In the Shadows (The Outsiders Book 1)

by Susan Finlay

  “Maman, you’re forgetting that I was married once.”

  “I’m only trying to help you, dear. Maybe you should try another approach with Dave. Make him see you as wife material. I remember Fabienne told me that his marriage broke up because he wanted children and his wife didn’t.”

  Simone’s mouth flew open and snapped shut again. “I’m not that desperate!”

  “You could practice with the dog. Show Dave that you can be loving and nurturing.”

  Simone grimaced and didn’t answer. At that immediate moment, she thought, being alone wasn’t that bad. At least she didn’t have to do what other people demanded. The dog sat up and looked into her eyes. He leaned in and licked her face, making her smile in spite of herself. At least somebody cared about her feelings. Maybe with a good bath, he could stick around.

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  After a night in the woods southeast of Reynier, Maurelle realized she was in a far worse position than she had thought. Not only was she without money and without maps, she was also without decent shoes. Her feet, clad in flimsy and painful sandals, were blistered and raw.

  She had hitchhiked before, without any incidents or problems. But her recent experiences had taught her to expect the worst, especially when she couldn’t even trust herself. Last night, when Dave had asked her to grab her shoes and walk with him, she could have been practical, chosen her gym shoes and been comfortable. She could have gone upstairs, changed out of her skirt, and into jeans. But she hadn’t. She wanted to look pretty and feminine—for him.

  She closed her eyes. It was useless to dwell on things she couldn’t change.

  Her best chance for finding a ride would be to head to the main road, away from the isolated country lanes like the one on which Dave had found her. Of course, more traffic meant greater risk of being caught by law enforcement. And that meant being sent back to England. But what other choice did she have?

  Maurelle turned toward the main road in hopes of catching a ride. She stopped at a creek along the way and scrubbed her face with the cold water. It was well after sunrise when she finally reached the road. All she wanted was to get a ride. The chance to also get a bit of rest filled her with anticipation and a spurt of renewed energy as she breezed along the rough pavement. Of course, nothing was ever easy and this was no exception, as most of the traffic was heading in the other direction. Even the few cars going in the right direction shot straight past her. She continued walking until she reached the edge of Belvidere.

  With feet aching horribly, Maurelle sat down on a grassy mound alongside the road to rest, her legs stretched out in front of her. She closed her eyes, soaking in the sunshine, wishing she could catch up on sleep, even if only for a few minutes. Her eyes popped open at the sound of a vehicle approaching and slowing down. It was a loud vehicle, which told her without looking that it wasn’t one of the cars Dave had borrowed.

  Slowly, she turned her head and glanced over her shoulder. A green pick-up truck had stopped on the side of the road near her. She leapt up and rushed to the vehicle.

  A rather handsome man with black hair rolled down the passenger window. He regarded her quizzically. “Bonjour, Mademoiselle. Perhaps we met before, no? You look familiar?”

  Her heart thudded and she felt sick. Did he recognize her from the news? “I—I don’t think so.”

  He studied her, making her want to run in the opposite direction. Suddenly his face split into a wide grin. “I know. Dave Martin introduced us outside the bistro the other night. Where are you headed? And why are you out here alone? Did you and Dave have a fight?”

  As panic coursed through her, she struggled to maintain composure. Thinking fast, she said, “I remember. You’re a friend of Dave’s, yes? Anyway, I was on my way to Vendome. I hiked here, planning to take the train from Belvidere to Vendome. But someone snatched my handbag. I really should have been more attentive, especially since I had heard about similar problems in the area recently.”

  “That’s awful. Did you report it?”

  She nodded, hoping that he wouldn’t ask for details.

  “Well now, come. Get in.” The man reached over to the passenger door and opened it. “I’m on my way to Vendome to pick up supplies for a remodeling project I’m working on for a customer. Your company is more than welcome.”

  She climbed into the truck. He would probably tell Dave about this as soon as he had the chance. She sighed. The damage was already done.

  “I’m Paul. Paul Lepage,” the man said. “I apologize. I don’t remember your name.”

  “Maurelle.” She looked away, out of the window, trying to dissuade him from further conversation.

  “After I run my errands,” Paul said, “I can pick you up and drive you back to Reynier. Maybe we could have lunch together.”

  She continued to gaze out the window, pretending she was interested in the scenery as she deliberated on how to respond. She was hungry, but she didn’t dare stick around. “That’s kind of you. But I have a busy day planned.”

  “Well, you’re going to need a ride back, aren’t you? And if you and Dave aren’t together anymore, you can stay at my place.”

  “Thank you,” Maurelle said, “but I’m meeting someone.” She hesitated, glancing back at Paul. He had a friendly manner, though his piercing green eyes made her feel as if he was undressing her. “I’ll get a ride back to Reynier, I’m sure.”

  To her relief, he nodded and returned his attention to the road. But moments later, he resumed the conversation.

  “Are you meeting Dave? Does that mean you are still together? That you’re still staying with him and Fabienne, I mean.”

  She merely shrugged, not trusting herself to speak.

  Although the rest of the drive was quiet and seemingly peaceful, Maurelle kept her body braced for action—as though he might grab her and force her to return to Reynier, or worse. She would jump out of the moving vehicle, if necessary.

  As they entered Vendome, she kept a lookout for recognizable sights that she hoped would help her get her bearings. When they’d passed the hospital where Fabienne had received her medical tests yesterday, she relaxed a bit. From the hospital, lovely red-brick sidewalks lined the street and colorful gardens of red, pink, yellow, and white flowers brightened the roadside leading up to the river which they were about to cross. The short bridge resembled a drawbridge over a castle moat. She immediately recognized the castle-like entrance to the old town center—the old gate house of St. George, an ivy-covered building composed of two large crenellated and machicolated towers connected by a pavilion that topped the archway through which the road tunneled. After Fabienne’s tests, they had also passed through that gate, ate at a lovely outdoor café near Parc Ronsard, and strolled in the lush park along the riverfront.

  The truck passed through the gate and drove past centuries-old tall and narrow buildings, which now housed restaurants, cafés, shops, and offices.

  “Where should I drop you off?” Paul asked while they were stopped at the first traffic light.

  She hesitated until she recalled reading that the town’s greatest monument was the old abbey-church of the Trinity, which seemed like a good ‘meeting place’. “Oh, the Eglise de la Trinite, if that’s not too much trouble,” she said.

  “No problem. We’re actually close. It’s right near the town square, Place Saint-Martin.” He pointed to the left, and Maurelle could see the spires of the massive gray stone abbey in the distance. A few turns later, he pulled up.

  “Thank you, Monsieur Lepage. I am grateful.” She smiled sweetly, and pulled the door handle to get out.

  “You’re most welcome, Maurelle. I’ll give you my mobile number. Call me if you need a ride—or anything. I would love to take you out to lunch or dinner. And you are welcome to stay at my home for as long as you like.” He pulled out a piece of paper from a notebook on the floor of his truck and jotted down the number.

  He handed the paper to her. “I hope you’ll call. Oh, and by the w
ay, it’s illegal to hitchhike in France. I don’t want you to get into trouble.”

  She nodded, smiled, and tucked the piece of paper into her blouse pocket more to humor him than anything else. Even if she had coins for making a phone call, which she did not, she wouldn’t be calling him or anyone else. Silently, she climbed down from the truck and shut the door behind her.

  After Paul drove away, she walked toward the main road again, hoping to find another ride soon. Traffic was extremely heavy here, which gave her hope but also increased her risk because a local Gendarmerie was located here.

  As she strolled along the red-bricked sidewalk near the abbey, smells emanated from nearby restaurants and cafés, making her stomach growl. She tried to ignore them. She turned onto St. Martin Square and continued to the minor road, which she knew would eventually lead her back to the main road.

  By the time she finally reached the main highway, she chastised herself for not asking Paul to let her out at Parc Ronsard, which would have saved her time and energy, both of which were in short supply. Although the brief rest in the car had helped her feet temporarily, they now ached even worse than before. On top of that, the bright sunlight and intense heat was unrelenting.

  A car slowed down behind her, making her step into the dirt beside the road and turn around. Holding her breath, she watched the brown Peugeot pull up closer and stop. The driver rolled down his window. “Bonjour, Mademoiselle. Do you need a ride?”

  Maurelle nodded.

  “Where are you going?” he asked. His eyes were sharp and assessing.

  “South. As far as Spain eventually,” she blurted without thinking. She bit her tongue, wondering if maybe she should have given a closer destination.

  “I can take you part of the way.”

  She hesitated, studying him carefully. He was attractive in a distinguished sort of way and reminded her of one of her former college professors. He wore what appeared to be a dark blue Armani suit with a pale gray shirt and tie. His hair was dark brown streaked with gray, his mustache neatly trimmed. She couldn’t see his eye color behind his dark sunglasses. Overall, he looked polished, refined. Safe?

  “Guess I should introduce myself. Pierre Auberge here,” he said. “I’m on a business trip for my company. Only going as far as Limoges, but I can at least get you a little closer to your destination.”

  Maurelle vacillated. She wanted the ride, but she felt uneasy. Auberge looked respectable, and she’d accepted rides from strangers before. She had even gone home with Dave who, although she’d bumped into him a few times, had also been a stranger. Of course, that hadn’t gone particularly well, she reminded herself. Taking a step backward, she twisted her foot slightly and the strap of her left sandal scraped over one of her blisters. She bit her lip to keep from crying out in pain.

  “Merci, Monsieur.” She hoped she was making a wise decision as she slipped into the car, sat down in the front passenger seat, and smoothed her wrinkled skirt.

  Dave awoke bleary-eyed and disoriented. As he glanced around his bedroom, he saw Maurelle’s bag lying on the floor, her belongings stuffed inside haphazardly, her clothes spilling out. The previous night came flooding back, and he didn’t want to get up and face a new day. After a few minutes, however, his mind refusing to be controlled or focus on anything except Maurelle, neither could he handle lying in bed doing nothing.

  Groaning, he sat up on the edge of the bed, rubbed his face, feeling the stubble of beard growth. As he stretched, he realized he’d fallen asleep in his clothes, which were now so badly wrinkled from his tossing and turning that he wasn’t sure they would ever be wearable again. Finally, he stood up, opened his wardrobe, and pulled out a pair of dark gray dress slacks and a light gray shirt. As he dressed, he, transferred his wallet, coins, and keys to the clean pants. Reaching into the last pocket, his fingers brushed up against his plastic comb. Suddenly he saw in his mind Maurelle sitting on the rock, combing her hair.

  He rubbed his eyes to try to stop the vision, but the memories wouldn’t stop. He saw Maurelle sitting in the grass next to the pond stripped bare and vulnerable, saw her sitting at the outdoor café in Vendome laughing and talking with him and his grandmother, saw her across from him in the bistro with her face glowing in the soft light. God, he wished he could rewind the clock and erase last night.

  He combed his unruly hair as best he could, picked up his dirty clothes, and walked downstairs. The smell of fresh-brewed coffee lured him to the kitchen, but he resisted the urge and made a pit stop in the bathroom and shaved first.

  Ten minutes later, he entered the kitchen and poured himself a cup of steaming coffee. Fabienne padded into the room in her slippers. She scooted back another chair and sat down, but he didn’t acknowledge her. He wanted to be alone in his misery.

  “What are you going to do now, David? About the woman, I mean.” He shrugged. She rose and walked over to the oven. Grabbing an oven mitt, she opened the door, the smell of fresh croissants filling the room.

  The aroma lifted his spirits, reminding him briefly of summers spent here helping his grandmother knead bread dough and cookie dough. Neither bread nor cookies ever lasted a full day because Dave and his grandfather would always polish them off within hours. He watched her as she reached in, pulled out the golden pastry tray, and set it on the stove top.

  As if sensing his attention, she pulled off her oven mitt, tossed it on the counter, and turned to face him. “Do you think she’ll come back?”

  “Damned if I know.” He looked away. He really didn’t like admitting, even to himself, that he was not in control of the situation.

  Fabienne placed the croissants on a platter and carried them over to the table. When Dave didn’t move, she reached out and placed one on his plate.

  He covered her hand with his. “I’m sorry for being snippy. It’s not your fault I’m in such a lousy mood.”

  The remainder of breakfast passed with relatively few words between the two, Fabienne leaving Dave to his thoughts and Dave’s thoughts continuing their torment. After breakfast, Dave rearranged Maurelle’s belongings in her bag and hid the duffel bag back away in the cave cellar until he could decide what his next step should be. He was torn between going straight to the Gendarmerie in Belvidere and going to look for her to bring her back to the house. The gendarmes could hunt for her. They’d probably find her, but was he ready to do that? He massaged his neck and shoulders, trying to ease the tension in them. On the other hand, was he willing to continue harboring a murderer, if that’s what she turned out to be?

  His only other option, he decided, was to find out more details about the case. Now that he had names, he could search online for news reports. But when he tried to get on the neighbor’s unprotected internet, it was down. He saved the document that he’d prepared with the names Elizabeth Raybourne, Jared Raybourne, and Maura Barrington, as well as Maura’s address and date of birth. Tucking his computer under his arm, he left and walked down to Café Charbonneau. It wasn’t his first choice by any means because it would be a struggle to keep nosy customers—and Simone—from looking over his shoulders.

  Simone smiled as he entered, and strolled over to his table with a cup of coffee.

  “Good morning,” she said. “I was hoping you would come in.”

  “Thanks for the coffee.”

  She glanced around at her customers, before sitting down at Dave’s table. “I’m sorry about last night. I guess the dog wasn’t a good idea.”

  “That’s okay.”

  “You aren’t angry with me?”

  “No. We’re fine.”

  The bell on the door jingled and four people walked in.

  “I’ll talk with you later.” Simone left to wait on them.

  Dave opened his computer and typed in his password. He was ready to work. He took a sip of coffee while he waited for the internet. Nothing happened. What the hell? No internet access. It wasn’t like this never happened back in Chicago, but at least there he had more options. S
eeing that Simone had finished with her customers, Dave waved at her and she returned to his table.

  “Sorry to bother you with this, but your internet isn’t working.”

  “I know. I’ve already called the provider. They’re doing routine maintenance which they say will take another two hours.”

  “Do you know where I can find Wi-Fi that is working?”

  “You might try the big library in Vendome. My car is in the shop today, but I’m sure my mother would be happy to loan hers to you. She’s working in the store all day.”

  “Thanks.” He took a couple more sips of his coffee and then departed.

  As he walked to the general store to speak with Simone’s mother, Coralie, he thought about the library. He could probably print out articles there, which was a big help since he hadn’t brought a printer on his trip. They would have actual newspapers, as well, and if he wasn’t mistaken, there was a Gendarmerie in Vendome.

  After he obtained the keys to Coralie’s car, he went back to Fabienne’s house and instructed her to keep her front and back doors locked while he was away.

  When he arrived at Vendome, he parked in the parking lot at Parc Ronsard and strode toward the town hall in St. George Gate House. There, he was informed that the local Gendarmerie was next door in the sixteenth-century turret. The library was across the street and a few doors down. He thanked the receptionist and headed to the library.

  As he entered the library, several people looked up from what they were doing to stare at him, but quickly resumed their own activities. Dave proceeded to the main desk to enquire about using a computer.

  A pleasant, middle-aged woman in a dark blue suit said, “Yes indeed, we have computers available for our customers. You’ll need to log in with your library card number.”

  “Uh, I don’t have a library card. I’m visiting my grandmother in Reynier and she doesn’t have internet access. I was hoping to use the internet here.”