by Susan Finlay
Back in Chicago it was common to see vagrants living on the streets, in cardboard boxes, or abandoned buildings. If this woman was a pickpocket, she might also be a vagrant. As he gazed up the hill, he remembered someone—he couldn’t recall who—had told him that the older brother of one of his childhood friends had become a vagrant and was living in the caves and bumming food off the locals. Bruno—Bruno Houdan. If Bruno could live in the caves . . . .
Dave rushed up the nearby stairs to the second tier and back to his grandmother’s house, where he found a flashlight in a kitchen drawer. He grabbed it, went back to the chateau area, and found the cave entrance behind the hotel. He hadn’t been inside the cave system in years, but he had once known it well.
The caves had a long history of use—they had been mined for stone, used to house families, grow mushrooms, and store wine. They had even been used to hide members of the French Résistance during World War II. Because of that, electric lighting had long ago been installed throughout the main chambers, and if one knew where the switches were located along the walls, they could travel through most of the tunnels, or alleyways as the locals called them, in dim light. It was only in the lesser tunnels and unused caves that one had to rely on flashlights. If Dave remembered right, some tunnels led directly to the back doors of homes, others led to unused caves, and some dead-ended.
He explored each tunnel on the first level. As expected, some had access to chambers or tunnels on the next level. He climbed stairways, or in some places ladders, to get to those chambers and tunnels. Some tunnels weren’t as easy to navigate as they had been when he was a kid, some because of the narrowness or low ceilings and some because of the increased bat population. For those, he would have to gain entrance from the outside. He finally decided to go out for a while and look around. He needed sunlight and fresh air. Later, he could come back inside, if necessary, and climb up to the next level.
For the rest of the day, Dave scoured the hillside the way he used to do when he was a kid. In those days, he would scavenge for treasures and artifacts, and his endeavors had usually produced fossils, animal bones, or collectible Neolithic polishing stones which the locals called polissoirs. But today, in the early evening, he came away empty-handed, frustrated, and with the suspicion that the sight of the gendarmes had sent the woman running from the area for good.
The next morning, Dave looked at the clock on his nightstand and groaned. He’d been awake for a while, thinking about his life, his poor choices, his failures. Simone had told him yesterday that he cared more about the mystery, not the person. There was some truth in that. The end of his career as a detective still rankled with him. He still felt the need to prove something. Writing mysteries helped a little, but the bitterness remained. He needed something real—and maybe that was at the heart of his dissatisfaction. And he had failed again this time.
He rolled onto his back and pictured Maurelle, her captivating eyes and shy smile, and then Simone’s words intruded: “Don’t let her trick you.”
But Simone didn’t know what happened in Chicago. No one here did.
He threw off his covers, pulled on a pair of navy trousers and a light blue polo, then ran a comb through his hair. Normally, he would shower and shave, but screw it. He jerked the door open and trudged down the stairs and into the kitchen. His grandmother was on the phone again. He listened for a minute. She was talking to Jeannette. Of course she was. He glanced at his computer that was sitting on the kitchen table and took a step toward it, but stopped when his grandmother mentioned the mystery woman. Apparently, Jeannette’s daughter, Coralie, had seen her at the general store late yesterday afternoon buying a few grocery items.
Dave squinted one eye, then went into the living room, put on his sneakers, closed the front door behind him, and trudged toward the café. But he didn’t stop there. He continued walking onto a pathway that led past numerous troglodyte homes; he must have missed something—she had to be there.
Half an hour later, while he was resting for a few minutes, he looked upward and spotted the outcropping of rock that hung over this lower level. The outcropping was visible even from the river because it stuck out like a wart on a thumb, but the secret swimming hole on that ledge was hidden between trees and shrubs. As a kid, he’d stumbled upon it and made the mistake of telling his grandparents, who scolded him and said he wasn’t to go back. It was known to be dangerous because the trails leading up to the outcropping from this tier or down to it from a higher tier were steep and, in some spots, slippery, with loose stones and friable rock. That hadn’t bothered him. He’d always been like a mountain goat when it came to navigating the hills, so of course he’d gone back despite his promises.
The rock wall looked more daunting than he remembered. Back when he was a detective, he’d kept in good physical shape. Five years out, and no longer in a fit physical regimen, he couldn’t be sure he could still climb the rock, but by God he was going to try.
Pushing his way between overgrown bushes and getting his arms scratched in the process, Dave found the ragged path and started climbing. Halfway up, he lost his footing and had to grab onto a rock to catch himself. He stopped a moment, catching his breath, then scrambled upward again, exhilarated at the challenge. I’ve really missed this sort of thing, he thought. He felt loose gravel under his right foot, and it was too late. He slipped down a few feet and grazed his hand on the stone wall on the way. He examined the damage. It was bleeding slightly and ached like hell. Finally, on his third try he made it the rest of the way up, and stood on the ledge, looking out over the river valley below. It was still breathtaking. Against a backdrop of fat hedges of flowering Lavender bushes, the river glistened in the sunlight. Alongside the river, on the other side, he could see the church and businesses. Behind those were the houses. In the distance, trees and fields of dark green with squares of light green farms dotted the landscape.
The sound of splashing pulled his attention away from the view and moved toward the little alcove. The bushes, willows, and poplars were taller and fuller than the last time he saw them and took more effort to get through to the deep pond where he and his friends, Jonas and Paul, had occasionally gone skinny-dipping as children. He ran his head through his hair, remembering that even Michel and Bruno Houdan had gone with them once or twice.
In the alcove, he stopped abruptly at the sight of a naked woman sitting in the grass. Her eyes flew open and when she spotted him, a soft gasp escaped her, and she froze. Dave looked away, almost losing his footing as he turned. He glanced backwards and watched her. She grabbed her clothing, which was scattered on the grass near her and dressed quickly, casting glances at him every few seconds, like she was afraid he would jump her. Not that he blamed her. He’d known plenty of men who would take full advantage. When she finished, she stood barefoot on the grassy bank, in jeans and a pale green sleeveless blouse, shaking.
He moved toward her, and she backed up. Suddenly, she spun on her heel and tried to run away. Dave, expecting it, clasped onto her arm, preventing her escape. Then he reached around her head with his free hand and touched her chin, turning her head to face him. “I won’t hurt you. Don’t run, please.”
“I—I have to go,” she stammered, squirming and trying to pull free.
“Please don’t be afraid. Remember me? We met before.”
She looked up at his face and nodded, then looked away.
“If you’re in some kind of trouble, I can help.”
She cleared her throat and said shakily, “I’m fine, really. You just startled me.” She smiled, and he released his grip.
Judging by the way she was looking around, he was sure she was going to try to bolt. He blocked her with his body.
“I looked for you here in Reynier, but I couldn’t find anyone who knew where you were staying.” He knew his words sounded accusing, but it couldn’t be helped. He kept his expression and tone neutral. “When I was a kid,” he said, continuing to watch her face carefully, “I was fascinat
ed with the caves. I spent hours exploring, sometimes finding artifacts or animal bones. One day, inside one of the caves I found some fossils—carbonized leaves and small animal foot prints. Cool fossils. At least I thought so. I gathered them up and rushed outside, excited about my treasure.” He paused. “I had barely come out of the cave when I came face to face with a wild boar. It was glaring at me, daring me to make a move. And I’ve got to tell you, that animal was the biggest damn pig I’ve ever seen. Had hairy black legs, grotesque haunches, and woolly grayish-black hair. Reminded me of bristles on a shoe-shine brush . . . but I think it was its huge tusks that terrified me most.”
Her eyes widened in surprise.
“What did you do?”
“I did what any kid would have done. I backed up, right into the cave, hoping and praying that creature wouldn’t follow. Unfortunately, in my frantic state, and walking backwards, I didn’t see the large rock in the middle of the floor. My heel clunked into the rock and I lost my balance, landing on my ass in the tufa.”
Maurelle smiled and seemed to relax. “What’s ‘tufa’?”
“Just a word for this kind of rock.”
She reached down and picked up her shoes and then moved toward a large, flat-topped rock. She sat on the rock and put on her shoes. While she tied the second shoe, she said, “You made that up.”
“Nope. I broke one of the fossils when I fell. Not only that, I sat in that damned cave all afternoon and well into the night before I had the nerve to come back outside.” He laughed. “I always wondered whether that old boar was too fat and full to go in after me, or if he thought I wasn’t worth the effort.”
She laughed, and began running her fingers through her damp hair.
Dave reached into his pant pocket and pulled out a comb. He handed it to her. As he watched her comb through her long and curly tangled hair, he was reminded of a frightened wild colt that his former father-in-law had found near his ranch in Montana. That beautiful creature had skittered whenever anyone came close, and this stranger exhibited that same skittishness. Who was she? The pickpocket the gendarmes were looking for? She was certainly running away from something—perhaps an abusive husband or lover.
His grandmother’s word ‘gypsy’ popped into his mind. That might explain her fear of the gendarmes, but nothing about her suggested Romany blood, except perhaps her dark hair. In any case, not only were gypsies not always as criminal as they were made out to be, as far as he knew, they travelled as families and clans, never alone.
She reached out to Dave to give him back his comb, but he motioned for her to keep it. He sat down next to her. Bending forward, he picked up a leaf that had fallen on the ground, held it between two fingers, and rubbed it absentmindedly while he pondered his words. He wanted her to feel comfortable with him, and he figured he had one chance to convince her that she could let down her guard.
“You can trust me,” he said, finally. “I want to help you. Hey, I’m a nice guy! I know that you barely know me, but there are plenty of people in town who can vouch for me, if you need proof.”
She shook her head. “Thank you, but that isn’t necessary, really. It’s not you. It’s—it’s just that I don’t need any help. I’m on holiday from Le Mans. In fact, I’m heading to Paris this afternoon and then back home after that.”
Dave cleared his throat. “Look, you are obviously not French. I speak it well enough, and even I can hear your accent—British, right?” She blushed, and opened her mouth to protest, but Dave continued. “What’s more, I checked with the local hotels. They told me you aren’t staying anywhere around here. I don’t believe you’re staying with someone either.” Her head jerked up, and again she opened her mouth to speak, but Dave motioned for her to stop.
“If you were staying with friends, then you wouldn’t need to bathe in the pond.”
She blushed again and averted her eyes, making Dave regret what he’d said. But he couldn’t think of another way to get her to talk to him. He felt her tense up, pulling away from him even further, consequently, when she stood, he was prepared. He reached out and grabbed her arm, drawing her back.
“I really do want to help you. Whatever the problem, let me in. Please.”
“I don’t need help.” She sighed heavily, and then, in a barely audible voice, as if speaking to herself, said, “I don’t need anyone.”
He placed his hand under her chin and tilted her face up. Her eyes were clouded. He gently wiped away tears that had slid down her cheek. Tears didn’t normally move Dave. He had been conditioned to them in his former line of work where he had seen victims and criminals alike break down into sobs.
“Let’s go back to the village,” he said. “I’m a guest at my grandmother’s house. I’m sure she wouldn’t mind having another guest.” He paused, thinking back on his last conversation with his grandmother. “If that doesn’t work, I’ll rent a room for you at Chateau de Reynier or in a hotel in Belvidere.”
She shook her head defiantly and pulled back. Her moist eyes showed fear and relief battling each other for control. She looked away, hiding her face as she reached up to dab at her eyes. When she finally spoke, her voice was so soft that Dave could barely hear.
“I can’t go with you. I don’t want to be a burden.” She reached up and pushed wayward strands of hair out of her eyes, and then added, “And I have my own money.”
Dave frowned. “Then why aren’t you staying in a hotel?”
“It’s—it’s complicated,” she mumbled.
He pursed his lips as alarm bells went off in his head. “Well, we can talk some more, later. For now, let’s get you to a safe place, okay?”
She nodded, sighing deeply.
“Where are your things?”
She stared at the ground, not answering.
“Look, I know you must be staying in one of the caves. You might as well tell me which one.”
Finally, she said, “All right. The cave is further up the hill. Not far from here.” She looked up, shyly, and pointed toward a group of gangly bushes.
Dave scanned the area and spotted the twisting, winding trail of dirt weaving through sheets of limestone and dirt on the hill. He vaguely recalled that trail from his childhood. Now that he knew which way to go, he took hold of her hand and walked with her toward the trail. Climbing up was almost as difficult as when he’d climbed from the lower level to the outcropping. Remembering his two falls, he let go of her, allowing both of them to use their hands. Maurelle was in front of him, which he didn’t think much of, until she reached the top and started running. Dave made the final push onto the higher tier, scanned for her, and then rushed forward. Grabbing her arm, he looked questioningly at her. “Come on. Where is this cave?”
She took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “All right, I’ll take you there.”
Dave held onto her arm as they trudged through the woods of poplar, ash, oak, and alder. They came to the path that led upward to the ancient ruins of a church at the top of the hill. Maurelle went on past the trail. Did she even know about the church? Did she know about the tunnels leading to the other caves and to the troglos?
They continued through an area covered in wild shrubs, and then she stopped.
Dave raised his eyebrows.
“You’ll have to let go of my arm,” she said.
“I don’t think so.”
She moved toward one of the bushes and knelt down, making Dave bend over uncomfortably. Pulling back a thick branch, she revealed her cave, one of the few caves around that still had its original opening. It was nothing more than a four-foot high hole in the rock.
“You first,” Dave said. He scrunched down and followed her inside. When he stood up straight again, he abruptly bumped his head on a low section of ceiling. “Damn!”
“Are you all right?”
“Yeah,” he said, rubbing his sore head. “Now I remember this cave. My friends brought me here a few times when I was a teenager.” He winced and stooped slightly to avoid another
accident. His eyes adjusted to the low light and he watched Maurelle as she moved away from the entrance, closer to the narrow inner section that would eventually lead to the other caves if one could get through it. As he recalled, it was full of bats and was extremely narrow in spots. She might make a run for it into the tunnel-like chamber, but he doubted she would get far in the pitch blackness.
He waited.
She came back into the main room carrying a duffel bag and something that looked like a sleeping bag.
“Here, let me get those.” He threw the duffel bag’s strap over his shoulder and carried the other bag with his free hand, while he held onto her hand with the other. At the cave entrance he set the bags down and slid them through, then crept out and waited for her.
CHAPTER SEVEN
Maura Barrington walked alongside the tall stranger. He was far too quick and agile for her to escape from him at the moment. She would have to wait for a better opportunity. “May I ask you something?”
“Sure. What do you want to know?”
“How did you find me? I’ve never seen anyone in that area before. Near that pond, I mean.”
“I was looking for you.”
“Oh.” She made a mental note to be more careful in the future. When she saw that they were approaching the inhabited troglodyte dwellings, she stopped.
“What’s wrong?”
“I—I just . . . .”
“What?”
“This is private property, isn’t it?”
His face broke into a grin. “Well, sort of, I guess, but I know the people who live here. They won’t mind.”
As they passed the first home, he waved to the white-haired man and woman sitting in rocking chairs on the veranda.
“Bonjour,” the man said. He wore a blue and gray plaid shirt, and gray trousers, and kept a cane at his side. She recognized him. She’d seen him sitting on a bench outside the general store with another man on a few occasions. He never spoke to her, but he usually nodded when she had walked past. The woman, whom Maura hadn’t seen before, wore a purple top and lavender skirt with purple flowers.