I remembered what Martine told me regarding the estrangement of their two children. Was he allowing her this one family picture and the rest were taken away to avoid a future mental breakdown? I’d think not having the pictures would be more painful. But, hey, that was just me.
Maybe, he didn’t want reminders of what happened. But instead of her, it was too painful for him. Was he the weak one?
I heard a noise and quickly sat down. It was an eclectic interior, at odds with my mental picture of them.
Something was amiss.
Chapter 59
Toussout, Threads & A Threat
“I hope you like these wonderful pastry tarts my wife baked. They are my favorite.”
“Thank you, I’d love one.” I bit into the juicy apricots. “Delicious. I guess that some people have a gift for baking. Unfortunately, I don’t, but I sure can appreciate it.”
Toussout winked and patted his waistline. “Me too.”
“Are these from the fresh apricots I brought her?”
“Yes. A very clever gift to try and loosen her tongue.”
I simply laughed. “I was hoping no one would notice my underlying motive.”
“Ah, I’m sure your motives were well-intentioned.”
Hmm… “Perhaps you may be able to help me.”
“You are still checking into what happened?”
“Yes, I am, and asking for your assistance. Are you sure you haven’t seen or heard anything on your own?”
“Like I said before, I have not seen much. I have little to do with my neighbors, so I have little to tell you.”
“Possibly there is something that seemed out of the ordinary regarding either neighbor?”
He thought it over and nodded. “I am not one to gossip, but we all know what goes on across the street. Once in a while, I hear and see a Bentley late at night. A gentleman stays a short time, and then is gone.”
“Do you have a description of who drives it?”
“No, it is usually dark. Recently though, I heard a conversation that struck me as odd for that kind of visit.”
“How so?”
“The Mademoiselle and this man were arguing loudly about some papers being mishandled and they would have to be signed all over again. He also mentioned something about another scheduled delivery.”
“Delivery of what?”
“Their voices became obscured when he started his car.”
How and why was Toussout close enough to hear them?
I set my glass down and pushed further.
“What about the other neighbor, Madame Sorrell?”
“Ah, that woman!” he said, looking upset. “She is formidable in her own right, but her time will come. If you look for it, you will see her constantly at her window with her binoculars. That old woman has nothing better to do, but watch other people’s business. She should mind her own before it is too late.”
Too late for what? Was that a veiled threat?
He shook his head and stood. “Oh, don’t pay attention to the ramblings of an old man who has a hard time letting go of the past. How do you Americans say it? We have to move on, yes? Come, I will see you to the door.”
Was he deliberately misleading me, or finely threading possible leads for me to follow?
Chapter 60
A Study In Retrospective
Madame Sorrell was tending her impressive flower garden when I approached. She nodded, as though she had been expecting me.
“With the hot sun, we should sit in the shade for you to ask your questions. That is why you are here, yes?”
I smiled. “I am considered by some a provocateur.”
“Not more provocative than myself, I am sure.”
We walked over to an arbor of bougainvillea, a shaded spot, which housed a table and chairs. In minutes, she returned with some chilled wine, my second glass of the day. With this heat, it made an iffy combo I wasn’t used to.
Sorrell sat down. “What do you need to know?”
I set down my glass. “You don’t waste time, do you?”
“At my advanced age, time is crucial.”
“Exactly my point. With time people forget details.”
Madame Sorrell’s eyebrow went up. “Such as?”
“Details about what they might have seen or heard.”
“Or details they might want to forget, don’t you think?”
I hadn’t thought of that. What had Madame Sorrell seen that she didn’t want to recall or divulge?
An assault? A murder? A burial? What?
I needed to push her and took a chance. “Are you afraid of what you saw and might happen if you say something?”
“Ah, what a clever girl you are! You perceive much.”
I pushed cautiously. “…What are you really afraid of?”
“Me? I am an old woman, who has seen much over the years and trying my best to decide what to do.”
“About what?”
She frowned. “Certain behavior might be misread many ways. Individual interpretation is the major disqualifier.”
“For what?”
“Who is guilty and who is not.”
“Regarding what?”
“After all these years, my time is running out. I am getting old, and with my husband, Henri, and his death, and with not having children, there is not much that concerns me anymore, certainly not any veiled threats.”
“What veiled threats?”
“Ah, they think I have never realized the danger and consequences, but I do. The players underestimate me.”
Was this a game of cat and mouse?
“Players in what?” I asked. “Why won’t you tell me what this is all about?”
“Because doubt still lingers about what was seen.”
“What did you see?”
She looked at me. “Now, why would I want to destroy someone, if I am not sure? I must be absolutely positive.”
“Can I ask you, are the burials tied to all this?”
Her hands began to tremble. “That and so much more.”
What was the final thread that tied them all together?
Chapter 61
Requesting Reasonable Responses
As I rang the bell, I realized this interview could go either way. Either Dominique would cooperate, or I would be viewed as a potential threat to her claim on Philippe.
After four rings, she finally responded with impatient displeasure. However, when she saw who stood there, her demeanor completely switched into a welcoming smile.
Was that a rehearsed response for my benefit?
My usual reservations were going full steam, but I calmly explained the reason for my spontaneous visit. Instead of being greeted with annoyance or indifference, she enthusiastically guided me to a shaded area off of her kitchen and excused herself while she ran for refreshments.
I sat under a rose trellis, the heat and fragrance infusing the dreamy air. I caught glimpses over the hedges of the second floor of my villa and partial upper terrace. I also noticed, though her view of Curat’s gardens was sparse, this camouflaged area allowed for perfect eavesdropping of any conversations that occurred on my terrace.
Disappointment set in, because I wouldn’t be able to see the interior of the house which would’ve been a plus in getting a glimpse and better insight into what she was really like. I’d have to get what I needed verbally, instead.
I heard clinking and turned. Dominique set a tray down on the table, which consisted of a white wine decanter, two goblets and a tray of crackers and cheese. I was already lightheaded from the combined two drinks at the other neighbor’ houses and the afternoon heat.
“I would offer my facilities,” said Dominique, but the plumber is repairing the pipes.”
How clever of her to bypass my entering her house!
I reached for some crackers and cheese to dilute the effect of a third glass of wine, while she poured. I really couldn’t refuse the drink because she might take offense. Serving drinks and a sna
ck was the way everyone in the area informally entertained on the Riviera in the summer.
I sat back to enjoy my third glass and munch away, while I tried for more information that might further explain the strange goings on in the area.
Dominique smiled over her glass as she sipped. “You must think that I am …how do you say… flighty and superficial. Well, maybe sometimes for Philippe’s benefit, but don’t believe for one moment that is my real persona. To be blunt, I have a business to run. I am not embarrassed by all the gossip and know you are already well aware of what they all assume. I think it adds to my mystique, don’t you?”
I didn’t quite know how to respond and felt I was walking a fine line with my next words.
“I am sure you have your reasons.”
She began laughing. “You don’t understand Samantha. I am, like you, a novelist! I market books, not my body. I write risqué romance novels!”
Chapter 62
Do Not Judge A Book By Its Cover!
I grabbed my glass, emptied it in one gulp, set it down and shoved it in her direction. “A romance novelist?”
Laughing, she refilled our glasses. “As a fellow writer, I know you will keep my confidence, oui?”
“Is Dominique Forniet your real name?”
“Yes! But I use a pen name. …Madeleine Dupre.”
I sat up. “You’re Madeleine Dupre, the hot novelist?”
She took a mock bow. “The one and only!”
I laughed. “Wait until the ladies hear that one!”
“Ah, but don’t tell the men. Why spoil the mystique?”
I was somewhat confused. “But what about the rumors about you and your grandmother?”
“That is all they are!” she said, laughing. “Rumors!”
“But what about your grandmother and Henri Sorrell?”
Now, she looked confused. “What about him?”
“The rumor that he had an affair with her.”
She nearly choked on her wine. “Who told you that?”
“Madame Sorrell. I thought it was common knowledge.”
She laughed, dismissing it. “An absurd suggestion.”
“Why is that?”
“My grand-mère was merely a romance writer like me.”
“Did she have a pen name too?”
“But of course!”
Talk about bizarre events. “What was it?”
“Jacqueline Sandoval. Dead now, she wrote during the forties and fifties, much too long ago for you to know.”
“I guess you’re right. Plus my genre is different.”
“Yes. You write mysteries.” She abruptly got up, went inside and returned with two of my books. “When I heard who was renting at Curat’s, I ordered two. I wanted to know what kind of woman I was dealing with when I was told you would be asking questions. I like your style.”
I was curious. “Why did you give me such a hard time in the beginning?”
She grinned. “Now, could I be French and not give you a hard time? I wanted to see what you were made of and if you were up to the task of finding out who did this thing.”
I smiled. “I think Martine expected instant success.”
“I think it is very much like our writing. Success may come with time and much hard work, and of course, luck.”
“And I need some luck in getting helpful information.”
Dominique sat back. “I have thought it over and over in my mind and the only thing I can remember is that night when I saw and heard that truck, plus that other night.”
My ears perked up. “What other night?”
“Didn’t I mention that night, too?”
How convenient. “No.”
“My friend and I were out late one night, having some wine, and we heard a scraping and a dragging noise.”
The second one to hear those sounds.
Chapter 63
Summing Up Nothing Much
Once again, I sat in front of my screen and going over my notes while they were still fresh in my mind. I usually preferred writing down what was said and what was seen as soon as possible along with my reactions.
My last interview with Forniet felt genuine enough, but past experiences have taught me to believe and trust up to a certain extent, and let my intuition and the facts guide me the rest of the way.
What was my intuition telling me? There was a lot of minutia being thrown around, some true and some not. My problem was deciding what was worth paying attention to.
Dominique Forniet’s story was unexpected, throwing me off. It changed the whole picture regarding her behavior and what the others reported. What they thought they saw was not that at all, but something completely different. She was a novelist! When I looked at the facts from this new perspective, the whole picture changed.
On the other hand, I figured Madame Sorrell had a lot of explaining to do regarding her husband, Henri and Forniet’s grandmother. Why would she deliberately mislead me in that direction? What would be her motive?
Possibilities: To confuse the facts, thus making it harder for me to follow a trail that might lead me where I want to go? Why? Perhaps it was to sidetrack me, to give cover to someone or something, and make my task more difficult.
Could her husband, Henri, have lied to her? That would mean she had been deceived, as well. And if she was, what would be the fallout if she acted on those lies?
As far as Toussout was concerned, how did he overhear what was said unless he was outside at the time, closely watching Forniet’s house. And if that was true, why was he outside at that time of night?
Another thought struck me. What if he was in Curat’s garden on the night in question and that is how he overheard the conversation in the dark?
That presented another question, which took me one step further.
If he was in Curat’s garden, could that have been when Madame Toussout heard that scraping noise? When she snuck out that night, could she have thought her husband was sleeping? Did they sleep in the same room? If not, then it was possible.
Far-fetched ideas? Sorry, it’s how I think.
I closed my laptop. I needed more. I didn’t have enough information to form an opinion yet. So what was my next stop? A trusty source whose opinion I valued.
I sat there. Was I way off-base and wasting my time on nothing but gossip and jealousy?
No …I wasn’t going there, at least not yet.
Chapter 64
Angles, Anything At All
“Martine, how do you suppose all those rumors got started in the first place? I mean they’ve obviously been circulating for decades.”
We were strolling through the St. Agulf market, our baskets on our arms, shopping for our dinners. While we walked, I had explained all that I had learned about the three neighbors and especially the house of red light’s surprising exposé.
“Rumors and gossip have a life of their own,” Martine replied. “I cannot believe what you have uncovered so far. Although I have known them for many years, I am not that intimate with the rest of the neighbors and their personal lives. I find all this fascinating and surprising.”
“No more surprised than I. What I can’t understand is how all this is tied to the burials. Am I veering off onto a futile path that leads nowhere? But then, on the other hand, it seems to be leading to something very interesting.”
Martine stopped walking. “But what would that be?”
“Why was everyone so indifferent and cold in the beginning? Now, they are friendlier. What chord have I hit to make them more willing to talk to me? I can think of only one thing.”
Martine stood there waiting. “What would that be?”
“I think that unintentionally someone started revealing things about the past that the others caught wind of and are now trying to do damage control to contain it. The question is what are they trying to contain and why?”
“Why did they bring up the past when you were only interested in what happened with the burials?” she asked.
Who was it? And what had they said?
Martine thought about it. “The one thing they have in common is they built their houses around the same time.”
“When?” I asked.
“About the same time as Curat, around 1954.”
“Hmm.” Nothing rang a bell or blatantly stood out in my mind. So I felt it was time to reconnect with a certain party who might be able to add something more. The only problem with that was, like last the time, I was a little unsure of his personal agenda.
Yeah, I know what you’re thinking. Give the guy the benefit of the doubt. I’ve done that ten times over and look where it got me: a strong sense of don’t trust someone who is just as cagey as yourself.
“Martine, I think I’ve got to regroup and figure out who has the most to gain and who has the most to lose on this.”
She smiled. “I will try to visit the neighbors and find out what I can.”
“I can always use an extra set of eyes and ears. What one person sees and hears, another interprets differently.”
Who was telling me the truth and who wasn’t?
Chapter 65
Strictly Business…For Now
I wasn’t sure what to make of this ‘meet’ he had suggested. I wanted to keep a clear head and couldn’t if it got obscured in rhetoric, if you know what I mean. A woman has her boundaries, especially me.
Okay, so mine shifted occasionally. …Okay, a lot.
We were grabbing a bite in Les Issambres at an outdoor café across from the water. The coastal traffic traveled in between as people strolled by on the sidewalks.
Clay jumped up to get my chair, smiling. He seemed glad to see me.
Something was up.
“Sorry I’m late, Clay. My crew can get out of hand.”
He laughed, and then scooted around to his side of our little table and sat opposite me. “I’ve got some interesting information for you, Sam. I think it might help.”
86 Avenue du Goulet (A Samantha Jamison Mystery Volume 3) Page 11