The Prisoner of Castillac (Molly Sutton Mysteries Book 3)

by Nell Goddin

  Dufort looked at Molly. “It’s trespassing, if we go in there.”

  “Ben,” said Molly, “just follow the dog!”

  As they entered the shade of the barn, they could hear their footsteps on the gritty concrete with a bit of an echo, and then, faintly, another sound. Moaning? Sobbing? The sound of anguish. Ben and Molly ran towards it. They got to the doorway where the dog had gone in, and saw Achille Labiche sitting on the concrete floor with his arms around Gilbert Renaud.

  Gilbert’s eyes widened with surprise and then joy.

  “You came!” he said to Dufort, who pulled him away from Labiche, and pushed him into Molly’s arms.

  “Achille,” he said, sadly.

  “I didn’t know what else to do,” Achille answered. “It’s not like I wanted him here,” he said, choking on tears. “Take him! I never wanted him, I swear I didn’t.”

  Molly worked at the belt to get Gilbert free. It was such a shock to find the boy here when she was so certain it was going to be Valerie, that she couldn’t quite catch up to what was happening.

  “Achille, why is Gilbert here?” Dufort said. His voice was gentle but Molly heard much complication in his tone—she heard his excitement, his apprehension, his worry that even now, what he had worked for for so long would once again not have any resolution.

  “I’m not talking about it,” said Achille, getting to his feet. “You have him now, go on to Madame Renaud’s. She’ll be worried sick.” He brushed his hands together as though the whole business was concluded and then tucked them into the bib of his overalls. “I’ve got to have supper and then do the evening milking. My girls are depending on me. That’s my routine. That’s what I have to do next.”

  He walked quickly out of the room and down the center of the barn, and quickly Dufort went after him. “Call Maron!” he shouted over his shoulder.

  “Should I come—” asked Molly.

  “No! Just see to the boy and call Maron!”

  Molly felt a hot flash of worry. Ben shouldn’t be alone with that man, she thought, biting her lip.

  “I’m so glad you’re safe!” said Molly to Gilbert. “Just hold on while I call the gendarmes.”

  Gilbert nodded, his eyes never straying from Molly.

  “Thérèse? It’s Molly. Can you call Maron and get to the Labiche farm? We’ve got Gilbert.” She looked gratefully at the boy, who was fiddling with the belt, not giving up.

  “Yes. No. No, we just got here. Haven’t had a chance yet to search for Valerie.”

  “She’s here!” Gilbert piped up, stunned that once again he had forgotten to speak up the minute Madame Sutton and Chief Dufort had shown up.

  “Wait, what?” said Molly.

  “It’s—I’ve seen her. She’s here at the farm! Labiche has had her all this time!”

  Molly was frozen for a moment, taking that in. Then she told Perrault, and told them to hurry because Ben was somewhere alone with Labiche, and who knew what he was capable of? He needed backup, and fast.

  The phrase “cornered rat” kept popping into her mind.

  “All right, let’s get you out of this horrible contraption,” she said to Gilbert, “and why don’t you tell me everything you know about Valerie Boutillier.”

  45

  And then, like a house of cards that had somehow managed to remain standing far longer than physics would suggest possible, then all at once exploded into the air: the world of Achille Labiche, precariously intact for seven years, came tumbling down.

  Maron and Perrault arrived in minutes, siren blaring just as Labiche had feared. Dufort was making him a cup of tea in the kitchen, hoping to calm him down. The farmer was sitting on a stool muttering to himself, twisting his hands, and staring at the floor.

  Molly had gotten the belt off Gilbert though it had been no easy job. The instant he was free, the boy insisted they look for Valerie, and Molly had shaken his hand and agreed. First they looked all around the bottom floor of the barn since that’s where they happened to be.

  “She’s not going to be in here, I don’t think,” said Gilbert. “At least, I think she would have called out. I was making noise,” he said, not wanting to admit that much of that noise had been crying.

  “What about outbuildings?” said Molly.

  They ran outside and looked around. It was time for the evening milking and the cows were crowded up along the fence, jostling each other and mooing.

  There was a small garage attached to the farmhouse that was open to the outside. It was crowded with barrels, a lawn mower, and boxes. Molly saw no other outbuildings, except for the padlocked door that seemed to lead right into the side of a small hill, between the house and the barn.

  “What’s that?” asked Molly, pointing to the root cellar.

  “Valerie!” called Gilbert, lifting his face to feel the sun. “Valerie, we’re coming!”

  But they had no key and the lock was firm. Molly knocked on the wooden door. “Is anyone in there?”

  “Yes,” said a voice. “Please. It’s me. I’m your Valerie.”

  46

  That night, after Valerie had been seen by a doctor and then taken to her family, and Achille was behind bars at the station, Molly and Dufort had dinner at Chez Papa. They knew everyone would be bursting with questions and figured it was best just to see their friends all at once. As seemed to be a common thing in Castillac—when a bolt of good news hit, villagers instinctively wanted to be together—to talk it over, and most of all, to celebrate.

  The chef made the sautéed mushrooms Molly loved, along with a potato and onion dish that was full of cream and a kind of cheese she had never tasted before that she found utterly magnificent. Lawrence was drinking Negronis of course, and Frances sat at the end of the bar accepting kisses from Nico whenever he had an extra moment. Manette had come in from her house in the hills with one of her daughters. Dufort’s herbalist was there. Even Madame Gervais put in an appearance, though she did not stay long.

  “I just can’t get over it,” said Manette. “Achille Labiche, all this time? I’ve known him my whole life,” she said wonderingly.

  “Exactly what’s so troubling,” said Lawrence. “We go along from day to day, thinking we know people. But,” he added, after a deep sip of Negroni, “we’re all unknowable, that’s the uncomfortable truth of it.”

  “I’m not going that far,” said Molly. “Sure, all right, maybe some people have a dark side that’s hidden from the rest of us. But no one here can claim they really knew Labiche. They only saw him at the market, and that was rare. He was just part of the background, you know? A person on a tractor, a house you drove by sometimes. That’s not actually knowing him, no matter how familiar he was.”

  “Point taken,” said Lawrence, raising his glass to toast her.

  Dufort said, “I’d add that the situation was very strange, too. Perhaps if he had been defiling his victim, as usually happens in these cases, it may not have gone on so long. People who had any dealings with him might have picked up on something. Or at least he’d have been known as someone with a dominating personality, or a scary need to control everything….”

  “Or maybe that’s another fiction we tell ourselves,” said Lawrence. “that if someone is really unbalanced and capable of extreme cruelty, we’d be able to tell somehow.”

  “You’re just the voice of sunshine tonight!” said Molly, clapping him on the back and kissing his cheek. She was feeling a little guilty for not seeing Lawrence more often, especially since she had the feeling he was not yet over his broken heart.

  “So it’s true that Labiche never touched her?” asked Manette.

  “Yes,” said Molly. “I’m sure Valerie will have much more to say about it, if she decides to tell the whole story publicly. But when we got her out of that root cellar, she told me he had only kept her prisoner, but never hurt her. She said he learned to cook her favorite dishes, which seems just so…bizarre.”

  “It was like she was a kind of pet,” said Dufo
rt. “He wanted her to stay with him always, be devoted to him, always available to him….”

  He did not need to remind the other villagers of the fate of Madame Labiche, who had been taken away so many times during Achille’s childhood. It was the kind of story everyone knew, but whose effects no one could predict.

  “Oh, Ben,” said Molly, “that reminds me. I wanted to ask you—who is Aimée?”

  Dufort said to the others, “ as Achille was being taken away, he was mumbling apologies to Aimée. I have no idea who he was talking about, and can’t even think of an Aimée in Castillac.”

  The crowd was quiet, thinking this over.

  “Perrault did a thorough search of the property but I suppose there’s a chance he has someone else hidden away somewhere. We’ll keep looking. And keep talking to Achille as well. He may have more to tell us than he was willing to tonight. Maron is checking the Missing Persons list for the wider area,” said Dufort, feeling a pang of wishing he were still in uniform, sweeping up the last details that remained of the case, now closed, of the disappearance of Valerie Boutillier.

  “I never thought we’d see her again,” said Nico. “And honestly? I really never thought we’d find her alive. So—hurray to the two of you, for not giving up!”

  Nico had spoken loudly and everyone in the place burst into applause.

  “It was the bravery of Gilbert Renaud that led us to her,” said Molly, kneeling on her stool and speaking loud enough for everyone to hear, and the crowd clapped louder.

  Dufort slipped his arm around Molly as she hopped off the stool. “Gilbert got us started,” he said. “But finding her—and him—that’s all down to you, Molly Sutton.” And then he leaned his face close to hers, and there in front of almost everyone they knew in the entire village, he kissed her right on the mouth.

  And she kissed back.

  Epilogue

  A sense of unrestrained joy descended on Castillac after the end of the Boutillier case. There was Valerie again, getting her strength back, joking with Michel at the Presse, teasing Pascal at the Café de la Place, spotted all over everywhere in her desire to see her old friends. Gilbert was home safe with his mother, although she was threatening to lock up his bike indefinitely and never let him leave the farm unsupervised until it was time to go to university.

  Aimée did not tell her parents that Achille had been giving her cannelés, but she delighted in telling her friends how close she had come to disappearing and becoming part of Labiche’s menagerie.

  Achille was awaiting trial and being interviewed by a panel of psychiatrists. It was in one of these sessions, his voice trembling but with a note of defiance, that Labiche admitted he had killed Erwan Caradec, thoroughly surprising (and relieving) Maron and Perrault.

  Molly emailed Wesley Addison to let him know that Valerie was back with her family, and he made a reservation for the month of June the following summer, if he could stay in the same room at La Baraque.

  The talk around the village was no longer about abductions or mental illness or what constituted evil. Now it was about Dufort and Sutton, who had left Chez Papa that night holding hands, and no one had seen them for several days after.

  Also by Nell Goddin

  The Third Girl

  The Luckiest Woman Ever

  For a free story of suspense set in Castillac, click here!

  Glossary

  1:

  gîte………………..a furnished vacation lodging, usually on the inexpensive side

  La Baraque………..shed, hut. (slang: dump)

  pigeonnier…………structure for raising pigeons. Dovecote.

  pâtisserie………..…pastry shop

  2:

  gendarmerie…….…….police force (military arm)

  salut…………….…….hey, hi

  bon……………..…….good, fine

  3:

  potager……………..…vegetable garden

  rue des Chênes..………Oak Street

  4:

  la bombe…………..…good-looking woman (slang)

  à bientôt…………..….see you soon

  foie gras…………..…..goose liver

  6:

  coeur à la crème…….…a creamy, cheesy dessert. Literally, heart of cream

  soupçon………….……a very small amount. Literally, a suspicion.

  9:

  croissant aux amandes…almond croissant

  département……………region in France.

  10:

  épicerie…………..………small grocery store

  mairie…..………..………town hall

  11:

  oui…….…………….……..yes

  14:

  Milice……………..………paramilitary force created by the Vichy government in France (during World War 2) to fight against the French Resistance.

  16:

  apéro……………..………..short for apéritif. Cocktail.

  verklempt………..……….too emotional to speak, overcome with feeling (Yiddish)

  17:

  crêperie……………..……..shop selling crêpes

  18:

  bonsoir…….………….……good evening

  chérie…………………….…dear

  19:

  absolument………………absolutely

  Castillaçois……………….people of Castillac

  27:

  fauteuil à la Reine……..Queen’s armchair. An antique, open-sided, upholstered armchair.

  ébéniste………………..…cabinetmaker

  30:

  cantine……………………cafeteria

  primaire…………………..primary school

  31:

  boulangerie……………….bakery

  40:

  s’il te plaît………………..please

  41:

  récréation………………..recess

  42:

  vide-grenier……………..tag sale, garage sale. Literally, empty-attic

  totalement loufoque…….totally crazy

  dingue…………………..insane, nuts, crazy

  For Tommy Glass, ami bien-aimé et rédacteur extraordinaire

  Copyright © 2015 by Nell Goddin

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  Created with Vellum

  Acknowledgments

  A hearty shout-out to Elizabeth Cogar Batty and Nancy Kelley for their helpful critiques and encouragement. Thank you!

  About the Author

  Nell Goddin has been a mystery fan since reading Agatha Christie with her best friend on long summer days. She's a lover of all things French and has two children, two cats, and two dogs (both mutts with no sense of dignity whatsoever).

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  @nellgoddin

  Nell Goddin author

  www.nellgoddin.com

  nellgoddin@gmail.com