Where Secrets Reside (The Outsiders Book 2)

by Susan Finlay

  She nodded and tried to maintain a neutral expression, though her pulse was beating erratically. “Thanks for telling me. I’m sure they’ll be back and I can find out what they want.”

  Outside the door to her flat, she nervously fumbled with her keys. After unlocking the door, she closed it behind her, then leaned back against it and slowly dropped down to a sitting position on the floor, hanging onto the bag of groceries. Setting the groceries aside, she placed her elbows on her bent knees and buried her face in her hands. Could her life get any worse?

  She struggled to remember exactly what she had done in that house. Had she touched anything besides the front doorknob? She’d wiped the doorknob clean; she remembered that much. What about the light switches in her former bedroom and the doors to other rooms? In her haste to get out, had she forgotten? To make matters worse, she was quite possibly the world’s worst liar; always had been. She couldn’t get away with lying to the police about her whereabouts last night, even without her fingerprints incriminating her. Once they found out she’d been at the scene of the crime, she would be the prime suspect.

  When she finished her story, she looked at the captain, who sat there looking deep in thought.

  “You didn’t wait to be interrogated before you ran?” he asked.

  “No. I know I should have stayed. I should have called for help while I was in that house. I know I made mistakes and I would give anything to go back and fix them, but I can’t. I did not kill him, though. I’ve never killed anyone. You have to believe me.” Tears rolled down her face again and she wiped them with her hand.

  He leaned back in his chair and studied her, then said, “I actually do believe you. I’ve talked on the phone with the lead inspector on the case and with the woman who came forward and said she saw you. What you’ve told us just now fits. But I still can’t remove you from the suspect list for this current case. Not yet. I’m not ruling anyone out until I have more information.”

  “I understand that. What should I do about the old case? Should I return to London?”

  “Let’s wait and see. I may be able to help but only after this case is wrapped up.”

  Maurelle nodded.

  For the first time since she’d entered the office, Dave spoke. “For the record, Maurelle, the Medical Examiner said Jared died between six and eight P.M., which fits with Ian’s confession. So he was already dead when you got there.” Dave faced Goddard. “My father and I would very much like to assist with this investigation. As I mentioned earlier, he’s a retired police detective with the St. Louis Police Department. He has a great deal of experience in murder investigations, and as he doesn’t wear a uniform, he may be able to get people to open up more. No offense intended, we both have great respect for the capabilities of your gendarmes, but some people are put on guard when gendarmes come around, no matter what country you’re in.”

  The captain nodded. “Your point is well taken. However, as you’re also still on the suspect list, Monsieur Martin, I cannot allow you to take part in the investigation at this time.”

  “Look, I’m not an idiot. I wouldn’t kill anyone. You must know that. Like I told you earlier, part of the reason I left the police force was because I couldn’t bear watching criminals get off on technicalities. Does that sound like a man who would go on a killing spree? Besides, by now you have likely verified that I wasn’t even in town when the first murder took place.”

  Goddard sighed. “I’m not saying I think you killed anyone. As I told your wife, I mustn’t eliminate anyone until I know more. The integrity of the investigation is of prime importance.”

  “May I interject something?” Dave’s father asked. “I completely understand what you’re saying about not utilizing a suspect, though I know my son is telling the truth. Recognizing I’m not entirely neutral, I myself am not a suspect in either murder and can, in my detective persona, gather information to help you find the murderer quicker and potentially avoid another murder occurring. You may check with my former Chief to verify that I am very good at my profession.”

  “If you leave me names and phones numbers, I will make some phone calls and get back to you later, Monsieur.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  DAVE WALKED BACK to the waiting room alongside his father and Maurelle. His emotions were still in turmoil after worrying for days about Maurelle and then hearing her reveal hidden details from her past. Part of him longed to hug her and tell her everything would be all right. Another part of him was feeling betrayed by her withholding the truth from him. Then he saw Fabienne sitting with his mother and Alain. Oh, crap! He’d hoped to delay their reunion. This was the last thing he needed right now. He could only imagine what hell went on while they were waiting here.

  Alain got up and walked over to Dave, whispering, “Your grandmother wants to ride home with me. I’d think she was mad at you, but since she and your mother aren’t speaking to each other, I suspect she doesn’t want to ride in the same car with her own daughter.”

  “Yeah, it’s a long story. They’ve been estranged for more than thirty years.” Dave had dreaded his mother’s and grandmother’s first meeting. Having that meeting occur in a Gendarmerie under these circumstances was not the way he would have chosen. On the other hand, at least here there was less chance for either doing bodily harm and he didn’t need to referee. “Do you mind driving Grand-mère home? I don’t think I can fit everyone in my car anyway.”

  “Of course I’ll drive her.”

  Edward placed his hand on Dave’s shoulder and said, “I have another idea. Why don’t you drive the three women back to Fabienne’s house and I’ll catch a ride back with Alain if that’s okay with him. I’ll catch up with you later.”

  “Huh? Don’t we have enough problems? One of them might kill the other if we force them together.”

  “It’s time they worked out their problems,” Edward said. “If they can’t do it for themselves, maybe they’ll do it for you. They both know how much stress you’re under.”

  Dave hated the idea of being in the middle but conceded. He turned to Alain and said, “Would you mind giving my dad a ride, instead?”

  “That’s fine with me.”

  Dave pasted a smile on his face and strode toward his mother and grandmother. “Okay, ladies, you’re all riding with me.”

  Fabienne stood up, crossed her arms, and pouted as she walked to the car. Maurelle and Dave walked side-by-side, their arms around each other’s waist, while Eloise trailed behind. The journey home proceeded in absolute silence.

  Back in Reynier, Dave was tempted to just drop them off at the door to Fabienne’s house and hightail it out of there but thought better about it. The two women strode silently into the house, and Dave and Maurelle followed. His mother and grandmother took up positions at opposite ends of the living room, the latter on the sofa in her usual spot, the other on the Queen-Anne chair near the stairs. Maurelle stood with one arm resting on the post at the bottom of the staircase. “Can I get you some coffee?” she asked. “I’ll make a fresh pot.” She didn’t wait for a response but darted into the kitchen.

  Dave grinned. That was Maurelle—she’d rather work than stay and watch the fight. Smart. He was about to sit down on the sofa next to Fabienne and in fact was half way bent when he caught his mother’s accusing eye on him. As he straightened up, his cell phone rang. He answered on the second ring.

  “I’m on my way,” he said. Turning to face his mother, he said, “Gotta go. Dad wants me to meet him at the gas station.” Before he left, Dave went into the kitchen and grabbed Maurelle around the waist, pulling her close. He whispered in her ear, “I’m sorry. Do you forgive me?”

  “Yes. I’m sorry, too. I should have told you all of the story a long time ago. I was just too afraid.”

  He leaned his head down and kissed her. “I have to go out for a while. I’m meeting my dad. Sorry to leave you alone with them.” He motioned his head toward the living room.

  “I hope they’l
l resolve their problems,” Maurelle said. “I’ll do what I can to help. But you know I’m not good at this sort of thing.”

  He smiled and said, “You’re much better at it than you think. You’ll get them talking again. I love you, you know. See you soon, sweetie.”

  “SIR, I’VE MADE those phone calls you asked me to make. Monsieur Edward Martin checks out and comes with high praise.”

  “Good. Thank you, Durand. Please call Monsieur Martin and ask him to meet me at Chez Olivier in an hour.”

  “Which Monsieur Martin?”

  “The elder. Edward.”

  Durand nodded and turned to leave but then stopped and looked over his shoulder at Goddard.

  “Yes?”

  “If I may, sir, with all due respect, the fact that the elder Martin is a retired police detective doesn’t mean his son is innocent.”

  Goddard wrinkled his brows, exasperated with Durand. “Did I say it did?”

  He shrugged.

  “Then tell me why you are questioning my decision.”

  “Well, sir, I was here last year when the woman was being sought by Scotland Yard. The locals, even when they found out she was wanted on suspicion of murder, protected her and sent us running in circles.”

  “What’s your point? Do you think she killed that boy?”

  Durand shrugged and shuffled his feet, looking downward. “I think she should have been investigated.”

  “And what about now? Do you think she killed these two women?”

  He looked up at Goddard, his lips pursed. After a moment, he said, “I can’t say. But I think there are a lot of people in Reynier you can’t trust to tell you the truth. I don’t know if it’s because they want to protect the woman, or if it’s that they take pleasure in making us look like fools.”

  “Who do you think did it? Do you have a theory?”

  “I don’t have one yet. I’ve heard rumors though. Some people are betting that it’s the husband. The Martin fellow.”

  “Why?”

  “The rumor has it that if his wife did kill that boy in England, then maybe Gabrielle Thibault knew something about the case and was trying to blackmail her. Then, Maurelle Martin killed her to shut her up. The husband came home and found out, then killed Felicia to throw suspicion off of his wife and onto himself.”

  That scenario, though it seemed remote, had crossed his mind based on the knowledge that Dave Martin hadn’t gone to the U.S but instead went to England, and he’d come home earlier than he’d told everyone else. That remote possibility was the only reason Dave remained on the suspect list

  “Let me ask you this, then: If people led you in circles last year, isn’t it possible they’re doing it again, and this rumor you’ve mentioned is more false gossip?”

  Durand shrugged again and looked away.

  “So if last year the locals—even hearing that this stranger was a murder suspect—protected her, as you say, why would someone now be sowing incriminating gossip about her, unless it’s true? Is that it?”

  “Yes, sir.” Durand looked directly at Goddard now.

  Goddard said, “Let’s assume that theory for the moment. Who is it that knows something they’re not telling us, and why are they keeping the information secret? If they know she did these things, and they know or suspect her husband did something to take suspicion off her, then why not come directly to us instead of whispering to others about it? That doesn’t sit right with me. Isn’t it more likely that someone started the rumor deliberately to throw us off?”

  “Well, yes, I suppose that’s possible, sir.”

  “If that’s true, who could do it, and why would they?”

  Durand looked thoughtful for a moment, and then a light lit up in his eyes. “Because someone else killed those women and wanted to frame the Martins.”

  “I believe that is a far more plausible scenario.”

  After Durand left, Goddard leaned back in his chair and considered his earlier interview with Dave Martin. He’d come in here because he was worried sick about his wife. He’d hesitated reporting her missing out of fear it would cast long shadows on one or both of them. He’d stated it outright.

  Would he, Goddard, have come in sooner if he and Chantal had been in the same position? It was something he didn’t relish thinking about, but if he was honest with himself, he probably would have behaved similarly to Dave Martin. So, what exactly did that mean? Would he have come in to report his wife missing and brought his father into it if he had murdered anyone or if he thought his wife had murdered anyone? Was he acknowledging that he believed the Martins?

  His thinking brought him full circle back to the leading questions: who would start the rumors, what was the murderer’s motive, and were both murders committed by the same person?

  SERVING COFFEE TO Fabienne and Eloise hadn’t lightened the air between mother and daughter. Neither had serving the lovely pastries Maurelle and Fabienne had prepared the night before. The two women frostily ate and drank in silence, refusing to speak to one another. Which one was more stubborn? Maurelle couldn’t decide. Thank goodness Dave hadn’t inherited that particularly stubborn trait.

  Maurelle glanced at the clock on the mantel. An hour had now elapsed with no progress. She might as well be hosting talks between opposing nations. Dave would not be happy if he came back and found out nothing had changed. Well, that wasn’t going to happen if she had anything to say about it. Taking a deep breath, she marched herself into the center of the room and said, “Okay, I want both of you to tell the other what is going on inside your head at this moment. Let it out.”

  Eloise twiddled with a throw-pillow she was holding on her lap and kept her eyes averted.

  Fabienne jutted out her jaw and gave Maurelle a piercing stare.

  “Come on, Fabienne, let’s hear it. I know you have things to say to your daughter. Do you want to spend the rest of your life angry and in pain? Do you really want to take this to your grave?”

  Fabienne looked down at the floor for a moment, then suddenly leaned forward with her hands on her knees, her faded blue eyes darkening with anger like a storm cloud billowing across the sky. “She left me here all alone. She showed me what she thought of me. I tried to be the best mother I could be, but it wasn’t good enough for her. She is an ungrateful, spoiled—”

  ”That’s not true. You drove me away.”

  Fabienne lifted her hand, pointing her index finger at her temple, twisted her hand back and forth. It was a gesture that Maurelle recognized: the equivalent of the American and British gesture for ‘you’re crazy’.

  “Don’t you dare blame me you old addle-brained woman! My memory is fine.”

  “I should never have let you go off to that university in Paris. You wouldn’t have met that American.”

  “And you wouldn’t have your grandson.”

  Fabienne crossed her arms and said nothing.

  “You tried to break up my marriage,” Eloise said. “First, you told me that Edward was having an affair. Then you told him that I was having an affair. How dare you lie to us and try to drive a wedge between us. Did you really think we wouldn’t talk to each other and figure out what you were doing? Of course I moved away from you.”

  An awkward silence fell as Eloise’s words created a chasm between them. Fabienne’s mouth turned into a deep pout.

  Maurelle bit her lip and thought about her own painful past.

  “All right, can I tell you a story? It’s about my mum. When she was in college, she became involved with an older man—a married man. She became pregnant with me and was left to deal with the pregnancy on her own. She went to her parents and told them. They basically told her that she’d brought it upon herself and they had no sympathy. She was on her own. It wasn’t until years later—I was probably seven or eight by then—that my grandfather called and told Mum that her mother had suffered a stroke.”

  She looked at Eloise and then at Fabienne to see if they were listening. Both were staring at her. Fabienn
e already knew a bit about Maurelle’s parents, so Maurelle didn’t have qualms about sharing her story with her, but she worried about Eloise’s opinion. She pushed herself to continue.

  “Mum bundled me up in my Sunday best, and we boarded a train heading to Somerset. We arrived at the train station, and I met my grandfather for the first time. He’d come by car to drive us to the hospital.”

  “What happened?” Eloise asked.

  “When we got there, my grandmother couldn’t speak. The doctors had tubes in her nose and throat, but it wouldn’t have mattered. Although she was conscious, the right side of her body was paralyzed and she couldn’t say anything.”

  “Ah, poor p’tite. That’s awful,” Fabienne said.

  “Mum was afraid her mother would reject her, but Mum reached out and took hold of her mother’s hand, the one that didn’t have tubes and tape on it. I watched as tears flowed down her mum’s cheeks, and then my mum burst into tears, too.”

  “My grandfather took me by the shoulders and led me out of the room. That memory never left me. It came back vividly when my mum was in the hospital three and a half years ago, dying of a brain tumor. I’m glad that they had resolved their differences all those years ago so she could die peacefully.”

  Fabienne’s eyes filled with water, and she sniffled. “Did your grandmother ever regain her speech?”

  Maurelle nodded. “It took a couple years, but since she was fairly young and strong, the physical therapy brought her back.”

  “And did they become close again?”

  “They did. My grandparents were there with me when my mum passed away.”

  Fabienne and Eloise looked at each other, and then Eloise stood up and walked over to the sofa.

  Maurelle slipped on her shoes and left the house quietly.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  SIMONE LOOKED UP sharply when Bruno flung open the café’s door and yelled at the top of his lungs, “There’s been another murder!”