The night shift in the kitchen belonged to Jeannette Gascon, and the cook made sure the day staff was aware of this.
*
Meanwhile, other supernatural events were occurring in the castle. In the ballroom, a crowd of translucent guests dressed in 19th century evening gowns and suits inspected with great curiosity and amusement the employees sound asleep on their camping mattresses.
In the piano lounge, the ghosts of Baron d’Orvilly and his dog Wilbert walked into the room from a wall. The man, unhappy to see Camille and Bertrand sleeping there, puffed nervously on his tobacco pipe, grumbled something and left the room. Wilbert tried to wake up d’Artagnan but the Great Dane was sleeping deeply and snoring. The Springer Spaniel ran back to his master.
Cries rose behind a bookshelf in the little library. A white silhouette passed through it and floated to the center of the room. It was a woman wearing a long white dress. She kept crying, looking lost and desperate. She went to the door and passed through it.
Chapter 43
W hen Amanda and Liliane arrived in the lobby on Monday morning, Bertrand and Camille were battling with guests threatening to leave; reporters who were ignoring the interdiction to trespass, asking hundreds questions; and phones that wouldn’t stop ringing. The place was mayhem and resembled a busy newsroom rather than a hotel lobby.
By announcing that a free gourmet breakfast with unlimited pastries was waiting for them in the dining room, the guests stopped their complaints and walked to the restaurant.
With Liliane’s help, Amanda pushed back the horde of reporters outside while promising them interviews later. Once the last journalist had her foot out, the friends closed the doors rapidly and locked them.
“Amanda, you’ll never believe this!” said Bertrand. He had barely ended a phone conversation that his phone rang again. He ignored it. “We’re fully booked for two years!”
“What? Are you serious?” asked Amanda, astounded.
Camille held a receiver on her right ear while nodding energetically with an expression on her face that left no doubt.
“See!" said Liliane with a grin on her face. “And you thought this murder would chase clients away and ruin your business! It’s exactly the opposite.”
“I can’t believe this,” said Amanda. “I mean, it’s great news, but isn’t it creepy people want to stay here because someone was killed here?”
“Don’t complain,” said Liliane, giving her a friendly pat on the back. “Business is business, money is coming your way. Be happy.”
Camille ended her phone conversation and hung up. “All the print media made their headlines about Élodie Faber’s murder this morning!” she said as enthusiastic as if she were delivering positive news. “So, we have tons of reporters calling us for interviews, including TV channels. There’s even a producer of a famous ghost TV show who wants to come here with her team and film an episode. They hope to catch Élodie’s ghost on camera!”
Amanda rolled her eyes. This sudden popularity wasn’t to her liking. She was overwhelmed by all this media circus and felt uncomfortable with the idea of exploiting a young woman's tragic death. “This is insane,” she said. “I can’t possibly do this.”
Liliane took her friend by the shoulders and looked at her straight in the eyes. “Oh, yes you can, my friend. I understand your reluctance. Becoming famous because someone died within these walls, it’s not so great.” Liliane raised a finger in the air. “But, it’s not the first time this has happened, and can you imagine the free advertising you’ll get? This is a golden opportunity. It would cost thousands of euros if you had to pay for it. It would be crazy to refuse it.”
Amanda took a deep breath and closed her eyes, wishing all this would soon be over.
“Amanda, I have a Judicial Police Officer from Paris on the phone!” said Camille, waving her hand. Amanda hurried to the desk and Camille gave her the receiver.
“Ms. Amanda McBride?” asked a man on the phone.
“Speaking.”
“Vincent Legros, Judicial Police Officer. I’ve been told you have quite a delicate situation on your hands?”
“That’s the least we can say! My castle is full of guests who need to go back to their lives. Please, tell me you’ll be here today to start your investigation on Élodie Faber’s murder.”
“Well… um… I’ve got good news and bad news, Ms. McBride. Which one do you want first?”
Was it a joke? Amanda sighed. “Whichever you want, Mr. Legros,” she answered in a flat tone. “I have the feeling the order won’t do much for me.”
“The good news is I’m on my way to Orvilly-sur-Mer.”
“Ah!” said Amanda with relief.
“The bad news is I’m stuck halfway because of major strikes all over France. No gas being sold in gas stations and trains are canceled. I’m doing my best to get to Orvilly-sur-Mer as soon as I can, but I might not arrive before tomorrow. At best.”
Strikes in France were a painful recurrence and could create major issues, shutting down the whole country for days, even weeks. The French took their right to strike seriously. Amanda missed Canada with its effective public services where strikes were used with parsimoniously.
“Sir, I have guests here who are impatient to leave and who are becoming aggressive. If you don’t arrive ASAP, I’m afraid there’ll be another murder!”
“Well, at least I won’t be out of work, will I?” Legros laughed.
Amanda rolled her eyes. “Hilarious, sir.”
“All right. I have to find a way to get there.”
“Oh, before you go, may I ask you something?
“Go ahead.”
“Have you done a medical examination of Élodie Faber’s body?”
“Yes, we have, of course. Why are you asking?”
“Can you give me an approximate time of death?”
“According to the medical report I have, she was killed between midnight and 3 a.m. on Sunday. Why are you asking?”
“Let’s say I’ve been doing my own investigation, and I needed this information.”
“Ms. McBride, I strongly suggest you don’t do this,” said Legros. “You have no authority to conduct interviews in a criminal case. It could be dangerous.”
“I know. But I already found out a few things that will interest you, Mr. Legros. I’m sure you’ll thank me once you’re here. Please, hurry!” And Amanda hung up without giving the man a chance to say another word.
Loud bangs startled everybody in the lobby. Fred was outside, slamming on the doors.
“Open the doors! Let us in!” he yelled, looking desperate, holding Bronx in his arms.
Amanda and the staff looked surprised. Wasn’t Fred still in the little library? Obviously not. Liliane rushed to open the doors and save the young man from the claws of hungry journalists.
“Thank you for not looking for us!” said Fred once inside. The young man was very upset. Both he and Bronx looked as though they had spent a rough night outside. Bristled hair and tired faces. Although this was a regular look for the cat.
“I’m so sorry,” said Amanda. “We thought you were in the library! Where were you?”
Fred slumped on an armchair, breathing heavily. Bertrand and Camille left their desk and joined Amanda and Liliane to circle Fred.
“Water! We need water!” asked Fred as if he had crossed the desert. Liliane rushed to get two glasses of water, one for Fred and one for Bronx. “I’ve seen amazing things!” said Fred, with huge eyes.
Everybody frowned.
“What do you mean?” asked Amanda.
“There’s a hidden door in the little library!” Fred gulped his first glass of water, drinking loudly, and asked for a second one. Everybody had their eyes on him, waiting for more. “There’s a secret room in the castle. It’s amazing! I found a secret room!” He claimed proudly.
Bronx immediately meowed in protest. I’m the one who found it! You just happen to be there. And I saved us by showing you the way out,
you idiot!
“What are you talking about?” asked Amanda.
“You won’t believe me. There’s a hidden door to a secret room in the little library! And I’ve seen ghosts!”
Fred’s colleagues exchanged glances. They were concerned. Was the young man in shock or was there really a hidden door in the little library that lead to a secret room?
After all, it wasn’t the first time Amanda and Liliane heard this theory. There was just one way to find out.
Chapter 44
A manda, Liliane, Camille and Bertrand abandoned the lobby and rushed to the little library in search of the mysterious room.
They were actively looking for it but had no clue what it could be as Fred had no recollection of this important detail. Bertrand and Camille were hoping for some ghostly encounters whereas Amanda and Liliane were simply intrigued by Fred’s revelation. Was it true?
They looked behind books, tapped their hands along the walls, checked the corners, inspected the furniture, lifted the trifles on the bookshelves and tables, hoping something would happen and unlock the hidden door. But nothing.
Meanwhile, Fred sat in an armchair, giving them directions and eating croissants he picked from a basket on his lap. D’Artagnan stood by him, praying Fred would be generous enough to share a croissant or two with him.
Bronx nested on the windowsill, purring. The cat knew exactly what to do to open the mysterious door but had decided these stupid people would have to find it without his help. He started a nap instead.
“I don’t see anything,” said Bertrand who was scanning the top bookshelves because he was the tallest.
“Me neither,” said Camille, flipping the pages of a book. “Where did you say it was again?” she asked Fred.
Fred muffled an answer, his mouth full of croissant. He pointed a hand in a direction.
“We’ve already searched there,” said Liliane, crouching under a desk, examining the carpet.
Amanda put a little vase back on a table and sat beside Fred. “Fred, no offense, but are you sure it wasn’t a dream you had last night?”
Fred turned his head to Amanda as if she had insulted him. “Offense taken! So now you think I’m crazy?”
“No, no, that’s not what I’m saying, of course. But—”
“But what? I’m telling you there’s a hidden door to a secret room here, so there is one. I’m sure I could even find out information about it online.” The history buff regained his energy and grabbed his laptop on the desk. He was about to close a browser window when Amanda stopped him, putting her hand over his.
“Wait!” she said. “Is that what you found out about Élodie Faber?”
“Yes,” answered Bertrand. “But it’s nothing interesting or relevant.”
“May I?” asked Amanda. She held out her hands, waiting for Fred to give her the computer. “Fine,” said Fred. “But later I’ll look for information about the secret room, and you can bet I’ll find some. You won’t find me so crazy then.”
Amanda read an article published just before Élodie’s death from a blog with flashy colors and shocking headlines that fed on the latest gossip and scandals in the world of celebrities. What had attracted her attention was the pink title at the top of the screen. ‘Élodie and Paul’s Wedding: Just Another Act?’
She learned about Élodie Faber’s privileged life: her birth in Paris in a chic, private clinic; her rich parents who had made a fortune in the retail industry, selling clothing lines to major chain stores all over the world; her early debut in TV commercials because she was such a beautiful and gifted child; her teenage years spent in prestigious and expensive boarding schools for the offspring of the rich and famous; and her promising career in French cinema.
Although the article’s introduction was written in an inviting tone, the recount of Élodie’s life turned slowly into a caustic mockery from one paragraph to another. The actress was portrayed as a young woman who always had what she wanted in life without doing much. Moreover, she was used to being adored and served. Wherever she went, she had to be the leader or the winner. Therefore, anyone around her was just another tool in her world to help her get what she wanted. The article aimed to reveal the young actress’s real, cold nature, and quoted various anonymous testimonies from people who had lived or worked with her.
‘Élodie Faber is a schemer and always wants more.’
‘She has no respect for her fans. She only uses them like she uses other people in her life, even her own parents.’
‘Élodie Faber is a fraud. She has a career in cinema only because her parents know people in the business. She has no talent.’
‘This spoiled brat was given everything in life. She’s rich, beautiful and has everything she wants, and she should be grateful for that, but no, instead she’s awful and it needs to be said.’
‘I believe her wedding with Paul Dumont is a stunt to profit both their careers. Come on, look at them, they don’t match at all!’
It was a profusion of bitter opinions, one after another, demonstrating the young actress had more than one enemy.
The article was helpful to better understand Élodie Faber’s personality and her life, but it considerably widened the pool of potential killers, which discouraged Amanda. Was the killer still in the castle? It could’ve been an intruder, not a guest, even if the evidence found at the crime scene hadn’t suggested such a scenario.
Then she noticed a detail on a picture of Élodie and four of her former schoolmates. The commentary below read: ‘Élodie Faber in boarding school at age 16 with friends Perrine Morin, Isabelle Berthaut, Tania Brunel and Gabrielle Verdier, taken the day before the prestigious school caught fire.’
Amanda scrolled further down and saw the unauthorized pictures and videos of Élodie, Paul and Flora taken in the castle during the weekend. This blog was without a doubt the source of the leak. Now, the videos had gone viral with thousands of views on YouTube that kept increasing by the second. People were adding all sorts of comments, from empathetic ones to insulting ones. The sinister videos and pictures had spread all over the web.
All this was appalling to Amanda. Although she didn’t think much of Élodie Faber, she felt sad a guest had had the distasteful idea to film the actors without their knowledge, and worse, had taken a picture of the young actress who had just lost her life under horrific conditions. She was infuriated.
But there was one good thing: the article had a byline.
Chapter 45
Room 8: Interview of Barbara Clément
“W ho does this?” asked Amanda, appalled.
“Me. Because this is my job,” answered Barbara Clément, calmly. The blogger sat on her bed and crossed her legs in a nonchalant attitude, a grin on her face. She was proud of herself.
Amanda and Liliane stood in front of her, holding Fred’s laptop, displaying the article she had published online on Spread the Word, the blog Brigitte Plansec had mentioned during her interview.
“You call this a ‘job?’” replied Amanda.
“Absolutely, Ms. McBride. Did you know my website got more than a million hits thanks to this article? Do you have any idea what a million visitors represents for a blog? It means money, Ms. McBride. A lot of money.”
“I wonder why I’m not surprised that money is your motivation. You had no right to do this.”
The blogger chortled. “First, everybody needs a job and money, Ms. McBride. Second, you clearly know nothing about journalism. Yes, I have the right to publish this. I didn’t break any law if this is what you’re worried about.”
“I’m not so sure about this. And you dare call this disgusting post ‘journalism?’ You’ve got some nerve!” said Amanda.
Liliane put a hand on her friend’s arm to calm her down. Although she was horrified by the article too, Liliane hid her eagerness to learn more gruesome details about Élodie Faber’s life and death. Truth was, she enjoyed reading gossip magazines occasionally. Human nature can be complex.
“Then why didn’t you ask for a media pass like the other journalists?” asked Amanda.
Barbara Clément laughed. “Are you kidding me? You really think I can do my work showing my journalist card before taking pictures? No. Incognito is the way to go in this business.”
“Well, now you’re not so incognito anymore,” continued Amanda. “I’m glad you made the mistake to sign this article with your own name. It wasn’t difficult to find it in the guests registry.”
“It’s not a mistake, Ms. McBride,” replied the blogger. “I always sign my articles with my real name. See, I’m not hiding completely. But why are you here and what do you want from me exactly?”
“Did you know Élodie Faber personally?” asked Amanda.
“No. Why do you ask?”
“The tone of your post sounds like a personal vendetta.”
The blogger laughed again. “I’m glad it did! It’s what my readers want. I want to get them angry, happy, shocked. Mild emotions aren’t very effective when blogging about celebrity gossip. No, I didn’t know her personally, but I know people who did though. And let me tell you, this girl wasn’t a piece of cake.”
“So, indirectly, you could’ve wished her dead,” said Amanda. “To dish out justice for your friends who had to deal with her in the past?”
Barbara Clément rolled her eyes as she opened a soda can she had taken from the small fridge. “Oh, please, you’re not serious? That’s the silliest thing I’ve ever heard! I don’t fight for anybody. I only do an unusual job that happens to be very lucrative. And I didn’t tell you the people I know are friends. I only told you I knew them. You might not like the tone of my article, Ms. McBride, but unlike many celebrities’ magazines contents, there’s little I make up. I investigate before publishing a post. And for Élodie Faber’s post, gathering solid information wasn’t difficult. I could write a book on all the nasty things she’s done. For such a short life, it’s pitiful. Did you know some of her former schoolmates held her responsible for the big fire that damaged the boarding school where she studied in Switzerland?”
French Weddings Can Kill You Page 12
