“That’s for now, but what’s next?” he asked.
“I don’t know. What do you think is going on?”
“I’m not sure.”
“What do you suggest I do now?”
He turned back toward the bed, smiling.
“Uh-uh,” I said. “That was a momentary relapse.”
“As you already know, I’m real good about quickies.”
I laughed. “Besides the ladies should be back shortly.”
“Hey, A guy can at least try, can’t he?”
“Seriously, Clay, what is your take on this?”
“If it were me, I’d want to find this cat lady.”
“Me, too, but it’s probably a long shot and a dead end.”
He smiled. “Has that ever stopped you before?”
I returned his smile. “Yeah, maybe I’ll get lucky.”
“You did today, so keep the streak going.”
I laughed, trying to swat him. “Why, you pompous…”
“Please, don’t embarrass me with your lavish praise.”
“I was thinking more on the lines of a conceited…”
He leaned over to kiss me. “Shut up and enjoy it.”
So I did, and then stood up, grabbed his hand, and led him back to mess up that perfectly made bed.
Like I’ve always said, it all comes down to timing.
Chapter 78
Kitty, Kitty Bang, Bang
It was driving me nuts. For two nights running, I sat on my terrace, coming up empty-handed, but always finding the usual missing food plate in the morning. No matter how I tried peering out at different hours, I always seemed to miss her feeding those stray cats and fell asleep.
However, I got lucky when I decided to actually sit out in the garden itself until she finally showed up.
After swatting and scratching my skin raw, so much for repellent, I heard a car approach. I silently waited behind an evergreen until I knew she was on the other side of the gate and heard the dish being shoved under the iron gate.
I leaped out of my hiding spot and called out to her. In a crouched position, she froze on the spot. As I’d been told, she was covered from head to toe with a scarf and baggy clothes. I could barely make out her features in the dusky light of early evening.
Her age? It was hard to tell in that dim light. I couldn’t see her eyes because of her sunglasses. Why would she wear sunglasses at night? It was the same for her color of her hair, which was camouflaged by her scarf. What was she hiding? I figured if I got any closer, she’d take off. So I spoke quickly.
“Parlez-vous Anglais?” ‘Do you speak English?’
She didn’t move. “…A little,” she finally whispered.
“I am renting this maison, and my friend, Martine, who lives next door, asked me to find out some information regarding Curat’s property.”
She silently stared at me, hesitating, took a glance back at her awaiting car, then turned back to me and finally nodded. “What do you want to know?”
“I need to ask you questions regarding this garden.”
She nodded. “You mean this green patch of death.”
A shiver hit me. “Yes, it does have that history.”
“What do you want?” she asked.
“You know about the burials?”
“Yes, I know.”
“Hear anything?”
“...Nothing.”
“See anything?”
“…Maybe, yes.”
“Please tell me.”
She looked all around, nervous, and then back at me again. “There is much tragedy here, human as well.”
“I need your help. Martine is afraid because of Sonia.”
“Ah, yes. Beautiful Sonia. A pity, these deaths.”
I needed her to stay on target. “What did you see?”
“The vans, they come and go…” She stopped cold.
Something had zipped by us, twice! Bullets? Like someone had shot a silencer. I don’t think I would have ever recognized that sound, except Martha and the ladies made me take target practice with them at the firing range. Like I’d really need to see another gun after Ocean City! I looked behind me, my eyes searching the shadows, and then I turned back to her, startled.
But I was staring at nobody. Just like that, in a cloud of car fumes, she was gone!
Damn!
Chapter 79
Up The Hill, To Grand-mère’s House I Go
I still hadn’t tackled last night’s incident, but couldn’t miss this last minute opportunity. It was too important. Dominique had tenuously paved the way for a brief visit with Madame Sorrell. I was told to go to her house early the next morning, before she left for Paris.
I was shot at and was worried sick. But I was so excited that finally something exciting was happening and I’ll be able to make up a story to meet my deadline. Were those bullets meant for the cat woman, me, or the both of us? The cat woman must know something important and someone was obviously willing to kill to keep her quiet.
There was so much at stake with Philippe being shot, the alley, target practice at the cat woman, and now me.
Trying to put aside my anxiety about what had happened the night before, I arrived on time, promptly at eight.
Would she explain the reasons for her evasion and misdirection? I was not sure, but I wanted to try and find the reasons behind her deceptive behavior.
What would be even more helpful was how did all the people become entangled in the first place? It was obvious they were all involved through the pets and a timeline, some directly, and perhaps, others indirectly.
I knocked and waited, looking all around and down below. It was amazing what a clear view Madame Sorrell had of Curat’s property, a somewhat partial view of Dominique’s and a fine view of Toussout’s. I looked further to the left toward Martine and Jean’s property. Most of their backyard and outdoor detached kitchen were obscured by the apricot groves that filled the back portion of their property, but I still had a clear view of their attached patio and the back of their house.
Things were probably going according to their plan until the discovery of the animal burials started unraveling the past. Not only were the bones dug up, but apparently old secrets, jealousies and rumors, as well. It was clear Sorrell had watched me go from house to house gathering info.
First I was dished indifference and abruptness. Then I’m greeted like a friend of the family. Why the inconsistency? I had no idea how I would be greeted today, but would take whatever information I could get.
When the door opened, her worn and tired demeanor startled me. Dark circles rimmed her eyes. “Come in.”
After I sat by the window overlooking the houses and sea, she surprised me with her opening salvo. “I guess you deserve some type of explanation, but previously I could not decide to what extent and how much. After all, you are not one of us and might not understand many of the reasons behind the actions that were taken, but time is running out.”
“Why are you so sure I wouldn’t understand?”
“Because I doubt if you ever killed anyone.”
Nope! She had me there.
Chapter 80
Until Death Do Us Part
No, I couldn’t top that one. I couldn’t wait for what was coming. “No, I sure haven’t.”
“I thought not. You are not the type to kill, maybe in your books, but not in the real world.”
“I guess that’s true.”
She leaned back in her chair with a heavy sigh. “I like you, Samantha. From what I have heard, you have a good American sense of humor and a very persistent nature, but I must warn you. That could prove dangerous.”
“Why is that?”
“Perhaps you have too much information.”
I was impatient. Was there a cover-up? “Like what?”
“First, I need to explain something about myself. I had an image I needed to maintain because my husband, Henri, being in politics, was so particular. But now that he is dead,
I no longer have to …how do you say, live with his baggage. I have my own life, now. No more pretenses. I am free to say and do what I want, when I want.”
Good. No more pretenses. “Then why the smokescreen? Why did you make all that up about Dominique?”
“I did not know you or trust you then, but Dominique convinced me you can be trusted. I was merely protecting my husband’s reputation.” She laughed bitterly. “It was a bad one at that, too. I must admit he was fun to have around and quite amusing at times over the years until his true nature was revealed.”
Found out what? “Your secret?” I pressed, pushing her.
She laughed again. “Ah, you’re attitude is enviable, Samantha. You are quite straightforward, very American, not like we French.”
“I didn’t have many choices.”
“But they were good choices; strong female friends, your writing, and this handsome American, Clay.”
My face turned scarlet. How did she know about him?
She laughed. “There is talk, plus I am a romance novelist, remember? I observe more than you realize.”
I looked over to her binoculars and smiled. I bet.
“Like you said in your book, Samantha, I now have skin in this game.” She laughed at my reaction. “Yes, I admit I have read your books, too.”
“But what about the burials? What was the point?”
“I think they are merely a sick physical metaphor for buried secrets. Maybe someone is making sure I stay silent about what is and has been going on around here.”
I had to ask. “How could they keep you silent?”
“Someone knows that Henri killed Simone.”
“…What?” Why protect a man who was dead?
Like Martha always said, her next words took the cake.
“Yes, and then I killed Henri.”
Chapter 81
Industrious Intervention
“What?”
“…Simone Curat was my younger sister.”
I was momentarily speechless.
“I know you are more than marginally attracted to this whole affair. You are a mystery novelist, drawn to the intrigue and maybe feel there is a possible cover-up.”
Darned right. “And is there?”
“This whole affair goes back many, many years.”
“I figured that. How did Henri kill your sister?”
“He approached her sexually, and when she rebuffed him, he retaliated.”
“How?”
“She was much younger than him, and mentally fragile. He pounced like a predator, throwing verbal daggers at her, telling her she was a poor mother to little Sophie for allowing her to run free on the property like a wild animal. When Sophie drowned in the pool, apparently his verbal abuse worsened. He openly blamed her for her daughter’s death.”
“And what did Alain, Simone’s husband, do about it?”
“My sister never breathed a word to Alain or to me.”
“Why not?”
“I don’t know for certain, but she was emotionally weak. Maybe she thought Henri was right all along, that she was a terrible mother and became inconsolable, drowning herself in sadness, self-pity and finally alcohol.”
“How did you find out about Henri’s involvement in driving her to such self-destructive behavior?”
“Drunk one night, many years later, he confided how he treated her, saying it served her right for what happened.
“I was outraged by his heartless words. Apparently, his cruelty had no bounds even for the dead. How could I prove what he said was true? He would deny it. He was a powerful politician and businessman by then. So I started that rumor of him seeing a nameless prostitute, to watch him squirm under pressure.”
“But I thought Dominique is your granddaughter?”
“She is. Everyone already assumed her mother was the prostitute Henri was visiting. I pretended to be upset.”
“You mean her mother was your daughter and a prostitute?”
“No, most French mistresses are discreet. My Sabine was not. She was not a prostitute, just not discreet. I gave birth to Sabine when I was young and filled with life and love. Her father was a very handsome man, but not a good man and not reliable. He would not work and would be drunk most of the time. I did not want to marry a man like this. He could not be a father and was a disappointment to me. I raised her to be a good young woman, but at sixteen she left my home and chose a life more in line with her desires.”
“Did anyone know who she was?”
“No. No one knew who she was. Sabine was born before I met Henri. No one had any idea, including Henri. He only knew her reputation as that of a mistress to those who could satisfy her high standard of life.”
“But how did Sabine end up living here, across the street from you?”
“Before I married Henri, I made an agreement with Sabine to build a house for her. We may not have communicated much, but I wanted to be near her if only for the single reason that she was my flesh and blood.
“When Dominique came along quite unexpectedly, many years later, I knew I had made the right decision. I could watch this beautiful little girl grow up, even if it was from afar. I did not like Sabine’s continued lifestyle, but was gratified to have been able to provide a home for my only grandchild.”
“How did you build the house without Henri knowing?”
“I set up a corporation through Philippe’s father, Andre, who was a lawyer. He arranged to funnel the money from my book royalties to build the house anonymously. As long as Sabine and I never spoke, we were able to maintain our individual lives. I had my life with Henri and she had hers. And the corporation handled the rest of the details.”
I smiled. “That corporation was Entreprises du Placard.”
Chapter 82
Electrifying Testimony
Sorrell nodded. “You are now understanding.”
“How did Henri handle all the pressure?” I asked.
“He came running to me, pleading for my help and advice. His political career was falling apart over rumors. I pretended to stand by him for the press, while relishing his anguish. Regrettably, it all eventually died down and he reverted back to his old behavior, berating my poor dead sister’s reputation and everyone around him, including me.”
“What did you finally do?” I asked.
“I decided to ask him for a divorce. One evening he was in his bath and I was drying my hair, working up the courage to demand a divorce, when he started in on his usual abusive rants. I was so upset, I threw down the dryer to the floor, but it bounced off the bathtub and fell in. I could not believe what I was looking at.”
“What did you do?”
“I ran and turned off the electricity to the house and removed the dryer, but it was clearly too late. He was already dead. Hysterical, I berated myself for being so impulsive. I was desperate for a way out.”
“Did you call the authorities?”
“In a panic, I threw the dryer out, and then called them. Considering Henri’s advanced age, bad heart and health history, they ruled it a heart attack.”
“Did you tell the authorities what really happened?”
“No! I couldn’t risk the possible scandal and scrutiny that would follow. I had my granddaughter to think of.”
“What happened to your daughter, her mother, Sabine?”
“Already suicidal and drug addicted, I sent her away to a hospital and paid her bills through Entreprises du Placard.”
“I don’t know if I could have been so efficient.”
“I had no choice. Everything happened so quickly, his death, Sabine being sent away, and my being responsible for Dominique. I couldn’t desert my own granddaughter, so I watched over her closely, without anyone being the wiser.
“Everyone thought Andre was her lover, but he was just checking on her. When Andre passed away, his son, Philippe, took his place to make sure she was provided for. Later, he negotiated her books and contracts.”
“How did Philip
pe get shot?”
“An accident, and only a flesh wound at that. But after what happened, it is amazing he was not murdered before that.”
Chapter 83
Murder, Alibis & Angles
“Why do you say Philippe could have been murdered?”
“One night, while waiting for Dominique under the rose trellis in her garden, he told her that he saw someone going back and forth to the truck from the Curat’s gardens. He quickly ran over and wrote down the van’s license plates. After investigating, he traced it back to Vichy S.A., but could not establish exactly who was behind that company. Every search he made came to another dead end.
“But worried for Dominique’s safety, Philippe kept investigating the company further, but apparently word must have spread he was asking around where he shouldn’t. Two days later his tires were slashed. A subtle hint, don’t you think? …Maybe his throat next time? No?”
“What happened then?”
“Philippe recently met with Dominique in St. Raphaël.”
I had a feeling that was the night we spotted them together and followed on Crystal’s Harley. “Go on.”
“He had some disturbing news that couldn’t wait.”
“And what was that?”
“Someone found out about Entreprises du Placard and was sending a message to Philippe to back off.”
“How did he know for sure?”
“When he went to pick up the mail at the Entreprises du Placard, he saw a new nameplate next door.”
I already knew what was coming. “Vichy, S.A.!”
She nodded. “You really are as good as your books.”
“That, and being in the right place at the right time.”
“Philippe had already stripped the Placard office, but needed to show Dominique to convince her to be careful.”
“Have you thought to go to the authorities about this?”
“And risk my granddaughter’s safety and reputation?”
I looked over to the binoculars and felt she was holding back. “You’ve seen them and the van, too, haven’t you? Could someone be using Carat’s property to smuggle something in and out?
86 Avenue du Goulet (A Samantha Jamison Mystery Volume 3) Page 14