Murder on Vacation

by Nell Goddin

  In bed, Molly woke with a sudden jolt and the sense that she was not alone. Not feeling refreshed by sleep, she got out of bed, thinking she must be crazy because Bobo was fast asleep with her head on the pillow, not barking or growling the way she would if a stranger were in the house. Molly slipped on her bathrobe and made her way to the living room, where she found all of her guests huddled around the woodstove, not saying a word, most with their eyes closed.

  “Excuse me?” she said tentatively.

  “Oh my heavens,” said Ashley, “we forgot to invite Molly! Darlin’, would you like to put some clothes on and join us? We’re about to talk for a little bit about Ryan. You should be here too. It’s so important to heal after all that’s happened.”

  Molly stood, blinking. Why was everyone in her house in the middle of the night? Bobo came in with her tail drooping down, and sat next to Ashley, hoping to get some petting.

  “We’re having a memorial. Just, um, sharing some memories, that’s all. We’d love to have you be part of it,” said Patty.

  “First—please, I am very accommodating, and if you would like to use my house I’ll do everything I can to make it happen. But I want you to ask me first. And use the knocker. Hear what I’m saying?” She looked around at the group, trying to see if they realized they had crossed a line. A few mumbled “ sorry Molly” so she continued, “About the memorial…I’d be delighted—well, that’s not the right word, is it—I’d be grateful to hear what you all have to say. You know I was fond of Ryan too, and it would be lovely—well, that’s not it either, but you know what I mean. I would very much like to join you. Can you wait just five minutes for me to get dressed?”

  No one objected. Back in her bedroom tugging on a pair of jeans, Molly thought about Maron’s insistence that Ryan’s murderer was one of her guests. She wished it weren’t so, but was objective enough to see Maron’s point. Unless Ryan had had the bad luck to stumble upon a random killer in a small village, or had been the target of an expert hit, chances were the killer was here at La Baraque. Was, in fact, one of the five people hanging out in her living room at that very moment.

  Molly went into the kitchen for a glass of water, wanting a chance to observe the group before joining it. Nathaniel sat on an ottoman, trying to coax Bobo into coming over. Patty and Ashley were on the sofa, looking glum, not speaking. Ira Bilson fiddled with the stove, and Darcy glared at him.

  Spiky does not begin to describe this bunch, thought Molly. She tried to summon up some energy. “Okay then,” she said brightly, coming over with her glass of water. “Is someone leading?”

  “You do it, Nathaniel,” said Patty.

  “Okay,” he said, looking pleased to be named. “We’ve done the moment of silence,” he told Molly apologetically. “Would you like us to do it again?”

  “No, no,” said Molly. “I can manage that on my own.”

  “Okay,” said Nathaniel, wiggling his fingers against his thighs. “So now, let’s go around the room and give everyone who wants to a chance to say something. Ashley, do you want to start?”

  Ashley bowed her head. The woolen throw was pulled up to her neck, covering her body, and the tips of her cowboy boots poked out from the bottom end. When she lifted her head, her perfectly made-up face was composed. “I will tell y’all right now that I feel Ryan Tuck and I were soul mates. It was some kind of crazy luck that brought me all the way here to Castillac so we could meet. Not even luck—magic. The first time I saw him was right here in this living room. He was making you laugh, Darcy, and I didn’t even realize just then how difficult that is to do. No offense.” Ashley paused and rearranged the throw. Darcy started to say something but closed her mouth again.

  “He was a magical spirit in this world, is all I have to say, and I am more sorry than I could ever express that he was taken so soon. I hope whoever did this is caught and put away for eternity. Thank you.”

  Nathaniel looked a little wet around the eyes. “Thank you, Ashley,” he said. “Patty, why don’t you go next? We can just go around the circle.”

  “All right,” said Patty, standing up, barely as tall as Nathaniel’s elbow. “So you know that first night we were here? I was feeling sorta overwhelmed. Never traveled outside the country before, didn’t expect to be thrown in with all these other people. I thought it would just be me and Ash, you know? And we’ve barely even spoken to each other for about ten years, not since getting out of college. She called me out of the blue and asked me to come on this trip, can you believe that?” Patty laughed and then seemed to recall what she was trying to say. “So that first night, I was kinda huddled in the corner, feeling shy. And here comes Ryan, good-looking Ryan with a twinkle in his eye, and he pays attention to me.” She laughed. “He was not a magical spirit, not to me at least. But he was kind-hearted. He gave me a glass of wine and asked me a bunch of questions until I wasn’t feeling shy anymore. And so…he was a good guy. Rest in peace, Ryan Tuck.”

  Others in the group nodded. Ashley and Darcy were sniffling.

  “And so that was a big reason that what he told me the next night surprised the heck out of me,” Patty continued. Everyone looked up quickly. “I’m talking about the day when we started in on the champagne at lunchtime? I think we were all a little tipsy?”

  “Drunk,” said Ira.

  “Right, well, when you guys took a break from the belly dancing, Ryan came over to me. Just for maybe a minute or two. I think after that, he was in the kitchen with Molly. But in that minute, he told me that the reason he had come to Castillac was that he had done something bad back in the States, and needed to disappear for a while. He made a joke out of it, in a way—saying he really loved champagne and so why not find an out-of-the-way place where he could drink champagne and eat well until the trouble blew over?”

  A long, stunned silence.

  “I can’t believe you’re doing this,” said Ashley in a low voice.

  Patty shrugged but looked chastened, like a child who’s just been busted by an older sibling.

  “A wonderful man has been murdered, and you want to slander him when he can’t even defend himself?”

  “I’m just saying what he told me. I don’t mean anything by it.”

  “Just shut up, Patty,” said Darcy roughly. “You’re always looking to stir the crap. Just shut up about Ryan. You don’t know anything about him.”

  “And you do?” said Ashley, incredulously.

  “I don’t think this is the time, Darce,” said Ira.

  “Did he tell you what the bad thing was?” asked Nathaniel.

  “Okay, everyone, let’s get back to the point of this whole thing,” said Molly. “I’ll go next. My first clear picture of Ryan was looking out of the window and seeing him throw a stick for Bobo. Bobo was, of course, over the moon—she will keep bringing you sticks into the next century if you let her. Ryan was so patient, he just kept throwing that stick over and over. It’s a simple thing, but how can you not love a person who is willing to bring so much joy to a dog?”

  “And you were in the kitchen with him a lot, looking pretty chummy,” said Patty.

  “Shut up,” said Darcy.

  “I’ll go next,” said Nathaniel quickly. “Ryan and I talked about computers. I know, typical guy conversation. Back home, I work at a hospital, in the IT department. Managing all those files and records, you know? And so that’s mainly what we talked about. It was nice of him to ask about my work and he seemed genuinely interested in the challenges of it, which frankly is kind of unusual.” Nathaniel bowed his head.

  Darcy went to stand in front of the woodstove and faced the group. “Well, I was debating whether or not to say anything. But I’m all about honesty, even if some feelings get hurt. I can’t let all this talk from Ashley about soul mates go without saying that Ryan and I…we had…a moment, I guess you could call it…”

  “Big whup,” muttered Ashley.

  Darcy shot her a dark look. “Okay, if you’re going to be like that, I’ll ju
st come right on out with it. That Sunday night, when we were all still drinking champagne. Ashley was getting everybody to do that tacky belly dancing. And Ryan caught my eye and winked at me. Then he took my hand and led me outside, into the moonlight…” Darcy stopped speaking, lost in the memory, smiling wistfully.

  “Sorry, man,” said Nathaniel in a low voice to Ira.

  “Darcy, I don’t think—” said Ira.

  “Never mind, I’m done with my turn. It’s…it’s too private to continue. Sorry Ira,” she said, tossing him the crumb of acknowledging she had said something hurtful, even if she had no regret at all about whatever it was she had done.

  “You want to say anything, Ira?” asked Nathaniel.

  Ira shrugged his massive shoulders, and said no. Everyone awkwardly looked away or down at the floor.

  “I’m going to call it a night,” said Molly. “Thank you for including me. RIP Ryan.”

  “RIP Ryan,” everyone said.

  That was no doubt the most uncomfortable memorial ever, thought Molly, as she sank onto her expensive new mattress.

  She was so tired that any fear of a murderer being on her property was downgraded to a minor annoyance. Instead of feeling anxious, she thought about Ryan as she settled under the covers, about how he might have been the most audacious flirt she’d ever met, managing to make almost every woman at La Baraque feel as though he was smitten with her. Whatever else you might say about him, the man had skills.

  And she was dying to know what the bad thing was he’d come to Castillac to escape, if Patty was telling the truth.

  11

  Officer Monsour took the call. And since the Chief was out—without even bothering to tell Paul-Henri where he had gone—the responsible thing was to go himself and take down the report. One had to take the initiative if one wanted to advance, that’s what Madame Monsour always said.

  He met Christophe, the driver of the only taxi in Castillac, at Chez Papa. Paul-Henri looked for Nico behind the bar but instead found a young man he did not know, and gave him a short nod. “Have you seen Christophe?” he asked officiously.

  “He’s usually at that table in the corner,” the bartender said. “Maybe he’s out on a call.”

  A muscle twitched in Paul-Henri’s jaw. He had just spoken to the driver five minutes ago, and he had said he was at the bistro. Where in the world had he—

  The driver emerged from the backroom, wiping his hands on his jeans. “Ah, Christophe!” said Paul-Henri, as though welcoming him to a soirée. He shook his head and started over. “Thank you for your call, monsieur. The gendarmerie cannot solve crimes without the participation and support of the citizenry.”

  Christophe looked at him blankly. “I heard about what happened, the American tourist,” he said. “I’d taken him from the station to La Baraque just a few days ago. And so, sometime later, I remembered something. Maybe it’s nothing.”

  “We will be the judge of that.”

  “All right. Well. Sunday nights are usually pretty slow for me. I get a flurry of business on Sunday afternoon, people have to make the train or whatever, but by evening everyone’s pretty much tucked in for the night.”

  Paul-Henri fidgeted but managed not to shout at him to get to the point.

  “So I was on my way here to Chez Papa after giving a ride to Victor Lafont. You know him? Lives way out on the road toward Périgueux. Funny, there was a death at his house last year. Anyway, I dropped Victor off and came back to town. Was thinking about having a bowl of cassoulet and going home. But as I went by La Baraque, I saw something a little unusual.” Christophe looked at his fingernails and then scratched at his chin.

  “Yes?” said Paul-Henri when the pause became unbearable.

  “A guy walking along rue des Chênes. We’re talking around nine at night. He was wearing a dark overcoat, and a fedora. Dressed for the city, you know?”

  “No, I don’t know, Christophe. You must give me more detail. A man walking along the road hardly seems strange.”

  “I’m telling you, it was strange,” Christophe said defensively. “I spend most of my waking hours driving around, Officer Monsour. I know how things look, by and large. I can tell when something is out of place.”

  “And what is out of place about a man walking down the road in an overcoat? It wasn’t the middle of the night. He wasn’t carrying a knife dripping with blood or waving around a pistol, am I correct? What did he do that you find worth mentioning?”

  “Look, you haven’t lived in Castillac all that long, if you’ll excuse me. We’re a long way from any big cities, you understand? And this man—he was not from around here. He was dressed in a way that caught my eye, that made me suspicious. That’s all I know and I’m not saying anything more than that. And when I found out that a murder had occurred not two steps from where I saw this stranger, I thought you should know. That’s all.”

  Paul-Henri stretched his top lip over his teeth and narrowed his eyes at the driver. “Thank you, monsieur, for performing your civic duty so admirably. I will take your report to the Chief and investigate it further.”

  Christophe nodded, looking irritated, and reached in his pocket and pulled out his beeping phone. “I’ve got a call. We done here?”

  “Indubitably,” said Paul-Henri, instantly wishing he had chosen a different word.

  The next morning, Molly woke to the excited sound Bobo made when a friend was at the door. She dragged herself out of bed, making no effort to look less bedraggled, and found Lawrence on the doorstep holding a large paper bag.

  “My dear,” he said, taking her by the shoulders and giving her a firm kiss on each cheek. “Constance called and told me about the Lyme. I’m so sorry! She also told me that Vernay said no sweets. Knowing you, that’s worse than the diagnosis. Anyway, I stopped by the traiteur and got you a container of chicken soup that feeds six.”

  “Thanks so much. Listen, would you mind if we talk in my bedroom? I haven’t started treatment yet, and I cannot begin to describe how tired I am. Just standing here like this is too much.”

  “Of course, chérie! Do want me to sit with you and regale you with gossip from the village? Or I can heat you up some soup and leave. Whatever you wish.”

  Molly thought for half a second. “I’ll take the soup and the gossip,” she said, mustering a smile. “Pans are hanging in the rack overhead. I’ll leave you to it.”

  It was remarkable how delicious her bed looked after only being out of it for five minutes. She climbed back in, arranged her pajamas and fluffed the pillows, and closed her eyes. Good thing I shelled out all that money to spiff up my bedroom, she thought, since it looks like I’m going to be spending quite a lot of time in here.

  And then, as though a heavy curtain suddenly fell, she was asleep.

  Lawrence came in with a bowl of soup on a tray. “I’ve missed seeing you at Chez Papa,” he said, not realizing she was asleep, and she opened one eye. “I was wondering if you were mad at me for something.”

  “Never,” she murmured.

  “Glad to hear it. Can you sit up a bit more? Let me get another pillow. I’m going to get you one of those trays with legs so you don’t have to balance it on your lap. The traiteur does charge a bloody fortune, but the food is very good, don’t you think? I always run right over there for their chicken soup when I feel a cold coming on.”

  Molly took a sip and moaned.

  “Now, I know what you have is much worse than a cold. But still, your nutrition is very important, as I’m sure Vernay told you. If it’s all right with you, I’d like that to be my particular job while we get you through this. I can stop by every day with your meals, and when the traiteur gets tiresome, I can do some cooking myself. Plus I’d be happy to do some shopping in Bergerac just for a little variety. I know there are several places there that have good reputations.”

  Molly looked at Lawrence for a long moment, into his kind and worried face. Tears started to roll down her cheeks.

  “What? Oh,
chérie, I didn’t mean to upset you! I just want to help. I’m not trying to be pushy or act like you’re terribly incapacitated.”

  “It’s not that,” Molly whispered. “It’s…you’ve got my back.”

  “That I do. As you would for me.”

  Molly nodded as emphatically as she could without knocking over the soup.

  “All right then, shall I begin with Lapin?” said Lawrence, settling into a slipper chair covered with a rather sumptuous fabric that Molly had splurged on.

  “What mess has he gotten himself into now?”

  “Not a mess, exactly, but there has been drama. Lapin—our rumpled, ever-single friend—has found himself a girlfriend.”

  “Ha! I don’t think ‘rumpled’ is the first adjective I’d have used to describe him. He drove me absolutely crazy when I first moved here.”

  Lawrence grinned. “Well, you are his type. A feisty, well-built redhead—who can blame him?” Molly started to protest but Lawrence jumped in. “Only teasing. He does have a bad record with women. Never knows when to keep his mouth shut.”

  “It’s not just his mouth. He looks at you like he’s going to take a knife and fork—”

  “I know, Molly, I know. Please, lean back on the pillows. Very nice pillows too, I might add. Are they down?”

  “This one is. I also got some memory foam for sleeping.”

  “And how is it, being so very flush? Has the letdown improved at all? We’ve never really talked about the big picture. Is it as delicious having all that money as all we poor people think it is?”

  “We’re not going to talk about it now either, not until you give me all the dirt on Lapin and his girlfriend. Who is she? Do we know her?”

  “Her name is Anne-Marie, and she’s from Toulouse. It’s a long-distance relationship, unfortunately for Lapin. I’m telling you, Chez Papa has been a shadow of its former self, with you barely ever there, Frances and Nico still in the Maldives, and Lapin flitting off to Toulouse all the time. Even Negronis aren’t enough to cheer me up.”