by Susan Finlay
Greg sat at a corner table, waving his hands to get Dave’s attention. Dave smiled, nodded, and made his way through the throng of tables and patrons. When he reached the table, Greg stood and greeted him with a handshake and a quick hug.
“Good to see you, buddy. It’s been a while.” Apparently noticing that Dave was looking at the other guy sitting at the table, he added, “This is my old friend, Nigel James. He’s a local. He and I lost touch with each other after he moved back here. But after I talked to you, I decided to call him up.”
Nigel stood and shook hands with Dave. “I’ve heard a lot about you. Greg has told me many stories of your adventures on the force. Sounds like you two had some good times.”
“We sure did,” Dave said.
Nigel said, “Greg started without us. I guess he can stay and guard our table whilst you and I go up to the bar to order.”
When they returned, a brunette woman was leaning her arms on the back of their booth, talking with Greg. She flashed a smile at them when they approached, handed a piece of paper to Greg, and left.
Dave said, “What was that? Did she already give you her phone number? You know what, you’re still as much a hound dog as ever.”
Greg grinned and stuffed the paper into his shirt pocket. “Are you seeing anyone? We didn’t get around to discussing that sort of thing on the phone last time we talked.”
“Well, I’ve been writing, traveling, visiting family.”
“Uh huh, and?” Greg asked. “Come on. Involved with anyone?”
“I’ve been seeing someone,” Dave said. He told him briefly about Simone, hoping that would satisfy him.
Greg said, “Why is it that you have all the luck with women?”
“Huh, look who’s talking,” Dave said, “Are you trying to say you don’t, after the little incident we just saw? You jump around from woman to woman. You always have, as long as I’ve known you.”
Greg laughed. “I recently broke up with someone so of course I’m already looking around!” He glanced after the brunette, who was now sitting at a table with two other women.
Dave and Nigel chuckled, then Dave asked the question he’d been wanting to ask. “So, how do you two know each other?”
Nigel said, “What? You mean Greg didn’t tell you? I lived in the U.S. for two years and worked with him.”
“Yeah,” Greg said. “He joined our precinct about a year after you left. He suckered me into introducing him to my sister, Kelly. You remember her, don’t you?”
“Sure.”
“It was love at first sight, me and Kelly,” Nigel said. “Before long, we were living together. We even got engaged.”
“What happened?” Dave asked between sips of beer. “Did she move here with you?”
“No. She came to her senses and dumped him, that’s what happened,” Greg said, patting Nigel on the back.
“Sad but true. After that, I came home and asked for my old job back.”
“He’s a police detective here,” Greg said, “but he isn’t working on the case you’re interested in.”
Dave nearly choked on his drink. He’d told Greg not to share anything about their plans with anyone. So much for trust. Regaining his composure, he said, “Do you have any connections with the inspectors on that case?
Nigel said, “No. My dad’s been a detective for forty years. I may be able to inquire through him.”
Dave nodded.
“I don’t mean to put a damper on things, but I still don’t know why you’re interested. Greg couldn’t really explain. If you want my help, I need to know why you want the information and what you plan to do with it.”
“I’m exploring the case as part of research for a novel I’m writing.”
Nigel sat back against the pub bench. Finally, he said, “Do you expect me to believe that?” Nigel shook his head and in a coolly impersonal tone said, “You’ll have to do better than that. I’m not stupid and I’m certainly not inclined to help someone who can’t be straight with me.”
THE DAY AFTER Fabienne began teaching her how to cook some of her best French dishes, Maurelle felt as though she had gained not only a cooking instructor, but also a friend. After her latest lesson, the two women munched on the scrumptious creations together, chatting and laughing like old friends. Afterward, Fabienne suggested they plant flowers around the site where Dave had buried the mouse a couple of days before, endearing herself even further to Maurelle. They spent the entire afternoon procuring suitable plants at the town garden shop, planting the flowers, and puttering around the backyard garden.
“You’re good at this,” Fabienne said. “Have you done much gardening?”
“My mother had a lovely garden when we lived near Oxford. I would help her plant flowers and shrubs. We put in paths and fountains and benches. I started helping so I could spend more time with her, but I discovered that I really enjoyed the work.”
“You lived near Oxford? Did you attend Oxford University?”
“No, but my mother was a lecturer at one of the colleges there for many years. She eventually accepted a position at London University, and we moved. I was twelve at the time. Being in the city, we had a smaller home and not much yard for a garden.”
“Was your mother sad about that?”
“Not really. She soon met a man, a semi-retired professor, and he got her interested in travel. They took long trips over the summers to Germany, Switzerland, Italy, Denmark, and weekend trips to the countryside or to Scotland. I’m glad they had that time together. He passed away from leukemia six months before my mother died. A month after he died, she learnt she had cancer, too. So I’m very glad they had that time together.”
“Did you travel with them?”
“Not usually. I was at boarding school, at first, and then at University. After that, I was working.”
When they finished with their gardening and went back inside the house, the telephone was ringing.
“That must be Dave,” Fabienne said as she rushed to answer the phone, with Maurelle following closely.
After hanging up, Fabienne shoulders sagged. “That was Jeannette calling to remind me that we’re invited to a dinner party at her house tonight. I’d completely forgotten.”
“You mean you are invited, don’t you?”
Fabienne shook her head. “She said both of us.”
“I can’t go. If Simone is there, it will be miserable. She and I don’t really get along.”
“Don’t worry about Simone. Jeannette knows you two don’t like each other. She’s assured me that Simone has other plans for the evening. You’ll like Jeannette once you get to know her. Why don’t you go upstairs and do whatever you need to do? While you’re doing that, I need to run to the store to get a small gift for our hostess. I won’t be long.”
“What should I wear?”
“I’m changing into my best dress when I return from the store. You should wear that lovely skirt and blouse you wore the other day.”
“Hello Fabienne,” someone called from behind her. “I’ve missed seeing you in the café.”
Fabienne swung around as Simone stepped onto the sidewalk near the doorway to the florist shop, apparently having crossed the street moments earlier. “Oh, yes, I’ve been quite busy lately. Sorry.”
“Grand-mère misses you, too.”
“I know. I talked to her earlier today. I’m going to her dinner party tonight. That’s why I’m out and about. I need to buy a gift to take.”
Simone nodded and looked as if she wanted to say something; then she shrugged.
“Well, good day, Simone.”
Fabienne turned to go into the shop.
“Wait. How is Dave doing? I haven’t heard from him recently.”
“He’s fine. Very busy. You know how it is.”
Before Simone had a chance to answer, Fabienne waved, smiled, pulled open the door, and dashed inside the florist shop. She wished she didn’t have to be curt, but she was afraid the younger woman would enga
ge her in more conversation. Gossip was a hard habit to break, she’d discovered, and Fabienne worried she wouldn’t be able to control her tongue if Simone managed to get her caught up in some juicy chitchat.
Maurelle dressed in her best skirt and blouse, and went downstairs to join Fabienne, who had already changed clothes and was fussing with a bouquet composé.
“What do you think of this?”
“It’s lovely. I’m sure she’ll be pleased.”
As they headed out the door, Fabienne said, “The guests will be Jeannette’s daughter and her boyfriend, Jeannette’s grandson, and a few friends of the family. Be friendly but it’s probably best if you let me do most of the talking. I know how to deal with them, especially with Jeannette.”
Maurelle nodded. Keeping quiet suited her fine.
Along the brief walk to Jeannette’s house, Maurelle enjoyed the light evening breeze and the smells of foods that drifted through the open windows of neighboring homes, making her grow hungrier by the minute.
When they arrived, Fabienne handed Jeannette the gift, which elicited the inevitable “Oh, il ne fallait pas”, which Maurelle translated as, “Oh, you shouldn’t have.” Jeannette, dressed in an expensive looking dress that made everyone else look under-dressed for the occasion, ushered her guests into a sitting room that almost made Maurelle gasp. She would never have expected such a luxurious room from the outside appearance of the house.
Jeannette offered them an aperitif while she placed the bouquet of mixed flowers into a waiting vase. Then, looking around, she leaned in and asked, “Where is David? Didn’t he come with you?”
“No. The dear boy is away on business. He had to meet with his editor or agent, I’m not sure. Something about his latest book. I’m sure he wouldn’t have missed your dinner party if he could have avoided it. You understand, yes?”
“Of course,” Jeannette said, motioning toward the couch, her diamond-studded bracelet dangling from her wrist for everyone to see. “Please, please sit. I’m glad you and—what was your name, again?”
“Maurelle Dupre.”
“I’m glad you could come, too, Maurelle.”
A moment later, Paul Lepage, along with a tallish middle-aged woman whom Maurelle didn’t recognize, came out of the kitchen.
“Oh, you’re here,” the woman said, rushing over to Fabienne. Bending down and kissing her on one cheek and then the other, she said, “Bonsoir. I’m so glad you could come.” She turned, straightened up, and looked down at Maurelle. “I don’t believe we’ve met.”
Jeannette said, “This is Maurelle Dupre. She is staying with Fabienne.” She quickly added, “And this is my daughter, Coralie Charboneau.”
“I’m delighted to meet you, Madame Charboneau.” Maurelle knew, of course, that Coralie was Simone’s mother because Fabienne had told her, but she was surprised how alike they looked—the same golden blonde hair and gray-blue eyes. Coralie looked more like Simone’s older sister than her mother.
Coralie glanced around the room, and asked, “But where is Dave?”
“Unfortunately, he is away on business,” Jeannette said, waving her hand as she spoke.
Coralie looked surprised, but before she could respond Paul stepped forward, kissed Fabienne on both cheeks, and looked at Maurelle.
Jeannette looked abashed. “Please forgive me. Mademoiselle Dupre, let me introduce my grandson, Paul Lepage. His mother is my youngest daughter, Brigitte.”
Maurelle said, “We have met, actually.”
“You have?” Jeannette and Fabienne said, simultaneously.
“Well, yes.” All eyes focused on Maurelle, and she almost stumbled over her words. “Dave introduced us, though he didn’t tell me he was your grandson.” She looked from Jeannette to Paul. They didn’t really resemble one another. Jeannette’s red hair, which was obviously dyed, gave no hint as to whether she originally had blonde hair like her daughter and granddaughter or had black hair like her grandson. She held her breath, hoping he wouldn’t mention the hitchhiking incident.
Paul nodded, but didn’t comment.
Jeannette cleared her throat. “We’re waiting on a few more guests. They should be here momentarily.”
While they waited, Maurelle caught Paul staring at her from across the room. He nodded, then turned and walked away.
Ten minutes later, more guests arrived and introductions were made: Coralie’s boyfriend Serge, Sandrine Fortier, Jonas and Lillian Lefevre, and Charles and Helene Gavalda. Maurelle remembered Sandrine, the nurse who had attended to her after the hitchhiking incident, but neither of them mentioned it.
After everyone had an aperitif, Jeannette escorted her guests into the dining room, and assigned seats to her guests. Maurelle noticed Jonas Lefevre watching her from across the table and down several spaces. Before they could begin the meal, the doorbell rang and Jeannette excused herself, returning moments later with Simone in tow.
Maurelle’s mouth dropped open involuntarily. She quickly snapped it shut, hoping no one had noticed. She flashed a look at Fabienne who looked equally surprised.
After another round of greetings, Simone took a seat at the dinner table.
“Simone had a previous engagement, but it was cancelled. She’s going to join us.”
Simone raised her eyebrows and asked, “Where is Dave?”
Jeannette said, “He’s out of town, on business, isn’t that right, Fabienne? Or is he out of the country? You didn’t really say?”
Before Fabienne opened her mouth to answer, Simone made a clicking sound of disapproval with her mouth. “He left without telling me? He didn’t even say au revoir?” She paused, and her face clouded over. “I bought tickets for us to attend the theatre together in Vendome for tonight. He didn’t even call to tell me he couldn’t make it.”
“I’m sure he simply forgot in his haste. He’ll be back,” Fabienne said. “Something came up unexpectedly. His work, something about his book, you know.”
Simone pouted, stood up, and turned on her heel. Almost as abruptly, she stopped and turned to face the dinner table. “She did this,” she said quietly, glaring at Maurelle.
Maurelle felt her own face grow hot as all eyes focused on her. She couldn’t think of anything to say to help the situation.
Jeannette stood and positioned her arms on Simone’s shoulders. “I’m sure that Dave will be back soon.” She rubbed her granddaughter’s shoulders, and continued in a soothing voice, “Fabienne has told me that she is the one helping Maurelle now—not Dave. Don’t be upset. Please come and sit. Dinner is getting cold.”
Simone didn’t move or say anything. The room was quiet and everyone’s eyes now focused on Simone and Jeannette.
Finally, Simone broke the silence this time as she glared at Fabienne. “I don’t believe that Dave is away on business. He told me that everything was going great with his latest book, and that he didn’t need to go back to Chicago or to his publisher in New York any time soon.”
“I told you that it was unexpected, Simone,” Fabienne said. “He couldn’t have known ahead of time.”
“You’re lying,” Simone said. “The way you lied to get him here. He told me about that. I know what a liar you are.”
Fabienne’s face turned bright red and she wagged her hand at Simone. “You ungrateful . . . ! I should never have introduced you to my grandson.”
“I think he’s doing something for her. I’ve been thinking about what you told us last week, about her being in trouble with the law. He’s gotten himself involved, hasn’t he?”
Not waiting for Fabienne to answer, Simone said, “Of course he would. That’s the detective in him.” She squinted her eyes, causing little wrinkles to gather around her nose. “So, what has Maurelle done that would make Dave leave here without taking her along? Why would he need to keep her hidden?”
Fabienne gathered her napkin in her hands and twisted it.
“Out with it,” Simone demanded. “If you won’t tell me, maybe I’ll make a call to the
Gendarmerie Nationale.”
“You wouldn’t dare,” Fabienne said. “Dave would never forgive you.”
“Then he is hiding her from the gendarmes!” Simone stood with her hands on her hips, satisfaction plastered on her face.
Fabienne clapped her hand over her mouth, and sank back in her chair. Suddenly, she scooted her chair back and stood. “We should go,” she said.
CHAPTER TWENTY
After dinner with Greg and Nigel, Dave excused himself and went back to his hotel room. The last thing he wanted to do was to go “pubbing” with them. Damn Greg. He knew Dave wanted to keep a low profile. What had made him think that bringing a local detective in on the investigation would work? Of course the guy would want to know why he was interested in the case; no cop in his right mind would blindly help them.
He pulled back the covers on the bed, undressed, and laid down. Hoping for a distraction from his worries, he turned on the television, but he switched it off ten minutes later. His mind dwelled on the newspaper articles he’d read and his conversation with Nigel until he eventually nodded off to sleep. Dave slept fitfully, tossing and turning all night, dreaming about Maurelle in a British courtroom with judges wearing white wigs. By the time he awoke, he wondered if he’d made a serious mistake coming here.
He dragged himself out of bed, showered, and dressed quickly, giving himself no time for second thoughts. He pulled out a London map and public transportation guides, studying them to develop a plan for the day. He would go to the Raybourne home first, where the murder had occurred, and check it out from the outside. With any luck, he might get a chance to speak with neighbors. Also, somewhere along the way, purchasing a disposable phone or a phone card would be prudent.
With plan in hand, he exited his hotel room, pulling the door shut and locking it. As he turned to leave, he came face to face with Greg who was rushing along the narrow hallway.
“Hey, buddy,” Greg said. “Glad I caught you before you headed out. We need to talk.”
Dave grunted.
“Sorry about last night, but you’ve gotta understand. Nigel isn’t going to stick his neck out for you if you won’t tell him what this is all about. He can’t trust you; he doesn’t know you like I do.”