by Susan Finlay
The boar shuffled around and shoved the door open wider.
Josh pushed on the edge of the window.
Nothing happened. It wouldn’t budge.
Oh, man! He took out his pocket knife and tapped lightly on the lock, held his breath, then lifted again. It moved—thank God, slowly at first, probably hadn’t been opened in decades, but he quickly got it open enough to climb through.
The boar grunted louder and took a several steps into the troglo.
“Paulette, when I yell, go into the storage area and take the dogs with you!” Josh jumped out the window and screamed, hoping the animal would come back outside.
The boar turned and quickly thrashed its way outside, running directly into one of the piles of rubbish, searching for Josh, who was hiding near the spot where he’d found the dogs the previous day. Josh peeked out of his hiding place to spot the animal. What would it take to scare the boar away?
An old tire was within reach. He picked up the tire, held it in front of his body like a shield, and stomped around the corner to face the wild animal.
The boar grunted and stood his ground. A face-off.
The ax and shovel were leaning against the house three feet directly behind the boar. Hmm. How do I get past the boar?
Wait a minute! The tire. Josh tossed the tire at the boar—and fortunately hit him square in the face. A loud squeal emanated from the animal, startling it into running a few feet over to the side. Josh sprinted toward the tools and grabbed the shovel. When he turned and raised the shovel and yelled again, the wild boar took off and ran into the woods, squealing and snorting.
Bracing himself by putting one hand on his knee, he let himself breathe. Okay, never want to do that again, he thought. Guess I better not go into the woods empty-handed any more.
In the storage area, he found Paulette huddled on the floor with the dogs. She looked up and smiled when Josh appeared, the shovel still gripped in his shaking hand.
“Did you kill it?”
“Nope, chased it away though.”
She wrung her hands together and looked as if she wanted to say something.
“What’s wrong, Paulette?” The front door had been left open. Why had she done that? “How did that animal get into the house?”
“I—I don’t know. I went outside to do something. Can’t remember what. Then, the next thing I remember I was coming out of the kitchen and saw the boar staring at me.”
“You don’t remember coming back into the house and leaving the door open?”
She raised her arms in a gesture of frustration, not having an answer.
“Is memory loss a symptom of your illness?”
“I guess. It’s been happening more often lately. The cancer has spread.”
“I’m really sorry. What can I do to help?”
“Can you help me over to the sofa? I feel very shaky. Maybe I can take a nap. Maybe that will help. Only, make sure the door is closed.”
“It’s closed.” He helped her into the living room, then draped a blanket over her on the sofa. Remembering the open window, he pulled it closed and locked it before returning to his work in the storage area.
Before getting down to business, he sat on top of one the trunks a few moments to calm his jitters, wondering once again what he had gotten himself into.
The bloody knife kept returning to his thoughts. Didn’t sound like he was going to get much information out of Paulette. If he was going to find out about her missing son and the knife, his best chance was hunting through the boxes, crates, and chests. He wasn’t sure what Paulette expected him to bring out for her to look over, but he was sure glad she’d given him the task so she couldn’t accuse him of snooping.
Of course, given her lapses, she might not remember that she’d asked him to go through her belongings.
He stood, shook his head and scrubbed his face with his hands, realizing Paulette wasn’t the only one shaken by the boar. After a moment, he reached up and pulled down the top crate in a tall stack, deciding work was the best remedy. He pried off the lid and gasped. It was full of old wine bottles. He picked up one and read the label. It was from a winery in Mythe, the year 1938. He set it down and picked up a few more. The same. From Paulette’s parents’ winery? Wow. This stuff could be valuable if it had been handled properly. As it was, sediment had formed in the bottom of the bottles, likely indicating they had all gone bad. He checked the next crate and found it was the same. And the next. He closed them up and strode over to the wine barrels. Those had dates on them: 1939 and 1940. He turn on one of the spigots slightly, wine dripped out, and he tasted it. The wine in the barrel still seemed good.
CHAPTER NINE
THE OLD TRUNKS and chests he’d searched through, while not containing anything of monetary value, were filled with antique clothes that Josh figured a history museum would love to get their hands on. Lacy evening gowns, casual dresses and skirts, silk blouses, white gloves, assorted hats and hat pins. A treasure-trove that reminded him of the costumes in old movies that he and Vanessa watched. Some were probably even the type that might have been worn by those doomed travelers on the Titanic. Would Paulette want him to donate them to a museum? He would have to ask. An antiques dealer might pay money to get them, but he would personally rather see them go to a museum where they could be displayed and lots of people could see them. Still, it was Paulette’s decision.
He’d told her about the wine, first about the bottles that had gone bad, making her frown, and then about the barrels which still seemed to be okay. She’d clapped her hands, saying she’d forgotten the stuff was still there and that maybe they would have a party and invite the whole town. This was his fourth day of going through items in the storage area; or was it his fifth? He couldn’t remember. He’d spent all day each day doing the same thing—sometimes taking a break and going outside awhile to get some fresh air, and on most days to get warmed up. Twice, it was almost as cool outside as it was inside the storage area, but at least it was good to get a change of scenery and fresh air. He would go for a hike in the woods or for a run along the river, sometimes taking Gigi with him to give her exercise and a break from the puppies.
While he enjoyed his outings and did not mind his work in the storage cave, night time was his favorite, because he and Paulette had fallen into a comfortable routine—eating dinner in front of the TV, talking, watching their favorite shows, singing along with silly commercial jingles, and laughing. He decided he really enjoyed Paulette’s company and was happy he had taken the job.
God, he couldn’t even remember how many days he’d been in Mythe. A week? Two weeks? Now that he didn’t have a Monday thru Friday desk job that he had to go to, the days all blended together and the calendar all but disappeared. It felt like when he was a kid and had the whole summer off—never keeping track of the days.
He closed up the last trunk and pulled down the highest box from the first stack. As he ripped the tape off the box, his stomach gnawed, making him glance at his watch. One-thirty in the afternoon. If Paulette was awake from her nap, she was probably getting hungry, too. At least her appetite still seemed good. Her health continued to worry him, however. How long did she have left? She’d talked as if she had a few months. That might be wishful thinking. Might be a good idea for him to talk to her doctor. Was she taking her medicine? Was there anything that he should be doing to help her live a bit longer?
Opening the flaps on the box, he rifled through the top contents. Papers. Layers and layers of newspapers, letters, and drawings. Could be interesting. As he lifted out the newspapers and set them on the ground, the doorbell rang. Deciding he better see who was calling, he stuffed the papers back inside and carried the box into the kitchen. This would be a good box to look through later, while he watched television or, preferably, alone in his bedroom where he could give it his undivided attention.
Voices echoed through the troglo; a woman’s. Sounded like Isabelle.
“Josh-you-ah,” Paulette said whe
n she saw him. “Look what Isabelle has brought us. Lunch. Isn’t that lovely?”
He smiled. “Cool. I was getting ready to fix some lunch. You saved me some work and Paulette from having to eat my cooking.”
Isabelle smiled. “I used to take lunch to my brother every day. He died, so I can’t promise my cooking is any better than yours.”
Josh laughed. It was the first time he’d heard Isabelle joke—at least joke about something other than him. “I’m willing to take my chances. I just need to take something upstairs to my room first. Be back in a minute.” After stashing the box near the foot of the bed, he took the steps back down two at a time.
During lunch, he snuck quick glances at Isabelle. Somehow, she looked even prettier than before. Her glossy curls picked up the light from the front window and glistened whenever she turned her head toward him. With Vanessa out of the picture, he was free to— Stop it! I don’t need another relationship, especially not in France.
As she gathered up empty plates after lunch, she stopped by Josh’s chair and whispered in his ear, “Can we talk in the kitchen?”
He glanced at Paulette. She was distracted, feeding the last bites of her food to the dogs. She’d picked at her food throughout lunch, not because the food tasted bad—it was delicious, but he noted her appetite was diminishing. God, he hoped that was temporary. Maybe an ‘off’ day. Everybody had those, right, even if they didn’t have cancer.
He scooted his chair back and popped up, then followed Isabelle.
“What’s up?” he asked while he ran warm water into the sink to wash dishes.
“I spoke to Jean Dupont, he’s our oldest living citizen. He remembered Paulette’s husband and their son, though he couldn’t recall the husband’s name. The husband died of a heart attack. He thinks their son was seven at the time.”
“What happened to the boy?”
“Oh, that’s what I found interesting. Monsieur Dupont thought he recalled Paulette getting involved with another man about six years later. An artist from Italy. He moved in with her and her son. Then, poof. He left. Paulette told people that her son went away with him.” She came over and dried the three plates that Josh had washed, then added, “Everyone thought it was odd that the two males left together, especially since Charles always seemed angry when they were together.”
“How did Paulette react to their leaving?”
“She was upset, but then within a few months started traveling around the world as if she hadn’t a care in the world.”
Josh thought about all the cash hidden in the house. Did she steal it, or had someone given her the money in payment for something—maybe hush money?
“Did Monsieur Dupont know why they left? Was there a big fight?”
Isabelle shook her head. “If there was, he couldn’t remember it. His memory is—how you say?—dotted.”
Josh smiled. “I think you mean patchy.”
“Oui.”
“Okay, well, Paulette asked me to go through her storage room full of boxes and trunks to see what needs to happen with all that. I found a box of papers. If I’m lucky, I’ll find old letters, important papers, maybe even some photo albums.”
“That will be helpful. Her son might still be in France. I will talk to a few more people who might know about Paulette’s family.”
“Why are you talking to people about me? I’m not even dead yet! And I don’t have any family.”
Josh turned and stared at Paulette standing in the doorway, his mouth gaping open and his heart thumping. Her nostrils flared and her face was red, in stark contrast to her usual pale face. How much of their conversation had she heard? Turning his head, he glanced at Isabelle. Her hand was covering her mouth and her eyes were glistening with pooled tears.
“Paulette, I’m sorry,” Isabelle said. “I didn’t mean—I was only trying—” She hung her head down, unable to finish.
Josh moved toward Paulette, his hands outstretched.
She backed up and shouted, “I want both of you gone. I don’t need this.”
“We didn’t mean any harm,” Josh said. “Please forgive us. It was my idea, not Isabelle’s. She was helping me. I wanted to find your family and give you a chance to see them again before it’s too late.”
“Out! Rentrez à la maison!” She pointed toward the front door.
Isabelle slid past Josh and Paulette, and picked up her picnic basket from the floor on her way out the door.
Josh faced Paulette once more, but the tightness of her mouth and the glaring look in her eyes told him she wasn’t going to listen to his explanation. He, too, slinked out the door, all the while feeling Paulette’s eyes burning his back.
Rentrez à la maison! Where had he heard that before? Then he remembered. It was what Veronique had said to Apollo. She was telling him to go home.
Outside, he searched for Isabelle. She must have run down the hill, and without a trace. Sighing, he slumped down on a large rock. Now what was he supposed to do? Isabelle was embarrassed as hell because of getting caught by Paulette, and if he was right, she didn’t want anything more to do with him. Paulette didn’t want him either. What a loser I am.
He hung his head down and squeezed his eyes closed. What had he done to deserve all the problems he’d faced in the past few weeks? Yeah, he wasn’t perfect, but he’d done the best he could—at least most of the time.
A loud crash of thunder startled him, and he jumped. Rain started falling, pelting him with a cold heavy-drops kind of rain. Under normal circumstances, he would run and find shelter the way Vanessa always did. She hated getting her hair and clothes soaked. Once, back in California while they were on her father’s boat going out to Catalina Island for a party, it started raining and she’d thrown a tantrum because the dress she’d worn was ruined. Never mind that their boat almost overturned as the storm raged. He shook his head now. Give me a break. Not going to act that way.
The rain came faster and harder. Something hit him on the head. He swiped his hand over his head. More ‘somethings’ hit him. Oh, crap! Hail. The size of peas. “Ouch! What the . . . ?” Glancing down, bigger hail nuggets mixed in with the pea-size hail. Okay, now might be the time to seek shelter.
Dashing through the woods, he slipped on mud and went sliding downhill, stopping just short of hitting face first into a tree. He panted as he righted himself into a sitting position.
PAULETTE SAT ON the sofa, her lips quivering. What had she done, chasing Joshua away? The doctor would send someone up the hill to get her and put her back in that stuffy hospital room as soon as he heard she was alone up here. And of course he would hear about it. Everyone in Mythe talked about her. Always had. They knew people in the nearby towns. The gossip would spread.
She moaned and clasped her chest. Sending Josh into town wasn’t going to stop him from digging. Certainly not. It meant he would dig more into her past. Oh, Josh-you-ah, how can you do this to me? How can I get you back?
Gigi laid down on one of Paulette’s feet, and the three puppies jumped onto her lap. Paulette closed her eyes and wept. When she opened them, she turned her head and glanced at the front door, hoping it would open.
He wasn’t coming back. Same with Charles, Rene, Franco, Pierre, Johann, Pablo, and all the others. She chased everyone away in one way or another.
All her life she attracted and repelled. That was her legacy.
She shook her head and stroked one of the puppies, not sure which one it was. Better to be thought of that way. If people knew the whole truth about her, the one remaining person dear to her would pay the price—not her—it didn’t matter to her what people thought of her after she was gone.
Her mobile phone lay on the end table beside her, silent, alive, but useless. Should she call him? Would Josh-you-ah answer if she tried to get him back? He was better than the others. Kinder. More caring. More honest. She squeezed her eyes closed. I don’t deserve you. Here I am telling myself I need you back because the doctor will send me back to the hospital.
Merde! It’s more than that. You make me want to be a better person.
What if she told him something about her past—just enough to satisfy his curiosity? It could work. Non, non. What if she made him an offer he couldn’t refuse? Everybody likes money. Oui. That’s it.
CHAPTER TEN
ARRIVING ON THE main business street, Joshua ducked under the overhang of a butcher shop to get out of the rain. Though somewhat of a mixed blessing, during the rest of his walk into town, the downpour had rinsed off the mud that had covered his body after his slide, but left him thoroughly soaked. His reflection in the shop’s window reminded him of a drowned rat. Perfect. Now he looked like what he was. A rat. Emotions percolated, and disjointed thoughts swirled in his head. How could he have betrayed Paulette like that? He should have been straightforward with her at least. Should have abided by her wishes. She’d hired him to assist her, not to go poking around in her business. But damn, was he supposed to wait until she died and then dump the mattress full of money into the trash pile? Was that really what she wanted? Oh, God, he hadn’t thought about checking the old mattress that was already out there. Did it have money hidden inside? Did Paulette even know about the cash?
He pulled his jacket tighter around him, glancing up and down the street. Can’t stay out here forever and I’m getting chilled. Didn’t he see a hotel on his first day here? But where was it? Oh, yeah, somewhere near where he’d seen that couple staring at him while he was talking to his mother on the phone.
After a combination of sprinting and walking, he arrived in the general area where he thought he’d seen a hotel. Stopping to catch his breath, he searched his surroundings. Where was it? Finally, he spotted it above a rooftop, up on the second tier of the town. He trudged up the hill and paused across the street from the building. It certainly looked better from a distance. Up close, cracks in the wall and paint peeling off the shutters painted a less appealing picture. Old-rustic look, or lazy owners? One never knew for sure, but it seemed the only game in town; and he was in no condition to be picky. He pulled open the front door and stepped inside.