by Nell Goddin
“Thank you. No doubt, I can use every drop of luck you can send my way. You’ve already given me a good push in the right direction.”
“How’s that?”
“Well, I’m not really cut from the ‘starving artist’ mold, you know? I do enjoy my creature comforts.” He flashed a smile that literally dazzled her, and she leaned her elbows on the counter and smiled back. “You’ve made La Baraque a real showplace. My room is the perfect combination of serenity and luxury. Call me shallow, but that’s how I like to live. And I hope the atmosphere you’ve created will help me make a good start on my book.”
Ryan put his hand on Molly’s arm, and though she didn’t wish it and wasn’t looking for it, she felt a little spark of attraction. Their eyes met. “Please don’t say anything to anyone about it,” he said quietly. “It’s just…you understand…not something I want just anyone to know. I’d rather not answer ten million questions about it. Kills the creativity, you know?”
“Of course, no problem. I am pretty good at keeping secrets,” she said. “More or less.”
Ryan looked at her with alarm.
“Sorry! Something about you makes me want to tease you.” She laughed and took a sip of her kir and they looked at each other warmly and smiled.
“Darlings!” said a loud, Southern-accented voice, and everyone turned to see Ashley posing in the doorway with her arms open wide. “I want to know all of your names, starting with you!” She looked at Nathaniel and winked, and he stuttered out his name and moved away. Ashley spotted Molly in the kitchen and walked over with an exaggerated sway like she was on a Paris runway. “And who is this handsome specimen?” she said to Ryan, who introduced himself.
Ashley gave him a long look. “So,” she said slowly, “you’re the famous Ryan Tuck? The ladykiller known across all the southern states and probably up north too?”
“That sounds like a different Ryan Tuck,” he laughed, and Ashley shrugged and sat down next to Ira, whispering in his ear. Patty looked down at the floor, and Molly went to her quickly and asked if she would like a drink. Before Patty could answer, Bobo barked and Molly excused herself to go to the door. “Ben!” she cried, and fell into his arms as though he had been away on another long trip.
“Well, bonsoir to you too,” Ben deadpanned, hugging her tightly for an instant before letting her go. “I see you have a full house,” he added.
“I know, you’d probably rather be home in bed reading. But I…I just wanted to see you. To be with you,” she said, quietly so no one could overhear.
Ben slipped his arm around her and pulled her close. “Actually, there’s something I’d like to talk to you about. Maybe this is a bad time?”
“No! Just let me get some hors d’oeuvres out and then we can take a little walk or something.”
It did seem that the party was chugging along fine without any help from Molly. Ryan was whispering in Darcy’s ear and she was giggling. Ira was nodding his head while Ashley lifted up the hem of her blouse a few inches and did what looked like a kind of belly dance in the middle of the room. Nathaniel was still sitting on the kitchen stool, drinking the same kir and looking amused. Patty was nowhere to be seen.
The gougères were perfectly golden brown, and Molly whisked the tray out of the oven and rolled them onto a wire rack to cool, biting into one and scorching the side of her tongue.
“I saw that,” said Ryan, suddenly at her side.
Molly snickered. “Well, the cook has to make sure everything is all right before serving.”
“Uh huh,” he said, “sure. I’ll be the official taste taster, if you don’t mind.” He picked up one of the puffs and put the whole thing in his mouth at once. “Oh oh oh,” he said, and Molly wasn’t sure whether he liked it or was burning his mouth to bits. “That was the most delicious thing I have ever eaten!” and impulsively he leaned forward, put one hand on her neck, and kissed Molly right on the mouth.
It was over so quickly she did not have to decide whether or not to kiss back.
“I’ll pass them around?” said Ryan, quickly putting them on a plate and winking at Molly as he went out to the others.
Just then, with a rush of cold air, Patty returned, and stood awkwardly near the front door. Molly saw Ben looking at her, and she skittered her glance past him as though she had done something wrong, even though she was protesting in her mind that she had not. How had everything gotten so tangled up all of a sudden?
“Maybe I’ll come back another time,” he said, putting his coat back on.
“Oh, Ben,” said Molly. “The guests—”
“I know. They want your attention, and you should give it to them.” And before she could get another word out, the door was shut and he was gone.
4
Sunday mornings were usually very quiet in Castillac, especially if the night before had been as much fun as the party at La Baraque had been. Molly knew it was nothing but luck, but for some reason, the guests who had been so grouchy on their own had been brilliant once they were all together, getting along like gangbusters and staying up talking and drinking until long after midnight.
Bobo woke Molly up by licking in her ear. “Bobo! Quit that!” she said, reluctantly sitting up and rubbing her eyes. She had not had too much to drink, she was thankful of that. She guessed she might be the only one waking up at La Baraque that morning without a terrible hangover. While she waited for the coffee to finish dripping, she texted Ben asking if he would like to meet her at the café de la Place for breakfast. No answer right off, which probably meant he was out for a run. She hoped so, anyway, feeling both curious about what he had wanted to talk to her about, and a little worried that he had seen Ryan flirting and gotten the wrong idea.
And it was the wrong idea. It was a little unsettling, at nearly forty, to find herself still vulnerable to sudden attractions and charming men—but it was all harmless enough.
Wasn’t it?
It wasn’t as though she were actually interested in Ryan, though he was pretty adorable. But did it…did it mean anything that sparks could still fly with other men? Did it mean Ben was not really The One?
There’s no such thing as The One, she could hear Frances telling her, and she was probably right. Not that twice-divorced Frances was an expert on relationships…though Molly supposed one could argue she did have more experience than most people. She glugged down a cup of coffee and decided to go for a walk. She would head into the village, in case Ben wanted to meet, and if not, she could use the exercise and fresh air to clear her mind.
It was cloudy again, and chilly, but not really cold. By now Molly was an expert at French methods of scarf-tying, and her pretty, green mohair scarf set off her red hair nicely and kept her throat warm, all while looking quite chic by the standards of Castillac. No cars on rue des Chênes, only a crow cawing in an oak. She passed the cemetery with Priez pour vos Morts written in the ironwork over the gate, and thought for a moment about those buried there. Pausing at the gate, she considered going in and paying her respects, but a growl from her stomach convinced her to move along toward civilization and croissants.
The air was damp and she took deep breaths, still not feeling quite right, as though the effort to move was twice as exhausting as it normally was. Just as she reached the Place—almost deserted on a Sunday morning—she felt her cell vibrate in her pocket and drew it out. A text from Ben:
On my way
She felt relieved and quickly headed for the Café de la Place, looking forward to its warmth, the friendly face of Pascal, and of course, the Special. Before Pascal had a chance to come over, Ben slid into the seat across from her and looked at her coolly.
“Late night?” he asked, looking down at his phone as though he were receiving a number of important messages that very minute.
“Yes, it was. It was the strangest thing. Almost everyone was in really bad moods when I first met them yesterday—complaining, hard to please, grouchy. I was thinking, oh man, it’s going to be a lo
ng week. But then they ended up in my kitchen, and like magic, once they were all together, you’d think they were best pals. Laughing and telling their life stories, happy as clams.”
“And the fellow in the kitchen with you, was he in a bad mood yesterday too?”
Molly considered. “No, not really. I think he might be the person who…Ryan’s very good humored….” She looked at Ben and saw that he was grim-faced. “Now Ben, don’t be…are you mad at me? Really?”
He narrowed his eyes for a second longer and then forced himself to smile. “Of course not,” he said, signaling to Pascal. “It’s not like we…I mean, we’re free to…don’t have any…”
Molly laughed. “We’re not official.”
He gave a quick nod, then his expression softened and he reached for her hand. “I missed you when I was away.”
Molly smiled and squeezed his hand, and she felt a strange and wonderful sensation of happiness spreading through her body as they looked at each other. “I missed you too,” she whispered.
“Then maybe you’ll be interested in something I’d like to propose,” Ben said, waving again for Pascal, who was talking animatedly to a couple of young women seated on the other side of the room.
Molly’s knees went weak at the word propose. She was stunned.
“Of course I did a great deal of thinking on my trip to Thailand,” Ben said. “That was the point of the trip, obviously. Back when I was working on Rémy’s farm, he kept talking to me about my mission in life.”
“I’m guessing he didn’t think it was farming?”
Ben laughed. “Correct. He is convinced that everyone has a mission. Doesn’t have to be anything terribly ambitious—he means something you are very well suited for, something that will…well, he gets a little spiritual about it and I don’t quite follow him that far, but at any rate…my mission, that’s one of the main things I was thinking about as I rode elephants and surfed and ate curry.”
At that point Molly’s face had taken on a frozen aspect, as she tried and failed to master her emotions. Hadn’t he said propose? What did that have to do with Rémy and curry?
“My decision to quit the gendarmerie, as you know, was not made hastily. I don’t regret it. And you remember—”
Molly missed the next few sentences as she took in the knowledge that whatever Ben had to say, it was not going to involve marriage. She was surprised by how disappointed she felt.
“—when we met, there were three cases, three girls: Amy Bennett, Valerie Boutillier, and Elizabeth Martin. Two down, one to go. I found myself lying on the beach and going over the facts in the Martin case, trying to think of a new way to approach it. I can’t let it go, Molly. And—it’s not just the Martin case, it’s doing that kind of work that I can’t let go. Bringing violent people to justice, giving friends and families of the victims the comfort that at least justice was served. It sounds silly that it took going to Thailand to allow me to understand that about myself—and I didn’t say anything about it when I first got back because I wondered if it was a sort of fever dream of the tropics, and once I was back in Castillac, I would lose heart all over again.”
Molly nodded, trying to look sympathetic, her face awkwardly frozen.
“This is terribly long-winded of me, very sorry. Is Pascal ever going to get to us?” He turned and waved at the server, who waved back but did not leave the table with two young women.
“You said you had something to ask me?” Molly said, her voice catching, to her horror.
“Yes! I’m getting to that. All right, so…I still want to do detective work, definitely. I believe I have worked out the reasons for my anxiety, and actually, I want to continue whether that remains a problem or not. But the gendarmerie is a closed door now, and besides, I would have been transferred very soon anyway, and my heart belongs to Castillac. I want to do the work here. And so my question for you, Molly: would you like to be my partner? Would you like to make a business with me, as private investigators?”
When Ben said the word ‘partner’, her heart skipped another beat. I am being ridiculous, she told herself, taking a deep breath and letting what he was saying sink in. “Well, that sounds incredible, actually. But would there be enough work in a village this small?”
“No. Nowhere close. We would have to do a bit of traveling—certainly to Bergerac and Périgueux, and if we develop a good reputation, we might get work anywhere in France, or perhaps Europe. Depends on what sort of career you want, and how successful our cases are. But we work very well together, Molly Sutton. The fact that we don’t always agree is, in my opinion, a positive thing.” He cocked his head and waited for her answer. “So? What do you think?”
She didn’t know whether to pop him one on the head or quickly agree. It was a wonderful and tempting offer, for sure. But how could such a kind and lovable man be so infuriating?
The walk back from the village was tiring, despite fortification from the Special, and Molly wished she had driven. I must be getting old, she thought, unused to feeling fatigue from such moderate exertion. As she approached the driveway to La Baraque, she saw Nathaniel Beech walking toward her from the other direction.
“Bonjour, Nathaniel,” she said as they got close. “Out for a morning walk?”
“I’m afraid I got a little turned around,” he said sheepishly. “I was headed into Castillac for some breakfast but I guess I went the wrong way.”
“I picked up some croissants while I was there, would that do?”
“Thanks! Can’t go wrong with a fresh croissant.”
“A man after my own heart. So, did you have a good time last night? Sometimes my guests keep to themselves, which is totally fine, but it was nice to see everyone jump in and make friends like that.”
“I did enjoy myself, thanks. I’m just…it’s all a little…this is my first trip out of the country. So everything’s a bit overwhelming.”
“It’s not easy traveling alone if you’re not used to it. Especially if you don’t speak the language.”
“I studied Spanish in school, unfortunately.”
“Not unfortunate at all! I’m dying to go to Madrid. And Sevilla is supposed to be incredible! You can plan a trip with Miranda.”
Nathaniel beamed. “You’re very kind to remember. It must be something to have all these guests streaming through, telling you their life stories.”
Molly laughed. “Oh, it’s interesting, believe me! I’ve had some real characters.” She thought fleetingly of the odd Wesley Addison, who was coming back in June for two weeks. Nathaniel followed Molly into the kitchen. She put the croissants on a platter and went to make more coffee. Darcy Bilson showed up at the French doors with bedhead, announcing that their coffeemaker had blown up, and could she beg for some. Then Patty knocked timidly at the front door, wanting to know if Molly had any aspirin for Ashley’s headache, though only a few minutes later, Molly saw Ashley and Ryan huddled in a corner looking like they were solving the problems of the world together.
And in the space of twenty minutes, Molly’s kitchen had filled with all six guests, greeting each other like long-lost family members. They drank pots of coffee and ran through the bag of croissants in minutes, comparing hangovers and laughing at in-jokes from the night before. Ashley reprised her belly dance without any music, Nathaniel sat on his stool chuckling, Ryan was again at Molly’s elbow looking for ways to help as she served up the sausage she had bought for her own dinner that night, along with a platter of scrambled eggs with a good grating of Cantal over the top. Ira Bilson’s booming voice punctuated the swirl of chatter. Darcy was doing a headstand in a corner of the room.
With all the socializing and hostess duties, she almost forgot about Ben and his “proposal,” but in the back of her mind, she felt a kind of tingle, because as much as she loved running La Baraque—and she couldn’t imagine giving it up—the idea of being a real live private investigator was thrilling. The fact that a real live former police detective thought she’d make a good
one only heightened the charge. She had read every single Nancy Drew mystery when she was young, and identified thoroughly with the titian-haired detective. The times she had been able to help out with cases in Castillac had been the most satisfying of her life.
Maybe better than marriage, she mused, smiling to herself as she chopped some parsley to sprinkle over the eggs.
“You don’t want to get on her bad side, I can tell you that much,” Patty was saying to Ira. Molly pricked up her ears.
“Oh come on, she looks sweet as pie,” said Ira.
“That’s just the Southern accent. Do not be fooled,” answered Patty in a low voice. “I’ve known her since we were in the same sorority back at Auburn. Yeah, okay, don’t look so surprised. I got sympathy votes because my mother died during Rush Week, otherwise I’d never have gotten in and Ashley and I wouldn’t be friends. But what I was going to say…” she leaned in close to Ira’s ear and Molly leaned too but missed some of what Patty was saying. “…police were called…had to wear a wig after that…” was all she got.
Ashley was sitting on a stool next to Nathaniel. “Well, aren’t you just the cutest thing,” she said, batting her eyelashes at him in what had to be an ironic fashion. “Let me guess—you are a technology wizard, isn’t that right? Know every little last thing about computers?”
Nathaniel blushed all the way to his hairline. “Well, I wouldn’t say that. You can never know everything about anything.”
Ashley tapped a fingernail on his forearm. “But I’m right, aren’t I, about computers? What lucky place has you working for them?”
“I work in IT, at a hospital. Lot of data goes through a hospital of course, and you’d be surprised at how backward most of their systems are. It’s even been a struggle getting some of the doctors on board with basic email.”
“Well, I never heard of such a thing,” said Ashley distractedly. She was watching Ryan put his arm around Molly’s shoulders and say something in her ear that made her laugh.
