by Nell Goddin
“Are you…are you saying this is a crime scene?” asked Molly, though of course she had been thinking along those lines herself.
“We don’t know yet, right, Gérard?” said Ben. “But it’s good practice to take precautions, just in case.”
Dr. Vernay shrugged. He and Anne-Marie passed through and Ben pulled the pocket doors of the library closed, then realized he should secure the door leading into the library from the kitchen as well.
“Stay in front of the door, chérie,” he said to Molly in a low voice. “I’ll be right back.”
No sign of Simon or Camille. Dr. Vernay had taken a seat at the dining room table and was answering questions from the others.
“You can’t tell how she died? Was it…was it natural?” asked Anne-Marie. Her face was pale.
“I can’t say without a thorough examination. I didn’t notice anything out of order—she certainly wasn’t shot or stabbed, in any case. Of course, my expertise is with the living.” He passed a hand through his sparse hair. “It’s true that it’s not unheard-of, someone this young dying of a heart attack. Though it would be quite unusual. Terrible thing,” he added, shaking his head.
“Anne-Marie, if you can—could you try to find Chloë and Giselle? This is going to be an awful shock for them. Ben has parked me right here guarding the library or I’d come with you. And where is Lapin?”
“I just want to go home,” said Marie-Claire. She had not had any cake but sat with her coat on, looking anxious. Pascal jerked his head toward the door and nodded, and the two of them left by the front door. A burst of wind whipped through but the rain had finally abated.
Molly stood with her back against the pocket doors, thinking quickly. Ben almost certainly believes Violette was murdered, she thought. Right in the next room, with such a crowd here! It seemed impossible. How long were the lights out, anyway? And if she had been murdered, how? Molly longed to get back in the library and have a look around, but she knew Ben would disapprove. And she had no desire to get on the wrong side of the new chief of gendarmes, who must be on her way that very second.
“What in the world?” said Simon, striding into the dining room followed by Frances, who went straight to Nico and wrapped her arms around him.
“I’m sorry, it’s obviously your house, but Ben told me not to let anyone in. Potential crime scene,” said Molly with a grimace.
“Crime scene? What are you talking about? If something is wrong with Violette, I want to see her!”
“She’s dead, Simon,” Molly said quietly. “Here, I’ll slide the door open so you can see for yourself.”
Molly pulled the doors apart about ten centimeters, and Simon stuck his head in. She thought she heard a quick intake of breath.
“Has someone called an ambulance?” he said, his voice rising.
Molly shook her head. She could see him slowly taking in the situation.
“Are you telling me that Violette has been murdered in our house, right in the middle of a dinner party?” He was incredulous. “How is that even possible?”
No one answered, since there was no answer to give.
“So what now?” he asked Molly. “Is Ben—have the gendarmes been called?”
“Ben used to be the chief, so he has things in hand. Perhaps you want to go to your wife and children?”
Simon looked at her distractedly, then blinked several times. “Yes, of course,” he said, and left the dining room, his expression stony.
“I guess we should all go home,” said Frances. “I’m feeling like a kind of grisly spectator, watching this whole thing play out. That poor young woman. I’m about to throw up my cake.”
“Do you and Ben need us?” asked Nico, and when Molly shook her head, the couple left, Dr. Vernay following them out.
Way too many people to keep track of, Molly thought, still standing against the door, trying to fix in her mind all the comings and goings she could remember over the course of the night.
And where was Lapin?
The white van of Florian Nagrand pulled up while Molly was still standing guard at the library door.
“I’m very glad to see you!” she said, as the big man bustled through the dining room, smelling of tobacco and smoke, his black bag in hand.
“Always on the scene, eh?” he said, making a sly smile as he opened the pocket doors and stepped through.
Ben came into the dining room and put his arm around Molly’s shoulders. “Once Paul-Henri gets here, we should probably leave,” he said quietly. “Just to give the new chief some room. But in the meantime, see what you can overhear. Still no sign of Camille?”
Molly shook her head and then went to have a look around as discreetly as possible. She was worried about the girls, not having heard or seen them since just after the lights went out. It was strange, the way Camille had disappeared. The house was roomy, but not so large that multiple people could get lost in it and not be overheard at all. She must have heard the commotion downstairs. And would a woman of her background just vanish in the middle of her own dinner party?
Molly considered for a moment, and decided to see if anyone was still in the kitchen. For sure, the gendarmes would not appreciate her talking to the cook before they did, but the opportunity was too good to waste.
Merla was at the sink, washing a pot, while her daughter unloaded the dishwasher.
“Bonsoir,” said Molly, and introduced herself. “Though I suppose it’s not a very good evening at all, is it. Did Monsieur Dufort tell you what has happened?”
Merla nodded, her expression dark. Ophélie brushed a tear away and kept stacking plates. They did not speak.
Molly had been hoping at least one of them would be chatty. She took a deep breath. “I want to tell you how much I was enjoying the meal before the lights went out. The lamb was absolutely superb! I know you must have some secret ingredients in there somewhere—I could identify some of the herbs but there was an elusive flavor, something extraordinary I couldn’t quite out my finger on…”
Merla smiled faintly. She started to say something but only got out a half-syllable before stopping herself.
Dang it, thought Molly, what does she want to tell me? And why does she feel like she can’t say it?
“Are you still hungry?” asked Ophélie. “I could heat up a few of those crab hors d’oeuvres you liked.”
“I’m stuffed, really I am…but maybe just one, if you’ll join me?”
Ophélie got a tray from the refrigerator and peeled back the plastic wrap.
“I don’t know why you want to go messing everything up again,” said her mother.
“I’m not. Just warming up a few of these. I’ll put some in for you, too.”
Merla looked somewhat mollified, but turned back to the sink with her lips firmly pressed together.
“What did you do when the lights went out?” Molly asked. “That was a little scary.”
“At least we had the pilot light on the stove,” said Ophélie. “So it was dark, but not like the rest of the house. Plus we’re sort of used to it, because the power at our house goes out all the time. I think we’ve got some mice in the basement who keep chewing on the wires or something.”
“Ophélie!” said Merla.
“It’s not a big deal, Mother. Not like Molly’s going to be running all over the village telling people about how our electrical system needs updating. For one thing, that’s boring. And for another, you’ve heard of Molly Sutton, right? She listens more than she talks.”
Molly was momentarily flustered by the unexpected compliment and could think of nothing to say except thank you.
Merla faced her, crossing her arms. “I haven’t been in this house long. Madame hired me for this dinner, and I hoped it might lead to something more permanent, you understand? So I came one day to talk about the menu, and then early this morning to start cooking. That is the only time I have been here.”
Molly nodded, having the sense not to interrupt.
“I am
a plain speaker, Madame Sutton. And I will tell you this: that nanny was the best person in this house. Well, apart from the children.” She turned back around and scrubbed the pot with vigor.
“Are the kids okay?” asked Ophélie.
“Honestly, I don’t know. I haven’t seen them since the lights went out.”
Ophélie took the pan of heated hors d’oeuvres from the oven, and the three women picked them up, lightly burning their fingers, and ate. Molly had many more questions to ask, but decided it was more important to tread lightly so that they would trust her, rather than hit them with rapid-fire questions at such a sensitive moment.
She ate six more of the crab doo-dads, as Lawrence called them.
And where the hell had Lawrence gone? Was there a secret pit somewhere, swallowing people up left and right?
“I’m sorry if I sound nosy,” Molly said. “But I can’t help wondering—had Violette seemed ill at all? Fragile?”
Merla grunted. “If you think that girl died all on her own, with no assistance? Then I don’t know if you’re such a great detective after all.”
Molly would have laughed if the subject weren’t so somber. “So you think it was murder,” she said softly.
“Violette has been running after those two young girls all day. In and out, past the kitchen window, riding bicycles, what have you. She was not ill.”
“Thank you,” said Molly. “I appreciate hearing your observations very much. If it’s all right,” she added, on her way out, “could I drop by sometime for a chat? Or maybe you’d like to come to La Baraque? I’m not at all your equal in the kitchen, but you won’t starve!”
Merla shrugged but Ophélie looked thrilled. “I’ll give you a call,” said Molly, and went back through the swinging door to the foyer, set on finding the young Valettes and making sure they were safe. The poor things would undoubtedly be very upset, given the horrible turn the night had taken.
What was going on in this house? She looked around at the details of the decoration, as if the wallpaper or silver teapot could have something to tell her. Eventually she heard young voices and headed in their direction.
12
Florian was an old hand, and he set about this latest case by going through his usual careful procedures, step by painstaking step, taking notes as he went along. He was pleased to be the first on the scene and hoped the gendarmes took their time and did not arrive too quickly.
Ben had been a colleague for many years, back when he was a gendarme. He knew Florian well, and they had always had a mutually agreeable relationship, occasionally cutting the odd bureaucratic corner when it was sensible to do so. Now that he was a civilian, Ben had enough decorum to stay out of the library, though he watched the coroner work from the dining room. Molly was leaning so far into the library she was about to fall onto the rug.
“Can’t you ask him anything?” she whispered to Ben.
He shook his head.
“Just whether it was a natural death or a murder? Just that one tiny question?”
“Patience, Molly! We’ll find out soon enough.”
“I’m a bit surprised Gérard didn’t catch it,” said Florian to Molly and Ben, speaking of Dr. Vernay and sounding quite pleased with himself. “It’s true that it’s an exceptionally neat affair, lacking many of the most-often seen attributes. Also true that the ligature was high up, hidden under the chin as it were, instead of lower down the neck where it would easily be noticed. But of course, the effect is the same.”
“Ligature?” said Molly, unable to help herself.
Grunting, Florian struggled to his feet. “As usual, I will have more to say after I’ve given her a good once-over at the morgue. But yes, I did say ‘ligature.’ I don’t see the cord anywhere near the body, but that’s the gendarmes’ job, anyway. As for manner of death: she was asphyxiated, strangled. By a thin cord or string.”
“But we were all right in the next room!”
“Yes, well, apparently so. Perhaps everyone was distracted by their dinner and heard no disturbance.”
“Can you say how much noise it would have made? I didn’t see any sign of struggle—no furniture overturned at least. She was lying by the fire rather peacefully.”
“I’m glad, for her sake,” said Florian, “because I don’t need to point out that strangulation is generally not a very pleasant way to meet one’s end. My guess—though again, I’ll be able to give a more complete picture later on—is that she died quickly. Perhaps she was surprised, the killer was strong, and it was over in a matter of seconds. Pressure to the carotid artery could have caused her to black out, which might explain no noise or visual indications of a struggle.”
Molly shivered. “So it was simply that …the lights went out, and the killer seized his chance.”
“Bonsoir, Ben and Molly,” said Paul-Henri Monsour, coming through the dining room with a grave expression.
“Not for the nanny,” said Molly. “Florian says she was strangled.”
Florian sighed, wishing that for once he be allowed to speak for himself.
“Is she local?” Paul-Henri asked Ben.
“Is this your idea of securing a crime scene?” said a stern voice from the direction of the foyer.
Ben, Molly, and Paul-Henri turned to see Chantal Charlot, the new chief, standing with her hands on her narrow hips, glaring at all of them and taking control without hesitation. “Officer Monsour, get out the tape and mark off both of these rooms. I don’t know who you people are, but get out. We’ve got work to do and your interference is not welcome.”
Ben and Molly both started to speak but the chief’s tone warned them off. They said au revoir and went to the foyer, looking around for the Valettes, but couldn’t see or hear anyone at all.
“I guess there’s a new sheriff in town,” said Molly.
“This is not good,” said Ben, shaking his head.
“No. And the weirdest thing…” Molly said as they walked to the car. “Where did everyone disappear to? Lapin, Lawrence, the Valettes…one minute, the party felt so crowded! We were all packed in that library like sardines. And the next minute I couldn’t find anyone.”
Ben shook his head again as they got in the car. “I’m not even focused on the murder right now. I’m wondering how we’re going to make any progress on any case if Chief Charlot is this…this…”
“This much of a jerk?”
“Yeah. Of course she is completely within her rights to keep us away from the investigation. It’s just that Maron spoiled us.”
“And we haven’t been hired, so we don’t even have that going for us.”
“Right.”
They drove back to La Baraque, the picture of gloom, and did not raise a smile when Bobo barreled over to greet them with muddy paws and ecstatic licks.
“Did you get the feeling that something wasn’t right in that family?” Molly asked, as they flopped on the sofa together.
“Definitely. In about ten different directions, actually. Simon’s father is in a bad way.”
“Yes. I went through that with my father, as I think I’ve told you? Terrible disease for everyone, obviously. But…I wasn’t talking about that though. More about…the undercurrents between Camille and Simon. I had the feeling things weren’t going that great between them.”
“Moving is stressful. Having a bunch of strangers for dinner? Very stressful. So what you saw might just be a normal response to a momentarily difficult situation.”
“Could be,” she said doubtfully.
“What’s tomorrow look like? Do you have any changeover? Is Constance coming?”
With a groan, Molly got up to check the schedule on her computer. “Yes, Constance is coming, but only to do a light once-over. The Badowskis are leaving, thank God, because there’s bad blood between them and Arthur, and they’re all staying in the annex. Everyone else is staying a second week.”
“Are you throwing them a party?”
“I was going to. But with this murder�
��”
“Maybe you could do something for the guests next week? I’ve got to go see that blasted Bernard Petit tomorrow. But since changeover’s easy this week, maybe you could get a decent start. How about you go to the market in the morning and do some preliminary legwork?”
“Even though no one has hired us?”
“Maybe if we have some worthwhile information, someone will want to hire us. We need to know where Lawrence and Lapin went, for starters.”
“You’re not thinking—?”
“No, of course not. But we have to follow the protocol, Molly. Determine where everyone was, and as far as we’re able, what they were doing at the time the murder occurred.”
“Which is not going to be easy, given that we were sitting in pitch dark.”
“Luckily, I happen to know you never shy away from a challenge,” he said, leaning in to kiss her neck. Molly closed her eyes and smiled, grateful to have Ben in her life, and also grateful for another murder to solve.
Though she felt a little guilty about that last one.
13
All the dinner party guests were of course long gone, as well as Merla and Ophélie, the coroner, and the gendarmes. But the Valette household, as might be imagined, was hardly a place of calm or relaxation that Saturday morning after the storm. Chloë was intermittently gripped by wild sobbing to the point of hysteria. Raphael kept shouting for someone to bring him a baguette with butter and ham, or a drink of Perrier, or his scissors. Camille was a zombie—no expression, no emotion, utterly shut down.
Simon was left to run from one to the other, trying to soothe and placate. He sorely missed the staff they had had in Paris but thought they wouldn’t need in Castillac; someone to tidy up would be a big help. Someone to cook and look after the girls. Someone to make this new horrible problem go away.
“Can I bring you anything, darling?” he asked Camille, who was sitting up in bed, wearing a quilted jacket though the day was warm, pretending to read a magazine.
