Sorrell nodded. “I agree. It is time I …how do you say, Sam, …give the beans, so to speak.”
“You mean spill the beans.”
“Oui. Spill the beans,” she said, laughing.
No one said anything, wondering what was next.
Sorrell explained about Sabine, Henri, their problems, and finally finished with the hairdryer accident. Everyone was shocked at finding out what actually happened.
Clay cut in. “But what does this have to do with the burials? That seemed like a simple accident.”
Madame Sorrell smiled, knowingly. “I’m afraid not.”
“Someone heard what happened,” I announced.
She looked at me sharply. “How did you know?”
“It all ties together now, especially after Luc and Danielle admitted they were part of a larger crime ring.”
Clay was on the same wavelength. “Luc was working in your garden, overheard what happened, and cashed in.”
“Plus, you saw someone digging at night,” I said.
Sorrell nodded. “I was not sure, until I looked out with my binoculars and figured it must be Luc.”
“How much did Luc know?” Betty asked.
“He saw me throw away the dryer and heard me call my granddaughter explaining what had happened.”
We all turned to Dominique.
“And where did you come into play?” Crystal asked her.
“Luc threatened to kill her Persian cat and my Fifi!”
“And you thought up the plan of missing pets and burials and kept them all safe without anyone guessing what was going on,” added Clay. “It must have driven Luc crazy wondering who was burying the bones exactly where he had the stolen goods buried.”
Dominique laughed. “No, I don’t think he enjoyed that.”
“What about the stone-filled crates?” Martha asked.
“They are mine,” said Monsieur Toussout, cutting in.
“You used your geological maps to find those rare rocks, right?” I offered.
Toussout nodded. “Curat used it as a wine cellar years ago because it maintained an even temperature. Since the lock was long ago broken, I used it to store my rare mineral and rock collection in the crates.”
“Were they valuable?” Martha asked.
He laughed. “Only to me and maybe a few other collectors. My wife found it objectionable keeping them in the house, so I secretly kept them there.”
So, that explained the noise Madame Toussout heard in the wall that night. He must have been lugging crates.
Crystal didn’t get it. “So how did the bones get there?”
Dominique quickly added, “There was no lock on that door and we needed a place to store all those bones. We just thought those were dusty old empty crates.”
“By the way,” Hazel asked Sorrell and Dominique, “Where did you get all those bones from? I know ladies such as yourselves couldn’t rustle up that many.”
Sorrell chuckled. “Why Martine’s cook, Claudine, of course! Her husband hunts. She makes the most exotic French stews, adding wine, spices and much garlic!”
Martha and I quickly exchanged uncertain glances.
Maybe chicken wasn’t all that we ate that night.
Martha nodded to me, smiling. Involuntarily, I shuddered, but forced myself to return to the subject at hand and Sorrell. “So, every time they dug out their stash, Dominique buried bones.”
I still wondered about one more thing. “Why would Luc go to Jean with the bones, drawing attention to the holes to begin with when he was trying to keep the whole thing a secret?”
“He had no choice,” Sorrell replied. “Before the property was liquidated, sold, and the proceeds given to a charity as Curat wished, I made a request to have some specific small roses of Madame Curat’s to remember her by. After all, I was her sister. How could the they refuse?”
I laughed. “So Luc had to be completely shocked when he discovered the bones buried underneath where his former stash was taken out.”
Sorrell smiled at me. “Jean was standing graveside, overseeing the project, so there could be no doubt what was buried underneath the roses, or what it stood for.”
“My grand-mère,” added Dominique, “acted so shocked when she was told a short time later by Jean about her cat to make it convincing for Luc.”
Sorrell nodded. “Yes. We were trying to draw attention to everyone else exactly what was going on without us getting harmed because Luc threatened another accident would happen if either of us went to the authorities.”
“What do you mean another accident?” Clay asked, but then our eyes connected and it suddenly hit him. “He replaced Dominique’s blanks with real bullets, didn’t he?”
“It was a good thing Philippe was a lousy shot,” I added.
Dominique turned to me. “Ah, Samantha, besides you, Clay is brilliant, too. I can see why you love this man.”
Speechless, my face turned scarlet. “…I”
Clay turned to face me, smiling slyly. “Love, huh?”
I remained silent. Did I?
Just then, Dominique whistled and everyone’s pets came running out onto the patio. It was utter chaos with everyone laughing and crying at the same time.
I turned to Clay amid all the bedlam, saying “How about a nice, quiet getaway for some privacy to talk about us.”
“Did you know I have a Harley?”
“You do? Why, I just love Harleys.”
“So I’ve heard,” said Clay, laughing.
“From whom?” I asked somewhat surprised, but then laughed myself, remembering that was another story and another book.
“Cone on. Let’s tour,” coaxed Clay. It will be exciting.”
“No sir! No more excitement for me.”
Clay gave me a look. “Since when are you afraid of taking chances?”
“All I know is I want someplace safe this time.”
“Don’t worry. I know just the place.”
“And where might that be?”
“How does New Hampshire sound?”
I shrugged, and then nodded. “Sounds harmless to me.”
Now, what were the odds I’d regret those words?
About the Author
Peggy has three sons, lives with her husband & miniature Schnauzer & spends time between Bucks County, PA and South Florida
Also by the Author:
The Puzzle (Vol. 1)
Without Any Warning (Vol. 2)
86 Avenue du Goulet (A Samantha Jamison Mystery Volume 3) Page 18