Queen of the Trailer Park (Rosie Maldonne's World Book 1)

by Alice Quinn

  I hadn’t really learned much from this whole conversation that I didn’t already know. I was still in exactly the same position. I didn’t care whether they’d trashed my house because they knew I’d gotten hold of the money, or if it was for the reasons Ismène had mentioned.

  Maybe this whole meeting with her was a trap to get me to talk.

  “I get the feeling you’re not telling me everything you know,” she whispered with an encouraging smile.

  This made me even more suspicious. “Why do you say that?”

  “Just a feeling.”

  The best thing to do was change the subject. “What would you do if you were in my shoes?”

  She answered as quick as a shot. “I’d let the press know what had just happened to me. I’d go and see them, at the Aurore, and I’d tell them I thought city hall was using illegal methods to get me to move.”

  “They’ll never listen to me.”

  “That depends.”

  “On what?”

  “On what they’ve got to sink their teeth into at the moment.”

  “I’d need proof.”

  “Sure, you’d need that, all right. But it’s almost impossible. We’re going in blind. Don’t forget, this is all just hearsay. Unless we actually stumbled upon the envelopes themselves, I don’t know what kind of proof we could offer . . .”

  At that point, it was over. I was sure she knew everything. I didn’t say another word.

  She looked at her watch. “OK, well, we haven’t finished this discussion, but I have to get out of here. I start work again at one thirty.”

  She threw some coins on the table.

  “Let me know how it goes. I’ll put your file on the back burner for now. Ciao!”

  She left, leaving me feeling exhausted. What on earth was I going to do now?

  29

  I thought about everything that was going on around me. Michel’s body lying rotting in my trailer, and I was the murderer. Little missing Pierre. Véro who’d gone AWOL.

  The Mamma knew all about my theft—well, my hijacking—of what belonged to them.

  The dodgy city hall creeps wanted my ass so they could wrap up the deal.

  I downed my tomato juice in one gulp.

  This conversation had given me the urge to read a newspaper. Maybe I’d find an idea to get me out of this shit.

  I grabbed one from a nearby table, and on the front page I spotted a photo of Gaston.

  It was small, but even so.

  I learned why he had gone to Sweden. He’d won a very important international prize for a book of poetry he’d written. Like when you get a gold star at school. And there was money that went along with the prize. Now I knew why he never counted his dough. It was a ton of cash. I was involved in big money everywhere I turned.

  Now I had something to distract me. I’d have to go a bit further into the details of his biography. I couldn’t believe that you could just fill up a small book with poetry and win all that dough.

  Maybe I’d have to think about a change in career.

  Then I turned to the second page and came upon a whole article on baby Pierre. The Gaston story no longer interested me.

  Seeing the article gave me such a shock.

  It’s weird, as long as it’s not in the news, it doesn’t seem real, but as soon as you read it in black and white, you realize it’s actually happened. We can’t pretend to forget. I knew I’d seen Pierre’s teensy yellow bunny, but deep down, it was just something I could shrug off, something unreal.

  Reading the words on the page, that Pierre had been kidnapped—or in any case had disappeared . . . I read the details. The upshot was, they didn’t know all that much either way. Only that nobody knew the whereabouts of Pierre.

  There was a photo of him. They were looking for witnesses. If anybody had seen him . . .

  They published all the rumors they’d heard from cops, citing “reliable sources.”

  Djaïd Allaoui. They’d found him hanging around the square where they’d picked up Pierre’s things.

  The mother, Véronique Lambert, had apparently given a statement that she’d left her child alone in his stroller for a few moments just in front of the bakery while she went in to buy a baguette. When she came back outside, she couldn’t find him. Before she’d gone inside, she had noticed a man. She’d given a description of him, and it turned out he was the spitting image of this Djaïd Allaoui. She said he’d been hanging around outside the bakery as she went in.

  But the reporter explained that there were too many inconsistencies in her story and that on Mondays this particular bakery was closed. The police had not been able to make contact with the mother, and they’d been unable to verify this part of her statement. They were still looking for several witnesses: Véronique Lambert’s boyfriend, Alexandre Voinot, and her ex, Pierre’s father, Michel Lanoux. And, of course, Véronique Lambert herself.

  The reporter asked for any other witnesses with information of any kind to come forward immediately and contact the police.

  My name, Rose Maldonne, was also mentioned as the person who’d identified the child’s belongings. Thanks. Thanks a lot. Fucking perfect. I really needed the publicity.

  This was followed up with the usual nonsense about the world we live in. How unsafe it is in general, and particularly for our children. How we live in a country that puts the emphasis on respecting the sensibilities of foreigners rather than protecting our own.

  That was the overall tone. I didn’t go into it in much depth. No comment.

  I tried to think about other things. I could tell I was slipping into a depression. It was as if everything I had attempted to keep under the surface about Pierre was now floating up to the top.

  My head fell into my hands and I began to question again whether or not I had actually killed Michel. It was working wonders for taking my mind off Pierre. I’d need to run down to my trailer again to see if his body was still there. And then, maybe I should go and see the police. Tell them what had happened that morning. I was lost in my thoughts when I heard someone pull up a chair beside me.

  “You don’t look well,” Mimi said. “What’s going on?”

  I lifted my head and looked her straight in the eyes.

  “Do you need some cash?”

  My chin began to wobble.

  “Hey, what’s wrong?”

  A teardrop formed in the corner of my left eye. The left eye always starts first. Mimi could see it.

  “But . . . But . . .”

  It may have been the first time she’d seen me cry. The deadly effect of having too much money. You lose your hard-as-nails ’tude in no time at all.

  I melted into her arms and told her all about my trip to the cop station. About little Pierre. I don’t think she understood everything I said because I was spluttering so much, I was incoherent. But then, maybe she did, because when I raised my head, I could see that she too was crying. But she didn’t make a sound. It broke me.

  “Come to my place,” she said.

  She took my hand to lead me toward the front. She threw her apron onto the counter, shouting to the baffled Tony, “I’ll be back in an hour.”

  Her face was streaming with tears. I was blowing my nose loudly. And Tony didn’t dare say a word.

  I felt relieved at having told someone everything and at being able to cry without anyone taking advantage of the situation.

  But at the same time, I was obsessing about Michel’s body in my trailer. I couldn’t wait to go see if he was still there.

  I hadn’t told Mimi about the whole Michel episode. I don’t know why. A survival instinct—another one I’d picked up from Grandma Ruth. How to keep family secrets. Hold back information. Let it out in bite-size chunks to trusted people. But in my head, it was one big clump. A big pile of greasy molasses. Total shit. With the sound of
the guillotine being sharpened in the shadows.

  30

  Mimi cried so much that, after watching her awhile, I couldn’t cry any longer. But she couldn’t stop. I didn’t know what to say, what to do. She’d made me a coffee as soon as we’d arrived at her studio apartment. I just sat in the corner, sipping it and waiting. After some time, the tears dried up. She was whimpering softly.

  “What is it?” I asked. “This isn’t only about Pierre, is it? You barely know him. You’ve hardly even met Véro.”

  She nodded. “You’re right. It’s not that. It made me think of something.”

  At first, she didn’t want to say what. I didn’t push her. As a specialist in family secrets, I know that the more someone’s interested, the less the other person will speak. If you want to know what’s what, it’s better to act blasé.

  “You make a great cup of coffee,” I said. “What brand is this?”

  “It’s the machine,” she replied. Then she cracked. She told me everything. It was so upsetting, it got me crying again.

  It turned out that Mimi . . . OK, I’ll try to put it as simply as I can. See, she’d always made me believe she hated kids. So, logically, I didn’t think she had any. But it turned out she did have one.

  Léo. Fifteen years old. He’d been with child services for many years. At the last inquiry, they’d decided not to give him back. She understood why, especially after what had happened—she didn’t want to tell me what—and even she thought he was better off where he was. I was dumbfounded, obviously.

  So, that was it. All this happened before I knew her. She wasn’t even working at Sélect back then. She lived in another town. Her boyfriend had killed himself.

  Final blow.

  Without a moment’s hesitation, I thought I should request to become the kid’s foster mom. As soon as I’d dealt with this whole train-station business. As soon as I got my new trailer. I’d write a lovely letter to child services. Get myself approved.

  But I didn’t say any of that to Mimi. I wiped the tears from my face and comforted her. I understood that this was the first time she’d ever told anybody. I wasn’t going to judge her. She was weighed down enough already.

  When I could see she’d calmed a bit, I put her down to rest, just as you would a baby, on her sofa bed. She fell asleep right away.

  I headed back over to Sélect. This was all just about impossible. The lunch rush had been and gone, but Tony looked desperate, at the end of his rope. I slipped in the door.

  “I just came to let you know that Mimi won’t be back right away. She wasn’t feeling too good, so she’s taking a nap.”

  “What? No way. Are you trying to kill me here? Can’t you see how busy we are?”

  “Do not speak to me like that.”

  “But, Cricri, can’t you see I can’t handle this on my own? Can you at least help me out? Please?”

  The joy I felt watching him beg was too much. He’d seen me do it enough in the past. I was always trying my damnedest to get a couple of hours’ work.

  I let him plead a bit longer, and then I caved. “Just because it’s you who’s doing the asking. I really don’t have time for this, you know?”

  “You’re a doll.”

  He handed me Mimi’s white apron, and I got to work.

  “Just an hour. I have to go pick up the rascals at four, as you well know.”

  “You can come back with them, though, right?”

  “OK.”

  Meanwhile, Michel was rotting away in my demolished trailer.

  At four o’clock I went to collect the scamps. We returned to the coffeehouse, and I sat all four of them at a table at the back with bowls of milk and mini pains au chocolat. The number of customers had thinned out, but people would soon be coming in for after-work drinks, and Mimi still hadn’t come back.

  Chirp . . . chirp . . . chirp . . . A cricket.

  My cell phone was ringing.

  I’d spent a half hour that morning, in the comfort of my megabed at the Hôtel de Provence, finding a bitchin’ ringtone for my cell. I had a great one now. Whenever it rang, I’d be whisked off deep into the countryside. A simple sound can be so powerful and evocative. It’s incredible.

  Some of the clients looked around, searching the floor, trying to spot the cricket sounding out its cry way before nightfall.

  I was just wiping down a table. Another two swipes of the cloth and I picked up.

  31

  It was Jérôme. I’d forgotten all about him.

  “Rose?”

  “No. Cricri.”

  “Oh yeah. I don’t know why, I just think Rose suits you better.”

  “Maybe, but as far as I know, you’re not my mother. She’s the only one I let call me that.”

  “Sorry, I didn’t realize.”

  “No biggie. What’s up? I’m at work.”

  “Um . . .”

  “You want to ask me on a date?” I guessed.

  “Um . . . yeah . . .”

  Oh wow. Way to go, me. “Fine. We’ll catch a movie first. I haven’t been to the movies in I don’t know how long. Then we’ll go eat, but I need to find someone to babysit. That sound OK?”

  “Yes. What do you want to see?”

  “We’ll decide later.”

  “Do you want me to pick you up?”

  “You’re a fast mover.”

  “I meant . . .”

  “It’s OK. I got it. Yes, stop by the hotel at a quarter to eight. Any later and we won’t make the movie. See you.”

  I hung up. There was a guy who’d just finished his fifth pastis and wanted a sixth. I needed to get him to pay for the first five before pouring him another. A mission like that required concentration.

  I was having a job keeping the kiddos quiet, but on the whole, everything was running pretty smoothly.

  Mimi arrived at seven.

  I took her to one side and let her know I had a date. I asked if she’d be able to watch over the nippers. She went crazy mad. It’s true she wasn’t the ideal person to choose to take care of the kids, given that the authorities had taken hers off her and I had no clue why. But this was an emergency.

  And I trusted her.

  I asked her to get them something to eat there at Sélect and then take them back to my place around nine.

  “Then, just watch them while they sleep. It’s not too complicated, right? You can even sleep over. There’s no school tomorrow.”

  She agreed, but as she thought we were staying in the trailer, she asked where she could sleep. There wouldn’t be enough room.

  So I explained we were staying at the Hôtel de Provence, suite 232, and that after putting the kids down, she could sleep in my bed until I got back.

  “Hey, you’re doing OK for yourself.”

  “My uncle’s paying.”

  “What time do you think you’ll be home? Because spending all night locked in with your little ones . . . that won’t work. Not for me, anyway. I’m warning you.”

  “I’m not sure. Around midnight, I guess?”

  “Don’t leave me all night with the children, please. That’s all I’m asking.”

  “Don’t worry. This is a one-off. I’ve got a date for the first time in ages, but I’m not going to sleep over.”

  Just then, I remembered the dream I’d had the previous night. I blushed like an idiot. She noticed and added, “Cricri, if you want to get your rocks off, just don’t let it be tonight, OK? You’ll need to find a real babysitter first, because this is a one-off for me too.”

  “You’re a sweetie. Do you remember the room number?

  “I’m not soft in the head. You just told me.”

  I gave the crib lizards some snuggles as I said good-bye. Sabrina wasn’t too happy. But the twins couldn’t have cared less. They were on all fours under the table, picki
ng up any peanuts they could find and stuffing them into their mouths.

  I didn’t have the heart to shout at them as I was leaving, so I pointed it out to Mimi so she could get them under control. I also let her know that Sabrina and Simon hadn’t gone pee in a while, so they’d need a trip to the bathroom soon, and the twins’ diapers would have to be changed. Everything she’d need was in the stroller.

  Mimi was panicking. It was the first time I’d asked her to take care of the kids, and it’s true that if you’re not used to it, four at one time can come as a bit of a shock. Not to mention what she’d told me earlier.

  I raced to the hotel, where I pulled on a tiny purple-and-orange glittery dress with long sleeves and a very chic low-cut neckline. I covered up with my shiny turquoise silk jacket, because I get cold in air-conditioned theaters. I’m always freezing my ass off by the end of the movie.

  It was still warm for the time of year, so I slipped on my bright-red patent open-toe heels. They were getting on the old side, but I loved them.

  I just about had enough time to apply some more foundation and lipstick when the bedroom phone rang.

  “Ms. Maldonne?”

  “Yes.”

  “There’s a Mr. Gallo asking for you. Should I send him up?”

  “No, tell him I’m on my way down.”

  I hadn’t even had five spare minutes to think about Michel’s dead body, which I now imagined was in an advanced state of decomposition.

  32

  Jérôme was standing by the front desk, waiting for me, with two motorcycle helmets in his hands.

  “I didn’t have time to check what movies are showing.”

  “We can decide when we get there.”

  I left instructions at the desk so that Mimi would be warmly welcomed when she arrived with the chickadees at nine, and I climbed onto the back of Jérôme’s bike as best I could.

  I don’t know what make it was. I couldn’t give a damn. It was a huge black beast of a machine, and we looked like a couple of fools on it, for sure.