Where Secrets Reside

by Susan Finlay

  The child didn’t respond.

  “Maybe find some milk and something to eat, too. Okay?”

  The girl licked her lips.

  “I will carry you, if that’s all right. It’s muddy.”

  Maurelle reached out again carefully and this time the child allowed herself to be picked up. As Maurelle carried the shaking child along the trail into town, something was niggling at her mind, but she couldn’t put her finger on what it was. Maybe the child’s parents had been staying in the chateau, the only hotel in Reynier. That made some sense. Tourists went out hiking on this hill. They could have become separated when the storm hit. It wouldn’t be the first time. On this rugged hillside, especially on a stormy night, one could easily panic, get turned around, and even make a wrong step that could send them careening over a cliff.

  Maurelle recalled when she herself had fallen before. She’d only been in Reynier for a week and had been hiking in this area in the dark. She’d slowed when she knew she was approaching a narrow rocky ridge in one of the highest sections of the hill. Mindful of the danger, she’d maneuvered along the rock wall. Without warning, the chalky limestone had crumbled beneath her footing causing her to slip over the edge. Dazed, heart racing, she’d struggled to calm herself. As her heart slowed, she’d realized she was perched precariously on one of several outcroppings in the hill’s tiers. She might have continued swearing at her bad luck as she had done moments before but thought better of it because, looking over her shoulder, she could see that she had narrowly missed a much longer and more devastating fall.

  She shivered at the mishap and tried not to think about it as she carried the little girl into the village, watching her step so as not to slip or trip in the mud a second time. When she reached the pavement near Café Charbonneau, she paused to decide where to go. At a little after seven o’clock, Dave’s grandmother, Fabienne, might still be asleep, but the café looked open. Maurelle could see candlelight flickering through the picture windows.

  CHAPTER TWO

  CAFÉ CHARBONNEAU BUZZED with energy in spite of the power outage. Simone Charbonneau, the patronne, leaned against the café’s limestone countertop, her elbows planted firmly on the stone. The heat from two dozen candles that she and her boyfriend, Alain, had lit up and spread around the dining room—on the service counter and on the tabletops—did little to ward off the chill in the air last night’s storm had brought in.

  Simone sipped at a cup of orange juice while she listened to her customers. To her amazement she had a full house this morning. The storm, instead of keeping people indoors as she’d expected, had brought out even those who never came to the café. Simone smiled to herself. She sorely needed the business.

  No one minded eating the day old croissants and drinking room temperature juice or milk. They didn’t even complain about the lack of coffee or the lack of electricity. Most mornings her customers managed to find something to complain about—if not complaining about her coffee, then about each other, their spouses, or their bosses.

  Simone understood boredom and their need to get out and mingle. She missed the big city. Paris, where she’d lived and worked most of her life, was like a five-star gourmet restaurant, while Reynier was at best a half-star corner-food stand. It hadn’t helped her opinion that since she’d moved to this village two years ago, Dave Martin had dumped her, and his visiting friend, Greg Saunders, whom she was just getting to like, had returned to his home in the U.S. because he couldn’t see himself living here—not even to be with her. At least Alain Delacroix didn’t mind moving to such a small place. Having grown up in Reynier, he’d moved away to the larger town of Vendome as an adult, and he thought that made him sophisticated. Hardly. She shook her head. Although Alain had his flaws, he was the best boyfriend she’d had in years and he made her life in Reynier bearable. Her musings were abruptly interrupted by the loud voice of one of the patrons.

  “The whole damn roof blew right off my barn. I’ve never seen anything like it. The roof went flying ‘round my property like a giant Frisbee,” Claude Rousseau spluttered, waving his arms wildly to illustrate.

  The Gavaldas, who lived closer to town, insisted their damage was far worse. Charles Gavalda said, “Our two biggest trees uprooted and crashed right into the side of our house.”

  “He’s telling the truth,” his wife Helene added, wide-eyed and excited. “The trees knocked a gaping hole into the house. The worst of it was that the hole allowed rain to pour into our living room like a waterfall, ruining our brand new furniture. I’m sick over it.”

  Even Lillian Lefèvre, who usually sat alone, quietly sipping her coffee before work, was uncharacteristically animated. And to Simone’s surprised, Lillian’s husband, Jonas, was with her today. “I was watching out our living room window as Jonas pulled up in front of our house,” Lillian said. “All of a sudden, I saw a blinding flash of lighting followed by a loud boom, which I of course assumed was thunder.” She paused for effect as she looked around at her audience. “But when my eyes adjusted, I realized that the old rusted light post, the one I’d warned Mayor Rousseau about, had finally given way and broken in half, as I’d worried it might do. It toppled right onto the car. My Jonas is lucky to be alive, I tell you.” She turned and glared at the mayor, who was sitting at a nearby table. He shrugged.

  Everyone had a story to tell, which amused Simone. Usually, people wanted to be the talkers instead of the subject of talk. And yet look at them now—all hungering to be the most talked about person in town. Simone attempted to display a concerned demeanor. Of course she was sorry that her friends and acquaintances had these troubles, but at least they were not physically hurt and they were getting some enjoyment out of them. As she looked around at the candlelit tables, she decided the candles might be a good idea for the future. They created a friendlier mood, something that the café usually lacked.

  “So, what do you think, ma chérie?” Alain asked, startling Simone. She hadn’t heard him come up behind her.

  “What do I think about ‘what’?”

  “Who has the best story? Some of our customers are trying to start a contest.”

  Simone laughed and shook her head. “Why am I not surprised?”

  “Does that mean you don’t want to vote?”

  “I think I’ll stay out of this one. I don’t want to lose any customers because I voted for someone else. You know.”

  “Ah,” Alain said. “Always diplomatic. That’s my girl.” He kissed her on top of her head. “By the way, did you hear that a deer crashed into your mother’s front door this morning? She and Jeannette think it was frantic, maybe couldn’t see what was ahead of it.”

  “You’re making that up,” Simone said, shaking her finger at him.

  “No, that’s what I heard.” He shrugged and fondled her hair. “Of course, it’s hard to tell which stories are true, don’t you agree?”

  The bell on the café’s door abruptly jingled as the door opened. The noise level of the whole café went quiet.

  Simone and Alain watched, along with their customers as Maurelle, covered head to foot in mud, walked in carrying a small shivering child in her arms. Simone wasn’t sure which looked worse, Maurelle or the child.

  Alain raised his eyebrows, then leaned close to Simone and whispered, “I think we may have a winner here. She must have a helluva story to come in here looking like a train wreck.”

  Simone nodded as she stared at the strange sight of her muddied semi-friend and the unsightly ragamuffin that she held in her arms. On closer examination the toddler was probably cuter than she’d originally thought, though she needed a good scrubbing first before the votes were in. Maurelle looked like a mud creature from some nightmare. Even her hair had mud clinging in spots. At least I don’t have to worry about Alain flirting with her today. God, I would die before I went in public looking like that!

  “What do you have there, Maurelle?” Alain asked, apparently deciding to have some fun. “Have you been keeping secrets f
rom us? And here we were beginning to think you didn’t like children.”

  That brought laughter and guffaws.

  “Very funny, Alain,” Maurelle said. “Ha, ha.” She set the little girl down on one of the chairs at the counter. “I don’t know who she is. I found her sitting in the grass all alone on my way into town. She talked a tiny bit on the way here, but she isn’t clear when she speaks; I couldn’t get any idea of who she is.”

  The girl stuck her thumb in her mouth, shrinking visibly from all the attention.

  Maurelle surveyed the crowded room lit only by candlelight. “Do any of you recognize her?” she asked.

  No one spoke, which struck Simone as odd.

  “Hmm, since no one recognizes her,” Maurelle said, “I’m guessing she isn’t from around here.”

  “Unless she’s one of those kids you read about in the newspaper,” Claude Rousseau said. “You know the kind of stories in Italy and the U.S., the ones about people who keep their kids locked up in the attic or basement their whole lives.”

  Simone shot him a ‘shut up, that’s not helping’ look, then shook her head. They may as well not have a mayor. He was drunk half the time and even more useless the other half. Why people continued to elect him was a mystery to her. Perhaps doing nothing worked in his favor.

  Helene Gavalda shook her head, grimacing. “That girl’s poor mother must be frantic, wondering what’s happened to her baby. We need to find the woman right away. When my boys were young, one of them slipped out the back door and wandered off. The whole town spent hours searching for him. Do you remember that, Charles?”

  He nodded. “That was thirty years ago. Most of these folks wouldn’t remember it, but it’s clear in my mind. Not something a parent ever forgets.”

  “I think we’re going to need another search party now,” Helene said.

  Several people agreed. Simone looked over at her cousin, Paul. He was sitting in the back corner sipping his coffee and barely paying attention. How typical of him. Not concerned about anyone else.

  “First, we need to warm up this little girl,” Maurelle said. “Do you have a towel or blanket we can wrap her in, Simone? I don’t think my jacket is warm enough and it’s pretty muddy. She was wet and freezing when I found her.”

  “I’ll see what I can scrounge up.” Simone picked up a flashlight that she’d set on the counter and went into the back room. She returned a few minutes later with a fuzzy throw blanket. “Will this do?”

  “Oh yes. Thank you,” Maurelle said. She took the jacket off the child, wrapped the folded blanket around the little girl’s shoulders, and then sat down on the stool next to the girl, holding onto her so she wouldn’t tumble off. “Do you think her family could be staying at Chateau de Reynier?”

  Jean-Pierre Wickliff, the owner-manager of the chateau, was standing near the counter with his hands in his pockets. He shrugged and said, “No, no. We have no children there right now—only a young newlywed couple who stopped here for a few days on their way to the French Riviera. A businessman from Paris has reservations, but he hasn’t arrived yet.”

  “Maybe the parents live in Belvidere or are staying in a hotel in Belvidere,” Simone said.

  “I suppose that’s possible. You might check with on that when telephone service is restored.” He hesitated, cleared his throat, and looked embarrassed. “I, uh, did come here for a reason. Camille sent me here to get some breakfast for our guests. Without electricity, we can’t offer much.” He shrugged, holding up his arms out, hands upturned.

  Simone smiled and pulled out a flat box from behind the counter. She assembled the box and then placed half a dozen croissants inside. While she took out some orange juice cartons and placed them in the box, she asked, “Couldn’t the child be related to one of the two couples that were staying at the hotel recently? I know they were older, but she could be a grandchild, couldn’t she?”

  “No, no,” Jean-Pierre said, holding onto the box Simone had given him and waving his free hand. “They were retired, with grown children but no grandchildren yet. The couples were traveling together, and they left several days ago.”

  Simone nodded. Jean-Pierre paid and rushed out the door. She raised an eyebrow. Why was he in such a hurry to leave?

  The little girl made a noise and squirmed on her seat. Simone cocked her head and looked at her, wondering what was wrong.

  Maurelle blushed and said, “I’m sorry. I forgot. I promised the child something to eat when I first found her. She looked hungry. If you have something for her, I’ll pay for it of course.”

  Simone found two cookies and a carton of milk and placed them on the counter near Maurelle and the little girl. “No charge,” she said, as she turned to look at Alain. He shot her a huge smile.

  Maurelle opened the carton and helped the child sip from it, then handed her a cookie. The girl quickly gobbled down the first cookie, then motioned for the second one, ignoring the eyes of everyone avidly watching her.

  Alain leaned over the counter and looked closely at the girl.

  “You’re sure a cutie,” he said to her. Then he straightened back up and glanced at Simone who was standing next to him. His eyes, so sympathetic, made Simone want to shake her head and scream ‘no’. She knew Alain well enough by now to know that he was a softy when it came to kids, which meant he was soon going to ask something of her that she didn’t want to do. He put his arm around Simone, then said, “Ma chérie, I have an idea. Why don’t you take the little girl to Marie’s house? Maybe she’ll loan us some of Aurelie’s clothes so we can get her out of those wet things.”

  Simone groaned inwardly. That was the last thing she wanted to do, especially when she knew where this was headed. Alain had let her know on several occasions recently that he wanted to start a family with her. Reluctantly, she nodded and took off her apron. She glanced back at Paul, helplessly. She knew that at he would understand. He was the only person in town who knew that she didn’t like kids.

  “Can’t Maurelle take the child to Marie’s?” Paul asked.

  “No. I’d rather have Simone do it,” Alain said.

  Maurelle handed the little girl to Simone, and the child cried out. “It’s okay, little one,” Maurelle said, patting her on the head, but the girl cried even louder.

  “The rest of us can form a search party,” Alain said, raising his voice over the crying. “Charles and Helene, would you help us organize it since you two have some experience with this sort of thing?”

  “No,” Simone said. “You should wait for the gendarmes. They’re equipped for searches and rescues. We aren’t.”

  “I disagree,” Alain said. “Who better to search this area than the people who know the terrain?”

  Simone said, “It’s a mistake. You could cause more harm with everyone tramping around the village and the hillside. Let the gendarmes handle it. I’m sure the roads will be cleared soon.”

  Jonas Lefevre said, “Come on, Simone. The locals know this place. The gendarmes don’t. They won’t find anything. And besides, I’ve always heard that time is of the essence in missing person cases. The parents might be lying injured somewhere.”

  Charles said, “You know, we were worried sick when our boy was lost. First thought was that our boy had fallen off one of the cliffs.”

  “I thought of that, too,” Maurelle said. “I hope that’s not what happened.”

  “I hate to say it, but someone needs to search the bottoms of the cliffs and along the river,” Alain said. “Let’s split up into pairs, shall we?”

  Someone called out, “What about the caves?”

  “Oh, yeah, we need to spread out on the hillside and check all the caves, too.”

  “Even the main cavern?” Jonas asked.

  Alain said, “Maybe, though I don’t know if we have enough people here right now. I guess we should try to round up more volunteers. If each pair stops at one or two houses and finds more people to help, we’ll be spreading the word and giving ourselves a bette
r chance of finding her parents.”

  Everyone stood and shuffled around the room, pulling on jackets, and discussing who would go where.

  The door opened again and Simone looked up to see who it was. Merde. Bruno Houdan. His appearance wasn’t unexpected late in the day, but she’d never seen him this early. She shrugged and shook her head in disgust. The bruises and scrapes on his arms probably meant he’d gone on a drinking binge again. His drinking would be a bit more tolerable if he could afford the liquor and if he could control his foul mouth when drunk; he couldn’t do either. Then there was the issue of his lovely aroma, a combination of cheap alcohol and infrequent bathing. No one wanted to be downwind of Bruno.

  Simone said, “You can’t stay here, Bruno. We’re closing up.”

  “Can’t you spare a bottle of wine? I’ve been out in the storm all night.”

  “I thought you slept in one of the caves,” Alain said. “You should have been safe and dry.”

  “I was over in Belvidere ‘til pretty late last night. The storm started while I was on my way back. I wasn’t sure I was going to make it. Maybe a calva to warm me up?”

  Simone found a carton of juice and handed it to him. “That’s all you’re getting from me.” She nudged him out the door. She’d learned from experience that she had to be firm with the man, who was more or less a vagrant. Turning her attention back to her customers, she said, “We should probably leave before he comes back.”

  “I’ll talk to him when we go out,” Claude said. “I might be able to have him help with the search. He knows those caves better than most of us.”

  “We’ll need flashlights,” Alain said. “Simone and I have a couple of them upstairs in our apartment.”

  Simone said, “We brought them down this morning, remember?”

  Paul, still sitting at his table away from the rest, said, “If you need more, Coralie sells those hands-free headlights for cave touring over in her general store. You can stop by her house and see if she’ll open up the stop so you can borrow some.”