86 Avenue du Goulet (A Samantha Jamison Mystery Volume 3)

by Peggy A. Edelheit

  Either no one really knew much and couldn’t honestly tell me anything, or there was something more going on behind the scenes that no one wanted me to find out.

  Which was it? …Or was it a combination of both?

  Everyone seemed to be offering me little to go on. And what little I had so far, was opening up a completely different set of secrets that no one felt comfortable discussing. What were they all afraid of?

  Was there one more major thread I wasn’t seeing yet?

  The neighbors all confirmed that the police didn’t have the time to investigate the finding of animal bones in an old garden. They were too busy with arson in the forests that surrounded the campgrounds, pickpockets, muggings, and any number of other offenses attributed to the tourist areas during the high season.

  Claudine and Paul told me that they didn’t hear anything from their cottage because it was located at the farthest point from Curat’s property line, but what about when they were working inside and outside Martine’s house?

  Her house was twenty feet from Curat’s property line and there were several more feet to his house. His gardens were on the opposite side and went up the hill. When in Martine’s house, off and on all year round, they must have seen something, or at least heard something, even if the gardens were on the other side of Curat’s villa.

  On past visits to Martine’s, I noticed the couple never said much and went about their daily routine, doing their job. They blended into the background. Not only were they well paid, but also had a house to live in for free.

  Like Luc, after a while, you forgot they were always moving about. And that was exactly why I thought both Claudine and Paul, and Luc as well, knew more than they were willing to reveal. Being part of the background, they became invisible, and so people spoke more freely, not editing their words or actions around them.

  Was it an unspoken loyalty code of silence the three of them respected? Did they hear or see more than was intended and were now reluctant to share what it was? Was fear of reprisal holding them back, or something else? I was determined to find out exactly what it was.

  More than flowers, plants and bones were buried here.

  Chapter 30

  Laced With More Than Garlic

  When Martha returned, I walked over to check out her purchases from the flea market in Les Issambres. She had ridden the old French bicycle she found in the garage and taken my market basket and hung it from the handlebars.

  “Wow, Martha! This is quite a haul you have here.”

  “I needed a few extras that I forgot to bring with me.”

  I reached in, grabbing and holding up an item from her basket. It was lacey…a French thong? I grinned.

  She quickly snatched it from my grasp. “Hey, it’s the French Riviera!”

  “And you’re on vacation!” I added, laughing.

  “Yes, exactly!”

  “Anything goes, including the French gardener!”

  “Precisely!” she said laughing, and then froze. Busted!

  I made a zipping motion. “My lips are sealed.”

  She sat down on a bench and I joined her. I gently poked her, still laughing. “Is something in the wine here making you suddenly reconsider your senior boycott?”

  She turned to me, smirking. “I must admit, surprisingly, this vintage is pretty good, if I do say so myself.”

  There was a loud pounding noise nearby and we both jumped to our feet.

  Martha said, “Now, what in blazes is that racket?”

  We both scrambled over to the small window in the garage that faced Martine’s to see what was going on.

  “Look!” she whispered. “You can see through that spot in the hedge to Martine’s property from here!”

  I looked over too. “It’s that quiet, older woman, Claudine; Martine’s housekeeper. Hey, do you smell that, Martha? She’s cooking in the outdoor summer kitchen. She laces all her dishes with tons of fresh garlic. You’re going to love it. Don’t forget we’re due there at seven.”

  Martha pointed. “Hey, she’s grabbing a live chicken by the neck, throwing it down on that butcher block and…”

  My hand automatically went to my throat, as I swallowed. “Jeeeeez! Will you look at that?”

  “That woman wielded that knife like a pro,” said an admiring Martha. “That damn chicken didn’t see the light of day; just like in those crime shows on TV.”

  “Hey, she’s an old French cook just doing her job.”

  “That sure ends that mystery,” Martha said, slowly pulling away from the window and shaking her head in amazement. “That’s one cook who knows her way around a kitchen.”

  Like Martha said, another mystery solved. I tried smiling, but that image flew by me again, and I shuddered.

  “I guess we’re having chicken tonight.”

  Chapter 31

  Surprise At Sunset

  We sipped wine out on the deck and watched the moon slowly rise over the Mediterranean from the bedroom level terrace. Dusk was setting in. Yachts cruised by and cars snaked in and out of view along the coast road down below us, while the sea ebbed and flowed, splashing the rocks.

  Martha leaned back on her chaise lounge, relaxed.

  “If my friends could just see me now.”

  “What would they say?” I asked, turning to her.

  “That I had finally cheated them out of the most primo beach time of all. I can hear their voices now.”

  The doorbell rang. Martha turned her head in my direction. “Are you expecting anyone?”

  “No,” I said. “Are you?” Nothing surprised me with her.

  The doorbell rang insistently three more times in a row. She finally stood up. “I swear, I know better, but still...there’s no way in hell this could happen to me twice.”

  I laughed, knowing my secret email invite had worked, but still acted clueless. “Come on, what are the odds?”

  “About a million to one against me,” she threw back.

  “There’s one way to find out. I’ll go see,” I offered.

  Martha turned to follow. “I’ll come for back up.”

  We both scrambled down the marble staircase and came to a halt at the door. I hit the videophone and only got a bunch of static. “It’s acting up again. The speaker, too.”

  Martha looked at me. “Look, just hit the outdoor lights and I’ll walk down to the gates with you. If we don’t like what’s on the other side, we won’t open it. Here, grab the gate remote and let’s see who this is, once and for all.”

  We walked down toward the gates. As we rounded the hibiscus hedge, we stopped. A smile crossed my lips.

  “Well, what do you know!” I said.

  Martha whispered, “Double damn. Senior competition!”

  “Now behave. They’re friends, who obviously traveled all the way here from Highlands, North Carolina to spend time with us. I told them to come on over because I’ve got plenty of room at the villa I’m renting.”

  I had blind-copied Clay on their email invite. It worked.

  Martha tossed back the last of her wine.

  I turned back to face the gate and hit the remote. “Well, Hazel and Betty, I’m so glad you two could make it.” I said, while subtly poking Martha in the ribs to join in.

  She nudged me away. “Yeah, ditto. I’m surprised you were able to get away from your job at the bookstore. The Book Worm will not be the same without you two oldies.”

  “Very funny!” said Betty. “We were forced to take a ‘much needed’ vacation. Some boss Clay turned out to be. I personally think that new female manager was behind it.”

  “Clay flew the coop, without explaining a thing,” said an indignant Hazel. “He just left a note saying, au revoir!”

  Chapter 32

  Another Day & Another Chapter

  The next morning the four of us were gathered around the kitchen farm table, catching up with the latest gossip and leisurely sipping our coffee. I reluctantly opened the French doors to the side gardens for air
, knowing what was bound to happen on that particular day.

  Martha knew, too, and was a tad edgy.

  And, before long, there he was.

  Betty and Hazel stopped talking.

  After deftly smoothing strays from her tight bun and looking outside, Betty said, “Where did he come from?”

  Hazel plucked at her short curly gray hair, straining for a better view. “Who exactly is that gentleman in the garden, Samantha?”

  “He’s the villa’s French gardener, Luc.”

  Martha jumped up, glaring at the two other women. “Don’t bother. He’s not interested in stuffy, old ladies!”

  I turned to her. “Now Martha, come on, play nice here. Betty and Hazel are my guests.”

  Martha turned and scowled at me. “So am I, and as of this moment, I’m declaring finders keepers!”

  She looked back at Hazel and Betty. “From our iffy shared history, need I remind you two about the rules?”

  Betty waved her off. “What rules? You always cheat.”

  Hazel joined in. “I distinctly recall you hightailing it out of town instead of waiting for us for a certain beach trip.”

  Martha glared. “Are you accusing me of plotting?”

  Betty tsked, tsked her. “I guess you sneaking off in the wee hours is considered normal? I heard you hired a taxi, and wasted time eating breakfast out, until the bus finally showed up in another town so you wouldn’t be seen.”

  “Those town gossips have tentacles everywhere!”

  Hazel gave Martha a steely look. “Plus, you promised you would wait for us and you didn’t!”

  Enough was enough. “Ladies! That’s ancient history.”

  There was a tap, tap on the opened glass door. We all turned to look.

  It was Luc, winking at me. “Excusez-moi, Madame. I did not know you had company.”

  He would have had to be deaf, not to hear all the noise.

  I smiled, winking back at him, and then made all the necessary intros with Betty and Hazel. He made a gallant show of pleasure in meeting them and welcoming them to his country of France.

  He then turned to me. “Madame, if I could have a word with you outside, regarding the gardens?”

  My antenna went up. Why was he asking me about the gardens? This was Curat’s villa.

  He saw my reaction. “It is only that you know so much about gardening and flowers, I thought I might get …how do you say... your opinion?”

  “…Okay.”

  Chapter 33

  Face-To-Face Innuendo & Inferences

  We wandered down to the lower gardens and sat on a shaded cement bench out of earshot of the others. But even at that distance I could still hear a lot of friendly arguing going on. I smiled, and then turned to Luc, giving him my full attention. “What did you really want?”

  “You are wondering why I asked to speak privately.”

  “That thought had crossed my mind, since I don’t know much about these gardens …yet.”

  “I wanted to tell you I have overheard that some neighbors are suspicious of you and your questions. But you must keep trying to detect what is behind their uneasy words and actions.”

  “I was given a somewhat cold reception.”

  He laughed. “Do you think a few interviews are enough to give you all your answers?”

  I sighed. “I was hoping for more favorable results.”

  Luc smiled. “In time they might let slip up something the will help you. Don’t be intimidated by their gruff manner. After all, they have lost a member of their family. Like you Americans, we French also love our pets.”

  “I don’t know how to probe further without appearing somewhat rude.” Eyeing Luc, I half smiled. “But then again, I am an American, aren’t I? They’ll expect it.”

  “Maybe Jean can help regarding that time when these houses were first built. Once, a long time ago, they were all good friends, until that episode with the brooch. What a shame.”

  “Well, Jean is out of town on business right now, but I will do that. It might give me a better perspective.”

  “Oh, I am sure in time you will find out many interesting things about all of them. But be skeptical about what they might say regarding each other.” He stood to go. “I must get back to work. If you will excuse me, Madame?”

  “Of course. I appreciate your comments and will keep them in mind next time I speak to the neighbors. Merci.”

  Luc nodded, gave me another wink and walked away.

  Maybe I wasn’t paying close enough attention to their subtle body language and should dig deeper like Luc implied. Hey, that’s what worked before, right? Asking the uncomfortable questions others wouldn’t or couldn’t?

  I would have to rethink my strategy and revisit all of them, and one way or the other, try to somehow get more details. Playing one off the other wouldn’t work. What would? Could I actually get someone to trust me?

  I sat there thinking over Luc’s inferences and innuendo.

  Were they meant to be helpful hints or subtle warnings?

  Chapter 34

  Getting My Money’s Worth

  The French ATM machine had become my best friend lately, especially since my three houseguests had more than a healthy appetite. They also loved French wine. So there I was at Géant Supermarket in Fréjus, loading up on enough supplies to get me by for a while.

  The place was enormous. I gave up counting at the twentieth cash register. I headed straight for the wine section, figuring I might save a euro or two buying some there instead of going to a smaller store. I grabbed whites, reds and everything in between. The boutique wine shops and their expensive prices were killing me. Maybe I would try a local vineyard or two for their wines when I ran out.

  Ten minutes later, I was in the cheese aisle, already salivating in anticipation at the choices that were waiting. I was about to grab some French Brie when someone else grabbed it instead. Put out, I looked to see who had violated my personal cheese space.

  “Oh! Madame Toussout. What a pleasant surprise! Please, go right ahead. I will take another one.”

  Flustered by my gracious greeting, and startled to see me, she cautiously stepped back, saying, “Oh!” herself.

  I didn’t want the moment to escape and decided to take advantage of us being alone without her husband.

  “How nice to see you again!” I greeted warmly. “I love this store.”

  She gave me a guarded smile. “It is also good to see you again. Yes, I agree. It is a nice store.”

  I sighed, trying to appear frustrated. “I need your advice. There are too many choices. I am overwhelmed.”

  Well, she spent the next ten minutes pointing out the best cheeses to try, some brands that were bad, and a few that were too pricey to even bother experimenting with.

  “Why, Madame Toussout, thank you so much! I can’t tell you what a life saver you have been for me.”

  She became flustered by the compliment.

  “Oh, it was nothing at all. What would it say about my country if I could not help you in some small way?”

  I moved in for the kill, shaking my head sadly. “I just wish you could have also helped me in some small way regarding any unusual information about what is going on at Curat’s property. No one is being very helpful. I know Martine will be so disappointed in me for coming up empty-handed.”

  She looked both ways and said in a hushed tone. “The truth is, I have heard something, but have been reluctant to seek you out. Can I confide something only between us?”

  I couldn’t believe my luck. “Why of course! I would never let on that you said anything to me at all.”

  She stepped in closer. “Late one night, I heard a truck stop and a door shut. I went outside to listen. There was a scraping noise, then a flashlight shining, and then a click. I quietly walked over and listened from below the wall to Curat’s villa. Then I could swear I felt a vibration come from the wall itself. Crazy! No?”

  Chapter 35

  Questions Leadin
g To What?

  While driving home, questions lingered about Madame Toussout. What had she heard that night? None of it made sense. Nothing else was found or dug up other than the bones and tags, and they were discovered by accident.

  Plus, it didn’t appear she had a personal agenda, so I pushed that to the side. Was it her imagination that night? It didn’t seem so, because she was completely earnest in trying to describe exactly what she heard.

  Maybe that was what Monsieur Toussout did not want me to find out. Since her nervous breakdown, maybe he thought people would think she was crazy, too. Besides, why would he confide in anyone, especially the neighbors? Luc mentioned that Toussout was still sensitive about the brooch episode when no one tried to defend his wife, or believe her denial. Had Toussout heard the noise, too?

  Perhaps he knew exactly what it was and by dismissing what his wife heard, hoped that she would eventually dismiss it, too. If so, why? For what possible reason would he want it disregarded, except for his own benefit, or possibly someone else’s? Too many questions were still out there.

  I remembered Mademoiselle Forniet mentioned seeing a truck across from her house and in front of Curat’s. Could that be the vehicle that Madame Toussout heard? If so, whose voice had Dominique Forniet heard?

  What could the scraping noise be that Tissout heard? Was it a shovel? Then why wasn’t something else found? Or was it the actual burial of the pets taking place when she heard it?

  I was getting creeped out just thinking about it.

  What was so unique about Curat’s property other than it was vacant? Was I going about this whole thing the wrong way? What was the other missing connection sitting out there?

  After arriving home and starting to unpack my car, I stopped and pivoted in place in the courtyard, looking all around me, trying to figure out what did or didn’t happen.