86 Avenue du Goulet (A Samantha Jamison Mystery Volume 3) (9 page)

Chapter 38

Following The Past

Now, was there something more than petty annoyances and jealousy going on? Blackmail seemed farfetched. Why was Sorrell tossing my attention to the Toussouts and those rumors, decades old? Were they actually relevant now?

I sat staring out at the water, sipping my morning coffee and thinking about my visit to Sorrell. Interesting stuff and a possible diversion, but how could I work that into my story? Could I make it have any relevance to my plot? I doubted my editor would think so. I could clearly visualize her comments in the edit sidebar and smiled.

“…Hello! Are you there? Hello!”

I jumped at Martha’s touch. She was staring at me, as were Hazel and Betty, hovering just behind her.

“…Sorry,” I said. “I was thinking about some things.”

Martha shook her head, but then smiled, knowingly.

“I’ve seen that look before. Something is up, isn’t it?”

Hazel was excited. “You’re in another caper, right?”

I didn’t answer, but she turned to Betty, grinning. “Did you catch that? Sounds like another case.”

Betty nodded approval. “Hazel, ‘caper’ sums it up just like those old detective novels we both devour.”

Martha pulled up a chair beside me. “Now, without traveling down that road of yours with all your usual denials, how about you telling the three of us exactly what is going on?”

Betty and Hazel sat down too and I realized I was cornered.

“It certainly would save us a lot of time trying to pry it out of you, or following you around, listening and watching your every move, like before,” Betty pointed out.

I sighed. But they had proven their worth in the past. Maybe they could be extra sets of eyes and ears and help me. What did I have to lose by confiding in them? I smiled, thinking back on all the chaos they seemed to attract.

…All right, me too.

“Only if you promise me that you three will not do anything crazy without consulting me first, or no deal.”

The three of them exchanged excited looks, but then smiled blandly at me and nodded.

Martha patted my arm. “Great! I was getting a little bored anyway. Inactivity leads to mental rigor mortis.”

“Personally speaking,” said Betty, “I’ve just about seen enough lace panties and bras at all those markets.”

Hazel laughed. “Sam, we brought our iPads and walking shoes with us just in case. Knowing you, we were hoping something might be in the works. Finally, a case to crack!”

I took another sip of coffee, wondering where to begin. “I don’t know what I have exactly, but it sure is interesting, I have to admit. The more I dig, the more mystifying it all gets.”

Martha leaned back in her chair, getting comfortable. “Okay, spill.”

And I did, telling them everything I knew so far: the pet bones, the neighbor’s backgrounds, their animosity, the brooch incident, seeing the two women at the restaurant, the cat lady, the mysterious truck, noises heard from down below, to the red light district and sugar daddy across the street, and of course, the possibility of blackmail.

Betty lightly whistled. “My, you have been busy!”

Hazel hastily took notes, more for her own benefit than mine. She was always jotting down things she might forget that she thought might be important later.

Hazel was slightly shorter than Betty, who leaned toward the thin side, but she was surprisingly in good shape. It must be from heaving and stacking all those books in Clay’s bookstore. She was bristling with excitement and fussing with her curly gray hair in anticipation. “French intrigue at its finest!”

Chapter 39

Armed For Answers

After some epicurean tips from Martine, I was armed with more than questions for Madame Toussout. I had been checking all morning from my upper terrace and finally noticed her all by herself in her backyard, clipping some roses for an empty vase sitting on her patio table.

I also found out from Martine how envious Madame Toussout was of Martine and Curat’s gardens because of their apricot trees. She adored apricots. I picked a basketful, stuck a ribbon on the handle, and hustled over for a speedy interview, excuse me,
chat
.

I called out from her walk-in gate, as she was pruning poolside. “Madame Toussout. I’ve brought you a gift.”

She looked up guardedly, but her curiosity got the better of her when she noticed the covered basket I was carrying. She set her clippers down on a nearby table, removed her gloves and slowly approached.

“What is this about a gift for me?” she asked, eyeing the basket and opening her gate slowly.

I smiled. “I heard you loved apricots and Curat’s trees are filled with them, so naturally, I thought of you.”

She grinned, pleased. “Oh, how thoughtful of you to remember me and my passion for apricots. Please, won’t you sit by the pool with me and have some ice tea and maybe we can sample one or two while we talk?”

I was in.
“I’d love to. How nice of you to ask!”

She gestured to a table and some chairs under a pergola of clematis vines and I made myself comfortable on the shaded patio. When she had disappeared inside the house to get us tea, I glanced up at Curat’s curved wall, spilling over with red bougainvillea, checking it out. I wondered how she heard the sound she had described all the way from down here.

I turned at her footsteps.

“Here we go—don’t they look delicious?”

We settled in, enjoying the fresh apricots and sipping tea. She was experiencing such pleasure in the fruit I’d brought I almost felt bad bringing up the past and all the negativity attached to it. Like I said, I
almost
felt bad.

But how did she rationalize what happened?

“Madame Toussout, I heard your relationship with your neighbor on the hill goes back many, many years.”

She set her tea down. “I am afraid there is no friendship any longer between us.”

“Oh, that is truly a shame. I’m sorry to hear that.”

“Yes. I have discovered even time can’t erase history.”

“A history of rumors, or something more?”

Her eyes held mine. “Whose version?”

“Why don’t you tell me yours?”

She started fidgeting with her hands in her lap, and then became indignant. Why the conflicting body language?

“How was I to know it was all true and that Henri was secretly meeting with that woman when I accused him of that very thing in public? I know my husband wouldn’t lie to me, would he?”

What was in Henri’s letter?

Chapter 40

Revving Up For A Change

Half an hour later I walked back to my villa, with nothing more than a basket filled with more useless gossip. A loud roar closed in on me. I sidestepped on the narrow road to make room, except no one passed by.

The engine sounded familiar.

Curious, I turned to see who had stopped beside me. There was a smiling Crystal, the owner of Crystal Clear Cleaners of Ocean City, New Jersey, straddling a Harley motorcycle.

“Well, look what we have here!” I said, running over to hug her. “I guess you got my email invite. Welcome to the Riviera. Hey, who’s watching your cleaning business?”

Crystal smirked. “My husband, Pete, of course. After putting up with his father and all his baggage, I deserved it. So, I handed him the mop, saying, ‘you know what to do.’”

“Where did you get the Harley?”

“I rented it for a few weeks from Prestige Motorcycles. Can you imagine a Harley dealer within fifteen minutes of your villa? You know, I’d be lost without a Harley to ride.”

Her traveling tattoos glistened under a tight tee shirt and leather vest, while her jeans hugged her shapely, toned body. Her helmet camouflaged her long brown hair.

“I guess you were heading up to my villa?”

She nodded. “Want a short lift?”

“Sure. I’ve got the remote, so slow down at the entrance, then I’ll press the remote and we can ride right through.”

In seconds, we glided through the gates, coming to a stop at the front door. Martha, Hazel and Betty rushed over.

“What a sight for sore eyes,” laughed Martha.

“Crystal, how nice to see you, again,” Betty greeted.

Hazel eyed the Harley. “Perfect! We’ve got backup.”

Crystal looked at her. “What do you mean, backup?”

“We’re on another case!” Hazel announced proudly.

Crystal laughed. “Already? It’s only been a few weeks!”

Martha smirked. “You know how she attracts it.”

I turned to her. “Attracts what?”

“Mysteries, and now, murder,” she tossed back.

Crystal did a double take. “Murder?”

Betty lifted a backpack from Crystal’s motorcycle and headed toward the villa’s foyer door. “We’ll explain later.”

Hazel grabbed the other bag and followed Betty. “Wait until you hear about her tango with Philippe!”

Crystal looked at me. “You danced a tango? Who is Philippe?”

Martha smirked. “Picture an orchid between her teeth.”

Crystal started laughing. “I can see I came just in time.”

“You’re telling us!” Betty said, laughing.

Hazel started for the door. “The only one missing is…”

I cut her a sharp look of warning about her next words.

“…Sneakers, of course, your cat.” she added quickly.

Martha flashed a grin. “Touchy! You know that…”

I gave her the evil eye back. “Hey, enough!”

They were all trouble with a capital T.

Chapter 41

A Mazed In St. Tropez

“Now, this is how it’s going down, ladies,” I said, while we were walking away from the car. I felt like a drill sergeant, but if I didn’t take control now, the whole shopping experience could end up a fiasco. “We’ll try to begin near the wharf where some nice shops are and weave our way over toward the park, and then back again, covering most of the maze of small boutiques in a grid pattern. I don’t want any of you wandering off.”

Hazel became upset. “I take it you don’t trust us?”

“Where could we possibly go?” Betty asked, offended.

Martha huffed. “Don’t you think your stretching it?”

Instead of letting Crystal stay home to rest from her trip, I should have dragged her along. She would have been an extra set of eyes to counter their constant wanderlust. Besides, I felt responsible for them. This was an unfamiliar area, easy to get lost in, plus it was crowded with tourists.

“No, I’m sticking on the side of caution with you three.”

“I don’t see why!” Betty argued. “I’ve got a map!”

Martha held up her hand. “Forget it, we’ve got bigger fish to fry than to stand here and quibble. I need a bikini!”

I was going to suggest she might want to reconsider a bikini, but then figured, why not? It’s the Riviera. Briefly, I even considered buying one for myself, something I wouldn’t have done while married to Stephen. “I think you should get one.”

Martha’s eyes narrowed, trying to figure out if that was meant to be a sarcastic comment.

I smiled. “I’m serious.”

“I will if you will,” she replied.

I hesitated, but then thought—why not? “Deal.”

She laughed. “Now, that’s the way to go!” She then leaned closer to us, whispering, “Don’t look right this second, but there’s a small truck back there that seems to be trailing us since we parked. There are two men inside, watching us. Why, I do believe they might be attracted to our group, especially me.”

I looked at her rhinestone-dotted tee shirt that sort of matched her rhinestone sunglasses, skinny jeans and silver sandals. Thank goodness I had sunglasses on. It was quite a blinding getup.

She might have a point. She looked as though she had just stepped off one of the cruise ships in the harbor.

After taking turns checking out the truck, Hazel said, “I agree. I think they’ve never seen anything quite like you.”

Martha looked suspicious. “Was that a wisecrack?”

Hazel smiled sweetly. “Didn’t you get my nuance?”

Betty cut in. “They’re probably looking for an address.”

“Frenchmen like hot women!” said Martha, primping.

I checked out the truck, laughing. The two men inside were looking straight at us. “Maybe you’re right.”

Betty checked her watch. “Let’s get a move on, ladies.”

An hour into the spree, Hazel continued, “…nine…”

Martha turned to her. “I think we all got the message.”

“She’s only counting Lamborghinis.” Betty said.

“Yeah, but she sounds like a tourist for goodness sake.”

Hazel stopped short, staring at Martha. “Listen to who’s talking, Miss Rhinestone Sunglasses.”

Martha adjusted them. “A woman always needs bling.”

Betty pointed at Martha. “Talk about being touristy.”

I felt a headache coming on from the heat. “Hey, can we move along?” Then I noticed that same truck from earlier parked off to the side with the same two men inside. I shrugged them off.
Deliverymen,
I thought and walked on to the next shop.

Two hours later, I felt like a dishrag, starting to sweat and becoming dizzy from tramping in and out of dozens of boutiques, waiting and watching my friends try on bathing suits, gold chains, high heeled sandals, colorful skirts and bicker about sizes and prices with the store personnel. Where did they get the energy? I was running on my last cylinder of stamina and patience as we exited a shop, standing outside on the sidewalk, my decision finally made.

I looked down at my watch. “I think I’ve had enough!”

Betty looked startled. “Why, we’re just getting started.”

“It’s still early,” Hazel added, checking her watch.

Martha simply smiled. “I’m impressed that you lasted so long. Obviously, you are not a pro at shopping like us.”

I raised my hands in praise. “Amen to that. If I see lace, smell potpourri or perfume one more time, I think I’ll throw up.”

Hazel patted my shoulder gently. “We’ll walk faster.”

I pointed out on her map a wharf café. “Just in case we’re separated, we’ll meet there,” I said, pointing. “At the Café Provence at three p.m., okay?”

Betty nodded. “We better move along then, ladies.”

“Come on. We’ll have to hustle to cover the rest of those shops,” ordered Martha, tugging me along.

“Isn’t this exciting?” asked Hazel.

“Will you check out that guy in shorts!” said Martha.

“Which one?” Betty asked, fussing with her hair.

I dawdled, letting them get ahead. It was all a bit much and I really was getting tired. I called out to Martha. “I’ll meet you at three, okay?”

She stared at me for a second and nodded, then finally waved me off good-naturedly. “If you insist.”

I spotted a bikini in the window of the next boutique.
Not bad
. I went in, plunked my card down to purchase it in my size, and exited in five minutes flat. Now that was my version of shopping!

I really let them go so I could rest at the café by myself to think. I wanted to write up some notes about the truck even though they were probably deliverymen. Maybe I could convince my editor that there was something more sinister about the truck.

I sighed. It was hard to come up with a good reason for why two men in a van would be trailing three old ladies on a shopping spree. I laughed. Even I couldn’t explain that one.