“The police told Maman they found the gun under some bushes next to the driveway. They also saw signs that someone had been hiding there.”
“Was anything stolen?”
“We’re not sure. There are so many little things lying around, you know? Nothing from her room or Papa’s. Some of the guns were worth money, so if someone came to steal, they might have known.”
“Why does anyone think Gypsies were involved?”
“Oh, you know. There are gitans in the area at this time of year. I’m sure the village will have a dozen other candidates to suggest if the investigation drags on longer.” She paused and seemed to be debating with herself before she added, “I fear someone will suggest it was Yves.” She looked into Katherine’s face anxiously.
“Ah, the plate-breaking incident. You heard about that?”
“Bien sûr! Maman told me as soon as I arrived.”
“You don’t seriously think Yves would have broken into the château to get back at him, somehow?” For one thing, Katherine added to herself, breaking in under cover of darkness and secrecy wouldn’t be public enough for a man who liked to sing of his prowess with women whenever he could get a microphone. No, if Yves were bent on revenge, he would opt for a showdown on Main Street.
“Of course not. But I worry that Maman will say something to the lieutenant that makes them suspect him.”
“Did you ask her not to mention it?”
“I didn’t right away because I knew she would think it means I am still interested in him. Which I am not,” Sophie hastily said, but not before a short silence made Katherine wonder. “I thought perhaps you could.”
“You mean suggest she withhold that episode and Yves’s name?” Katherine could hear Michael’s voice, hear his warning about getting in trouble with the local flics. “I’m afraid it’s too late for that. There were so many other people present, you know. But I don’t think the police will see that as sufficient motive for murder, truly.”
Sophie looked at Katherine, her eyes measuring Katherine’s reaction, her lower lip in a pout to show her unhappiness that the answer was no. Katherine had heard that one can see in adults the children they once were, and this seemed obvious with Sophie. I wonder, she thought, if that’s why I am so interested in Jeannette and her welfare? Or, perhaps, why I avoided the issue of children until it was not an issue. So many possible problems.
She left that observation for later examination, but before she could assure Sophie that she had no intention of talking about Yves’s and Albert’s adolescent behavior, the dogs leapt up and began barking furiously. It was a charade they performed happily as long as there was no possible danger to themselves. They raced down the path to the gate, hurled themselves ineffectually toward it, then wagged their tails and rolled around in her precious peonies. Katherine stormed down, yelling at them to no avail, pulling the little dog out by his matted hair and kicking ineffectually at Gracey while saying, “Dammit, get out.”
Having had their excitement and realizing that it was a lot cooler on the slate slabs under the living room window than out here in the sun, the dogs retreated, still wearing bits of leaves and flower petals, leaving Katherine breathless and staring through the iron bars at the gendarme who had been in charge at Adele’s house. “Well, you might as well come in,” she said in English before thinking how rude she sounded. She started again, this time in French. “Desolée, Monsieur. You have no idea how hard I work to make this garden into something nice.” She half turned, then gestured for him to open the gate. “It’s hot today. Come up and have some iced tea.”
He smiled ever so slightly, nodded, and followed her up the steps. “Lieutenant Decoste, Madame. Your garden is charming.” In English, which undoubtedly meant he’d understood her first comment. She mentally apologized to him and to the entire population of France for her rudeness as she darted up the steps.
Waving him to a seat on the patio, she ducked into the kitchen to pour another glass of tea. Katherine started to call through the kitchen door what a coincidence it was that he and Sophie should both be there when she realized Sophie wasn’t. The young woman wasn’t on the first floor, not even in the bathroom, and Katherine doubted she would be upstairs. That would be too intimate a trespass for a French person. The young woman must have slipped out the side gate.
She didn’t have time to think about the oddness of that because within a few minutes Katherine realized she was being, if not grilled, at least questioned.
“Did you happen to be on the street and see anyone out of doors that night?” Decoste said.
“No and no. But you said Albert died of natural causes. Are you suggesting someone broke into the house that night?” She was concentrating so that she wouldn’t reveal that she knew what he had said to Sophie, but it was hard to keep all these little conversations separate. “Are there Gypsies around, have you heard?”
“They do not normally shoot their victims,” he said with a slight smile and a shrug. “They much prefer empty houses and silver teapots.”
“But Albert wasn’t shot, I thought?”
“No, I was referring only to the gun, which I’m sure you know by now was found on the grounds. I am sure, Madame, that you know all that happens in this little town, non?”
“Hardly,” Katherine said with a small snort. “I am frequently the last person to know anything.” His smile was slightly ironic, Katherine thought, and he wasn’t pleased. Did he think she was nosy? If he had met Mme Pomfort, or Pippa, he would know who the real snoopers were.
“In any case, Mme Bellegarde says nothing seems to be missing, no spoons, no teapots. We will speak with her daughter to see if she noticed anything. The château does seem to have a great many objects that a thief might put in his pockets. Did Monsieur have any enemies in the neighborhood that you know of?”
Katherine shook her head slowly and sipped her tea.
“Do you know an Yves Saverin, by any chance?”
“Yves?” She cleared her throat. “Lieutenant, you know every little group has its quarrels. But Yves would never harm anyone. My goodness, he’s simply a local bookseller who has strong opinions.”
“And about what does he have these strong opinions?”
“Well, about things, you know, nothing important…” Her voice trailed off. What was she going to say with the cast-off Sophie in town and the girl’s mother still incensed by Yves’s behavior at the party?
“I understand he became violent toward the deceased recently.”
“Violent? I’d hardly say that. He and Albert exchanged angry words, but it was Albert—” She stopped abruptly. Dammit, she had wandered into this and wasn’t sure how to disentangle herself. Would it be better to tell him the whole story so he could see how minor it all was, or should she say as little as possible? She took a long sip of iced tea and tried to think. It was too much like chess, which had always eluded her.
“M. Bellegarde became violent?”
“In a way. Nothing serious.” He was looking at her as if to prompt more. “He broke a plate.” The lieutenant was still watching, waiting.
“Over Yves’s head. But,” she added quickly, “it was a little plate and it did no damage, except to the plate, of course, which I have to admit annoyed me. It was one of a set, you see.” Best to stop there, she realized, not liking the expression of keen interest on the lieutenant’s face before he lowered his head to write in his notebook.
Katherine smiled as if to say that was the end of the story. She wished Michael were here. He would know how to get out of this. She kept one ear tuned for the sound of his car, or anything that would end this awkward moment. She looked around as if distracted by the scenery, and noticed Sophie’s glass of iced tea, still dotted with beads of condensation, sitting on the table next to the policeman’s. Would he ask her who had been here, and where that person might be now? If he did, what should she say? It would be awkward to admit her other guest, the victim’s daughter, had vanished at the sound of
his voice.
She was saved by the squealing of the gate and a voice that called out to her from the bottom of the garden. Penny came into view, fetching in snug jeans and a gauzy peasant blouse, a string basket hanging from her wrist and a piece of paper clutched in her hand.
“Darling, I have an idea. Oh.” She stopped on the last step. “I didn’t realize.” She smiled winningly at the strange man on Katherine’s lawn, switched to French, and held out her hand. “Penelope Masterson. I own the mill house down the road. I dropped by to bring Katherine a treat from the market. I hope I’m not interrupting.”
Katherine wondered what might be behind Penny’s behavior, which seemed a little over the top. However, it was a distraction, and she had been praying for one. She whisked away Sophie’s glass, which the lieutenant didn’t appear to notice, and darted back out with a new one. Penny extracted a tawny Époisses cheese from the carry bag, so perfectly ripe that Katherine’s mouth began to water at the aroma. If Katherine thought the policeman would give up and leave at this domestic moment, however, she was disappointed. He sat there calmly, looking from one woman to the other, sipping his tea, his expression blank.
“You must be here because of Albert Bellegarde’s accident,” Penny said, retreating to English to be sure of making her point accurately. “Such a shame, but he was old, you know, a bit shaky on his feet, didn’t you notice, Katherine? For all we know, he might have had a touch of vertigo.” She smiled brightly at the policeman and touched her temple to illustrate her medical diagnosis in case his English didn’t run to technical terms.
“I was asking Madame to tell me about an argument that happened here a few days ago,” he replied, also in English.
“Argument? I don’t recall anything. Do you, Katherine? Perhaps a little debate after Katherine’s delicious lunch, is that what you mean? A difference of opinion?”
“A plate broken over someone’s head,” Decoste said flatly.
Penny darted a look at Katherine as if to accuse her of some treachery. Katherine thought that was unfair, especially since she had been the one to urge everyone to be silent about something so easily inflated in importance. “Adele may have mentioned it,” she said to warn her friend.
“Oh, Adele, poor thing. She is understandably rattled. It was nothing at all, hardly noticeable.”
“It was, I believe, M. Saverin who argued with the deceased?”
Penny shot another look at Katherine. “Yves? I guess it was, although I cannot for the life of me remember what they had words about. Can you?”
Penny was pushing her into an untruth, Katherine thought, and a sudden flush of anger made her neck warm. It was one thing to hold back something irrelevant, but another thing to lie openly. She wasn’t good at lying. She took a slow sip of her tea, wondering how to escape the bind Penny had put her in to protect Yves.
Before she could answer, the policeman spoke, reading from his notes. She noticed that his English seemed to be improving rapidly. “The deceased’s wife said they were arguing about an insult this M. Saverin had made publicly toward their daughter.”
Penny was silent for a moment, her smile frozen in place, her glass stopped midway to her mouth. Katherine wondered if Penny only now realized that her name might get dragged into this mess. Seeming to come to a decision, Penny shook her head and laughed. “I don’t even recall what they had words about, honestly, so I’m no help. Yves was away the night Albert fell, in any case. In Paris for a book show.”
The lieutenant appeared to consider her comment seriously, then made some kind of decision, got up, and put his notebook in his jacket pocket. Saying he hoped he wouldn’t have to bother them again, he bowed slightly and made his way down through the garden and out the gate. When the rusty gate had stopped squealing and his car engine started, Penny looked at Katherine, the smile gone. “What on earth have you and that Adele woman been telling the police, for heaven’s sake?”
“He’s with the gendarmerie, Penny, and you don’t want to be lying to them,” Katherine began, feeling more defensive than she had any business being. “I didn’t say anything he didn’t already know. I explained that Albert hit Yves with a plate, not the other way around.”
Penny wasn’t mollified. “Everyone’s pointing fingers at Yves, and it’s not fair. The poor man is being scapegoated for Albert Bellegarde’s death, which I’m sure was an accident.”
“You didn’t help by rushing in with an alibi for Yves.” Katherine got up, shook out the folds of her full black skirt, festooned with embroidered pink flowers, Spanish from the 1950s, she was sure, and one of the best finds of last year’s summer shopping. She was impatient with this invented intrigue, wanted to put it out of her mind and focus on her painting. But here was Penny, pouting, and there was Sophie doing the same, and all because silly Yves insisted on being the center of attention, and Albert got flustered and fell down the steps. “You made it sound as though it was a crime, that someone else must have been involved. And no one’s trying to suggest Yves killed Albert. In fact, I’ve heard Gypsies, gun dealers, neighbors, and Nazis suggested already. One would think we were overrun with outlaws in our backward little village. And you yourself suggested someone pushed him last time you came by.”
“I was joking, for heaven’s sake. This stupid town has such an active rumor mill. That Englishwoman is probably stirring things up. She would see assassins everywhere, since she writes murder mysteries.”
“I doubt that, darling. She’s practically a hermit, and I can’t see Mme Pomfort striking up a conversation with her over a morning coffee, especially since they couldn’t speak in French.”
“Please don’t give the police any more ammunition to persecute poor Yves.” Penny rose. “I hope you like the cheese. Yves and I drove over there this morning. Such a pretty château, with its own dry moat and a team of gardeners hard at work. I wouldn’t mind living there, although if it weren’t for the fast train to Paris, I think I’d be going a little nuts by now, never mind the Roman ruins and old churches you drag me to all over the place.”
Live in the Château d’Époisses? Was Penny that rich? While Katherine tried to imagine Penny strolling into the courtyard or reviewing the gardens with the staff, Penny leaned over to give her a perfunctory kiss, and then she was off, leaving Katherine struggling for a suitable retort.
CHAPTER 14
Until the Hollidays had come up with their scheme to record with Michael, he had been a creature of daily habits, perhaps as a way of exerting some control over a life led among people with whom he couldn’t hold a decent conversation. The dogs got a long walk every evening at twilight, uphill to the pétanque court, which was a sandy rectangle laid out under a canopy of old trees and protected by a wire fence, nothing fancy, but kept raked and level by Emile so no one could claim a bad roll of the ball. Then, down past the dirt road entrance to the quarry. After a little sniffing in the overgrown and weedy land there, the threesome continued to the river with its pebbled shore, more like a stream since Penny’s retaining wall and pool had been built. Once in a while, there was a man or a boy slouched on a plastic chair or squatting on the gravel, tending a fishing pole. The dogs would check out abandoned plastic bottles and candy wrappers for a couple of minutes before turning away in disinterest, humans being so predictably messy. Then, Michael would follow them, their leashes no longer straining, past the dun-colored café building perched right up against the pavement, its handful of parking spots mostly empty at dinnertime, before heading back up the hill to their garden gate.
Katherine usually took the time to clean up the kitchen, but this evening, she told her husband she would join him. She wanted his reaction to the visits of the day and his advice on what she should do. She might not take his advice, which tended to be lacking in nuance, but she needed to think about the effect Albert’s death was having on the people she knew in Reigny-sur-Canne before she could decide what her role was in bringing peace to the community.
“I never heard so
much stupid talk,” Michael said when she finished telling him about Sophie’s aborted visit, Penny’s aggressive defense of Yves, and the policeman’s opaqueness. “What’s gotten into everyone? The man fell down the steps and had a heart attack or broke his neck, whatever the coroner decides, period. Why you all have to turn it into something mysterious, I don’t understand.”
“That’s not fair. I’m not doing that. You should say that to Penny, or Emile, or particularly Pippa, who’s probably busy writing an entire fiction about it without knowing a single thing. I’m only trying to calm everyone down.”
“Why do you have to do anything?” He picked up a fallen branch and tossed it down the path to the delight of the dogs, who galloped ahead of them, snuffling.
“But what if he didn’t fall? What about the gun?”
“What about it? You said he wasn’t shot with it. Maybe Adele’s right, and someone was going to steal it, but old Albert heard him, came out to investigate, and fell while chasing the thief.”
Katherine thought about this for a minute. “Yes, that could be what happened. But then, who was he chasing? The women think Gypsies, all except Mme Pomfort, who has decided it was a Nazi enemy of Albert’s, or maybe she meant someone who hated Nazis. I’m not quite clear. Anyway, the policeman obviously doesn’t agree with the Gypsy theory.”
“Albert was at least twenty years too young to be a Nazi, much less have Nazi enemies.”
“I’ve been thinking. He was close to ninety, Adele told me. He sold guns once, remember.”
“To anyone who’d buy them, with the approval of the French government, if I understood him, and he told me he got out of that business a long time ago. Unless you think he was goose-stepping around with a gun and live ammunition when he was Brett’s age, he’s too young to be blamed for all the shit that happened around here.”
“Mme Pomfort says some teenagers were. But not him, I’m sure. What if it was a Gypsy and you’re right that Albert was chasing him when he fell? If they find the Gypsy, is that murder?”
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