“After that unanticipated storm hit that night, and no one could pinpoint where we drifted from after I tossed it,” said Sindi, “plus adding all the beach erosion we experienced, that Buddha is a myth again, buried deep below the sand. Besides, who’d believe Jake’s, Andy’s, and Edling’s wild stories about a mythical golden Buddha?”
They were right. This mystery was one for the books.
The Sindia myth: fiction, non-fiction, and back to fiction.
Chapter 58
Well, I’ll Be...
Sindi was right. After a quick hug and wave goodbye, and plans to stay in touch, I turned to go back inside, but a car horn drew my attention and I turned back to the street. It looked familiar, a silver SUV. Where had I seen that before? It swerved into the courtyard and stopped right in front of the big fountain. Being dark and late, I suddenly felt vulnerable, edging back until I saw who impatiently jumped out from the car.
My sleuthing crew!
I flew into Clay’s arms, swooning at his intimate kiss.
“Sam, I missed you,” he said after our lips parted.
“Hey, it’s my turn,” said a male voice behind me.
I turned then laughed happily. “Tony?”
“What? You thought I’d leave you alone with him?” he said, pointing a thumb toward Clay. “I wouldn’t want him taking advantage of you. He has shifty eyes. Now, me on the other hand...”
“Ha, look who’s talking,” said Clay.
“I’m a little confused. I thought you were undercover,” I said, looking from one to the other.
“We wrapped that case up by snagging the culprit,” said a grinning Tony.
“Then I found out at the last minute Tony was coming with the ladies here, and since I can’t trust him alone with you, I took time off to be here before I began my next job.”
Martha laughingly shoved the two guys out of the way.
“Competition. I love it! Hey, you two can verbally tussle later. Right now I need to give a hug to Sam,” she said.
“Why didn’t you call?” I asked, surprised, but excited at seeing them. “I was expecting all of you tomorrow night.”
“I know that, but we took pity on you, figuring you were bored to death being here all by your lonesome.”
I took a deep breath. “Well, funny you mention that...”
Hazel cut in to hug me too. “We’re here to save you from living in isolation and ennui without us!”
“Hey, let me in there to hug her too,” chastised Betty, as she grabbed me in a bear hug.
I tried again. “I must tell you...”
“Never mind making excuses about how busy you’ve been,” said Martha. “It had to be so boring by yourself with just a journal to write in. Well, that’s no longer a problem. We’re here to add some excitement to your life, girl!”
I stood there, staring at her. “You will never believe...”
“I know. I know. You’re so happy we’re here to liven things up, you’re almost speechless, right?” Martha said.
“But you will never guess what happened...” I began.
Tony chuckled. “Probably mundane. Got any Scotch?”
Clay stepped in. “I brought champagne and lobster.”
“I bet you haven’t eaten that in a while,” laughed Betty.
“I can’t wait to hit the water,” said Martha excitedly. “I hope you’ll join us. Trust me, you won’t drown.”
“How about we teach you to swim?” added Hazel.
Tony winked. “I brought water wings. I’ll teach you.”
Martha leaned in. “We read about the Sindia myth with that valuable golden Buddha rumored to be onboard hidden in the cargo crates and brought our scuba gear...”
I stared at them all and broke up laughing.
My final lesson learned?
I’m always learning.
This ends Saving Sindia
For a preview of my true personal Memoir, The Rivera is Burning,
please continue reading right after this:
SPECIAL NOTE TO THE READER
I hope you enjoyed reading Saving Sindia, Book 10 and continue to read the rest of my books. A positive review would be greatly appreciated. Every one helps. If you would take just a minute of your time to write a few words on my Amazon page Saving Sindia Book 10. Writing a few words would help me tremendously, allowing me to continue to bring you the stories you enjoy reading and help persuade others to read them. I read each and every review.
Don’t forget to sign up for my newsletter on my website: http://www.SamanthaJamison.com to get the latest news, blogs, updates, and a peek at future releases.
Thank you...
Peggy
Other Books by Peggy A. Edelheit
The Samantha Jamison Mystery Series
The Puzzle Book 1
Without Any Warning Book 2
86 Avenue du Goulet Book 3
A Lethal Time Book 4
Mouth Of The Rat Book 5
Death Knell In The Alps Book 6
No Hope In New Hope Book 7
The Lush Life Book 8
Too Close For Comfort Book 9
Memoir: The Riviera is Burning
Please read on for the preview of my true personal Memoir, The Rivera is Burning
The Riviera Is Burning
Memoir
A True Story
by
Peggy A. Edelheit
Chapter 1
Looking Back
I remember my father telling me I could smell the damp earth as it traveled on the winds of time and that was how I was able to predict when it was going to rain. Being very young, I was intrigued. I guess that was his simple way of explaining to a small child why I knew when rain was approaching. He said it was my keen sense of smell for mother nature: a part of my being, a special gift.
To this day I ask to blank stares, “Did you smell that?”
Whenever I’d pick up a scent, my father’s simple explanation that captured my young imagination always came to mind. His words left no doubt whatsoever. I’d always be forewarned by instinct. No problem. I’d have plenty of warning, or so I thought.
This story begins on a summer day many years later in France at my old villa on the Cote d’Azur. It was a place where predictable and ordinary quickly turned on a dime to become unpredictable and extraordinary. Disturbing and alarming are significant understatements in what was about to happen. And remember my ‘special’ instincts? Well, that was unexpected, too, because…
This time I smelled trouble.
The day started out ordinary enough, with the crickets chirping away as the sun rose. Just another sizzling summer morning, better suited to an iced coffee than a steamy hot one. Like watching the surf incessantly splash against the rocks on the beach, I stared in silence. But then the deadly possibilities looming out there began to unsettle me.
How could this be?
I couldn’t believe what I was looking at. My typical day was falling apart right before my eyes with every minute that ticked by. Just when I thought I’d seen the worst of what could happen, my vulnerability became a reality with my family’s safety hanging in the balance.
This account is from my point of view only and how I experienced it. I don’t want to bore you with statistics, just relate how my family and I got caught up in an incident that escalated into something unthinkable.
Those memories are so vivid that sometimes it feels like it was yesterday, especially that sinking feeling of dread that swept through me and how intense fear, then panic, took hold. To this day, it has left an indelible mark on my psyche, a dent in my usual resilient armor against the unexpected, and a very real and permanent fear of fire…
Chapter 2
The Landscape
To imagine the French Riviera is to picture a coast that is breathtaking, with its jagged rocks edging its pebble-strewn beaches, market-filled villages, hillside residences and harbors. The terrain, often steep, has rugged mountain ranges that are reddis
h, intensely stark, yet striking.
To give you a feel for the setting, let me describe it from my point of view, my house, and my terrace, which was my vantage point in this excerpt from my third mystery in my Samantha Jamison mystery series: 86 Avenue du Goulet.
The coastal residential area and town of Les Issambres has villas and houses that sit among a warren of small little streets that meander in and out of the mountainous terrain. Yachts and jet skis crisscrossed far below, as the sun reflected off the sea’s surface.
To my left, in the distance, were the beaches of St. Raphaël jutting out into the water and the magnificent Esterel mountain ranges beyond. Off to my right, in the distance, was the town of St. Maxine, and bay of St. Tropez.
As I looked downward, the small manicured lawn off the living room directly below was shaped in a half circle, just like the upper terrace where I stood. A stone wall, three feet high, bordered it to protect people from falling below. Part of that curved wall dropped about two stories to the neighbor’s house and their pool, and then it curved around to my villa’s side gardens. Red bougainvillea spilled over it and trailed to the bottom. If you didn’t know where the wall was, it appeared as a lush carpet of red, and although beautiful to the eye, to the veteran, it concealed lengthy thorns, as sharp and painful as miniature daggers.
The wall continued from the back to along the side of the villa where stone arches ran parallel, wrapping around to the front entrance. I looked far to the right where an expansive stone stairway descended from the kitchen patio to a mosaic, tiled fountain.
At the bottom of those steps, a maze of pathways cut from the same stone sloped downward along the lower gardens that contained benches and flower-filled urns. If I leaned out further, I could catch sight of one shaded corner where a cement table and chairs sat under a magnolia tree.
The rest of the 1950’s villa property terraced uphill with more gardens, steps, some statues, and a level area further up, ending at the governmental forest preserve at the top.
I had a great vantage point to see what transpired that day, including the curved coastal road that bordered the Mediterranean Sea as it, too, snaked in and out. Like I said, initially, it was a typically hot summer day, which meant intense heat, tourist traffic, and mouthwatering fresh produce and pastries for sale at the outdoor markets. I was sitting at my laptop, writing on the terrace when I stopped typing and sniffed the air.
I smelled smoke…
Chapter 3
A Normal Summer?
I stiffened in my chair and looked up, my eyes scanning the horizon. Everything appeared okay. Nothing was out of the ordinary. As far as I could see, it was crystal clear. A little uneasy, but relaxing once again, I went back to typing.
We had had several skirmishes off and on that summer with wildfires, which were commonplace with so many campers in the RV parks. On dry and windy days, the flying embers from campfires caused multiple brushfires that would spread, but were quickly extinguished by planes carrying water from the Mediterranean. Those fires often got out of hand when the Mistral, a strong northerly wind that could reach well over 80 kilometers an hour, would swoop down from the mountains inland, and then out toward the sea.
After several minutes writing, my head jerked up again.
There! I smelled it! Something was definitely burning.
It was stronger now. I stood to get a better view of down below. Was a neighbor burning rubbish? They wouldn’t, not with the warning of the Mistral forecasted.
Making my way across the curved terrace, something came roaring in low overhead. I ducked in reflex from the sound and looked up. It was a sizeable plane for carrying water heading out toward the sea. I stood there watching as the pilot skimmed the sea’s surface, filled up, took off, veered right, and sharply turned inland. I’d seen this done many times before in the past, but was still curious.
Where was he going? What was burning this time?
Standing at the terrace’s edge, I visually followed the plane carrying its weight in gold: precious water. It aimed to my left and disappeared behind the tree-line and the mountains. Another camper must have been careless. After a few minutes, I began walking back to my laptop, but heard another roar and looked up in time to see the same plane come back to make another run for more water.
I stood there, watching him repeat the same procedure with a feather touch to the sea as he arced back off to the left and out of sight once again. Even though I had seen this happen that summer and others, it always unsettled me until I no longer saw planes flying toward the sea.
I walked into the house to touch base with my husband in his office and my son who was visiting us. They had both gotten used to this coming and going of the planes and gave it little thought. It was that time of year. With so many people there, and accompanied by the extremely bone-dry weather, and now this Mistral, it was expected.
Reassured, I returned to my laptop and sat down with one eye on the horizon, just in case. I’d seen the effects of wildfires in the United States and knew the devastation nature, campers, or worse, what arsonists could inflict.
I began typing away and lost track of time until the wind shifted. I looked up and my gaze focused in disbelief toward St. Raphaël.
Smoke! The Esterel mountain range was engulfed in it.
Chapter 4
Where There’s Smoke There’s…
My chair fell backward as I jumped up to get my son, my husband, and the binoculars to have a better look. By the time we got back to the terrace, the smoke was already drifting toward St. Raphaël’s beaches. An ominous feeling about this took hold and I turned to my husband.
“I know we’re at a safe distance, but I’m still concerned. I’ve never seen so much smoke over there before.”
He slowly scanned the Esterels that were swirling with smoke, then passed the binoculars to me, frowning.
“Take a closer look at those mountains.”
I saw flaring patches of bright orange. “It’s on fire!”
My son pointed. “Look! The water planes are there.”
“That should handle it,” said my husband, relaxing.
The scent of smoke was drifting everywhere now.
“For the moment,” I countered. “But what about these winds? Maybe we should call Martine and Jean.”
We didn’t have to. They were already out on their patio below with their own binoculars. Martine called up to us.
“You have seen the fires, yes?” she asked.
We leaned on our terrace railing looking down at them next door. Their golden Labrador woofed at the sight of our Miniature Schnauzer perched at the bottom of our railing, who in turn, barked to her French canine friend, Sonia.
“Yes,” said my husband. “What do you think?”
“Maybe they will get it under control. We will see.”
“What is the news by word of mouth?” I asked.
“They think it is from campers and their fires. It is spreading rapidly because it is the dry season. The Mistral is making it worse. We will let you know as soon as we hear anything more, okay?”
“Of course!” said my husband. “Please keep us posted.”
We pushed off from the railing and took one last look at the burning mountains before turning to go inside. I would work from there. At least with our air conditioner turned on, the air would be somewhat filtered for the time being.
I returned to my laptop, but repeatedly kept walking back to the glass sliders to look out at the distant, curved coast, St. Raphaël’s beaches, and the Esterels stretched out in the distance. The planes were working nonstop, still at it.
As much as I tried, I couldn’t concentrate with such a threat looming out there. As far as I was concerned, it was too close for comfort. The coastal towns were overflowing with tourists. Plus, it was high season: late summer. It felt like all of Europe was on the Riviera, and with the crowd-filled markets, packed campgrounds, the narrow roads a constant gridlock of traffic… You get the picture.
/>
What would we do if the fires got closer?
Chapter 5
Time Was Ticking…
We scanned the TV for bulletins, checked the terrace, and touched base off and on with Martine and Jean a dozen times. I kept a close watch on the fires as they crept closer and closer. From the sight of leaves and debris that were now wildly swirling about in spirals and accumulating in mounds throughout our courtyards, it was obvious the Mistral had increased in strength.
Then something baffling diverted my attention. A gauzy haze, an amber hue, shrouded everything. No sooner had that visually registered when, one by one, dark shadows began blocking out the sun’s rays overhead.
How could that be? It rarely rained this time of year.
I ran to the upper terrace and leaned against the railing, facing myself away from the sea to look over our roofline toward the sun and upper forested area behind our house. Dark clouds, black plums of smoke, were billowing behind our mountains.
How did it get behind us so quickly?
My first thought was to protect my family and property. The large fabric awning over our arched glass foyer door would most likely burn. I had to crank it closed. The debris outside had to be swept, the gardens…
Luckily the exterior of our villa was all stone with a clay-barreled roof. The patio was stone on the ground level, and on the second floor, the bedroom level, the terrace that faced the Mediterranean Sea had clay tiles. Even the garage roof had a stone-covered patio.
Saving Sindia (Samantha Jamison Mystery Book 10) Page 14
