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

by Peggy A. Edelheit

  Now, who had the one advantage on seeing what was going on, as well as not having to fear being caught? Who could have used that opportunity? To what gain?

  …Madame Sorrell!

  I stopped in place and turned to stare up at the one house that had an eagle eye view of most of Curat’s property, day and night, and in it, a person who once held power over the others in the past. I smiled at the notion this presented.

  What if she saw something? Would she risk using that information for extortion, power and control? Her social position was slipping now that her influential husband, Henri, was dead. Why give up all that power?

  Chapter 36

  Sidelined By Solicitous Salutations

  Making up for lost time was my number one priority for the day. I mean, after all, if she slammed the door in my face, at least I’d feel I had tried to accomplish something rather than sitting out on the terrace and trying to figure out who knew what. I had to go to the source, but in a round about way, and worm some information out of her.

  Sorrell’s gate was already open, so I climbed her drive and upon reaching the entrance, hit the doorbell, hoping for the best. Ordinarily people in my situation had a plan of action. Not me. I usually let things play out, grabbing at whatever I could. Sometimes it worked.

  I’m not discussing when it didn’t.

  I took a deep breath as the door slowly opened. I was about three feet lower on the bottom step and already felt at a disadvantage by her towering figure staring down at me.

  “Madame Sorrell, do you have time to talk?”

  Surprisingly, she gave me a smile. “Of course. Please come in and share some tea with me.”

  Up till now, not one person in this neighborhood had been pleased to see me. Why the change in attitude? Was this a new tactic they were trying on me? I thought it was supposed to be me who was trying out new game plans and was thrown by Sorrell’s unexpected greeting.

  “It’s very generous of you to see me without prior notice. I appreciate your time. I know how a woman of your stature has more important matters to tend to.”

  She stopped and turned to face me in the entryway. “I think we both know why you are here, so let us both get straight to the point once we are seated. Oui?”

  Well, I was sort of nonplused for something to say as a retort, so I kept quiet and just nodded, and then followed her down a darkened hallway that opened up to her kitchen.

  “Wow!” was all I said. It had a rough-hewn wood floor, iron and copper pots hanging everywhere with a huge wood fueled stove against one wall, and a rectangular old large farm table right in the center of it all.

  The fireplace off to the side had two comfortable leather chairs facing each other with a small table in between. She pointed for me to sit by the window. I stared out at the sea, and then turned back to her. “This is beautiful.”

  She prepared the tea. “I thought we would dispense with the formalities of the living room, so you could ask me what you really need to know. No polite games. I am only interested in clarifying any misunderstanding on your part.”

  I wasn’t expecting her to be so straightforward. It was unusual for the French to be confrontational. I recovered and said, “Merci, I like you getting straight to the point.”

  “As you yourself already know, being a widow has its learning curves.”

  Chapter 37

  Reading More Than Tea Leaves

  What was she trying to convey, that we had something in common, or we both understood the reality of the moment? Just because I was a widow, it didn’t make me feel any closer to what she was going through. I could relate on some level, but I was extremely suspicious of this woman, especially after hearing what the others said about her unforgiveable behavior.

  I stopped myself mid-thought.

  Were they telling the truth? This was exactly what Luc had warned me against, prejudging anyone by other’s previous comments. What if there was more to it? What if this woman never got to explain the whole story? Maybe Madam Toussout wasn’t so innocent, but was just playing a role to get everyone on her side and against Sorrell?

  No, it didn’t make any sense, because if that were true, it clearly didn’t work. No one was on friendly speaking terms with each other.

  When she sat down with tea, I came out with it.

  “Since we’re dropping all pretenses here, why didn’t you ever apologize for jumping to conclusions and causing the infamous rift with the Toussouts? There was no proof.”

  She barely blinked in response. “Why should I? That woman should have apologized to me long before that.”

  “Whatever for? She seems like a shy, quiet woman.”

  “Ah, don’t let that façade of hers fool you. She can be quite treacherous, ruthless too. Both of them.”

  “Why do you say that?”

  Her eyes narrowed in anger. “What would you do if one of your neighbors publicly accused your husband of running around with a woman with a known reputation?”

  I didn’t get where she was going with this line of conversation. “What are you talking about?”

  “Monsieur and Madame Toussot’s actions killed Henri.”

  “Wait. What evidence do you have to back that up?”

  “The Toussouts! So righteous!”

  “But how did the Toussouts kill your husband?”

  “They both spread rumors of my Henri going to a house of ill repute!”

  I didn’t get it. “Why would they do that?”

  Madame Sorrel sighed. “To get back at me.”

  “For your accusation and her ultimate embarrassment?”

  Sorrel nodded. “Yes. My Henri spent years dealing with those ridiculous rumors. Finally they disappeared.”

  “But how did the Toussots kill your husband, now?”

  “It all resurfaced in an anonymous note to Henri. Once again those ridiculous rumors were circulating about Henri, now a respected businessman. The stress, and the possibility of blackmail, finally killed him with a heart attack. Those two are the only ones who would have a motive for retaliation and public humiliation.”

  Chapter 38

  Following The Past

  Now, was there something more than petty annoyances and jealousy going on? Blackmail seemed farfetched. Why was Sorrell tossing my attention to the Toussouts and those rumors, decades old? Were they actually relevant now?

  I sat staring out at the water, sipping my morning coffee and thinking about my visit to Sorrell. Interesting stuff and a possible diversion, but how could I work that into my story? Could I make it have any relevance to my plot? I doubted my editor would think so. I could clearly visualize her comments in the edit sidebar and smiled.

  “…Hello! Are you there? Hello!”

  I jumped at Martha’s touch. She was staring at me, as were Hazel and Betty, hovering just behind her.

  “…Sorry,” I said. “I was thinking about some things.”

  Martha shook her head, but then smiled, knowingly.

  “I’ve seen that look before. Something is up, isn’t it?”

  Hazel was excited. “You’re in another caper, right?”

  I didn’t answer, but she turned to Betty, grinning. “Did you catch that? Sounds like another case.”

  Betty nodded approval. “Hazel, ‘caper’ sums it up just like those old detective novels we both devour.”

  Martha pulled up a chair beside me. “Now, without traveling down that road of yours with all your usual denials, how about you telling the three of us exactly what is going on?”

  Betty and Hazel sat down too and I realized I was cornered.

  “It certainly would save us a lot of time trying to pry it out of you, or following you around, listening and watching your every move, like before,” Betty pointed out.

  I sighed. But they had proven their worth in the past. Maybe they could be extra sets of eyes and ears and help me. What did I have to lose by confiding in them? I smiled, thinking back on all the chaos they seemed to attract.
<
br />   …All right, me too.

  “Only if you promise me that you three will not do anything crazy without consulting me first, or no deal.”

  The three of them exchanged excited looks, but then smiled blandly at me and nodded.

  Martha patted my arm. “Great! I was getting a little bored anyway. Inactivity leads to mental rigor mortis.”

  “Personally speaking,” said Betty, “I’ve just about seen enough lace panties and bras at all those markets.”

  Hazel laughed. “Sam, we brought our iPads and walking shoes with us just in case. Knowing you, we were hoping something might be in the works. Finally, a case to crack!”

  I took another sip of coffee, wondering where to begin. “I don’t know what I have exactly, but it sure is interesting, I have to admit. The more I dig, the more mystifying it all gets.”

  Martha leaned back in her chair, getting comfortable. “Okay, spill.”

  And I did, telling them everything I knew so far: the pet bones, the neighbor’s backgrounds, their animosity, the brooch incident, seeing the two women at the restaurant, the cat lady, the mysterious truck, noises heard from down below, to the red light district and sugar daddy across the street, and of course, the possibility of blackmail.

  Betty lightly whistled. “My, you have been busy!”

  Hazel hastily took notes, more for her own benefit than mine. She was always jotting down things she might forget that she thought might be important later.

  Hazel was slightly shorter than Betty, who leaned toward the thin side, but she was surprisingly in good shape. It must be from heaving and stacking all those books in Clay’s bookstore. She was bristling with excitement and fussing with her curly gray hair in anticipation. “French intrigue at its finest!”

  Chapter 39

  Armed For Answers

  After some epicurean tips from Martine, I was armed with more than questions for Madame Toussout. I had been checking all morning from my upper terrace and finally noticed her all by herself in her backyard, clipping some roses for an empty vase sitting on her patio table.

  I also found out from Martine how envious Madame Toussout was of Martine and Curat’s gardens because of their apricot trees. She adored apricots. I picked a basketful, stuck a ribbon on the handle, and hustled over for a speedy interview, excuse me, chat.

  I called out from her walk-in gate, as she was pruning poolside. “Madame Toussout. I’ve brought you a gift.”

  She looked up guardedly, but her curiosity got the better of her when she noticed the covered basket I was carrying. She set her clippers down on a nearby table, removed her gloves and slowly approached.

  “What is this about a gift for me?” she asked, eyeing the basket and opening her gate slowly.

  I smiled. “I heard you loved apricots and Curat’s trees are filled with them, so naturally, I thought of you.”

  She grinned, pleased. “Oh, how thoughtful of you to remember me and my passion for apricots. Please, won’t you sit by the pool with me and have some ice tea and maybe we can sample one or two while we talk?”

  I was in. “I’d love to. How nice of you to ask!”

  She gestured to a table and some chairs under a pergola of clematis vines and I made myself comfortable on the shaded patio. When she had disappeared inside the house to get us tea, I glanced up at Curat’s curved wall, spilling over with red bougainvillea, checking it out. I wondered how she heard the sound she had described all the way from down here.

  I turned at her footsteps.

  “Here we go—don’t they look delicious?”

  We settled in, enjoying the fresh apricots and sipping tea. She was experiencing such pleasure in the fruit I’d brought I almost felt bad bringing up the past and all the negativity attached to it. Like I said, I almost felt bad.

  But how did she rationalize what happened?

  “Madame Toussout, I heard your relationship with your neighbor on the hill goes back many, many years.”

  She set her tea down. “I am afraid there is no friendship any longer between us.”

  “Oh, that is truly a shame. I’m sorry to hear that.”

  “Yes. I have discovered even time can’t erase history.”

  “A history of rumors, or something more?”

  Her eyes held mine. “Whose version?”

  “Why don’t you tell me yours?”

  She started fidgeting with her hands in her lap, and then became indignant. Why the conflicting body language?

  “How was I to know it was all true and that Henri was secretly meeting with that woman when I accused him of that very thing in public? I know my husband wouldn’t lie to me, would he?”

  What was in Henri’s letter?

  Chapter 40

  Revving Up For A Change

  Half an hour later I walked back to my villa, with nothing more than a basket filled with more useless gossip. A loud roar closed in on me. I sidestepped on the narrow road to make room, except no one passed by.

  The engine sounded familiar.

  Curious, I turned to see who had stopped beside me. There was a smiling Crystal, the owner of Crystal Clear Cleaners of Ocean City, New Jersey, straddling a Harley motorcycle.

  “Well, look what we have here!” I said, running over to hug her. “I guess you got my email invite. Welcome to the Riviera. Hey, who’s watching your cleaning business?”

  Crystal smirked. “My husband, Pete, of course. After putting up with his father and all his baggage, I deserved it. So, I handed him the mop, saying, ‘you know what to do.’”

  “Where did you get the Harley?”

  “I rented it for a few weeks from Prestige Motorcycles. Can you imagine a Harley dealer within fifteen minutes of your villa? You know, I’d be lost without a Harley to ride.”

  Her traveling tattoos glistened under a tight tee shirt and leather vest, while her jeans hugged her shapely, toned body. Her helmet camouflaged her long brown hair.

  “I guess you were heading up to my villa?”

  She nodded. “Want a short lift?”

  “Sure. I’ve got the remote, so slow down at the entrance, then I’ll press the remote and we can ride right through.”

  In seconds, we glided through the gates, coming to a stop at the front door. Martha, Hazel and Betty rushed over.

  “What a sight for sore eyes,” laughed Martha.

  “Crystal, how nice to see you, again,” Betty greeted.

  Hazel eyed the Harley. “Perfect! We’ve got backup.”

  Crystal looked at her. “What do you mean, backup?”

  “We’re on another case!” Hazel announced proudly.

  Crystal laughed. “Already? It’s only been a few weeks!”

  Martha smirked. “You know how she attracts it.”

  I turned to her. “Attracts what?”

  “Mysteries, and now, murder,” she tossed back.

  Crystal did a double take. “Murder?”

  Betty lifted a backpack from Crystal’s motorcycle and headed toward the villa’s foyer door. “We’ll explain later.”

  Hazel grabbed the other bag and followed Betty. “Wait until you hear about her tango with Philippe!”

  Crystal looked at me. “You danced a tango? Who is Philippe?”

  Martha smirked. “Picture an orchid between her teeth.”

  Crystal started laughing. “I can see I came just in time.”

  “You’re telling us!” Betty said, laughing.

  Hazel started for the door. “The only one missing is…”

  I cut her a sharp look of warning about her next words.

  “…Sneakers, of course, your cat.” she added quickly.

  Martha flashed a grin. “Touchy! You know that…”

  I gave her the evil eye back. “Hey, enough!”

  They were all trouble with a capital T.

  Chapter 41

  A Mazed In St. Tropez

  “Now, this is how it’s going down, ladies,” I said, while we were walking away from the car. I fel
t like a drill sergeant, but if I didn’t take control now, the whole shopping experience could end up a fiasco. “We’ll try to begin near the wharf where some nice shops are and weave our way over toward the park, and then back again, covering most of the maze of small boutiques in a grid pattern. I don’t want any of you wandering off.”

  Hazel became upset. “I take it you don’t trust us?”

  “Where could we possibly go?” Betty asked, offended.

  Martha huffed. “Don’t you think your stretching it?”

  Instead of letting Crystal stay home to rest from her trip, I should have dragged her along. She would have been an extra set of eyes to counter their constant wanderlust. Besides, I felt responsible for them. This was an unfamiliar area, easy to get lost in, plus it was crowded with tourists.

  “No, I’m sticking on the side of caution with you three.”

  “I don’t see why!” Betty argued. “I’ve got a map!”

  Martha held up her hand. “Forget it, we’ve got bigger fish to fry than to stand here and quibble. I need a bikini!”

  I was going to suggest she might want to reconsider a bikini, but then figured, why not? It’s the Riviera. Briefly, I even considered buying one for myself, something I wouldn’t have done while married to Stephen. “I think you should get one.”

  Martha’s eyes narrowed, trying to figure out if that was meant to be a sarcastic comment.

  I smiled. “I’m serious.”

  “I will if you will,” she replied.

  I hesitated, but then thought—why not? “Deal.”

  She laughed. “Now, that’s the way to go!” She then leaned closer to us, whispering, “Don’t look right this second, but there’s a small truck back there that seems to be trailing us since we parked. There are two men inside, watching us. Why, I do believe they might be attracted to our group, especially me.”