86 Avenue du Goulet (A Samantha Jamison Mystery Volume 3) (7 page)

Chapter 28

Another Interview

I still felt embarrassed the next morning as I made my way over to Martine and Jean’s to interview Claudine and Paul. I shook my head, incredulous at what had happened. What were the odds? Of all people, it had to be
her paramour
? When I stepped into it, I usually did it in style. I laughed, shelving it for later. I had an interview.

Martine said I could meet with her housekeepers in the cottage they lived in on the far side of her property. I knocked and was cordially led inside by the elderly pair.

“It was nice of you to see me on such short notice,” I said, smiling, as I sat on their sofa. “I appreciate your time.”

“It is not a problem,” Claudine replied, carefully.

Paul sat down beside her. “I doubt if we can help you, but we promised Martine that we would try.”

Already he was setting the stage with a negative right up front.
Was that on purpose?
“Why do you say that?”

He moved uncomfortably. “Because we know nothing.”

I focused on Claudine. “Did you hear anything unusual that might have caught your attention the last few months?”

She quickly turned to Paul before answering and something unspoken passed between them.

“…No, certainly not from back here,” she finally said.

“How long have you worked for Martine and Jean?”

Claudine relaxed, relieved by the change in topic. “Oh, for many years, since Paul and I were first married.”

I turned my attention to Paul. “How did you meet Jean and come to work for him and Martine?”

“We met one summer many years ago on the beach and quickly became…fast friends.”

“You met here on the French Riviera?”

Paul actually thought that was funny and laughed. “As a meager carpenter, I could never afford to travel to the south of France to these beaches. No, I met him in northern France. It was much cheaper there back then.”

“What about Curat?”

He sat up straighter, wary. “What about him?”

“What did you think of him and his wife, as a couple?”

His face transformed to one of warmth. “They were completely devoted to each other. Simone loved those gardens and her husband, Alain, very much.”

I turned to Claudine. “And the drowning tragedy?”

Her demeanor altered to one of utter sadness. “Oh, it was horrible what they went through with little Sophie.”

“And afterwards, when Madame Curat fell?”

Her head snapped up sharply. “You know about that?”

“Yes. It must have been a shock to you.”

Paul frowned. “It was never the same. In particular with Curat, too much death, then and now!” He stood. “If you will excuse us, we have much work to do.”
So did I.

Chapter 29

Another Angle

I leaned back from typing my notes trying to meet another deadline. I was in what I referred to as, multiple book-deal hell, figuring out how to weave all these pieces together into a book for my publisher already knowing it wouldn’t meet my editor’s expectations. When she got a hold of my books, I referred to it as bloodletting. I could just visualize all her sidebar comment balloons filled with deletions, corrections, and not so gentle suggestions, and I might add, not so delicately put, either.

Okay, so I deserved some of those comments.

I’m not going into what my agent, Sandra had to say.

After all, a mystery built around pet murders wasn’t exactly people murders. Here I was digging around for more clues, but in my heart I knew that this was not going to be the juicy, edgy mystery I had hoped for.

I had been at it for more than an hour. There had to be another angle I wasn’t considering. The more I delved into the past, the more confused I became. And the more confused I became, the more questions I had concerning this whole network of deaths, both past and present, human and animal that I felt were connected, and still left with so little to go on.

Either no one really knew much and couldn’t honestly tell me anything, or there was something more going on behind the scenes that no one wanted me to find out.

Which was it? …Or was it a combination of both?

Everyone seemed to be offering me little to go on. And what little I had so far, was opening up a completely different set of secrets that no one felt comfortable discussing. What were they all afraid of?

Was there one more major thread I wasn’t seeing yet?

The neighbors all confirmed that the police didn’t have the time to investigate the finding of animal bones in an old garden. They were too busy with arson in the forests that surrounded the campgrounds, pickpockets, muggings, and any number of other offenses attributed to the tourist areas during the high season.

Claudine and Paul told me that they didn’t hear anything from their cottage because it was located at the farthest point from Curat’s property line, but what about when they were working inside and outside Martine’s house?

Her house was twenty feet from Curat’s property line and there were several more feet to his house. His gardens were on the opposite side and went up the hill. When in Martine’s house, off and on all year round, they must have seen something, or at least heard something, even if the gardens were on the other side of Curat’s villa.

On past visits to Martine’s, I noticed the couple never said much and went about their daily routine, doing their job. They blended into the background. Not only were they well paid, but also had a house to live in for free.

Like Luc, after a while, you forgot they were always moving about. And that was exactly why I thought both Claudine and Paul, and Luc as well, knew more than they were willing to reveal. Being part of the background, they became invisible, and so people spoke more freely, not editing their words or actions around them.

Was it an unspoken loyalty code of silence the three of them respected? Did they hear or see more than was intended and were now reluctant to share what it was? Was fear of reprisal holding them back, or something else? I was determined to find out exactly what it was.

More than flowers, plants and bones were buried here.

Chapter 30

Laced With More Than Garlic

When Martha returned, I walked over to check out her purchases from the flea market in Les Issambres. She had ridden the old French bicycle she found in the garage and taken my market basket and hung it from the handlebars.

“Wow, Martha! This is quite a haul you have here.”

“I needed a few extras that I forgot to bring with me.”

I reached in, grabbing and holding up an item from her basket. It was lacey…
a French thong?
I grinned.

She quickly snatched it from my grasp. “Hey, it’s the French Riviera!”

“And you’re on vacation!” I added, laughing.

“Yes, exactly!”

“Anything goes, including the French gardener!”

“Precisely!” she said laughing, and then froze.
Busted!

I made a zipping motion. “My lips are sealed.”

She sat down on a bench and I joined her. I gently poked her, still laughing. “Is something in the wine here making you suddenly reconsider your senior boycott?”

She turned to me, smirking. “I must admit, surprisingly, this vintage is pretty good, if I do say so myself.”

There was a loud pounding noise nearby and we both jumped to our feet.

Martha said, “Now, what in blazes is that racket?”

We both scrambled over to the small window in the garage that faced Martine’s to see what was going on.

“Look!” she whispered. “You can see through that spot in the hedge to Martine’s property from here!”

I looked over too. “It’s that quiet, older woman, Claudine; Martine’s housekeeper. Hey, do you smell that, Martha? She’s cooking in the outdoor summer kitchen.
 
She laces all her dishes with tons of fresh garlic. You’re going to love it. Don’t forget we’re due there at seven.”

Martha pointed. “Hey, she’s grabbing a live chicken by the neck, throwing it down on that butcher block and…”

My hand automatically went to my throat, as I swallowed. “Jeeeeez! Will you look at that?”

“That woman wielded that knife like a pro,” said an admiring Martha. “That damn chicken didn’t see the light of day; just like in those crime shows on TV.”

“Hey, she’s an old French cook just doing her job.”

“That sure ends that mystery,” Martha said, slowly pulling away from the window and shaking her head in amazement. “That’s one cook who knows her way around a kitchen.”

Like Martha said, another mystery solved. I tried smiling, but that image flew by me again, and I shuddered.

“I guess we’re having chicken tonight.”

Chapter 31

Surprise At Sunset

We sipped wine out on the deck and watched the moon slowly rise over the Mediterranean from the bedroom level terrace. Dusk was setting in. Yachts cruised by and cars snaked in and out of view along the coast road down below us, while the sea ebbed and flowed, splashing the rocks.

Martha leaned back on her chaise lounge, relaxed.

“If my friends could just see me now.”

“What would they say?” I asked, turning to her.

“That I had finally cheated them out of the most primo beach time of all. I can hear their voices now.”

The doorbell rang. Martha turned her head in my direction. “Are you expecting anyone?”

“No,” I said. “Are you?” Nothing surprised me with her.

The doorbell rang insistently three more times in a row. She finally stood up. “I swear, I know better, but still...there’s no way in hell this could happen to me twice.”

I laughed, knowing my secret email invite had worked, but still acted clueless. “Come on, what are the odds?”

“About a million to one against me,” she threw back.

“There’s one way to find out. I’ll go see,” I offered.

Martha turned to follow. “I’ll come for back up.”

We both scrambled down the marble staircase and came to a halt at the door. I hit the videophone and only got a bunch of static. “It’s acting up again. The speaker, too.”

Martha looked at me. “Look, just hit the outdoor lights and I’ll walk down to the gates with you. If we don’t like what’s on the other side, we won’t open it. Here, grab the gate remote and let’s see who this is, once and for all.”

We walked down toward the gates. As we rounded the hibiscus hedge, we stopped. A smile crossed my lips.

“Well, what do you know!” I said.

Martha whispered, “Double damn. Senior competition!”

“Now behave. They’re friends, who obviously traveled all the way here from Highlands, North Carolina to spend time with us. I told them to come on over because I’ve got plenty of room at the villa I’m renting.”

I had blind-copied Clay on their email invite. It worked.

Martha tossed back the last of her wine.

I turned back to face the gate and hit the remote. “Well, Hazel and Betty, I’m so glad you two could make it.” I said, while subtly poking Martha in the ribs to join in.

She nudged me away. “Yeah, ditto. I’m surprised you were able to get away from your job at the bookstore. The Book Worm will not be the same without you two oldies.”

“Very funny!” said Betty. “We were forced to take a ‘much needed’ vacation. Some boss Clay turned out to be. I personally think that new female manager was behind it.”

“Clay flew the coop, without explaining a thing,” said an indignant Hazel. “He just left a note saying,
au revoir
!”

Chapter 32

Another Day & Another Chapter

The next morning the four of us were gathered around the kitchen farm table, catching up with the latest gossip and leisurely sipping our coffee. I reluctantly opened the French doors to the side gardens for air, knowing what was bound to happen on that particular day.

Martha knew, too, and was a tad edgy.

And, before long, there he was.

Betty and Hazel stopped talking.

After deftly smoothing strays from her tight bun and looking outside, Betty said, “Where did he come from?”

Hazel plucked at her short curly gray hair, straining for a better view. “Who exactly is that gentleman in the garden, Samantha?”

“He’s the villa’s French gardener, Luc.”

Martha jumped up, glaring at the two other women. “Don’t bother. He’s not interested in stuffy, old ladies!”

I turned to her. “Now Martha, come on, play nice here. Betty and Hazel are my guests.”

Martha turned and scowled at me. “So am I, and as of this moment, I’m declaring finders keepers!”

She looked back at Hazel and Betty. “From our iffy shared history, need I remind you two about the rules?”

Betty waved her off. “What rules? You always cheat.”

Hazel joined in. “I distinctly recall you hightailing it out of town instead of waiting for us for a
certain
beach trip.”

Martha glared. “Are you accusing me of plotting?”

Betty tsked, tsked her. “I guess you sneaking off in the wee hours is considered normal? I heard you hired a taxi, and wasted time eating breakfast out, until the bus finally showed up in another town so you wouldn’t be seen.”

“Those town gossips have tentacles everywhere!”

Hazel gave Martha a steely look. “Plus, you promised you would wait for us and you didn’t!”

Enough was enough.
“Ladies! That’s ancient history.”

There was a tap, tap on the opened glass door. We all turned to look.

It was Luc, winking at me. “Excusez-moi, Madame. I did not know you had company.”

He would have had to be deaf, not to hear all the noise.

I smiled, winking back at him, and then made all the necessary intros with Betty and Hazel. He made a gallant show of pleasure in meeting them and welcoming them to his country of France.

He then turned to me. “Madame, if I could have a word with you outside, regarding the gardens?”

My antenna went up. Why was he asking me about the gardens? This was Curat’s villa.

He saw my reaction. “It is only that you know so much about gardening and flowers, I thought I might get …how do you say... your opinion?”

“…Okay.”