86 Avenue du Goulet (A Samantha Jamison Mystery Volume 3) (13 page)

Chapter 56

Some Slick Surreptitious Surveillance

I don’t know how one in hot pursuit is supposed to remain inconspicuous, especially on a loud Harley, but we were definitely trying our best. Crystal knew exactly how far to stay back and blend in with traffic. Thankfully, St. Raphaël was a magnet for motorcycles of all kinds.

I could understand why those two were walking, because parking was at a premium. There wasn’t an open space for a mile or so with the town so jammed. Two cruise ships were docked in the harbor, too. Our main problem was keeping an eye on our two suspects on the crowded sidewalk.

Finally, they stopped and slipped into an old building.

Crystal snuck in between two cars and we hustled over to the nameless, numbered doorway. She tried the handle and it gave, so we stuck our heads in and found ourselves facing a lone stairway going up. We looked at each other and nodded, and then stepped inside and shut the door, all the while listening for anyone coming down the stairs.

The musty hallway was an immediate turnoff. Crystal motioned and we sprinted up to the second floor. After we reached the top and rounded the corner, we heard voices coming toward us. Panicked, we both looked for an unlocked door, already knowing we wouldn’t make it down the long stairway and outside without being spotted.

Crystal grabbed one door and shook her head. I grabbed another and it gave. I motioned for her to come over. The voices were almost upon us as I opened it. Crystal roughly shoved me forward, barely closing the door in time. We fell in a heap, her landing on top, the wind knocked out of both of us. As we blindly felt around in the dark, our fingers latched onto something sticky. Was this a janitor’s closet?

I dry heaved. It smelled awful. What the hell was it? A horrible thought hit. Dried urine? I gagged.
I wanted out!

We heard a click.

No, they couldn’t have.

The voices passed, and sure enough, one was definitely Philippe’s, but he was speaking rapid French and it was difficult to understand.

“Shhhh!” Crystal whispered.

They descended the stairs, and then a door slammed.

Crystal turned the doorknob. “...Hey, what’s going on?”

I was antsy to get out. “What’s wrong? Hurry up!”

“The damn thing is locked!”

“What? Can’t be! Try again! Who locked it?”

Crystal gave it another try. “No go!”

I guess
they
could have.

“Remember that click? I bet they locked us in.”

“Now why would they do that?” she asked. “We already knew where they were going anyway.”

“Maybe they were meeting someone and saw us tail them and set the meet up for somewhere else, instead.”

Crystal sighed. “Do you always think so weirdly?”

“I’m afraid so. I scare myself sometimes.”

Then we heard another click. Crystal tried the doorknob and pushed the door hard.

Chapter 57

Present Company Accepted?

We were both leaning against the door, anxious to get out, and when it opened we awkwardly fell to the hallway floor, gulping fresher air. We didn’t dare look down at our hands, but quickly spotted a water fountain and made for a dash for it, washing our hands, trying to push back the nausea and vivid imagination at what had been in that closet with us. We were still scrubbing away the imagined visuals when a voice approached.

“Concerned for your safety, I followed you. This time, I guess, I rescued
two
damsels in distress.”

We turned. There stood Clay, grinning like a Cheshire cat.

“You know what you can do with that grin of yours?” I asked sarcastically, mildly jealous of his intuitive skills.

“Hey, I could’ve left you two in the closet, you know.”

“At least the company was more interesting.” I guess I sounded a bit petulant, but darn it, I didn’t like needing him.

Crystal moved in between us, turning to me. “…Sam?”

I relented. “…Okay, we’re out. Good going, Clay.”

He looked around, and as usual, ignored my retort. “Let’s see what’s down the hall. Maybe we can see a name or something on a door. This place isn’t that big.”

Crystal finished rinsing and we followed him down the hallway. Only two other doors remained, as we rounded another corner. Clay stopped. “They must have entered one of these. Let’s see…”

I stepped in front of him. “Entreprises du Placard.” Then I moved to the other. “Vichy S. A.”

He was already tapping in the letters on his iPhone. I was taking a picture of both with mine.

Crystal peered through the glass walls of each office.

“Hey, you guys. They’re both vacant. Nothing in there.”

Clay and I both peeked inside too and slumped in disappointment.

I turned to Crystal and Clay. “Well, all that for nothing.”

Clay moved closer. “Not necessarily. We can still look up these companies and research them. And you, Sam, have three very willing research assistants waiting at home for you to just give the word.”

Encouraged, I saw the possibilities, my indignation and disappointment temporarily set aside. “And you’re going to talk to Jean and I’ll interview the neighbors once more.”

“And I,” Crystal added, “have a date with another Harley aficionado I met at Prestige Motors, who happens to be, drum roll please, the head administrator of Mairie, Les Issambres. He handles all the town records.”

Clay and I looked at her, impressed.

“I don’t know how you did it, and I don’t care,” I said.

Clay laughed. “That’s not important, just the access.”

“After a few beers,” Crystal said, “I’ll inquire about who really owns that house of red light.”

Not bad. We might actually have a team thing going on here.

Chapter 58

The World According To Tissout

No gifts this time, just an insatiable itch for more info.

The door swung open and there stood Monsieur Tussout. He took one look at me, smiled, turned around and went back in, leaving the door wide open. So I followed.

The interior of the house was beautifully furnished. The side that did not face mine was lined with windows and surprisingly bright and open; the complete opposite of his demeanor from last time. I caught him watching me.

“You approve?” he asked.

“Oh, yes!”

“I cannot take credit. My wife’s touch is everywhere.”

“Well, she certainly has a good eye.”

He smiled. “Yes, and also a good heart.”

I looked at him, suspicious of the polar opposite of what I had expected.

Why was he so friendly?

He gestured to have a seat. “I will bring us some wine.”

Instead of sitting, I looked around the room, curious. On one wall, hung a magnificent watercolor of the Mediterranean coastline, signed by an A.T.

On a table, books were stacked haphazardly. Thumbing through, I noticed some were geological, but most were historical, except one. After mentally double-checking my French, I looked again. ‘Historical Rituals.’

Weird?

I turned to see some needlepoint resting on a side table next to a comfortable chair and walked over for a closer look. A dog half-finished.
Their deceased pet?
Dust lightly covered the surface. I doubted it would ever be completed.

I moved over to an old walnut and leather desk cluttered with stationery and an antique inkwell. In the middle of it was a laptop, which seemed out of place among the rest.

If my geriatric crew was computer savvy, why not them?

Arranged off to the side was a small stack of well-worn geographic maps showing the coastline. All had different dates, but were of the same region.

Was he a history buff and a collector, too?

I walked over to see some family photos along one wall. One in particular showed a younger Madame Toussout, her husband, and a small boy and a little girl. The other photos progressed in age, but the children were missing.

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?