86 Avenue du Goulet (A Samantha Jamison Mystery Volume 3) (18 page)

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 Philippe 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?

Madame Sorrell nodded. “I am sure of it. What that is, I do not know, but they do it under the cover of darkness.”

“How long has this been going on?” I asked.

“I do not know exactly how long, or if Curat knew anything about it. But I knew Curat for so many years and he was above reproach.”

My mind was working the angles.

What was it and where was it now?

“I have one last question, Madame Sorrell. At Curat’s advanced age, was he mentally diminished and maybe not aware what was happening on his own property?”

“Yes, he was, maybe the last several years. Why?”

“It sounds like someone took advantage of that.”

“Yes, but who would do that?” she asked.

“I haven’t figured out that part yet, but I will.”

Chapter 84

Regrouping Rejection

I heard them arguing back and forth as I walked into the kitchen an hour later. Smelling the French press coffee, I surveyed the table. Pastries, another one of my favorite breakfasts and a close second to crusty French rolls, were spread out on a platter. I was starving and grabbed one.

I scanned the faces seated at the table. At least my so-called
comfort zone
was still on my side and looking out for me. But as I looked over at Clay, sometimes I felt I was in the iffy zone again. Some people were tough to classify.

“Bonjour,” I greeted the group cheerfully.

Clay handed me a fresh mug of coffee.

Martha spoke first, motioning toward Hazel and Betty.

“As far as the bullets go or shell casings, it’s a dead end. We searched those gardens and came up empty-handed.”

“I may have been mistaken about what I thought I heard, but it sure scared off the cat lady. Nope, without any proof, I’m afraid the authorities wouldn’t waste their time.”

“Jean said Philippe’s shot was accidental,” said Crystal.

“You know, the bones you found in your purse?” Hazel asked. “They were chicken! Doesn’t make sense.”

“If it’s a message, it sure is a strange one,” I said, and then turned to Clay. “Do you have something, anything?”

All eyes veered to him. “As far as both incidents being tied together, maybe, maybe not, but until we can prove something, forget it. We can’t go to the authorities.”

They all turned back to me. I wasn’t sure whether I should thank them for at least trying to help, or run to the hills for safety. This whole saga had become a complicated mess. However, one thing stood out in my mind. I knew it wasn’t what they expected me to say, but I had to anyway.

Why? Because
I was scared. Even for the sake of my book, all this wasn’t worth getting killed over.

“I don’t think I can do this anymore. Fiction is easier.”

There was dead silence, not even a slurp of coffee. It was as if someone had hit the pause button, which was unthinkable with this group.

Martha quipped, “Now what kind of crazy talk is that? We certainly don’t need a meltdown now.”

“Especially,” Betty added, “since that latest incident.”

Hazel stood. “A French caper and you want out?”

“Ladies, will you give us a moment?” Clay asked.

Reluctantly, they all shuffled out of the room, griping.

“Meltdown my foot!” Martha complained, grudgingly walking away.

“Now, Martha, come on. Let’s go.” Betty said grabbing her arm. “She needs breathing room.”

“I’m casing the garden again,” Hazel announced.

“Your investigative skills are amusing,” Crystal said.

Hazel smiled. “Why, thanks for the compliment.”

Martha looked at Hazel, catching up. “You see? You’re not getting the nuance in her response, are you? Didn’t you catch her sarcastic tone? Once again let me explain…”

Chapter 85

Concentrating, Commiserating & Complaining

Clay and I sat in silence for a moment after I told him what Madame Sorrell had disclosed and how surprised I was by her unexpected and complicated account about what happened in the past and how it was probably tied to now.

I was glad to see he was amazed and impressed.

“Well, you have been busy, Sam.”

I sighed. “Yes. This whole thing is so interconnected I doubt I’ll ever figure out the real truth. I mean, who else is related in this crazy neighborhood? It’s like family group analysis run amok.”

Clay laughed. “You always had a way with words, but they might not dig you out of this one.”

“I’m sure there is some…” I stopped talking and turned to him, smiling.

“What?” he asked.

“What if I said I figured it all out?”

“Now, why would you do that when you haven’t?”

“It might flush out who is involved.”

“Oh, so now you’re the bait?

I smiled. “It’s not the first time.”

“How generous to offer yourself up to the gods.”

“I do what I can, when I can,” I said, straight-faced.

“I don’t think I like this one bit,” he complained.

“Who said you have to like it? Just play along and see where it takes me.”

“Why can’t you have a normal life like everyone else?”

I smiled. “Because it’s not written in my books. Now, quit griping and let’s see how we can get whoever is behind this whole thing to reveal themselves.”

“How are we going to do that, genius? I’d say, let’s talk this over at my place, but that’s not possible, Martine and Jean live there. You’ve got company, and there’s no back seat of a car that’s practical to work my charm, so I guess we’ll just have to verbally duke it out here in the kitchen.”

“Gosh, Clay, you’re so romantic. Why, it makes me blush. Okay, let’s get everyone in here to set this up.”

“No need,” said a voice from the foyer.

We both turned. There stood the gang, who had heard the whole conversation. Privacy was a lost art with them.

Martha laughed. “Now, Sam, did you honestly think we were going to miss the opportunity to eavesdrop?”

I glared at them as they filed back into the kitchen. “Why do I even bother to think I could ever make a move without you guys?”

Crystal grabbed another pastry and sat. “Beats me.”

“I think we’ve got to be creative,” Betty said.

Hazel nudged her. “Some nut-job is at work out there.”

I had to laugh. “Then that makes us about even, doesn’t it?”