Queen of the Trailer Park (Rosie Maldonne's World Book 1) (15 page)

42

After a game show followed by a very long commercial break, I caught the news. A huge photo of Véro was plastered across the screen.

The news anchor said that any person who could provide information on Véronique Lambert, the mother of Pierre Lanoux, who had been kidnapped under dramatic circumstances, was to report to the police.

They were clearly getting nowhere with the investigation; otherwise, why would the cops have had to call on the media?

I tried to piece the whole story together in my head.

Monday morning, Véro’s boyfriend, Alexandre (real name Luc Berger), was out with Pierre.

At some point, Simon had hidden under a table and seen an ogre crying. Mommy ogre was in the habit of eating babies, apparently . . .

Véro had also been in tears. She’d had a fight on the sidewalk with Michel.

She’d felt helpless and had left the stroller, with Pierre still inside it, in the middle of the sidewalk.

As I thought about it all, I realized the story was even more confusing than before.

Just then I heard the cricket singing from my cell. I picked up.

“Cricri, it’s me.”

“Véro!”

Her voice was distorted, slurred, slow, hesitant—but I recognized it all the same.

“Yes.”

My body tensed. Véro. I had to be careful not to frighten her. My heart was pounding.
Find the right words. I have to find out where she is.

“Have you taken something? What have you taken?”

She snickered, then hiccupped. It sounded like a sob.

“Where are you? Everyone’s looking for you. I just saw your photo on TV.”

“That’s why I’m calling you. I don’t want you to worry. And I want to know how Simon’s doing. He’s still with you, isn’t he?”

“Yes, but I don’t know for how much longer.”

“I’m going to write a letter. I’ll send it to child services, the police, and the papers.”

“Saying what?”

“That you get custody of Simon if something happens to me.”

“What do you think might happen to you? Where are you?”

I heard a strange noise. This time it sounded like she was choking. Or maybe just crying.

“Véro!”

“I don’t know what’s going on. I don’t know what’s happened, but . . .”

“But what?”

Another sob, this time louder than the others.

“Promise me you won’t do anything stupid, OK?” I said.

“It’s too late, Cricri. I’ve already done everything stupid in the book . . .”

She hung up.

Through the miracle of modern technology (and all the money I’d spent on the new phone), the number she’d called from appeared on my small screen.

I called Information and requested the address of that phone number. Five minutes later I had it: the Midi Health Insurance office, 43 Boulevard du Maréchal Juin.

Of course. That was the last place she’d worked. She’d had a two-week cleaning contract with them. But what the hell was she doing there at eleven o’clock on a Saturday night? It’s closed on Saturdays.

She must have needed to hole up for a few days. She’d had to find some sort of hideout, an abandoned house or an empty office. That place is huge.

But what was she doing about food? And washing?

These thoughts were all irrelevant.

What was actually going on? Why wasn’t Véro with the cops trying to get her son back?

I called the number of the Midi Health Insurance office. It rang for what felt like hours and never went to voice mail.

My friend the cricket started singing again. What now? At this hour? Could it be Véro again?

It was Jérôme. My cutie calling me in the middle of the night? I felt flattered.

“Hi!”

“Hey, stranger,” I said.

“What are you doing?”

“I’m about to go to sleep in my lovely big bed. You?”

“I’m in the parking lot outside your hotel looking at your bedroom window.”

My eyes went to the window. “What for?”

“I’m thinking. Thinking about you. I’m watching over you. Protecting you.”

“From what?”

“From everything. From yourself.”

Oh. “I see. OK, good night.”

“Good night.”

What a pointless conversation. And so ended Saturday.

Sunday: A Seagull from Europe or Africa?

43

Sunday morning, when room service knocked on the door, we were already washed and dressed. I knew I had to look for Véro at the Midi Health Insurance place. I had tried to call again, but there was still no answer.

Today I had the big opening number from
Oliver!
in my head.
Food, glorious food!

Images paraded through my mind: hot sausages and mustard, jelly and custard, some pease pudding and saveloys. A real feast!

I knew every word. I’d even sung it down at Sélect. I couldn’t see what it had to do with what was going on today. But I wasn’t overly concerned. The solutions to my mom’s riddles always became clear at some point in the day—usually when I least expected them.

My mind was made up about my little nest egg. There was no way I was going to end up in jail—or even worse, six feet under—because of this money business.

I realized that it was over, the whole being rich thing. On Tuesday, I’d be poor again. After having tasted luxury, I had a feeling that the fall was going to hit me hard. I had Sunday and Monday left to do whatever the hell I pleased with my illicit stash.

I’d have to make a list of everything I needed that this dough could buy me. I’d go and get all of it on Monday, and then on Tuesday, I’d go down to city hall and hand over the cash. Well, what was left of it.

This was going to be my story: two shady guys had asked me to give an envelope to the mayor.

They’d seen me as a soft touch, used me as a go-between, and I had no idea what it was all about.

I was promised a payment of one hundred euros for this small favor. I’d gone ahead and opened the envelope. It contained a huge pile of cash and I’d cracked. Decided not to give it to the mayor. But then I felt guilty about what I’d done. I was so scared of being arrested. I wanted to hand this money over to its rightful owner.

I was also sure that there’d be an investigation into it. That the mayor’s opposition would want to shed some light on everything.

So that would be my story. I was ready to negotiate with the mayor.

I wanted him to leave me to live in peace in my trailer. In any case, after this public scandal, surely he’d have to abandon the whole casino plan. And honestly, what did I care if it was this mayor or some other dude? Who could guarantee life would be any better with someone else?

My plan was a bit makeshift, just like everything else I do.

We all sat down to have our breakfast. I was hoping that sitting around a table would speed things up. As I munched away at my croissants, the song returned:
Food, glorious food!

After we’d filled our bellies, we rushed down to the Midi Health Insurance building. When we got there, of course, everything was a lot more complicated than I’d expected. It was closed. I called the number on my cell, but nobody picked up. When I took a closer look, I could see that the building ran the length of the whole block. There was an alleyway behind, with another entrance.

I banged on the security gates. “Véro! Véro! It’s me, open up!”

The alleyway linked two streets together. There were two cars parked there, but other than that, it was empty.

A guy walked past with his dog. He gave me a sideways glance, then quickly disappeared around a corner. I continued to yell, shaking the security grille. I pressed a button.

It was a doorbell I’d managed to reach by squeezing my arm through the grille.

A woman walked toward me, also with a dog. As she approached, she said, “That’s the insurance place, ma’am.”

“So what?”

“So, the offices are closed on Sundays.”

I ignored her and continued yelling. “Vérooo!”

The lady obviously really wanted to help. “No one lives there, you know. I think you’ve made a mistake. You won’t find anyone in there on a Sunday.”

I turned to face her and actually snarled, my lips curling. This was the kind of language she’d be sure to understand, seeing as she had a dog.

It worked. She skedaddled.

I continued banging and shouting for a while, and then the nippers got sick of it all and we left.

No sign of Véro. This put me in a pretty bad mood. I was sure she was hiding out in there. Well, now there was nothing I could do about it before Monday. I’d have to wait overnight.

We went back to our suite.

But I had the urge to get out of there, to go for a wander, a picnic or something. It was time for
food, glorious food!
A real picnic feast! We could head out to the mountains. The fresh air would do us good.

However, there were a number of obstacles in our way if we were to make this shit happen. I didn’t know how to drive. I didn’t have a car. I didn’t want to call Jérôme. Gaston wasn’t around. Mimi was working.

Véro, well, you already know. The customers at Sélect, who were my buddies too, didn’t leave their barstools all that often. Ismène intimidated me. And on Sundays, it takes ages for a bus to come.

So I had the awesome idea to call a taxi.

This is a typical thing rich guys do, but it wouldn’t normally cross my mind. I knew I’d be saying good-bye to my cash in the days that followed, but that Sunday I still had a load of it in the bottom of my purse—enough to pay for a taxi, anyway. I was going to make the most of it. I asked room service to prepare us some sandwiches. It was time to get the hell out of Dodge.

Eventually, we found ourselves traipsing up the path leading to the ruins of the Chapelle-Saint-Jean. It was a route once taken by Napoleon himself.

I was wearing wedge heels. Have you ever tried climbing a mountain in wedge heels? I didn’t have it in me to make it all the way up to the chapel.

We stumbled across the ruins of a seventeenth-century mill by the side of a river and all sat down, pretending to fish for shrimp. We were waiting until we were really hungry before starting our picnic.

That’s when I heard the voices.

44

Simon was playing with the twins, and Sabrina was lying down, stretched out along the edge of the creek with me. We were lazing in the sun when I overheard a conversation. Unlike us, these guys sounded a couple sandwiches short of a picnic.

“Jesus. What the hell is she doing? Stupid bitch with her idiot offspring! Why can’t she just go to McDonald’s on a Sunday like everyone else?”

“Think about it. If she was at McDonald’s, we wouldn’t be able to do our job, now, would we?”

“You’re right. You’re the brains of this operation, aren’t you?”

I was pissed at them for disturbing my daydreaming sesh. For once I’d decided to relax a little, and now here these two loudmouths had shown up to disturb my yin and yang with their personal problems.

I was just about to tell them to shut their stupid mouths when one of them added, “We’re total bosses when it comes to tracking people down, aren’t we? What was it that taxi driver said again?”

Taxi driver? I went cold.

“I couldn’t catch everything he said. He was speaking kinda weird, right?”

“It’s hard to spit it out when you’ve got a broken jaw! Why don’t you take note for once: always wait for the answers to your questions before you hit them!”

“I just can’t stop myself sometimes! You sure that when he said
hig nig
he meant picnic?”

“Sure I’m sure! Today’s Sunday. So, it’s logical. It’s picnic day! Everyone in France has a picnic on a Sunday, right? A nice little picnic with the brats. What in Christ’s name would you be doing around these parts if it wasn’t having a picnic? Maybe if we’d gotten a few more details, it’d be easier to track them down!”

“Listen up. All we have to do is put our ear to the ground, see if we can hear any kids playing.”

“He said
sapel sent hon
, that was the name of the place. I got a feeling we’re on to something. We just have to translate
sapel sent hon
into normal language.”

Sabrina, who is never one to miss a trick and is the absolute queen of translating made-up languages, whispered, “They’re talking about the Thapel-Thaint-Zean, Mom!”

The Chapelle-Saint-Jean? Could it really have been the guy driving our taxi who’d spilled on me? But to who? Well, obviously to these idiots. Whoever the hell they were.

I grabbed my backpack with the food, water, and diapers, threw a twin under each arm, and signaled to the two older ones to follow me without saying a word. They thought we were playing a fun new game. We headed inside the ruins of the mill and hid in the midst of the undergrowth.

Then Sabrina and Simon got the giggles. I had to keep them quiet, so I told them that the witch had sent two of her broomsticks, disguised as bandits, and that they were looking for us.

I could get them to do whatever I wanted if I involved a witch. For the time being, I was able to quiet them; like me, they were listening in on what the two broomsticks were up to.

After a while, they grew restless. The voices were too distant to hear properly, and Sabrina started whispering questions. “What are the two bwoomthtickth called, Mom?”

“They use the names the witch gave them.”

“What names?”

“Um . . . The first one’s called Dopey.”

The kids chuckled.

“And the second one’s called Dumbo.”

The older kids quietly repeated the two names while trying to hold back from laughing.

I didn’t want to come out of our hidey-hole. I was scared. If these two layabouts were really after me, it meant three things. One: they were with the Mamma. Two: they’d been following me for some time and were probably the ones who’d ransacked my home. Three: they weren’t as dumb as all that if they’d found me at the hotel and then tracked me down this far.

I was sure they’d be passing by here as soon as they discovered we weren’t at the Chapelle-Saint-Jean. But what was it with these guys? We couldn’t even go for a stroll in the mountains without everything catching up to us. This was nuts.

Deep in thought, I realized my mistake. They weren’t looking for us at the chapel.

They must have spotted us while we were hiding. They’d only pretended to move away so they could take us by surprise. Sure enough, I heard a loud cracking noise followed by a holler. At the same time, I felt a huge hand on my shoulder and then another over my mouth.

They’d obviously sneaked back and come at us from behind. They couldn’t possibly have expected the chaos that followed. Sabrina and Simon fled from the scene, screaming. The twins, usually so cheerful and content, were howling with terror.

Two babies shrieking in fear is a sound that’ll knock anyone’s socks off, let me tell you. Especially if you’re not used to it.

The more the two guys shouted at us, the louder Emma and Lisa screamed.

I watched the scene from the sidelines, praying to Saint Expeditus to take these two guys out. That’s when I recognized them: these were the thugs from the Hôtel de Provence, the ones who’d later showed up at Sélect with a weapon.

They had to be the ones who’d destroyed my trailer. And who’d lost the cash.

I couldn’t move a muscle. I’d been thrown to the ground, still muzzled and held captive. Suddenly, Dopey set off walking toward the twins. He was shouting at them to be silent. Like some command sergeant major.

I saw red. I don’t know how, but I managed to bite Dumbo’s thumb. I freed my mouth from his grip and added to the chaos, yelling, “Idiots! If you touch a single hair on those twins’ heads, your balls will be down your throat and you’ll be pissing through your short and curlies!”

I know. A brilliant new insult. It just came out like that.

It seemed to have made an impression on Dopey, because he turned back around to look at me before he got to the twins, glowering.

“These are supposed to be twins? I’ve never heard such bull.” Then he added, “If you tell us what we want to know, we won’t touch them.”

“We’ll see about that.”

My response made him even angrier.

Meanwhile the other one was just standing there, rubbing his thumb. “Fucking bitch! She bit me! I can’t believe it!”

“You should have kept your paws off me, then. And watch your language. There are children here.”

“You hear how she’s talking to me? Shut your mouth,” he said sulkily. “We’re not having a fucking conversation here.”

I looked at Dopey, who seemed to be the leader, and rolled my eyes. “You’re not gonna get too far with this goon, are you? He can’t even handle a little bite. What is it you want? I’m just a single mom taking care of her kids. Can’t you see that? Nothing could be more normal than that, right?”

He’d pulled out a large pistol to try and keep me under control, so I added, “Oh, I’m playing with the big boys now. Do I scare you or something?”

“Shut your face.”

This one really was the boss. He was quick with the comebacks.

I couldn’t see how they were going to keep me under control and manage to keep four small children away from me at the same time. It was a superhuman task. Poor guys.

Unless they’d already decided to take us all out.