86 Avenue du Goulet (A Samantha Jamison Mystery Volume 3) (20 page)

Chapter 91

On The Hunt, But Not For Bear

Sweating, Clay finally finished opening the last one; the crow bar he used, hanging at his side. “I can’t believe this.”

We stood staring at the contents of the wooden crates, which all held the same thing.

“Well, I’ll be,” said Martha.

Betty shook her head. “Who would have guessed?”

I sighed. “I felt positive we’d discovered the answer.”

“Just like Al Capone’s hidden vault,” Hazel said.

We were all looking at nothing. You got it, all those crates held nothing, but rocks.

Crystal looked around, scanning the group. “Well, what did you expect? Obviously, someone saw the potential for finding this room and got rid of the evidence.”

Clay said, “If they were all filled with rocks, why nail them shut? Why not leave them empty?”

“If the crates looked unopened,” I said, “maybe we gave them the gift of time, by waiting until daylight.”

Martha went to kick her foot in anger, but stopped herself mid-kick. “Well, what have we got here?”

We all looked down at what she was staring at.

I stared at the bones laid out in piles that the two of us stood on the night before. Odd, the way they were laying there, but other than that, I didn’t get it. “What?”

Betty and Hazel were looking at them with interest, too.

What was up?
“Want to let us all in on it?”

Martha laughed. “That’s it!”

Clay asked, “What’s it?”

“Don’t you see? These are all animal bones!”

“We pretty much figured that out already,” Crystal said.

“No, you guys don’t get it. These bones are squirrel, fox, rabbit and raccoon bones. I’d know them anywhere.”

I looked closer. “Are you sure? How do you know?”

“Momma used to make rabbit and squirrel stew and Henry, the taxidermist in town paid us kids for the fur and carcasses of dead animals to reconstruct and stuff them.”

Betty laughed. “Why, I remember watching him work.”

Hazel joined in. “He sure was a character, wasn’t he?”

Crystal and I looked over at Clay for some kind of verification of what the three of them had just said.

“Hey, don’t look at me, I only shoot people,” he said.

Crystal was curious. “Why are a bunch of bones here?”

Then it hit me. “Wait a minute! I think I’ve got it.”

“Well, we’re all waiting, detective,” said Martha.

I gave here a withering look. “Very funny.” Then I turned to the group. “I bet bones like these were buried in the gardens, not dogs or cats, but these kinds of animals.”

Clay gave me the strangest look. “Whatever for?”

“The small missing pets? Who’d know the difference?”

Chapter 92

So, Now What?

“Okay, then where are the pets?” Clay asked.

“Obviously, they were taken, but not before their collars were removed and placed in the burial sites,” I said.

He wasn’t buying it. “Why?”

I stood there thinking, and then walked outside to the gardens. Everyone followed me in silence, waiting.

I turned to face them. “I know this sounds crazy, but hear me out. What if there were valuable items buried in these gardens all these years and someone knew this, but was biding their time until Curat died. On the other hand, someone else is warning everyone that something is going on and it should be stopped before all the stash is gone.”

“Why be so cloak and dagger about it?” Hazel asked.

I bit my lip. “They don’t want their identity revealed?”

“Where do you get these crazy ideas?” Crystal asked.

Clay laughed. “The whole thing sounds unlikely.”

“Come on guys,” I said. “Think outside the box.”

“We’re trying,” Martha said, “but it isn’t taking shape.”

“What made you think in this direction?” Clay asked.

“Remember I stumbled on that open grave, finding Sneaker’s collar and those bones, and then I fainted?”

“Yes. What about it?” Betty asked.

“I bet someone wanted me to see the last burial, putting in a phony Sneaker’s tag to send a message directly to me. I misunderstood and took it as a threat and not a clue.”

“For what purpose?” Martha asked.

“Because, like in my books, they were hoping I’d eventually piece it together and expose the truth.”

“I have to admit,” Hazel said. “This whole thing does sound like something from one of your mysteries.”

“Exactly!” I said. “But this time, I’m being led in two different directions. One way by the culprit, and the other way by the person trying to help.”

With her hands on her hips, Martha said, “Do you actually expect us to believe this crazy story, or are you sidetracking us to give you time to figure this out solo?”

My face reddened. “Why, you know I’m not good at stretching the truth. I deal with the facts as I see them.”

“You’re like a bloodhound when you know you’re on to something, and like to keep it close to the vest,” Clay said.

Betty joined in, too. “Remember that time when that laptop was stolen?”

“And that break in?” Martha said.

Hazel chuckled. “She thinks we’re clueless.”

“She doesn’t know we’re on to her,” laughed Crystal.

“The buried bones could also have been a diversionary tactic to throw us all off what’s really going on,” Clay said.

Okay, big deal. So, maybe I was stalling. …A little.

“…Maybe,” I reluctantly admitted.

My theories definitely needed some fine-tuning.

Chapter 93

Forniet’s Faux Pas

A day later Dominique called, arranging a lunch. I accepted, wondering what was up her intricately woven, literary sleeve. After the garden incident, she had to be up to something. I knew when I was being had.

…Okay, sometimes. …Okay, never.

My curiosity nudged, I accepted, but now it felt like a possible setup by her and her ever-surprising grand-mère.

“Oh, Samantha. I am so glad you could make it.”

“Me too,” I said, sipping my wine.

We were sitting in her garden, eating salads, but after an hour of small talk, she was still playing it straight, so I started doubting my initial reaction about this whole lunch offer. Maybe this was legit and I wasn’t being played.

“I have interesting news,” she finally announced.

“What news?”

“The authorities agreed the shot was an accident.”

I sat there taking that in. “So that means…”

“Exactly! I am no longer, under a cloud of suspicion.”

“It must be a relief to you.”

“Everyone thought us lovers. Naturally, I was suspect.”

After Philippe explained, I thought she wasn’t one.

“But I can see your mind still thinks in that direction doesn’t it, Samantha, since that is my genre?”

“That doesn’t change the fact he was shot in the head.”

“True, but in the end, he pulled the trigger, not me.”

“That, Dominique, was already established.”

“…Samantha, you don’t understand.”

I needed to find out how he got shot in the first place.

“Do you know what I think? I agree with the rumors; you two were really having an affair, but you shot him to make it look like a botched suicide. My question is why?”

She pounded the table, spilling her wine. “No! Believe me, it wasn’t that way at all. It was a horrible accident!” Flushed, her hand flew to her mouth. “Oh, my!”

“So you were more involved then you let on?”

She finally sighed, her shoulders slumping. “…Yes.”

“Why are you being so evasive?”

“…It was only meant to be a game.”

Now, that threw me. “What do you mean, a game?”

“I was writing a romance involving Russian roulette.”

“And Philippe was your guinea pig?”

“No! No! I gave him a gun with blanks to reenact the scene for me to write down. Then, I don’t understand how, but a live bullet must have been left in the chamber.”

It sounded somewhat credible. “Did you explain to the authorities the unusual circumstances?”

“What? Tell them that when it happened that I ran out to talk to the cat lady to ask her what she might have seen and why she was hiding? No! Discretion was imperative!”

Whoa! Talk to who?

Chapter 94

Felines & Femme Fatales

What were a few more bites if it meant pressuring a possible witness for answers? I had my doubts about this actually happening after watching the gardens from my upper terrace, bathed in insect repellant rubbed on every surface imaginable, and still coming up with zip.

The cat lady, where was she? I hadn’t said anything to the others because I wasn’t sure where it would lead me. Besides, they would think I was crazy to have believed Dominique in the first place. I mentally waffled back and forth. The more I thought about it, the more ridiculous it the whole thing sounded, but still, you never knew.

I mean, after all, Dominique had her own agenda, including her grandmother. My only hope was cornering the cat lady once more to figure out if she played any role in this mystery, and if so, to what extent. So I sat patiently there just in case.

After Dominique’s first slip, she refused to elaborate, saying her grandmother’s safety was more important. Why?

Was the cat lady another suspect?

Then again, maybe that wasn’t the case at all, but another maneuver by Dominique and Madame Sorrell to distract me from the obvious, which was what?

It always came down to who was playing with my brain. Sometimes I fell for it, and other times I didn’t. This time however, like once before, I didn’t have a strong feeling either way, which sort of disturbed me. Was I losing that fact-finding intuition I had relied upon in the past?

Now, suppose this cat lady knew what is going on. What would be the consequences of that? I needed to talk to her. I needed to find her.

So after days of futile efforts in trying to catch that cat lady, it looked like she had disappeared. I tried not to think of the upshot of that. Maybe she didn’t dodge a bullet after all. I tried to shake that thought off, but it just hung out there, heavily overshadowing my excuses of why she still might be alive.

As I have always said before, dissecting this intricate web was not easy. In the meantime, I had homework to do. I needed a story for my book. I’d gotten myself into such a complicated mess of a manuscript that I needed to unravel it so I can send it off to my publisher. I couldn’t come up with a fictional solution myself because it was so complex, it might be easier to find out the ‘real’ explanation instead.

I was determined to figure this out.

Chapter 95

Sticking With Whose Agenda?

I sat in that remote spot I favored in the garden under the magnolia tree overlooking the water to think, my laptop at the ready. I looked up at the yachts and sailboats skimming the Mediterranean, but not really seeing them. What was the mental block that wouldn’t let me think beyond what everyone had told me? What was out there I wasn’t picking up on?

“Ah, Madame Samantha, I am glad you are enjoying the gardens,” said Luc. “After all that has taken place with the burials and that storage room with the crates, I am surprised this matter still lingers and is not solved.”

I jerked my head in his direction. “Oh, Luc!”

Could Luc possibly be my mysterious facilitator?

I thought of what he symbolized in my mind, hard working, loyal with a history of knowing everyone. No, too obvious. This was different. But I was still curious about his perspective.

“Luc, what do you think about what is going on?”

He sat down next to me looking out at the sea. “There is much history to this property; some good, some very sad. It is hard to make people forget past grievances, especially where the heart is concerned, and especially where the facts are concerned.”

“I’ve taken all that into consideration, Luc, but it still doesn’t get me any closer to the truth.”

“And whose truth are you looking for?”

“Are you trying to tell me that all this might not be so straightforward as I had hoped?”

“Exactly!”

“So, there are many truths out there, but they don’t necessarily meet the same standards.”

“Oui. Now, excuse me. I must do my work.” He got up, but then he hesitated. “…Remember, do not judge people too harshly until you have lived their lives and felt their pain. …You never know, a life might depend on it.”

I sat there watching him walk away toward another part of the garden. Of all the people to offer advice, his was the most disturbing.

I still needed to know one more thing. “Luc, wait!”

He turned and came back. I motioned for him to sit.

“Why didn’t you mention the storage room before?”

“It was of no importance. It is merely a storage room.”

“When was the last time you were in there?”

“Many, many years ago.”

“So you don’t use it that often?”

“No, it is of no use to me.” He pointed to the small shed by the cactus up the hill. “Most tools are kept up there.”

“Why don’t you use the one down here in the wall?”

He looked me and sighed. “Too many memories. That was where I hid the gun that was supposed to kill Sabine.”