French Weddings Can Kill You

by Rebecca Dunsmuir

  “Shouldn’t we discuss the contract first and play after?” he asked.

  “Don’t worry, you know me.” She gave him the eye and flipped her eyelashes like an innocent kitten. “I have a better idea, sir. Let’s discuss the details of this contract while we play. I’m sure it will inspire us.”

  The man smiled. “You’re unbelievable, you know that? And dangerous. I wonder if I can trust you.”

  “Of course, you can trust me.” She turned around to present her back. He unzipped her dress.

  Chapter 18

  A fter a long day of successful celebration, it was time for the staff to clean up and go home. Liliane stayed with Amanda to help her find d’Artagnan and Bronx. The pets hadn’t been seen for a while.

  Certainly, the Domaine was vast, but after five months living in the Château, the dog and the cat had found their feet. It was unusual of them to disappear, especially at night. The friends checked all the pets’ favorite spots and hideouts but had to give up on their search. D’Artagnan and Bronx were nowhere to be found.

  Liliane went home and Amanda went to her bedroom. She sat on the canopy bed and called Pierre.

  “We looked everywhere but couldn’t find them. I’m really worried.”

  “Don’t be,” said Pierre. “Maybe they moved from one room to another as you were looking for them, making it difficult to find them. And who knows, they might be sleeping in one of the guests’ rooms? D’Artagnan was having a blast with the children outside, this afternoon. He might have followed a little friend who had something to eat.”

  The baker tried to make Amanda laugh, but it didn’t work.

  “I’m more worried for d’Art than Bronx,” she said. “Bronx escapes occasionally, but for d’Art, it’s unusual.”

  “He’s never escaped before?”

  “No. He loves food too much to stay away from me that long. That’s why I’m worried.”

  “Listen, they must be somewhere in the castle, exhausted, sleeping in a corner. It was a long day for them too. They’re not used to having so many people around them and so much activity going on. I’m sure they’re fine. You should go to bed and rest because you have another long day tomorrow. I’ll help you find them in the morning if they’re not back by then. You might find them both in the kitchen, waiting impatiently to be fed.”

  “I hope you’re right.”

  “Have a good night, beautiful. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

  Amanda smiled sadly and wished Pierre good night. She walked to the large window. Maybe d’Artagnan was outside? It was hard to see in the dark, which reminded her she should have proper lighting installed around the castle as soon as possible, and she didn’t hear any bark.

  Reluctantly, feeling guilty about abandoning her friends, Amanda went to the bathroom and removed her clothes to put on her pajamas. She brushed her teeth, reviewed again in her head all the rooms she and Liliane had checked. Had they missed one?

  She tucked herself into bed and opened her family tree notebook, trying to focus her attention on something else. She had started it a few weeks back to track the names and history of her ancestors. Thanks to the archives she had found in the castle, at the local library and online, Amanda had traced over three centuries of the d’Orvilly’s history. The details were fuzzy for some of the people and time periods here and there.

  She started to read from a document. As she read, her eyelids became heavier and heavier. Exhausted by the busy day and worrying about her pets, Amanda fell sound asleep.

  Chapter 19

  “W

  hat the heck did you do, you dumb dog?” Bronx was furious. He glared at d’Artagnan, frowning.

  “Nothing!” answered the dog. “And language, please. I’m not dumb!” D’Artagnan was upset. He had made the bad decision to follow Bronx into the little library after noticing the cat had been acting weird for a while. Was this evil cat up to something again, just to torture him? It wouldn’t be the first time.

  “How the heck are we going to get out of here now?” The angry cat paced the dark room. They could barely see each other. They were just two pairs of bright eyes shining in the dark. “And why were you following me, anyway? Couldn’t you mind your own business?”

  “When you act weird, it’s my business,” Replied the dog in a defensive tone. “I know you. You were up to something just to annoy me. Admit it!”

  “You’re a paranoid wacko!” screeched the cat with disdain.

  “And you’re a vicious psychocath!” growled d’Artagnan, showing his threatening fangs.

  And here they were, two enemies with their never-ending feud, stuck together in a mysterious dark room. D’Artagnan had surprised Bronx inspecting something on a bookshelf in the little library. The dog had barked and startled the cat who had turned around, lost his balance and hit an object when landing on the floor. Thinking Bronx was about to attack him, the dog had jumped on him first. And the second that followed, they were both locked in this dark room. How had they arrived here and where were they? They had no clue.

  “Because of you, we might die here and starve to death!” cried the dog.

  The cat rolled his eyes. “Gluttonous drama queen!”

  “Oh, well, well, well… Look what we have here,” said a voice.

  Another pair of eyes walked their way. Bronx recognized Wilbert’s voice, the strange dog who could walk through the walls.

  “Do we have a problem, sirs?” asked Wilbert. “Are we lost?”

  “Who’s here?” asked d’Artagnan who could barely see.

  “It is quite entertaining,” said Wilbert. “I keep asking your names and you keep asking mine. Shall we start with proper introductions, please?”

  “Shall we… What???” asked d’Artagnan who was lost in the conversation.

  “See. I was following this weirdo! Happy now?” said Bronx to d’Artagnan.

  “What is this expression I have heard from your people?” Wilbert, pensive for a few seconds, looked up at the ceiling. “Ah, yes! ‘OMG!’” he pronounced the three letters as if he were eating delicacies with the tip of his chops. “This is the expression. ‘OMG, you guys never stop?’ Did I say it properly?”

  The three animals remained silent for a few seconds.

  “What is going on here?” asked d’Artagnan, slightly panicking.

  “No clue,” answered Bronx. “But if you hadn’t stuck your big nose into my business, I could’ve probably figured that out by now!”

  “Oh, enough with all this now,” said Wilbert. “My name is Wilbert, proud and faithful companion to my master, the illustrious Baron Victor d’Orvilly.”

  “Yeah, you said it before,” said Bronx.

  “Yes, but the new one didn’t know this,” justified Wilbert.

  “What?” asked d’Artagnan. “Who’s the ‘new one?’”

  “It’s you, idiot!” replied the cat to d’Artagnan. “So, the idiot is d’Artagnan, my name is Bronx, and nobody rules me.”

  Wilbert laughed. With a snobbish kind of laugh. “We all depend on someone, sir, whether you like it or not.”

  “OK, Wilby,” said Bronx in a condescending tone.

  “Wilbert,” corrected the Spaniel right away.

  “Don’t care,” continued Bronx. “Where are we, what’s going on here and how do we get out of here?”

  “Follow me this way, sirs, and you will find answers to your questions,” answered Wilbert.

  Bronx wasn’t sure following this dog was such a good idea, but they had no choice.

  The three animals walked down a long, cold corridor. As they moved ahead, they saw sparks of light coming from a room, like the reflection of a fire on a wall.

  “Oh, by any chance, do you have food?” asked d’Artagnan with apprehension.

  “Really!?” yelled Bronx who was losing his nerves.

  “What!?” responded d’Artagnan, who couldn’t figure out what could be wrong with his question.

  Wilbert laughed affectedly. “Oh, you two are
quite amusing, you know?”

  Chapter 20

  D ear Diary,

  I saw the twit today when she and Paul were doing a photo shoot in the garden. How can she fool everybody? She doesn’t fool me. You should’ve seen those people running after them to take pictures. They still don’t see it, but I’ll show them. It hurts me to see Paul with this hypocritical, fake, strawberry blonde who craves attention. I can see her little game, you know. Each time I see her, I feel like jumping on her and pulling her hair and slapping her face. How satisfying it would be! But I ought to be patient. In a few hours, things will change for good.

  Now, exciting news: I know where Paul and Élodie Faber’s rooms are! I followed them in the corridors earlier, discreetly. So, I’m preparing an expedition to their rooms tonight. Everything is going according to plan so far. I knew it! I’ll wait a few hours, and then, once everybody is sleeping…

  Oh, Paul, tomorrow you will be mine. Just one last night separates us, my love. One last night. And then, we will be together. Forever.

  Brigitte

  Brigitte Plansec closed her diary and left it on the desk. She removed her jersey dress with large orange and green flowers and slipped into a black velvet tracksuit. She put on black socks and black running shoes, then she sat on her bed and pulled a tablet out of her handbag. She double-clicked on a file and started to watch one of the first movies Paul Dumont had starred in in the eighties, when he was at the top of his career. Although she knew This Irresistible Bad Guy by heart, having seen it a hundred times, Brigitte watched the movie with a broad smile on her face as if she were watching it for the first time. She cracked open a bag of potato chips and plunged her hand into it to take out a handful of chips she shoved into her mouth. She chewed them. The crunchy noise drowned out the sound of the movie. On the tablet’s screen, a young Paul Dumont hung from a helicopter, with just one hand holding tight onto a rope. And yet, he was all smiles, his hairdo was perfect, and his shirt, although it was torn, made him look sexy, revealing his perfect abs and hairy chest.

  A beautiful woman fell from the helicopter, screaming at the top of her lungs as she saw her destiny going fast down to a certain death. But Paul caught her hand just in time and saved her. Now, the woman was hanging onto Paul who was hanging onto the cord attached to the helicopter, still flying frantically, thousands of feet over the ocean. The camera did a close-up on Paul’s face. “Don’t worry honey,” he said with a sexy grin, looking at the woman, “I will never let you down.”

  Although her mouth was full, Brigitte Plansec was all smiles. Yellow crumbs fell over the top of her tracksuit and onto the bed sheets.

  “Now, that’s my Paul!” she said.

  Chapter 21

  A peculiar thing about the Château d’Orvilly was how its charming daytime allure turned into a terrifying, gloomy atmosphere at night. A fact that had made Amanda hesitant to accept the inheritance.

  The first time she had visited the castle, a major storm had struck Orvilly-sur-Mer. The dark sky had poured rain, and strong winds had torn through the trees and forced open windows and doors. The epitome of a dark novel scene. Chills had run along Amanda’s spine when she had raised her eyes to the imposing, gray stone facade with its big windows looking down at her like black, scrutinizing eyes.

  Despite the major renovations, the medieval castle still had this mysterious and frightening aura at dusk. Strangely enough, this was exactly what brought visitors: history lovers, fans of the medieval period, and people hoping to make ghostly encounters.

  It was past midnight on Saturday evening. Silence reigned in the castle. Most guests were in their rooms, either watching television, reading a book, or tucked in their beds, already sleeping. But others felt more adventurous, seeking supernatural experiences so they could bring home spooky stories to tell their friends and families.

  Doors opened and closed discreetly, careful steps tip-toed along the creaking parquet in the corridors, whispers could be heard here and there.

  The blogger Barbara Clément was part of this nocturnal exploration. She walked down the corridor on the second floor, looking over her shoulder to make sure nobody saw her. She arrived in front of door 21, Élodie Faber’s suite. She pressed one ear against the door. Hearing nothing, she pushed down the door handle slowly. To her surprise, the door wasn’t locked. She pushed it open by half an inch, enough to pass a small mirror into the empty space to see inside the suite. The light was on. She couldn’t see the whole room, but there was no sign of activity. No sound either.

  The blogger pushed open the door. If Élodie Faber was inside, she would pretend she was lost and had opened the wrong door.

  Barbara Clément didn’t fear much in life. Being a celebrity reporter and a paparazzi, the woman was used to taking risks. No risks meant no hot headlines, no hot headlines meant no success, and no success meant no money. And she couldn’t care less about famous people’s feelings or objections regarding her work. If they didn’t want media attention, why choose a career that would intentionally put them in the spotlight? It was the price they had to pay for fame.

  Barbara stepped into the room carefully. Still no movement in the suite. She tilted her head and saw a long white veil on the bed with an open garment bag and a hanger beside it. Probably for the wedding gown. But where was the gown?

  She walked towards the bed and glanced around her. Nobody. Élodie Faber wasn’t in her suite. Feeling lucky, the blogger quickly took pictures of items in the room with her cell phone. The veil on the bed, the wedding shoes by the nightstand, gloves, jewelry and a Chanel makeup pouch on a vanity. Paperwork left on a desk attracted her attention. A smile grew on her face when she read a yellow post-it on one of the pages:

  Hello Darling,

  Please review the contract enclosed. We’ll discuss the details later with a good bottle of wine and you au naturel?

  Cheers,

  Richard

  “Oh, Élodie, you make my job so easy…” Barbara Clément placed her cell phone above the paperwork and took a picture, making sure the writing on the post-it was legible.

  Chapter 22

  D’ Artagnan, Bronx and Wilbert crossed a busy room that seemed to be a concourse leading to various destinations. Dozens of people wearing strange clothes—mostly from past centuries—were constantly coming and going. They looked real, but there was one odd thing about all of them: they didn’t walk. Rather, they floated one foot above the floor. The pets could see through them and could even walk through them as if they were passing through clouds. D’Artagnan felt disturbed each time it happened. The Great Dane kept shaking his head vigorously to make sure he didn’t have an ounce of ‘ghost web’ left on him, as he said. Wilbert explained to him that he needn’t worry about this.

  The cat and the dogs stopped at a corner of the room by a fireplace. The flames brightened the room but didn’t warm it. D’Artagnan shivered, wondering what was wrong with these flames.

  “What do you mean by ‘it’s ghost hours?’” asked Bronx to Wilbert.

  “You see, in the world of the living, animals and some people like children or psychics can see ghosts. Therefore, we must be careful. We usually avoid going out during the day so as not to attract attention. We wait until midnight, when most people are asleep, then we go about our business.”

  Bronx frowned. “Then why did I see you and the tall guy in the antiques shop yesterday?”

  “Ah, because sometimes the Baron doesn’t have the patience to wait for the ghost hours and decides to go for a walk anyway, in the castle or outside. Being condemned to live in the darkness isn’t exactly thrilling. We rarely see daylight and we miss it.”

  A couple holding hands, wearing outfits from the 16th century, walked by and disappeared into a wall, to d’Artagnan’s amazement. The dog sniffed the wall, wondering where the couple had gone. Bronx was getting used to the effect.

  A group of women with high headdresses and gowns from the 12th century passed beside them, talking and lau
ghing. They too went through a wall. A group of men in jodhpurs and red jackets, each holding a sword secured in a sheath on their hip, marched beside them. Children ran around, sometimes playing with domestic animals. Suddenly, everybody stopped and yelled, and the sound of galloping horses became louder. A group of knights on steeds approached quickly and raced across the room, disintegrating the crowd of ghosts instantly, turning them into clouds of dust. Then, the ghosts slowly reappeared, taking back their shape, protesting vehemently against the riders who were already gone.

  “It’s so crowded here,” said d’Artagnan, feeling uncomfortable. “How can all these people be contained in the same room?”

  “Because we are not made of solid material,” answered Wilbert, as if it were obvious.

  “But where do all of these people come from and where do they go?” asked Bronx. “Surely, it’s not the only place they can haunt.”

  “Of course not,” answered Wilbert. “But they have a good reason to be here. These people and animals are all past occupants of the castle. They all lived here, or were visitors, and died here.”

  Bronx and d’Artagnan looked at Wilbert with strained smiles.

  “Are you telling us we’re watching all the walking dead carcasses this castle has seen since it was built?” asked Bronx.

  “Have respect for the dead!” answered Wilbert. “But, yes. It’s why it’s crowded. Although we haven’t had many new deaths in here since Toinette d’Orvilly, the most recently deceased mistress of the castle, and one miscreant who was poisoned here a few months ago.”

  D’Artagnan looked around him and quivered. “It’s getting really cold here,” said the dog. “Thank you for the visit, Wilbert, but we should go back. And I’m hungry. I need food. I mean, real food. No offense.” D’Artagnan ran his paw through a plate of meat he couldn’t grab.

  “None taken, sir” said Wilbert. “Fine. Follow me and I’ll show you the way out.”