As she walked, taking photos and trying not to think about the skeletons around her and Sally’s comments about ghosts, she noticed the far wall was different. There was an iron grate set in an opening about chest-level, as wide as her outstretched arms and half as tall. It was surrounded by a band of darkened metal around the grate. She could see rounded, colored stones had been set in a cross attached at the top center of the screen. Bright scratches, which looked new, were dug into the stone around the metal frame, as if someone had been trying to pry it off the rock wall.
Setting her camera in her bag, she trained the beam of her flashlight on the iron grid, then on the dark opening behind it.
Her eyes widened with what she saw.
Set at the very back, at least five feet away, was a cloth-wrapped skeleton, adorned with a painted facemask and bound with what looked like gold-patterned ribbons. A gold crucifix as long as a man’s hand lay between its crossed arms, and scattered all around it, in the dusty dirt, were coins. Dozens of them, perhaps hundreds. Whether this was a place of prayer or a place to revere a saint, she wasn’t sure, but from the glint of some of the coins around the body she could tell that mixed with the blackened-silver was a substantial amount of ancient gold.
She blew out a deep breath and swung her light back and forth, trying to see as much as possible in the skeleton’s chamber. Within seconds she realized that the coins, probably left as an offering, weren’t scattered over all of the interior of the shrine.
The ones closest to the grate were gone, and deep grooves in the dirt told the tale of why.
They’d been taken. From the dusty drag marks, she could see that someone had poked something through the opening and scooped the coins toward the grate, probably so they could get them through the iron grid and take them for themselves.
Someone had been stealing from the dead.
She picked up her camera and snapped a few photos, trying to get the best shots she could. Jennifer was already mentally planning the best route back to the hole she’d accidentally made in the cellar wall, when a sharp glint of metal by the skeleton’s feet caught her eye. It took a bit of maneuvering to get the flashlight to shine into that area, as the heavy band of metal around the grid restricted the angle somewhat, but Jennifer finally caught a clear glimpse of what it was.
Almost four feet away, lying on its side, was a completely modern metal whisk.
She blinked in shock.
There was no reason for something like that to be there. It was the same sort of stainless steel wire whisk she would’ve used to make meringue or to whip up an omelet. It looked like someone had just tossed one in from their kitchen yesterday.
It didn’t belong there at all. It was like going to Versailles and finding a spaceship.
The hairs on the back of her neck stood up in sudden, horrible realization. The crypt, which she’d thought had been accidentally sealed for centuries, had had a visitor fairly recently. The new scratches, the wire whisk, all pointed toward someone being there who was probably still in the area, at the chateau.
She pivoted toward the jumbled stone blocks that marked a cave-in. Maybe that hadn’t been so long ago after all. Maybe someone had barely escaped being crushed under the falling rocks as they fled the crypt.
Someone who was stealing.
Time to leave. Whoever knew about this place would want to be coming back, and she’d had about as much of it as she could take. She certainly didn’t want to be here if they showed up.
With a quick gasp, she dashed toward the broken wall she’d fallen through. Clambering over the jumbled stones on the floor, she practically ran across of the dark wine cellar and toward the exit, the beam from her flashlight bouncing wildly as she sprinted toward the staircase and the welcome light of day.
Chapter 8
Standing in the cool spray of the shower, Jennifer let the deliciously clean water run over her body. It had taken a while to get back to the second floor, since she was doing her best to be sure no one would see her as she ducked into the bathroom by her bedroom. She needed time to remove the evidence of her adventure, and to think.
She’d been lucky not to run into Madame Durand or Sally. She knew if she were spotted that she’d have to answer some questions that she really didn’t want to discuss, like why she was covered in dust and dirt after what was supposed to be just a survey of the main cellar. Even as neglected as the cellar was, the fact she had head-t0-toe dirt on her would be unexplainable.
As the grime of her adventure downstairs slowly began to slough off, she tried to sort through her thoughts.
Someone knew about the ancient crypt, so long forgotten. Her best guess was that it was a remnant of the church that had burned many centuries before, with the crypt underground and intact enough to survive such a devastating blaze. Left alone for so many years, it had been a time capsule until someone discovered it, probably by accident.
A grave robber.
The only entrance she’d seen had been covered by a cave-in, but she wasn’t sure how long ago that would’ve happened. Whoever had found the sealed crypt must’ve done it recently and kept it secret. After seeing the scraped dirt where coins had been pulled out of the wall cavity, Jennifer could certainly understand why they wouldn’t want to share their discovery. They’d been pilfering the money left for whatever nameless saint or dearly departed who was lying in wrapped splendor down there, and there was plenty more to take. The scratch marks around the grid’s frame was proof of at least one attempt to remove it and retrieve everything of possible value. The crucifix alone would’ve tempted almost anyone.
The whisk was an anomaly, and it took her a bit of thinking before she figured out why it would be so far back in a wall cavity. To get it through the grate so the thief could scrape out whatever coins they could reach, it would’ve had to be compressed. The springy wires would’ve been pushed together before being poked through the metal grid. Apparently, it worked just fine for raking the money toward whoever was using it, but then something had gone wrong and they couldn’t retrieve it.
Maybe it had somehow popped out of the thief’s hand when they tried to compress it to bring it back through the bars, Jennifer thought. She blinked against the warm water running down her face. Maybe that’s why it’s so far back in the crypt. The thief’s hand had slipped and the bent wires in the whisk acted like a coiled spring when they accidentally got released against the grate. The force would’ve made the whisk fly through the air, out of reach of the thief.
She thought about the paintings on the ceiling and walls in the crypt, and the possible age of the skeleton that had been so revered. Even if the coins were gold, the fact that they were probably from the 13th or 14th centuries and kept intact all those years increased their value far beyond the cost of precious metals. She’d done a fair amount of studying values of antiques and old coins, and knew some were worth huge amounts of money, especially if they were in good condition. The cross lying on the skeleton’s chest would be worth enough to set a thief up for life.
Whatever she did, she had to be careful. That much money brought out the worst in people. If somebody really wanted it, there was no telling what they would do to get it.
Chapter 9
Lying in bed that night, Jennifer’s eyes stared up through the darkness at her ceiling. Even after sunset, the late summer heat in the room was stifling, regardless of how thick the stone walls were. This time is was her fault. She had made the mistake of leaving her window open and letting in the heat during the day, and shutting them at night hadn’t helped any. It seemed like hours since she’d gone to bed, but she’d been sweating and trying to find a comfortable position ever since so she could get some sleep. It was no use.
Finally, she sighed in defeat and got out of bed, the tank top and thin shorts she was wearing sticking to her body as she walked to her window. It didn’t take long for her to unlatch both windows and fling them open as wide as she could, trying to get some air. Looking outside,
Jennifer had to admit that summer night in Provence were absolutely stunning. Even with the heat radiating back from the sun-soaked stones in the courtyard, there was a bit of a cool breeze that swept across the chateau and its surrounding property. Soft tendrils of the night wind brushed against her face and bare shoulders, and she closed her eyes in appreciation for its cool touch. It was irresistibly calm, tempting her to go outside, and within minutes she was downstairs.
Pushing the door open as quietly as she could, Jennifer headed toward the fountain in the welcoming darkness under one of the huge trees. The air was fresh, clean, and full of the scent of ancient earth and drooping grape leaves.
She settled herself on one of the wooden benches, and sighed in relief, fanning herself a bit.
Maybe I should just sleep outside, she thought to herself with a wry smile. It certainly was cooler. Looking up, the brilliance of millions of diamond-like stars danced above her. With no city lights nearby to dampen her view and no lights on in the courtyard, it seemed like every star in the sky had shown up for her viewing. She could hear the soft scrabbling of some small creature, maybe a mouse, over by the largest barn. Several crickets chirped quietly in the darkness, telling unknown secrets to each other that only another cricket would understand.
Jennifer sighed and thought back over the day’s events. It seemed almost like a dream, as if somehow she’d only imagined falling into that dark cellar and making such a gruesome discovery. It wasn’t that she hadn’t seen dead bodies before. Hanging out with her friend Amanda had certainly added to her share of adventures. She’d been around when there had been several murders in Ravenwood Cove, and she done her share of helping defend the town and her friends against bad guys, but this time she was on her own.
Just as she was thinking deep thoughts about this, she heard the clatter of something like a kicked can over by the small gate that led up to the vineyard. She quickly turned her head, straining her eyes to see the source of the sound, because it was certainly too big for a cricket or a mouse. Whatever it was, whether dog, cat, or person, she needed to be aware of it. She was just starting to stand up to investigate further when there was sharp, sudden cry of distress. It sounded like a woman’s voice, raised in surprise and shock, then just as suddenly cut off before falling into a deep silence.
Ignoring her bare feet and lack of any weapon, Jennifer instantly leaped up and started running toward the sound she’d heard. It was coming from outside the wall, perhaps outside the winemaking barn, but she wasn’t sure. As her feet slapped against the still-warm stones of the courtyard, she instantly began running through possibilities in her head about what could have happened, and what she could do in any situation. She’d been trained in everything from CPR and high-level first-aid to jujitsu and Krav Maga. Her heart thumping, she barreled through the gate.
There, on the ground, barely visible in the pale starlight, was a prone figure. Arms outstretched, it had an unnatural, strange posture, as if the person had been dropped by an attacker while in mid-step. Jennifer jerked to a stop next to the sprawled body, scanning the area around her for any possible dangers. From what she could see, there was no one in sight, no clue of what had happened.
No one around but her and the person lying in the dirt.
She put her fingers on the figure’s neck and pressed, holding her breath. As she leaned over she could see exactly who it was.
Madame Durand, the housekeeper.
What Jennifer had already guessed, her fingertips soon told her.
There was no pulse. Madame Durand was dead.
Pulling back her hand, Jennifer realized that there was blood on some of her fingers.
Whatever had happened, whoever had done this, it was no accident.
The night didn’t seem so welcoming and calm anymore at all. Jennifer stood up, quickly looking around her again but still not seeing anyone. If she’d been in America, she would’ve had a cell phone and called 911 and the police would’ve come and then she would just give a statement. Here in Provence, she was far from big cities and police and good cell phone reception.
She spun on her heel, and sprinted as fast as she could back toward the kitchen door, hollering for help as she ran and watching the lights wink on in window after window at her alarm.
Chapter 10
After that, no one at the chateau got any sleep at all. Jennifer had charged in the house at full speed, hollering for Sally, and it was just a matter of minutes before everyone was out of bed and hurried outside to see what it happened. Sally made two quick phone calls, first one to the police and then a quick one to someone else. She spoke in such rapid and quiet French that Jennifer didn’t understand anything she had said.
By the time the local police officers showed up, there was a line of quietly sober people standing by the side gate, still dressed in their nightclothes. Their faces showed their apprehension, and their conversations were quiet, even as they kept their eyes on the police officers and the prone figure of their former housekeeper.
The next couple of hours were a jumble of activity and questions. One of the officers took her aside and sat her down on a chair inside the wine barn. Apparently, he had been elected because he was the one who spoke the most English, and Jennifer was actually grateful for that as her French was proving to be completely insufficient.
The policeman assigned to question her was in his early thirties but nearly bald, with a short fringe of slightly rumpled hair circling the back of his head. He peered at her with two worried eyes, bags underneath them from lack of sleep or possibly a remnant of a previous hangover. He introduced himself as Officer Augustin, then tapped his pencil on a notepad, cleared his throat, and stared at her.
“So, you saw it happen, yes?” he said, observing her closely, as if she were guilty of something.
Jennifer shook her head adamantly. “No, I didn’t. I’ve already told you that I didn’t see it happen. I just heard someone cry out. I thought it was a woman, so it was probably the housekeeper who yelled. Then when I ran to help her, I found her already on the ground and when I checked for a pulse I discovered she was dead.” She’d already answered their questions a couple of times and it was becoming irritating, even though she understood police procedure. She knew they had to be thorough, but she was getting tired of the piecemeal approach that was almost accusatory toward her.
The officer looked unimpressed, his pencil poised over the paper. “And you saw no one else, yes?”
“Yes, no one else at all. They must’ve run off before I got there.”
When the officer asked to see her identification, Jennifer had to do a lot of quick thinking as she walked back to her bedroom to get her wallet. True, she was working for a company and not a country, but she still wanted to keep her reasons for being at Chateau Mersau private. As she walked back out, passport in hand, she decided to tell them the absolute truth. The last thing she wanted to do was get on the wrong side of the law here in France. If they asked her a direct question, she’d tell them a direct answer, but if they didn’t she wouldn’t volunteer information about her reasons for being there.
When she got back, it turned out she didn’t have to lie after all. The officer copied her identity information carefully, his lips puckered in concentration as he took down everything from her passport.
From what she could see from her trip to the house and back, the police had been searching with flashlights all around where the body still lay. Jennifer heard a sharp exclamation of discovery, then an excited conversation between several officers. Officer Augustin handed back her passport, then made a gesture for her to stay where she was. He popped his head outside, conferring quietly with someone for a bit before walking back toward Jennifer.
“Well, they found the murder weapon. Looks like your housekeeper got hit in the back of the head with a rock.” He watched Jennifer’s face for any suspicious reaction but when she stared back at him placidly, completely unfazed, he seemed a little disgruntled.
�
�You don’t seem surprised.”
Jennifer folded her arms across her chest and cocked a single eyebrow. “Why should I be surprised? I was the one who found her, and I already knew she was dead.” She sighed and shifted in her chair. “Look, are we through with this, yet? I’d like to get back to bed, if you don’t mind, and I think you have all my information now, don’t you?”
He looked at her sideways as he jotted down more notes. “Okay. Just don’t leave town. We’ll be doing follow-ups in the next few days.”
Jennifer instantly opened her mouth in protest, but he held up a stern hand.
“I’m sure you have other things to do, I know. We still need to have you here.” Officer Augustin reached in his back pocket, opened his wallet, and pulled out a crisp business card. Handing it to her, he leaned a little closer. “If you remember anything important, don’t hesitate to give me a call.” He gave her a small smile, but it was close-lipped and not at all friendly. “Thank you for your cooperation. You may go now.”
Jennifer tried not to roll her eyes and mutter under her breath as she walked out the winery door, ahead of the police officer. She could see most of the staff from the chateau were still standing around where poor Madame Durand was stretched out on the ground. One of the police officers had set up a portable standing lamp to give the scene some much needed light, and it was now very apparent how the housekeeper had met her end. A dark pool had spread from the back of the housekeeper’s head to the dirt below. The sight of blood didn’t particularly bother Jennifer, but she looked away anyway, her attention caught by the flicker of a bobbing light in the vineyard. She could see it moving slightly up and down, getting bigger as it slowly came closer. Finally, she could see the dim outline of a person carrying a lantern and walking across the field. As luck would have it, the row ended right by where she was standing and it wasn’t long before Monsieur Lapin had emerged from between the vines, his face concerned. He was holding a short length of rope and it took a moment for Jennifer to realize that the other end was attached to the collar of a large long-legged pig. Its whiskered face looked around, its beady little eyes obviously curious about the strange goings-on in front of it.
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