomed in with her thumb and finger. "Look familiar?"
"Holy crap. That's Rousel's friend."
"And don't look now, but he's following us."
"Way creepy." I caressed the Taurus in my shoulder bag. "Why and how did he hone in on us?"
"I've got a theory on that. Let's just move slowly and keep an eye on him."
"Tell me your theory. I've already got one of my own."
"The waiter. He called this guy and said he had a couple of hot prospects for him."
"That's what I think. Great minds and all. What say we lead this jerk on a merry goose chase?"
After fifteen minutes of meandering, we found another café and ordered lunch. Our tail took up residence at a table behind us. Jan winked and said loudly, "Isn't being in France romantic? Let's toast that bastard I divorced. May he remain forever broke and homeless."
I jumped right in, following her lead. "By the time you get through with him, you'll even have the yacht." I nodded toward the marina, chockablock with megayachts.
"But I'll still be on my own. I hope you change your mind and hang around a little longer to keep me company. Money's no object," Jan whined.
"I really have to get back to Dallas, honey, but I do feel bad about leaving you here all alone." I suddenly swiveled in my chair and said, "Say, you look French. Where woul
d you go if you were a woman alone on the Riviera looking for a good time?"
Startled at my loud question, our tail blanched and looked around as if seeking a hole to scurry into. Jan and I didn't give him a break, just stared and waited for his answer. I repeated the question in French. A couple of women sitting nearby hid smiles behind napkins.
The man, model gorgeous, recovered and smiled. "I would make friends with me, of course."
"Charming. You got a name?" Jan was pouring on the Texas thang.
"Étienne."
"Well, dang, I think I have a pair of your shoes. Or is it a handbag? You live around here?"
"Uh, yes, but I am not the designer."
"Well, that's okay. Come on over here and have a drink, Cutie Pie. I don't speak French, but looks like you know English. Lemme get a photo for the girls back home." She pulled out her phone and snapped him before he could react.
Jan's full frontal onslaught made him squirm. He was used to being the predator, not the prey, and the last thing he was looking for was an aggressive female. That's not how gigolos work. He threw money on his table and skedaddled.
The women at the next table laughed and raised their wine glasses to us.
"You know him?" Jan asked.
"That one? He works the waterfront. We see him often, looking for women to...what is the word?"
"Fleece."
They didn't understand, so I said, "Take money from."
This cracked them up. "Yes, that is it."
"Have you seen him with another man?"
One of the women nodded. "Yes. But the other has not been here for some time. He must have found someone to fleez."
Jan pulled out her laptop and showed them the photo of the men Rhonda's friend posted on Facebook. Tapping Rousel's face on the screen, she asked, "Is this him?"
The women peered at the photo and agreed they were looking at the two men we were talking about. "You are the police?" one of them asked.
"No. But we are concerned for a friend. She saw this man here in Cannes, then actually met him in Gruissan. We think he followed her there."
Just Pardon My French (Hetta Coffey Series, Book 8) Page 15