Perils in Provence

by Carolyn L. Dean

  Monsieur Lapin gave the rope a little tug and walked over by Jennifer. As soon as he stopped, the pig sat back on its haunches, watching the crowd the exact same way a large dog would.

  “Terrible,” he said.

  Jennifer nodded, her eyes locked on the resting pig.

  “Horrible,” he added.

  “Yes, it is,” Jennifer said automatically, then looked at Mister Rabbit. “You knew her?”

  He gave a small shrug of his shoulders and blew a burst of air through pursed lips. “We all know each other. We are all here together in this place.” His eyes scanned the crowd, and Jennifer watched him carefully.

  “Who are you looking for?” she asked.

  “No matter.”

  His odd answer surprised her, and her face must’ve reflected her surprise. He shrugged again.

  “She knew people. She was a woman with much history. In her time she was a great beauty.”

  Jennifer thought back to the kiss she’d witnessed in the courtyard the other night. Glancing around, she could see Martin DuBois leaning up against the decrepit truck, picking at his nails with the blade of his tiny pocketknife and watching the police investigation with apparent indifference. From his appearance, he could as well have been at a local town hall meeting as at a murder investigation.

  It was odd behavior for a man who had kissed her so recently.

  “And men liked her,” Jennifer said to Monsieur Lapin.

  Her companion did not answer, but from his expression she could see he agreed with her statement. “And she liked secrets,” he said.

  This odd statement caught Jennifer’s attention immediately, and she slowly turned to look at Lapin.

  “What sort of secrets?”

  There was a deep sigh from the old man, as if the truth pained him greatly. He reached down to pet the head of his pig, who eased itself down to lie on the ground.

  “Oh, she liked secrets that would bring her money.” He patted the pig again, then added.

  “Lots and lots of money.”

  ***

  From that time on, no matter how carefully she crafted questions and asked Monsieur Lapin about Madame Durand, Jennifer got no answers. Trying to get him to tell her more about the dead housekeeper’s avarice for money and her methods for trying to get it proved fruitless. He kept his lips pressed shut, as if he’d suddenly gone deaf. Finally, Lapin clicked his tongue several times as he pulled on the rope, and his pig obediently lurched to its feet.

  “I go now. It is not good to speak of the dead,” he said, apparently as his reason for leaving. After a quick chat with one of the police officers, he was gone into the darkness, walking back toward his little stone house, bristly pig in obedient tow.

  Chapter 11

  “You need to get out of here.”

  “What?” They were the last words Jennifer expected to hear over breakfast. She put down her mug of milky tea and turned to look at Sally, who was stirring some honey into a cake batter at the kitchen counter and keeping an eye on the people coming and going for breakfast. She’d waited until the two of them were alone before talking directly to Jennifer.

  “Leave. Get out of here.” At Jennifer’s questioning look she continued, “You need a break. I’m going into the village to do the shopping this morning. It’s market day, when all the farmers bring their goods in, and I think you’ll like it. So much has happened here in just a few days, and I think a trip into town might do you some good. Do you want to come with me?”

  Jennifer thought back to the bar owner she’d talked to in the nearby village, and his opinion about Chateau Mersau.

  Broken. Sad.

  Maybe I could use some more perspective, she thought. She was pretty sure the news about the housekeeper’s murder would already have spread all over the nearby area, and it was sure to cause a buzz of conversation. People gossiping could be a great source of information, and she could use all the info she could get.

  “We’d normally take the bikes, but I’ve got to pick up some parts for the tractor so I’ll be using the car. Can you be ready in five minutes?” Sally asked as she wiped down the counters, and Jennifer quickly drank down the last of her tea.

  “Sounds perfect. Meet you outside.”

  ***

  Jennifer stepped out of Sally’s car and stared in shock. The sleepy little hamlet of Ameron had been completely transformed by the dozens of farmers and craftspeople who had come to the weekly market. On the drive there, Sally had told her that Ameron was a gathering place for people from miles around, who brought their baskets and their bags and their little wagons so they could shop. From what she could see, Jennifer could tell the cook was definitely not exaggerating. Rows of covered tables had popped up like overnight mushrooms, and the smell of food and flesh and flowers was everywhere. The village was jam-packed with people and vendors and food as far as the eye could see. By the entry gate, ten old men were milling around a rectangular boules court, ignoring all the commotion and concentrating on whether they could knock each other’s ball out of position, away from the small metal ball they’d tossed earlier. Rows of bikes with baskets and lines of car bordered every bit of road, and had taken a bit of jockeying for Sally to find a spot to park. She opened the back hatch of her little car and pulled out a folding wagon, then set it on the ground and expanded it to its full size. “Since you’re a cook, you’re going to love this,” she promised Jennifer, grabbing the handle as she shut the car door, and as soon as they started down the rows Jennifer knew she was absolutely right.

  The market was a veritable sea of tastes and scents and noises, all jumbled together under a warm Provence sun. Hopeful vendors tried to cajole passersby to stop and have a taste of wine or olive oil or dried sausage made from their family recipe. Buckets of sunflowers and bright blooms lined the walkway, and vegetable stands displayed every type of heirloom tomato and hard-necked garlic known to man. A old married couple selling paella offered free samples of the spicy rice and seafood dish, and an aproned butcher was loudly hawking his live chickens. The birds sat in their wooden crates with an air of quiet resignation, as though they knew their upcoming fate.

  Even the local church was involved, with a long booth full of baked goods for sale in front of the cemetery full of leaning tombstones and carved angels. Jennifer stopped at a young parishioner’s table, buying a water bottle for a euro and smiling at the gap-toothed girl as she got her change. The front door of the local church was open, inviting people in to visit or worship, or to visit the bell tower.

  It wasn’t necessarily easy to understand the language, but Jennifer had no problem understanding the meaning of most of what the smiling vendors were saying. Try this, how many, for dinner? She could see some of the tables were in competition with each other, with the farmers making little conversational jabs from time to time, and trying to steal away customers who might be more interested in the herbs or potatoes or paté being sold just across the aisle. She’d brought her own shopping bag, thinking she’d pick up some wine to take back home with her, and it wasn’t long before her bag was stuffed full of baguettes, wild onions, a quarter kilo of white cheese, and a bottle of some unidentifiable liquor that smelled like pears and tasted like heaven.

  Sally, on the other hand, shopped like a pro. Every person she talked to seemed to know Chateau Mersau’s cook. They greeted her warmly and pointed out the best meat and fish and basil for her kitchen. She smiled and chatted with many of them, but definitely knew which at places she wanted to stop and shop.

  After a bit of walking with her, Jennifer began to realize that the talk around them wasn’t just about the gorgeous food or the handmade shoes or the carved wooden signs. There was a subtle murmur of hushed conversation as they walked by, with villagers eyes following them, and she could tell they must’ve been talking about the biggest news the village had had in quite some time.

  Murder.

  As Sally stopped to try a sample of dried fish at a hefty man’s stall, he instant
ly began to question her and Jennifer knew exactly why. As soon as he’d raised his voice to ask the cook some questions about what had happened at the chateau, there were several people suddenly clustered around, hoping to hear Sally’s version of the appalling and exciting events they’d heard about in recent rumors. They were also looking at Jennifer with apparent curiosity, sometimes smiling at her and sometimes just staring as they realized she was the one who had found the housekeeper dead on the ground. She stood behind Sally, picking up a word now and then as the conversation escalated with more and more people asking agitated questions.

  People weren’t just curious. They were afraid.

  There was a murderer somewhere in the area. A murderer who had brutally killed an unarmed woman. Some of the people wanted the news so they could share it with others as a juicy chat over a glass of pernod, and some were scared of it being a sign of danger in Ameron.

  “Mademoiselle.”

  The voice came from behind her, and even before she turned she knew who it would be.

  “Officer Augustin,” she said, shading her eyes from the sun as she looked up at the balding police officer. “I’m surprised to see you out this early. I thought for sure you’d be getting some sleep after being up so late at the investigation last night.”

  He shrugged and shifted his full shopping bag to his other hand. “It’s my turn to do the marketing this week, according to my wife.” He glanced over at Sally. “You helping out today? I could say the same thing about you being up.” He looked back at Jennifer. Didn’t sleep well?”

  Jennifer decided to do her best to be friendly. Maybe he’d relent and she’d be able to go home. She smiled. “I’m sure your wife appreciates having a husband that’s so caring about doing his share. She’s a lucky woman.”

  Oh, good grief, she thought. It sounds like I’m flirting.

  Augustin didn’t fall for it. “Maybe. Look, I actually had a couple more questions for you. Do you have a minute to talk?”

  Looking around, she could see her conversation with the policeman had definitely caught the attention of several people, including Sally.

  She caught the cook’s eye. “I’ll catch up to you, okay? Be just a minute.”

  Sally nodded in understanding and moved on to the next booth, while Augustin and Jennifer stepped back behind the row of tables, against the outside wall of a cheese shop.

  “Okay, Officer. What can I do for you?” she asked.

  Augustin set down his bag and pulled a very familiar-looking notebook from his shirt pocket. “There’s been a preliminary report on the…Madame Durand. I mean, what was found with her body. There were some unusual items on her person.”

  “What sort of items?” Jennifer asked, genuinely puzzled. “I’ll be happy to help if I can.”

  “Were you aware that Madame Durand smoked cigars?”

  The question surprised Jennifer and her face showed it. “Cigars? No, I never saw her smoke a cigar. From what I could tell she didn’t like it when Bernard DuBois smoked cigarettes. She made a couple of comments about it when he was out smoking by the wine barn.”

  “No known habit of smoking cigars.” Augustin jotted it down.

  “She was found with cigars?” Jennifer asked, and the police officer made a face as he continued to write.

  “Just one in her nightgown pocket. A very old, dry one, and a box of matches advertising .”

  Jennifer puzzled over that. She hadn’t seen anyone smoke cigars at the chateau and had no idea why the housekeeper would have one in her nightgown.

  “And did she wear scarves?”

  “Um…”Jennifer tried to think. “I don’t recall her wearing a scarf, but it’s been hot. I haven’t been at the chateau very long. Maybe she did sometimes.”

  “No scarf.” Augustin wrote another line of text in his notebook.

  “She was wearing a scarf?”

  Augustin shook his head, still writing. “Wrapped around her hand. And her fingernails had beeswax under them.”

  “That’s not a big surprise,” Jennifer said. “There are places in the chateau that they still use candles, mostly for decoration but I’ve seen a couple of rooms that don’t seem to have electricity in them. The housekeeper used to trim the wicks, and I’ve seen her putting new candles in some places.”

  “Interesting.” Officer Augustin looked up, checking around them for eavesdroppers. Apparently satisfied, he dropped his voice a bit.

  “Of course, what I’ve asked you today is strictly confidential. You are not to share this information with anyone. Understand?”

  “Yes, of course,” Jennifer said, even as she was already puzzling over the clues Augustin had given her.

  Cigar and matches. A scarf around Madame Durand’s hand. Beeswax.

  They said their goodbyes and Jennifer pushed her way through the crowd to catch up to Sally, whose cart was already groaning under the weight of a fabulous array of farm-fresh food. She was haggling with a meat vendor over the price of a kilo of smoked ham.

  “What did Augustin want?” she asked Jennifer, her eyes still on the leg of ham, and Jennifer tried to made light of it.

  “Oh, nothing much. Had some questions about last night, that was all. Nothing important. I didn’t have anything new to tell him.”

  Well, the last part was true, at least. She did her best to change the subject. “That’s for dinner? Looks amazing.”

  “Oh, it is,” Sally agreed with a happy sigh. “This farmer feeds his pigs acorns and then smokes the meat himself. He’s the fourth generation to sell pork like this. It’s expensive, but worth every penny.”

  They were nearly to the end of the row when Sally pronounced a need for a drink, so they maneuvered the full cart through the crowd and onto a side street.

  “This place does great fresh juices,” Sally said, pointing to a tiny café. When they walked in, Jennifer could see it had probably originally been someone’s living room, now converted into a business. Three small tables were crowded together, and they claimed the last open one.

  After the owner had taken their order for two orange juices, Sally gave a great sigh and leaned over. “So, you want to tell me why you’re really here?”

  The words startled Jennifer, and all her defenses instantly kicked into place as she quickly thought of how to answer the very blunt question. Sally had her eyes locked on Jennifer’s face, waiting and watching.

  “I’m here to observe and report the condition of the property and the chateau,” she answered evenly, matching Sally’s gaze. “That’s all.” It was the truth, just not the whole truth.

  “Uh-HUH.” The cook seemed unconvinced. “And I’m the Queen of England.” She sat back in her chair and crossed her arms, a frown on her face. “Look, there’s something about you that’s…wrong.”

  “What do you mean, wrong?”

  “Something…” Sally narrowed her eyes, considering. “You’re not what I’d expect as an insurance adjuster. Something’s off about you.”

  Jennifer considered her options and sat silently, looking back at the cook. That didn’t seem to sit well with Sally.

  “Are you here to spy for the new boss? See who’s working and who should be sacked?”

  Jennifer gave a small smile. “Nothing like that. I’m not here to hurt anyone or anything. I’m just here to do my job on the chateau and report back. It’s my job. That’s all.”

  Raising an eyebrow, Sally looked her over like she’d never seen her before. “Really? Just your job?”

  Jennifer nodded, adamant. “Just my job. That’s it.”

  The waiter arrived with two tall glasses of juice, accompanied by thin straws. Once he was out of earshot, Sally leaned forward, her voice low.

  “Did you kill Madame Durand?” Her eyes were locked on Jennifer’s face, watching for any reaction.

  Jennifer blew out a puff of air and shook her head.

  “No, I didn’t kill her.”

  “But you were the first person to find her dead.�
�

  An uneasy prickling began at the base of Jennifer’s skull. She could definitely tell which direction this conversation was going. “Yes, I found her, but I didn’t kill her. Why would I? I have no reason to want anyone at the chateau dead.”

  “That’s just what a murderer would say.”

  Jennifer burst out in laughter, startling the patrons sipping espresso nearby. “Yes, I suppose it is, but I’m not a murderer.” Seeing she’d attracted unwanted attention she lowered her voice and scooted her chair closer to the table.

  Shifting in her seat, Sally looked distinctly uncomfortable. “I don’t know why you’d kill her, but I know that woman had a past that kept catching up to her. Maybe you came here to confront her.”

  “That’s not the case at all,” Jennifer said adamantly. “I’d never even heard of Madame Durand until I arrived. I’m not sure what I can say to convince you that I had nothing to do with her death.”

  Sally took a sip of her juice, then set the glass down and played with the straw a bit, considering. “Well, I’m not sure either. I just know one thing.”

  “What’s that?” Jennifer asked.

  Sally looked at her and sighed. “You’re not what you seem, and I’m going to keep my eye on you.”

  As they drove home there was an uneasy silence in the car. Jennifer was sure the cook was considering the conversation they’d had in the café. She also had to admit the fact that the person who would be most likely to use a whisk as a tool was probably the plump lady with gray-streaked hair sitting next to her.

  Chapter 12

  Sometimes, the only way to get to the bottom of a mystery is to go directly to the source. It took over twenty-four hours to get a response to her email, when Jennifer had requested as many details as could be discovered about the young woman. It took a bit of doing for Mrs. Wheaton to dig deep enough to find contact information for Clara Beauville, the heir of Chateau Mersau.