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

Chapter 8

Paying Particular Attention

I needed to pay attention, particularly to what he said to me, and more importantly, to what he did not. Nuance was everything to the French. One’s words and body language spoke volumes. Subtlety was extremely important. I was about to speak, when he turned to me and spoke first.

“Madame Samantha, are you prepared to get tangled up in something no one is quite sure why or how all this happened? Also, not knowing who you can trust, and, maybe, the potential danger that might be involved?”

So much for French nuance!

It took me a second to respond. “…To be truthful, I haven’t thought that far ahead. Martine was so insistent and worried about Sonia, I guess I got caught up in all the emotion of the moment and told her I would see what I could discreetly find out with the neighbors.”

“Madame, may I advise, you are in a tight spot!”

I shrugged. “Luc, that’s the story of my life. Getting into tight spots, and then trying to work my way out of them without getting into too much trouble.”

He pointed at me. “But this one might prove too difficult to get out of once you are in it. No one knows who or why someone would do such an evil thing as to kill and bury so many innocent animals. It is a tragedy.”

“Yes, it is.” I sat there thinking about his warning. I had to consider those words seriously. This was not a game someone was playing. Or could more than one person be involved? That was a thought worth considering, while talking to those caught up in this terrible situation.

Luc caught my eye. “…And probably dangerous.”

“But all I’m going to do is ask around, Luc. How much trouble can I get into?”

He chuckled. “A lot! I have heard many stories from Martine about all your escapades and your so-called tight spots you always end up in.”

I waved him off, laughing. “Enough with your amusing compliments. I don’t want them to go to my head. Just tell me what you know so far. I would appreciate any details I can use without embarrassing either Martine or myself.”

“That, I am afraid, will take a lot of effort on your part.”

“Luc, keep this up and I might drag you along with me.”

“Ah! No! It is no easy task with this heavy clay soil. I have too much work spending each day at a different neighbor’s house working in their gardens.”

“Good!” I said. “Then you will be a very good source for information on this affair. Now, please, Luc, tell me what you know.”

The whole thing bordered on strange…

And I couldn’t help wondering: What might also be buried along with the pets?

Chapter 9

The Garden Plot Deepens

Luc’s knife slit the cheese like butter. “I am not sure when it began. …Maybe before all the pets went missing.”

I gave him a surprised look. “Why do you think that?”

He looked thoughtful. “Some of the graves had no collars or tags. Maybe, they were strays and this person wanted to try out a burial or two to see if they could get away with it and the other deaths came later. And by transplanting so many roses, I accidentally found them.”

That was an odd interpretation
. A follow-up thought hit me. “Wouldn’t you have noticed the soil being disturbed?”

“No, Madame. I only come to this property once a week. As you can see, I dig up the beds because of the clay soil. The ground, it needs to breathe. It disturbs the weeds from growing. I water. Then I set the sprinkler timer.”

I took it further. “So, it’s possible that if someone were to bury something, they could come that night, or the next, and no one would know because you don’t show up until a week later. The sprinklers would wash away any kind of disturbance because it would eventually lump together.”

He gave a huge smile. “Already you see possibilities!”

“Luc, can you tell me something about the neighbors?”

He turned and aimed his knife toward the house below. “They are from Paris. Monsieur and Madame Tussout; an older couple in their eighties. They are not too friendly and constantly irritate their neighbors because they always resist trimming their trees each year, refusing to give the neighbors a better view of the sea, which is the worst sin of all here. The value of a property is in what you can or can’t see. The neighbors said they truly think Tousout enjoys… how do you phrase it? …Ah, yes…the power play.”

I nodded. “You summed that up perfectly, Luc. That is interesting to know. What pet did they lose?”

“They had a …mixture.”

“Oh, a mutt. Was it small or large?” I asked.

Luc looked at me. “Does it matter? It was small.”

“I would think that the larger the dog, the larger the garden bed for burial, and thus the more time to dig up.”

He grinned. “Ah, you see? You are very clever. All the animals buried so far have been of a very small size.”

“So, they used smaller animals to get in and out faster.”

It sounded more like revenge, not about the views.

Luc pointed to the house higher up the hill, toward the forest. “The powerful widow Sorrel. Her problems? She is in her late eighties and under the shadow of French law. When her husband, Henri recently died, partial house ownership passed down to his two children from his first wife. Madame could still use her house, but wouldn’t wholly own it. Her cat was buried in these gardens, too.”

I frowned. “For her, another death. How unfortunate!”

“Oui! Her cat, she did not have the nine lives, did she?”

Chapter 10

The House Of The Red Light

Luc twisted around and pointed to the house directly across the narrow street out in front of my villa. “That is Mademoiselle Forniet’s house.” He smiled. “Also referred to, by the locals, as the house of the red light.”

It definitely sounded like an unwanted complication. I had enough to think about already, but I still asked just to confirm. “What do you mean? Why such a strange name?”

“If you look over after dark, then you will see her porch light. It glows red!” He laughed. “Ah, the neighbors are quite upset. They feel people will get a wrong impression, trying to stop for...?” Embarrassed, he didn’t finish.

I nodded, and then asked, “What does Mademoiselle Forniet say about that?”

Luc smirked. “She said that she is only having a little fun. A joke. Such a sense of humor!”

“How old is she, and what kind of pet did she have?”

“She is young, mid-twenties. She had a small poodle.”

“Isn’t she a little young, especially in France to be able to afford such a large home on the Riviera at that age?”

Luc slapped his leg. “Good point, Madame! There is speculation a wealthy man bought it for her.”

“What wealthy man?”

“Nobody knows. That is another mystery that leads nowhere. Rumors say a Bentley arrives late in the night occasionally. He visits for a bit, and then poof, he is gone.”

Poof! Gone! Just like the pets. …Coincidence?

Luc started gathering up his wrappers and corking his bottle of red wine. “There is one more person you should know about. She is, how do you say, a little eccentric.”

Interested, I leaned in. “And I like to say, I am all ears.”

Luc grinned. “With an interesting mind in between.”

I loved his wit. “Please, go ahead and tell me.”

He turned serious. “She drives around at dusk, feeding the stray cats in this neighborhood out of her trunk. She is an odd and harmless character who means well. She also travels with her vicious Rottweiler, who guards her car while she leaves the engine running, and then she is gone.”

“Where does she live?” I asked, fascinated by this story.

“She appears out of nowhere, and slides the dishes of food and water under the villa gates for all the stray cats, but only on properties where they roam, then she quickly leaves. During the night, she takes the empty plates back.”

“How long has she been doing this?”

Luc thought about it. “She has always been here.”

I smiled, knowing he started here as a boy. “Like you?”

He laughed heartily. “I am like one of the statues in the garden. After a while, no one sees that I am really here.” He got up and stretched, yawning. “I think I am going to take a short nap now. Au revoir, Madame Samantha.”

“Not me, Luc. I’ve got work to do. Merci. Au revoir.”

Chapter 11

I Paws For The Cat Lady

After finishing a light supper and taking my shower, I decided to bring my laptop outside onto the upper terrace to sit and write up some notes, while gazing out at the sea.

I tapped away with interest as the facts, one by one, latched onto me. Drawn in by the storyline, my thoughts skimmed the keyboard, while my fingers barely kept pace.

With my feet propped up on another chair for comfort, I methodically described the neighbor’s conflicts with what info I was given so far, including the unfortunate demise of all their cherished pets in this, as Martine aptly said, so-called
garden of death
.

I decided to take the initiative by questioning the neighbors later the next morning. I asked Martine to arrange the individual meetings, hoping they wouldn’t object, having already seen me on previous visits with her at the local markets or at her house. Most likely, everyone was on edge wanting the murderer caught,
or maybe not.

I heard a meow in the gardens and smiled, reminded of Sneakers, my own black and white cat back in Highlands, North Carolina. Martha,
my own eccentric
and employee, was minding my antique shop there, and her cousin, Jack, who built my log home there, and Barbara, his significant other, were now babysitting Sneakers at their own place just outside of town. I laughed, not sure who got into more trouble, Martha or my cat.

To tell you the truth, I think I beat them both by a mile.

I seem to have this knack for attracting trouble, like bees to honey. I laughed as I reached for my glass of wine, and then suddenly stopped mid-sip. …Something flashed off to my right in my peripheral vision from the garden below over by the hedges. I leaned forward for a better look.

I caught a glimpse of a hand hastily retreating through the garden gate below. I paused to watch four cats pounce on the food. I had no idea so many roamed the villa’s property and quickly stood to get a better look over the fence and hedge to see exactly who it was.

I only caught a partial glimpse of a dark-colored car, whose diesel engine was still running next to my garden gate. Unfortunately, the tall, leafy hedge concealed most of it.

A moment later a jogger ran up the hill and the car began rocking back and forth, as a harsh growl erupted into a nonstop vicious barking frenzy. The man was startled briefly, but then kept on running up the street, as the restricted image of a loosely clothed, shadowy figure quickly jumped into the car, and then sped off into the approaching dusk to another house on Avenue du Goulet.

Was it the cat lady? Probably. Then exactly like Luc had previously described.
Poof! She was gone! Just like that!

Chapter 12

I Risk it, Task It & Take My Basket

It was Tuesday; market day in St. Agulf, the next town over from Les Issambres, which was on the way to St. Raphaël. It was worth the effort and risk of sitting in bumper-to-bumper traffic for such special treats. The twice a week market offered locally raised meats, fish, cheese, produce, trinkets and anything else you could think of.

It was a difficult task maintaining an even foothold with all the locals and tourists vying for the best deals of the day, as I was gently pushed and shoved, while working my way through the boisterous, animated crowd.

Martine had told me that you could pretty much tell the locals from the others by the well-worn baskets they always used to store their purchases, and by the way they bargained passionately for the best price. I patted my fanny pack, holding my wallet, wiser now, although I was still clueless about who stole my credit card back in Ocean City.

Now, speaking fluent French? That was another matter.

I wandered around, picking up whatever looked and smelled appealing using my rudimentary French. It was barely enough to get me by, and barely enough to possibly get some insults thrown in my direction with my occasional …
okay, constant
mangling of French phrases.

Some thought it was humorous and gave me the benefit of the doubt, as merely an American making an effort at conversation in their language. Others either dismissed me or waved me off with impatience. I really couldn’t blame them. After all, I was in their country and should converse properly.

Years before Martine had told me to take it all in stride and learn from my conversational faux pas. I had to laugh, because sometimes my life felt like one gigantic faux pas, but somehow I always managed to learn a few life lessons, while making new friends and strengthening friendships with old ones.

I was admiring some bracelets when I felt a tap on my shoulder. Startled, I turned around. “Martine! I didn’t know you were coming to the market so early. We could have come here together.”

She didn’t look good.

She shook her head. “I wasn’t sure I would make it today. I’ve had the most terrible headache from all the stress over this dreadful situation concerning the pets. I am …what you always say …beside myself with worry!”

How would I explain that her large Labrador, Sonia, appeared safe at the moment because of her sheer size? She would think I was demented for such a bizarre thought and my completely unproven conclusions. Sonia was her baby and she was anxious about her. For the time being I said nothing regarding my crazy theories.

“You shouldn’t worry so much, Martine. Now that I am staying at the property next door, I don’t think we will be having much activity in the garden.”

She frowned. “But what if they decide to go to another garden, like mine?”

I tried logic. “First off, all the other gardens are not as extensive as Curat’s. Secondly, as far as your garden is concerned, you and Jean are there, as well as Paul and Claudine who live in your guesthouse and maintain your property and house. There is always someone there.

“On the other hand, Curat’s villa has sat dormant for almost a year. Besides Luc tending the gardens once a week, there is no one around. Therefore, it became the garden least likely to be suspected of being tampered with. I have to admit, they thought this out very well, whoever is doing it.”

Martine shook her head, frustrated. “So, now we wait?”

I linked my arm with hers and laughed. “No. We stop at a café to relax, then we go shopping together, and then I leave to confront your neighbors.”

Martine chuckled. “Samantha. I wish I were able to hide in your pocket for that spectacle. I know how they are. I do not think they will make it very easy for you.”

I grabbed my basket and moved us both in the direction of a small outdoor café. “It is a risk I am willing to take and a task I might regret, but I will do it for your baby, Sonia!”

“How do you say it?” Martine asked, trying to get it right. “Is your new mystery book going to the dogs?” She abruptly stopped walking. “I forgot, Madame Sorrell’s cat, too! …Oh! It is all so terrible!”

“Don’t worry, I’ll get to the bottom of it!” I said confidently, but then felt a tinge of uncertainty.

What had I gotten myself into …again?