No Honor Among Thieves

by Nell Goddin

  “A reasonable plan.”

  “Yes. Well, it hasn’t worked. I’m ninety-nine percent sure it’s nothing, just some nutball looking to cause trouble. But it’s time I admit…it’s messing with me. Making me doubt things. I…”

  “Out with it?”

  “Yeah, okay. It’s…I’ve been getting anonymous calls.”

  “From whom?”

  “Frances. Anonymous calls.”

  “Oh, right. Don’t mind me. Continue.”

  “She’s using something to disguise her voice. It’s a woman, I can tell that much. She says…she doesn’t say anything very solid, but hints around that Ben…is cheating on me.”

  Frances nodded her head slowly. “Interesting.”

  “Not the adjective I would choose.”

  “Well, it’s messed-up, for sure. Mean, too. No shortage of adjectives we could come up with, Molls. But what I’m thinking is—why? What’s the point? Does she really think she’s going to succeed at breaking you and Ben up with something so transparent, and frankly, middle school?”

  Molly shrugged, feeling a little stupid for having paid the messages any attention.

  “If she’s using voice-disguising software, then do you think it’s someone you know?”

  Molly stared. “I hadn’t even thought of that.”

  “You’ve kept the recordings, of course?”

  “Yes. I thought about going to Charlot. But what’s she going to do? And you know…it’s humiliating. I don’t want to be running around the village boo-hoo-hooing over some stupid prank calls!”

  Frances cocked her head. Her straight black hair, just trimmed the day before, shimmered in a sheet to her shoulders. Her face was pale, no makeup. “Will you let me listen?”

  “She’s speaking in French.”

  Frances smirked and held her hand out for Molly’s phone. “I can handle it, o ye of little faith. I can’t believe I’m only now hearing about this. Not because I think it’s anything to worry about. Now, don’t give me that look. You know perfectly well this is a sore spot for you—Ben has never given you a moment’s worry, has he? You’re the one dragging her feet, not Ben.”

  Molly sunk down into the cushions. “You really think I’m being ridiculous?”

  “You are ridiculous, darling. Always have been.” Frances pushed PLAY and the phone began to crackle.

  Ask him what happened last year

  “How very mysterieuse,” said Frances, rolling her eyes. “If that’s supposed to instill fear or doubt or whatever, it’s a pretty poor job of it. Utter fail.” She handed the phone back. “I think you should apologize to Ben.”

  “I never accused him of anything!”

  “But you were thinking about it. You believed that stupid voice.”

  “You’re so strict, you know that?”

  Frances tilted her head back and laughed, so hard that Molly was unable to keep from joining in. She wasn’t entirely reassured—and she couldn’t be, not until the voice had a name and a person attached to it, and Molly understood why the calls were being made—but at least for the moment, she was able to put the whole thing aside.

  “Let’s hop on over to Pâtisserie Bujold and get some almond croissants and coffee. You can go through the whole Petit case for me and watch how I pluck out the murderer from your list of suspects.”

  “Oh, you’re that good?”

  “Mais oui. Learned from the best,” Frances said, leaning over to give Molly a big affectionate kiss on the cheek.

  Molly took the opportunity to buy some pastries for her neglected guests, and once home, separated them into two bags and got ready to visit. It felt late, the day having gotten away from her. Bobo was moping, having gotten no walk, and the orange cat’s bowl of kibble was empty. Molly stopped to feed the animals, and then headed back out.

  She knocked on the door of the cottage where Peggy and Wilson Tanner were staying, hoping she wasn’t interrupting their lunch.

  “Gracious, it’s Molly!” exclaimed Wilson, opening the door wide. “Come on in where it’s warm.”

  “Thought you might like a little something from the pâtisserie,” said Molly, handing over the bag.

  “You’re so thoughtful, Molly! We may both need to buy larger clothes when we get home, but we’re fine with that.” Peggy struggled up from the sofa and tottered unsteadily over. “We’ve been enjoying Castillac so much, thank you for everything,” she said, taking Molly’s hands in hers. “My legs aren’t as strong as they used to be, so that lovely Christophe has been driving us around. We’ve been all the way over to Beynac to see the castle up on the cliff, and driven along the Dordogne…” She shook her head. “We knew from the photographs that it’s a lovely area. But the photographs are nothing compared to the reality.”

  “That’s usually the way,” said Molly.

  “Except when it isn’t. Peggy and I have been on a few trips where the photographs looked entirely better than what was actually there, isn’t that right?”

  “Well, Wilson has a point. There was that beach—oh never mind. What can I fix you to drink, Molly? Wilson and I are quite taken with this pineau that the man down at the shop, what’s it called, honey? The place with all the terrines in the window.”

  “Don’t remember,” Wilson said cheerfully.

  “It has a bit of a bite to it,” said Peggy mischievously. She picked up the bottle, half-gone, and looked inquiringly at Molly.

  “Sure, I’ll have a nip. What did you think of Beynac?”

  “Stunning. I could so easily imagine the soldiers on the ramparts, looking across the plains at an approaching army.”

  “Yes! And how frightening it would be, whether you were attacking or being attacked!”

  “I believe I’d prefer raining arrows down rather than up,” said Wilson. “Must have killed so many before they even got to the walls of the château.”

  Peggy sat next to Wilson and held up her glass. “To valiant warriors!” she said.

  They clinked glasses and sipped the pineau. “What else have you got planned?”

  “Well, we want to see Domme and the château at Hautefort. Christophe says at Rocamadour we’ll freeze our behinds off at this time of year, with the wind whipping up so high. But we don’t mind.”

  “I rather like my behind. And yours,” said Wilson, and Molly smiled at his genteel Virginia accent.

  Molly stayed for another forty-five minutes, listening to their reports of all they had seen and some stories from home and family.

  “Well, I should be off, time to do a bit of grocery shopping. Is there anything I can pick up for you?”

  “Oh heavens,” said Peggy. “I’ve been so lazy on this trip, we’ve been eating in restaurants almost every meal.”

  “Chez Papa?”

  “Oh yes. The frites!”

  “The Café de la Place is excellent too. Very good cassoulet, the perfect dish in this kind of weather.”

  “Thanks again for everything, Molly. I must say this might be the first trip we’ve ever taken where nothing has gone wrong. No stress, no drama, just calm and beauty wherever we look.”

  Molly liked the Tanners very much, and she was glad they were so appreciative of the area that was so beloved to her. She may have neglected them until this morning, but at least her own stress and drama had not leaked over to the cottage, and the sound of the robot-voice saying he’s not what you think was audible only to herself.

  29

  Molly ate a hunk of bread with some goat cheese from Lela Vidal before taking the scooter into the village. It was too cold for it and the drive was uncomfortable, though not as bad once she got to the edge of town and slowed down. She was looking for Malcolm, and hoped to find him lounging around on the street, where he usually was, rather than at home.

  The village felt desolate, with no one walking around and windows and doors shut up tight. Molly felt a surge of wishing to feel the warm sun on her face again. And thinking of warm places, what better place for a honeymoon
than a beach—somewhere, anywhere? She and Ben hadn’t even discussed a trip except in the vaguest way, and of course if they didn’t solve the Petit case, they weren’t going anywhere anytime soon, unable to justify the expense of a trip.

  Molly putt-putted up one street and down another, searching for Malcolm. She had the pretext of asking him if there was any progress on Lucie Severin’s garden gnome situation, but what she really wanted to know was what he had been doing in her annex. If things at home were very bad, she wanted him to be able to stay—but she guessed that the arrangement would have to be an unspoken one, or he would run off.

  He might be a common criminal, but Malcolm Barstow had his dignity.

  Up and down, through an alley, back around…nobody was out, not even the women who never missed a day sweeping the sidewalk in front of their houses, not even Malcolm.

  Feeling momentarily defeated, Molly stopped by Pâtisserie Bujold for some cheering up, breaking the rule she had made the day before about not dropping by the shop two days in a row.

  “Dearest Molly,” said Edmond, brightening as she came in. “For heaven’s sake, close the door tightly behind you. It keeps blowing open and I’m going to catch my death if the weather doesn’t change soon.”

  “I’m starting to think I should move to the tropics,” she said as she leaned across the counter to kiss cheeks. “The cold is making me cranky, maybe I should just stay home so I won’t inflict it on anyone.”

  “Inflict away, my dear,” said Edmond.

  Molly walked over to the glass case of confections and looked them over. “See, I don’t even feel like having pastry.”

  “What?” Edmond’s eyes grew wide with alarm. “Never, ever jest about pastry. Look at the last row on the right. You’re telling me you don’t want a taste of that lavender macaron?”

  Molly grinned. “Well, now that you point it out…I don’t think I’ve ever tried that kind. Is this the first time you’ve made it?”

  “Oh no, no. You just get stuck on one thing—first it was almond croissants, then éclairs—and you can’t see anything else. I’ve been making them for many months now. They’re Lucie Severin’s absolute favorite.”

  “Ah,” said Molly. “Well, all right, let’s see if Lucie knows anything about anything. I was wondering…”

  “Yes?” Edmond bustled about, getting a plate and starting the espresso machine, knowing Molly would want one.

  “A little bird told me something about Lucie Severin…”

  Edmond blushed, his ears turning a bright pink.

  “I knew it!”

  “Molly, please. It’s…all right, true enough, for a moment there, Lucie and I…but it’s over now. Just a quick flash of lightening, and then back to friendship, nothing more.”

  “You are the most melodramatic pâtissier in the entire département.”

  “In all of France.”

  “No doubt,” she said, laughing.

  “So tell me…I don’t usually have the pleasure of your company like this when you’re on a case. Usually you’ll pop in looking harried and fly off with barely a word, clutching your bag like death was right behind you on a broom. Now I see you for a nice chat two days in a row. What’s going on? Dead end?”

  “Nice try. And a good angle, appealing to my pride that way. But no, I’m not sharing any details of the investigation with you. A gold star for effort, though!”

  Edmond huffed and passed her the cup of espresso.

  “Haven’t happened to see Malcolm Barstow today, have you?”

  “That little thief! No, I have not, and am thankful for it! Do you know he has reached right across the counter while my back was turned, snatched up fresh rolls, and run right out the door? And don’t think for one second he comes back with money later, oh no.”

  “I’m not excusing that at all, of course,” said Molly, “but he does have little brothers and sisters who sometimes go hungry. The parents of that family…”

  “Yes, yes, no doubt Barstow père and mère are nothing to write home about. But there are government programs to take care of that, you know the French safety net is famous in the civilized world—”

  Molly could see that Edmond was embarking on one of his rants, and she tuned him out while enjoying the macaron, which was superb. Edmond kept talking. Slowly Molly backed toward the door, and when he paused to take a breath, she said her goodbyes and was back on the frigid street.

  She would just have to go to the Barstow house, unappealing as that prospect was. She got on the scooter, her belly warm at least, happy and full from Edmond’s wondrous efforts and zipped over to the Barstow’s, praying that Malcolm was home.

  The house was one of the most dilapidated in Castillac. Molly made a note to find out who the landlord was and see if anything could be done to force him to take better care of the building. She supposed there were regulations—heaven knew in France, there was no shortage of those, at least from an American’s perspective—but she also guessed that the landlord might be deliberately letting the maintenance go in an attempt to force the Barstows out.

  Molly rapped hard on the door, though her gloves muffled the sound. There was no knocker. She heard a baby crying inside and was just about to knock again when the door swung open.

  “Malcolm! I’m happy to see you. Can I have a word?”

  “Just one?” He grinned at her but his face looked strained.

  “Several, actually.”

  He grabbed a jacket—not nearly warm enough for the weather—and joined Molly on the sidewalk.

  “Let’s walk to keep warm,” she said. “Have you seen the weather forecast? Just how long is this cold supposed to last, anyway? I’m so over it.”

  Malcolm walked alongside and did a little skip with each step in an attempt to warm up. He shrugged. “I don’t look at the weather report,” he said. “Besides, our TV has been broken forever.”

  “I guess you’ve been curled up with a book, then?”

  “Yeah, that’s me, a dedicated bookworm. Like I’ve got so much leisure time I can lie around reading stories.”

  A block behind them, a man watched Molly and Malcolm carefully. He wore a hat pulled down so that his face wasn’t easily visible. As Molly and Malcolm made their way along, he followed, occasionally stepping into an alleyway, out of sight, but reappearing again before they got much farther away.

  “Malcolm.”

  He shrugged again. “Okay, so I’ve been checking things out at Severin’s, like you asked.”

  “And?”

  “Nothing so far. It’s early days. As far as I can tell, the gnomes are sitting right where they were when you took me over there. I haven’t seen anyone lurking around, either. But you know…”

  “Yes?”

  “It’s cold as a witch’s…nose out here. I haven’t been keeping up the surveillance for long stretches. Rather not freeze solid.”

  “This is not a life-or-death matter,” said Molly. “I would not want your demise on my conscience.”

  He smiled a crooked smile and for a moment looked like his old insouciant self.

  “So how is everything, Malcolm? Things at home….same old same old?”

  “Heh, not quite. Not with the old man back.”

  “It’s been something of a stretch this time, isn’t it? Doesn’t he usually get arrested soon after being let out?”

  “Yup. Not so far though. He’s been sticking around the house most of the time, not going out where he gets into trouble. That’s way worse from my point of view though.”

  “It’s worse for him to stay out of trouble?”

  “Naw, it’s not that—it’s that he’s there at the house, all the time breathing down everyone’s neck. His pathetic friends come over, they’re loud and drinking—it’s just…ugh. I wish he would just get arrested already and leave us in peace. This guy Alfie Welton has practically moved in, he’s there so much. And the house is not that big.”

  They walked a couple of blocks before Molly said, �
�I guess you’re sort of the man of the house when he’s gone. I can see how his being back could be…complicated for you, especially if he’s bringing in other men besides.”

  Malcolm didn’t answer. They walked a little further before he said, “Look, my ma’s been sick and I should probably get back. Sorry I don’t have any gnome news but I’ll get back over there, maybe early evening.”

  “Something else I wanted to talk to you about.”

  “Yeah?”

  “Well, its two things, actually. Last week, when I was getting the cottage ready for guests, I found a roll of euros in the bathroom.”

  Malcolm’s head jerked up. “Lucky you,” he said.

  “Know anything about that?”

  “Why would I know anything? It’s your cottage. You think I run around the village stashing wads of cash here and there? In my dreams,” he said, with a laugh Molly thought was forced.

  “The other thing is—I saw you coming out of the annex at La Baraque yesterday. Look, if things at home are rough and you need a place, we can talk about that, but I don’t want—”

  “Never happen again,” Malcolm mumbled. “Gotta get back. I’ll be in touch.”

  “About that money—” she said, but he was off down the street and disappeared around a corner. Molly jogged after him, passing the man wearing the cap; she saw the boy run straight past his house and then into an alley.

  Oh Malcolm, she thought, wishing she could…what? Take him in, along with the Valette children? Her own little orphanage, full of Castillaçois children whose parents didn’t understand them. She rolled her eyes at herself as she reached her scooter and headed for La Baraque and a woodstove fired up to maximum.

  30

  Bobo insisted on a walk when Molly got home, so reluctantly she put on a warmer hat and walked out to the meadow, the dog racing ahead and occasionally leaping into the air with sheer joy, making Molly feel happy in spite of the weather. She tried, as much as possible, to let her thoughts tumble along willy-nilly, rambling this way and that without trying to force them in any particular direction. She had found that letting go in this way sometimes produced the most useful thinking, and if not, it gave her some much needed mental rest.