“You took your mom and sisters to the car, right?” Biting her lip, Cheryl leaned against the table, afraid to rush him. A wrong question could sever the memory thread. François listened quietly. She wondered if he’d already heard all the details before.
“I stopped at the chateau and pushed Viviane out. I grabbed her hand and forced her to come with me. I told Maman about the car and we all went to the garage, near the stables, at the other end of the chateau. Then we heard the planes and the explosion.” He closed his eyes. Heavy tears rolled down on the wrinkled cheeks, quietly, without sobs.
“I’m sorry, Bernard. I know I’m hurting you.”
He inhaled and opened his eyes. “No, it is good to get it out, once and for all.”
“Are you sure we can continue?” Cheryl insisted. She had become attached to the old man in the last couple of weeks. He’d buried the nightmare for years. Talking could help him.
He nodded and pulled out a white handkerchief to blow his nose. “Yes, we can continue, Mademoiselle Cheryl.”
She leaned forward on the table and tented her fingers under her chin. “When you stopped running and turned around to look at them… you saw them rushing toward the forest… Right? Were they carrying a box?” Cheryl spoke very slowly, wanting every word to sink in and trigger a memory.
“I can’t remember seeing the box.” He pinched his nose. His eyes squinted. Cheryl felt his effort to remember. “Papa was running awkwardly, as if he was backing up.” Bernard raised an eyebrow, evaluating his own recollection. Cheryl glanced at François.
“So they had the box when they left the chapel.” François summarized their thoughts. “You never told me this detail.”
“It never occurred to me before.” The butler’s forehead creased.
“Sometimes the details come to you unexpectedly while you talk about the past. You’ve helped us tremendously, Bernard. One last question, please. Can you estimate the time between the moment you saw them running and the explosion?”
“Maybe half an hour. Just enough for me to reach the chateau, put the books in the library, drag out old Viviane, stop at the chalet to pick up Maman and the little ones and reach the garage.”
Cheryl bolted from her chair, leaning forward. “The books?” she asked too loud. Goose bumps sprouted on her bare arms. “What books did you put in the library?”
The butler turned blank eyes on her. His haggard expression scared her. Had she gone too far stirring the agonizing memories? She gentled her tone to a whisper. “Bernard, how did you get the books you put in the library?”
His gray head spun toward the bay window and the far away scenery. She followed his gaze. Did the forest hide more mysteries? Still staring out of the window, he exhaled. “The count gave them to me in the chapel, three or four and said to put them on the bookshelves.” Bernard lifted a trembling hand in front of his face and bobbed it, weighing imaginary books. “I had trouble holding them in one hand while running.”
“You gave us important information to work on.”
François’ gaze collided with hers. A glint of respect flickered in his eyes and warmed her heart.
“Tonight, I’ll spend a few hours in the library. I need to check each book for a possible lead and…”
Her head spun toward the door. François’ chair screeched backward as Adriaan and Chuck walked in from the hall.
How long had they stood there listening?
“We’re done for the day at the site,” Chuck said. His gaze shifted to the butler then settled on her. She averted his unvoiced question.
“When you have a minute, I’d like to give you my report about today’s work. No rush.” Adriaan spun around giving his back to the count.
A storm gathered on François’ forehead.
She cast him a warning glance. She understood the count’s aggravation at being so blatantly ignored. Just then, she’d have preferred the students to be a hundred miles away. But still, she didn’t need the count’s permission to discuss business with her team. “Sure, Adriaan. I’ll meet you after work.”
Adriaan strode out of the kitchen as Chuck leveled a cold, evaluating look at Bernard and then followed his colleague.
Cheryl watched his departing figure. As she swiveled back in her chair to face Bernard and François, she caught Karl’s reflection in the mirror adorning the side wall. The German stood in a darkened area, melding against the ebony Chinese folding panel blocking the entrance between the breakfast room and the formal dining room. She suppressed a gasp and bit her nails.
“What’s wrong?” François snapped toward the mirror then the panel. Too late. No one was there anymore.
“I didn’t imagine it. Karl stood there, hiding against the folding panel. Listening, spying. I don’t like this guy.”
“You’ve said that several times. But he doesn’t hover around you all the time. It’s the Dutch guy I would worry about if I were you.”
“Why Adriaan and not Chuck or Karl?” She shrugged. In spite of François’ jealousy, she trusted Adriaan as a good friend and smart colleague. “At least we can eliminate Roberto and Juan-Pablo.”
“I’m not eliminating anyone from my list of suspects.”
Cheryl threw a look at Bernard. The left side of the butler’s mouth twitched. “You think he heard my story?” he mumbled.
François’ gaze whipped to the door. “Who? Dutch or Karl or Chuck? Maybe they all heard it. At least the last part. The most important part. We’ll let the FBI agent worry about them. By the way, he should have given us a report by now.”
Just then François’ cell phone vibrated in his pocket. He glanced at the digital identification of the caller and snorted. “I should have wished for something worthwhile…”
~*~
An hour later the black car from the local police station parked in the driveway. The FBI agent walked out by himself and strode up the marble stairs leading to the front door. François didn’t give him the chance to ring the bell. He opened the door, let him in and led him straight to his office. “Any news?” he asked.
“Some.”
“Hold on. Let me call in Cheryl.”
François punched a number on his cell phone. After she had interviewed Bernard, Cheryl had gone back to her room to type and save the interview. Since the moment François had appointed himself as her bodyguard, he’d allowed her to keep his laptop in her room. He’d even shown her a secret safe where she could hide it before she left her room.
Cheryl didn’t answer his call.
“I’ll go get her,” François said to the FBI agent, hoping his voice didn’t betray his sudden worry. He dashed through the hall, took the stairs two at a time and knocked on her door. There was no answer. He entered his room and activated the panel to open the secret door in her closet. “Cheryl,” he called as he stepped in her room. “Cheryl,” he repeated louder as he checked the bathroom and then the balcony. Where had she disappeared to? Not that she was forbidden to go around.
He sucked in a deep breath and assumed she’d joined his sister. Just when he left her room and went down the stairs, Marilène stepped through the front door with her inseparable Juan-Pablo. “Where were you?” François asked with a scowl.
“François, stop it,” his sister loudly protested. “I’m not a kid you have to supervise every minute.”
“What? It’s not that. I’m looking for Cheryl, have you seen her?”
“We were at the chapel site. I can assure you she wasn’t there. Has she been missing long?” Marilène’s voice reflected the same anxiety.
“About an hour.”
Marilène smiled. “Well, you can’t live without her for one little hour. That’s interesting.”
François groaned. “Under the present circumstances, I worry if she or you are missing for a minute.”
“Have you checked the whole house?”
“Just her room. You’re right. Maybe she’s in the kitchen.”
“You can stop worrying.” Marilène
threw him an ironic glance as Cheryl strode in and came straight to hug him. “She was in the kitchen.”
“Thank you, François.”
“Huh…for what? For worrying to death about you?”
“For finally telling Edith to leave.” Cheryl smiled, visibly relaxed.
“She left? Well, good riddance.” He was starting to relax too, now that Cheryl stood next to him, obviously unharmed and in good spirit.
“I saw her rushing down the stairs and to the kitchen. When I went down behind her, she ran to the kitchen backdoor. She threw over her shoulder that she couldn’t stay an extra minute in a place where she wasn’t welcome. It wasn’t up to me to tell her she took her own sweet time to realize you didn’t want her around.”
Cheryl’s good mood delighted him. He nodded, only too pleased to close the Edith subject now that she was finally out of his chateau for good. Still he wondered what could have decided the tempestuous lawyer to take off suddenly, unless his indifferent coldness had finally got to her. She’d been pouting since the formal dinner after he walked her to her room…and left her there without even a goodnight kiss.
“The FBI agent is in my office. Do you want to come and listen to what he has to say?”
“Of course, I saw his car from my window,” Cheryl said.
“I saw it too.” To François’ annoyance, Marilène waved to her companion. “We would like to come too.”
“We?”
Marilène took a step forward, grabbed François’ sleeve and shook his arm. “You’d better stop glaring at Juan-Pablo, you hear me. I love him.”
“What? I don’t have time now to discuss your latest crush.”
“It’s not a crush. I really love him.”
”You,” François growled and advanced on the younger man. “You stay away from my little sister. I don’t appreciate you seducing her.”
Juan-Pablo squared his shoulders and stood his ground. “François, I know it’s not the right moment. But I have to tell you that I plan to marry Marilène and will ask you for her hand in marriage,” he said firmly and wrapped his arm around his sweetheart’s back.
“Oh Juan-Pablo. What a wonderful surprise.” Far from looking surprised, Marilène shot them a triumphant smile. “My answer is yes. And my brother’s answer is the same.” Her eyes carried a warning not to mess up her happiness. His sister had it all planned. As usual, she would do exactly as she pleased.
François shrugged. “Let’s go and see the agent. It’s up to him to decide if Juan-Pablo can be present or not.”
François turned toward Cheryl to take her arm… but jerked back. Her bright smile of a moment ago had morphed into a sad curl of her lips. Her gaze flitted from Juan-Pablo to him.
Merde. Was she establishing a parallel? Juan-Pablo had proposed to Marilène three days after meeting her. Hmm?
For the second time since she’d come to the chateau, François felt like wringing his sister’s neck.
~*~
As they entered François’ office, the FBI agent stood from his chair and appraised Marilène.
“My sister, Marilène.”
“And my future fiancé, Juan-Pablo Rodriguez.” Marilène quickly hooked her hand in the young man’s elbow.
“Actually my full name is Juan-Pablo Rodriguez de Castana y Sierra.”
“Really?” The word echoed from the four others at once. Marilène’s smile turned ecstatic.
The FBI agent nodded. “I knew that, after researching your background. Pleased to meet you, Don Juan-Pablo.”
His head high, Juan-Pablo seemed to have grown a couple of inches.
“Please have a seat and let’s get to business,” François said with his innate courtesy back in place. Cheryl bet he’d stop worrying about his sister now that she’d found her Mr. Right—a very right one—that even a difficult brother couldn’t object about. A name to strike out of their list of suspects and use as an ally.
“Before I share with you the initial results of our investigation, I would like to meet with the so-called Edith Blaise.”
“So called? What do you mean?” François asked.
“She left half an hour ago,” Cheryl obligingly provided.
The agent bolted from his chair. “Left? For an errand? When is she coming back?”
Cheryl glanced at François. “I think she left for good. She was loading the last of her suitcases in the car when I saw her through the kitchen door.”
The FBI agent cursed. “Someone must have told her I was here. Do you remember the color and make of her car?”
“A black Peugeot.”
He snorted. “There are millions of them in France. Still I better ask the police to help.” He sent a message through his cell phone and then extracted two pictures from his jacket inner pocket. “This is the woman who was staying at your chateau,” the agent gave one of the pictures to François who nodded. “She’s not the real Edith Blaise, attorney at law.”
“Then who is she?” François’ scowl didn’t bode well for the woman who tricked him.
Depositing the other picture on the desk to reveal a plain brunette with a gentle smile, the agent said, “This is Edith Blaise. She left France last year when she married a Kuwaiti man and followed her husband to his country.”
François’ knuckles whitened as they clenched together. Cheryl surmised he would have clasped them around the woman’s throat, if she was still in his home.
“Who is she?” he repeated pointing to the first picture.
“Her name is Danielle Comain. She was the cleaning lady of the real Edith until she left. She probably managed to access a lot of her employer’s private information. How did you meet her, Mr. Valroux?”
François loosened his tie. His face turned bright red. The count blushing? This must be a precedent? The little vein at his neck pulsed sporadically, as if about to explode.
“A cleaning lady?” Marilène’s face matched François’ in color. “You dated a lying maid? I hope she didn’t steal anything from the chateau.” Marilène’s teeth clenched and her head tilted toward her brother.
Racking nervous fingers through his hair, François pushed out his chair and stood. He dialed a number on his desk telephone and handed the receiver to his sister. “Talk to Maman. I’m putting this call on loud speaker. Let’s find out exactly how my mother met this woman.”
After the traditional greetings, Marilène asked her mother how she met Edith. “Where were you the first time you saw her? In whose house?”
“Let me think. It was six months ago. I think I was meeting a group of friends at the Gallerie des Beaux-Arts for an exhibit of Monet.”
“So who introduced her to you? Which one of your friends?” They all leaned toward the phone, waiting.
There was a moment of silence.
“Your friend Monique? Or Colette or maybe Joséphine?”
“No. None of them.”
“Madame Jospain?”
“No, not her and not her friend the Vicontesse de Sorret?”
“So none of my mother’s close friends knew her.” François’ scowl darkened. Cheryl averted her eyes. In a way she felt sorry for him.
“Ah I remember,” his mother said on the other end of the line. “Edith commented on a painting and asked me what I thought about it. She stayed at my side while touring the museum and explained the various paintings in such a funny way. We were all laughing at her comments.” There was a chuckle that none of them felt like sharing. “Edith is such a lovely woman,” the countess said with warmth. The FBI agent snorted and Marilène rolled her eyes but François exhaled and rubbed his throat.
“And then, Maman?” Marilène probed.
“Edith said it was so good to be with her friends. Later on, we had lunch and she offered to drive me back but I insisted I drop her at her place when she remembered her brother borrowed her car after driving her to the museum.”
“Lying bitch,” the FBI agent muttered.
“Who paid for the lunch?” Mar
ilène asked.
“It was my treat. I wouldn’t let her pay after all her kindness toward me.”
“Is that when you decided to introduce me to her, Maman?” François played with a pencil and tapped it on the desk. Cheryl hardly recognized his guttural voice.
“Non, François. Not right away. Edith came to visit me several times in the Paris apartment. She was always so nice, bringing flowers, or candies before we went out to dinner or to friends. All my friends invited her and she’d pick me up and drive my car so that I felt more relaxed. She said her sports car was too uncomfortable.”
“Yeah, sports car.” The FBI agent grumbled. “As if she had one.” The pencil snapped between François’ fingers.
“She stayed with me and nursed me when I got sick. One day she held your picture against her heart, François, and she told me she’d seen you from afar and fallen in love with you. But you didn’t even notice her. She asked if I could introduce you. That’s when I invited you to dinner with her.”
Marilène covered the mouth piece of the phone and lowered her voice. “Should we tell her the truth?”
“It would give her a shock to hear it on the phone. I think you better go stay with her for a day and explain everything.”
“I will. I need to introduce Juan-Pablo to her.”
“Great idea.”
“Au revoir, Maman. I’m coming to see you tomorrow.”
“Merci, ma petite. And you, François, try to remember your mother sometimes.”
“Oui.” François exhaled. “Au revoir.” He put back the receiver in its cradle.
“That makes sense,” the FBI agent said. “This Danielle Comain infiltrated herself in your mother’s trust and took advantage of her.”
“You think she was the woman who attacked Bernard?”
“Definitely. She’s dangerous and probably armed.”
Book Boyfriends Cafe Summer Lovin' Anthology 2015 Page 92