by Katie Penryn
When Madame Brioche answered the phone, I asked her if she knew whether Tidot had travelled with her husband to the conference in Bordeaux.
“No, my husband left early and Tidot had to work late last night. He would have gone on his own later.”
I switched off my phone and shook my head. “I’m sorry, no. Brioche left for Bordeaux early yesterday afternoon.”
Beatrice’s face blanked out. The possibilities had turned into probabilities and she needed time to process the realization.
At last she asked, “But we don’t know for sure that Jerome was in the building, do we?”
“Not a hundred per cent, my dear,” said her brother patting her hand. “But I wouldn’t hold out much hope if I were you. We’ll have to wait for the forensic results for confirmation.”
He indicated Felix and me. “I’ve asked Madame Munro to solve this case, my dear. You remember how she solved the murder of Edna Yardley.”
“Murder. You think Jerome was murdered?”
“The police and the fire brigade don’t think it was an accident, and Jerome wouldn’t have killed himself, would he?”
“No, never.”
She burst into tears and sobbed out, “Murder. Who would want to murder Jerome? Everyone liked him. He never harmed anyone.”
“I think you’d better go,” the mayor whispered to me. “I’ll stay for a while.”
As soon as we were out of the house Felix grabbed hold me and spun me round, his eyes as dark as emeralds. “Since when are you solving the murder of Jerome Tidot? That’s not what we agreed. To get him off an accusation of insurance fraud was as far as I was prepared for you to go.”
“Felix, it’s not up to you what I do. How dare you tell me I shouldn’t try to solve this case?”
“Boss—”
“Don’t call me that.”
“Mpenzi then. How can I protect you if you keep putting yourself in harm’s way?”
“I have to do this. I’m a white witch. It’s my profession now. It’s my duty to fight against evil.”
Once again Felix was silent on the drive home. What was it with him? Couldn’t he understand the compulsion in me to right wrongs? We had to thrash this issue out because it was destroying our working relationship, let alone our personal one.
Chapter 14
I was starving by the time we walked through our front door and into the empty kitchen. The baguette we had for lunch was long gone. The rest of the family was upstairs in the cool having a siesta. Felix pushed past me and put the kettle on.
“You need a cup of tea after all that drama,” he said.
I guessed he was making an attempt at peace.
I found a packet of digestives in the cupboard and thought briefly of Keith Gardener, now locked up for murder. I hoped someone else would take over his shop. We would miss our British delicacies if his shop The Union Jack remained closed.
And I would miss Tidot and his éclairs. I gave myself a mental slap for being so insensitive as to think of his éclairs. That’s when the irony struck me. Éclair is the French for a lightning flash. The explosion at the bakery certainly qualified.
Felix passed me a mug of tea.
“Have a rest for a couple of hours. We’ll decide our strategy later on this evening.”
“No more resistance?” I asked him.
My fingers touched his as I accepted the tea and he jerked backwards.
He shook his fingers then held out his hand.
“We’ll shake on it.”
I took his hand in mine.
“Penzi, I am not responsible for your moral compass, nor would I want to be. Please understand that. But I am responsible for your physical safety. When one threatens the other I shall tell you, but the ultimate decision is yours.”
I withdrew my hand from his rather more slowly than usual and thanked him.
He picked up the biscuits I had chosen and slipped them into the pocket of my jeans.
“Now, upstairs. We’ll talk later.”
As I left the room I heard Zag say, “Thank you, man. We don’t want anything nasty happening to Mpenzi.”
I shrugged. With so many people and creatures looking out for me, how could I come to harm?
*
We met again before dinner and briefed the rest of the family on what had really happened. It was probable Jerome Tidot, the baker, had been murdered in the explosion at his bakery.
“Couldn’t he have been killed by accident by person or persons unknown?” asked Sam. “The person responsible may have intended sabotage not murder.”
“Good point, Sam,” I said. “However, we’ll go forward on the assumption that the intent was to kill Tidot and see what we come up with.”
Jimbo fetched a notepad and a pen without being asked and laid them on the table in front of me.
I looked round the table. “So, suspects, anyone?”
“The man who delivered the gas,” suggested Sam.
“I think we can rule him out as the police are hinting that the pipe was damaged inside the bakery, but I’ll check with Dubois if he’s speaking to me next time I see him.”
“Close relations,” said Jimbo. “That’s what you said last time.”
“Number One: Beatrice Tidot, the wife and the mayor’s sister,” I noted on the pad.
“Number Two: The mayor,” said Sam.
“Did Tidot have any children?” asked Audrey.
I shook my head.
“Parents then?” asked Audrey again.
“Number Three: His parents.”
Gwinny asked if he had any brothers or sisters. None of us knew. So, Number Four was possible siblings.
“Right, those are the obvious relations,” I said. “Who next? Put your thinking caps on everyone.”
Felix rose from the table. “We need some lubrication for our brains.”
He fetched a bottle of pineau des Charentes, the regional apéritif, from the fridge while Audrey put glasses on the table. Once we all had the sweet ruby liquid in front of us I waited for more suggestions.
Sam took a sip of his pineau, rolled it round his tongue and swallowed with a smile. “I do like this stuff. There are some good things about living in France.”
“But not the murders,” said Jimbo.
“Who had the opportunity?” asked Sam.
“Just about anyone who ever bought anything in his shop,” I said. “Including Felix and me.”
“But only people who could have gone into the bakery at the back of the shop, surely?” said Felix. “That would be his shop assistant as Number Five.”
Felix added, “Don’t forget the carpenter who was putting up the shelves when we were there. Tidot left him in the shop to close up — Number Six. He sounds like a possibility to me. He had the tools to do the job with him.”
“Anyone could have taken a drill and a wrench with them,” I said.
“Is that what the police think happened?” asked Audrey.
“Yes, they think the murderer drilled a hole in the pipe leading to the bread oven and loosened the joint as well just to make sure. When the automatic timer switched the oven on at four in the morning, a spark lit the gas that had collected overnight.”
“It had to be done in between the time the shop was closed and four o’clock in the morning. Whoever did it, had to have access during the night.”
Felix poured us each another half glass of pineau. “It’s going to be difficult because we don’t have any idea what the motive could be. Remember: motive, means and opportunity.”
“Gwinny, you’re very quiet. Have you any ideas?”
“What about professional jealousy? Could another baker have done it? If Tidot always carries off the prize for the best choux pastries, maybe Monsieur Brioche is jealous.”
“He has an alibi for the whole night. He was at the conference in Bordeaux. I’m sure Dubois will check up on that but I’ll ask him when I get the chance.”
“Penzi,” said Felix, “We may come across
other suspects as we continue with our investigation, but for the time being that seems the full list. We could start interviewing them tomorrow.”
“For the rest of the evening we’ll be a normal family. No more talk of murder. It is Sunday after all.”
Chapter 15
Next morning Felix, Sam and I set off to begin the interviews. We had decided to leave Tidot’s wife until last hoping that confirmation would have been made of Tidot’s death by then. Our first port of call was Tidot’s mother. Felix said it was good to get the easy ones out of the way first. No one could envisage old Madame Tidot creeping out of her retirement home to sabotage the bakery’s gas system.
And old she was.
“Eighty-nine,” she told us with pride when the manager at the home showed us into the sitting room where she was waiting for us.
She had all her wits about her though. No signs of dementia for Madame Tidot Senior. She was perched on the edge of a blue velvet armchair in front of French windows that overlooked the attractive gardens surrounding the home.
Her sharp periwinkle blue eyes stroked both Felix and Sam as we entered the room and she gave me a conspiratorial wink.
“Handsome friends you have, dear,” she said to me smoothing her already immaculate coiffure. “Now what can I do for you?”
The three of us sat down in upright chairs facing her. I didn’t know where to begin because from her reception of us it was clear she wasn’t aware of the probability that her son Jerome had been killed in the explosion. Dubois must have been keeping that close to his chest until the forensic results confirmed the death.
“Madame Tidot, if I may so say, you don’t seem disturbed about what happened to your son’s bakery.”
“You mean the rumors of an insurance fraud? Yes, I have heard those but they are nonsense, of course. My son is an upright man and the police will soon prove his innocence.”
Felix and Sam gave me an anxious look. I was in no hurry to let the cat out of the bag. That was Dubois’s job and he wouldn’t thank me for usurping his authority.
“Let’s hope so, madame,” I said. “The mayor has asked me to help investigate the case separately from the police, just to be sure.”
“You have some questions for me?”
“Were you aware of any financial problems your son may have had? Or any enemies who might have set the explosion deliberately?”
She smiled and said, “No problems and no enemies that I know of, but then I’ve been shut away in here for eighteen months. So what would I know?”
“Don’t you like living here? It seems like a pleasant retirement home to me. The gardens are lovely and this room is clean and the decor bright.”
She scanned the room quickly before asking. She gave a slight nod and whispered, “It’s not like being in your own place, you know. Too many rules. Too many not so bright people ordering me around. I used to be the principal of the local lycée, you know. That’s the secondary school.”
I nodded to show I understood.
“May I ask you where you were on Sunday night, madame?”
She laughed out loud at my question. “You are joking, Madame Munro, aren’t you? I was locked up in here, of course. We have a nine o’clock curfew.”
“Did you get on well with your son, madame?”
“Like this,” she answered rubbing her two fingers together. “Like peas in a pod. Never a harsh word. I trust you will find the person who did this to my son’s business. Anything I can do to help — any information I can give you — just ask me. I am as anxious as the mayor and my daughter-in-law to get to the bottom of this.”
Taking this as a sign that our welcome was over and being unable to think of any more tactful questions, I stood up to leave and shook her hand.
Felix and Sam followed my lead.
“That was awkward,” said Felix. “She has no idea about her son.”
“The police will tell her when they’re sure. They wouldn’t want to alarm her needlessly.”
“Right, who’s next?” asked Sam.
“Wait a minute,” I said as we climbed back into the car. “What did you all think of her?”
“Nice old lady,” said Felix.
“It must be horrible to grow old and be shoveled off to a retirement home,” Sam said.
*
The baker’s assistant was the next on list. We hoped she would be able to give us the name and address of the carpenter who was working in the shop on Saturday evening when Felix and I went to buy éclairs. I rang Monsieur Bonhomie, and he told us the assistant was called Nicole Déchet.
“Déchet?” I asked. “Any relation of the guy who runs the recycling depot?”
“Yes,” said the mayor. “She’s his wife. She obviously won’t be at work today, and so you’ll find her at home.”
“Does she live near the plant?” I asked thinking we would have to make a trip outside the town walls.
“No, too smelly. They live just inside the walls at 19 Rue de Loups.”
I rang off and we drove back towards the town itself. The Déchet house was a new build. Instead of the traditionally rendered walls with limestone quoins and stone blocks around the openings, the house was a small bungalow with a carport and utility room beneath it, built into an artificial mound, a style which was becoming popular. Like most new builds it didn’t boast much of a garden but the Déchets had planted an embryonic lawn. A few saplings straggled against bamboo supports. One day it would be a pleasant place to spend an afternoon away from the clamor and stink of the recycling center.
We climbed up the long flight of steps to the front door and I rang the bell.
Déchet himself opened the door to us explaining that Monday was his day off.
As he led us through to the small sitting room at the back of the house he added, “I would have stayed home today, anyway. My wife is so upset about the explosion I can’t leave her alone.”
“Don’t worry, Monsieur Déchet,” I said leading Felix and Sam down the short corridor. “We don’t have many questions. The mayor said you probably wouldn’t mind.”
“Of course,” he said opening the door.
His wife Nicole jerked around in her seat as she heard the door open. Her eyes were swollen and red and her nose sore from wiping. Used tissues filled the waste bin beside the sofa.
“The mayor sent you?” she asked. “He said someone was coming to ask me some questions.”
She burst into tears again. “I’m sorry,” she said, dabbing her eyes and blowing her nose. “It’s just all so terrible. Who would do such a wicked thing to Tidot. Such a kind man Tidot. Best boss I’ve ever had.”
“Do you know if he has any enemies? Has he put someone’s back up?”
“Of course not. It’s all so pointless.”
“Would you mind telling me what you did after you left the shop on Saturday evening? We heard Monsieur Tidot saying you could go.”
She cast a glance at her husband. He nodded for her to carry on.
“I went to my yoga class. I always go on Saturday evening because my husband does his books on Saturday night.”
“You don’t go out together on Saturday nights?”
“No, Friday is our night for that because of my yoga class.”
“Can anyone confirm that?”
“I signed the book at the club and my best friend will confirm I was there.”
“Her name is…?”
“Suzie… Suzanne Jennings. She’s English. She’s in the phone book.”
Sam made a note of the name for us to call her later.
“Did you see anything suspicious when you cleaned up in the bakery before you left? Smell anything odd?”
“Like gas you mean? No, nothing. Just that the carpenter was still there working on the new shelving unit.”
Sam asked, “Do you know who he is? We’ll need to speak to him.”
“Yes, I took one of his cards in case we needed him some day.”
She rose from her seat and
swayed for a moment before she fetched her bag off the shelves by the door. She took the card out and handed it to Sam. “He does nice work. Tidot was pleased with him.”
That set her off crying again. Her husband put his arm around her and hugged her to him.
“I think you should leave now. Can’t you see how upset she is? She was proud of her job at Tidot’s. It will be ages before the shop is rebuilt and Tidot can employ my wife again.”
*
We returned home for lunch. Audrey said Inspector Dubois had phoned wanting to speak to me. I returned his call hoping he would have news but he didn’t. He reminded me of my promise to have dinner with him.
“I suggest tonight, if you can make it, Madame Munro.”
“Please, call me Penzi if we are to have dinner together.”
“Thank you. I am Xavier.”
“Noted,” I said. “What was that about dinner tonight?”
“We can talk over the case and I can bring you up to date on the findings. Yes?”
Much as I thought I would want a quiet night in after a day spent interviewing suspects I had to accept. It would be a good opportunity to pump him for information and I have to admit I was curious to see what he was like when off duty. So I said yes.
“What have you just agreed to?” asked Felix as I switched off my phone.
“A dinner date with Dubois.”
“You’re kidding? You’re not really going through with your promise to that stuffed shirt, are you?”
“Oh yes, I am. I might find out something useful.”
“Well, I’m coming, too.”
“We’ll see about that,” I said pulling out a chair and sitting down to lunch.
*
The carpenter, Sean Morrison, was British. He was also out of work for the day as his refurbishment had gone up in a cloud of dust, and so we found him at home in a small flat behind the library. He took his time opening the front door. First of all he peered at us from behind the curtains and then gave us the once-over through the peephole.
When he at last opened the door, I made the introductions and told him the mayor had asked us to perform a secondary investigation into the blast at the bakery where he had been working on Saturday.
