She handed me the license. "Rousel Badiz al Bin Jasseron, born 1981, in Paris. So he's five years younger than Rhonda. Well, at least he's given her his real first name. And quite frankly Rousel Jasseron sounds plenty French to me."
"I'd bet René would take exception to the 'Badiz al Bin' part. Is there a home address?"
"Nope. I read somewhere only the police can read that info with some kind of decoder."
"Well, phooey." She took the license back from me. "What are all these letters, you figure?"
"No idea. Probably personal info that's encrypted into the card so people like us can't figure it out."
"The cads. Well, we have his name, so that's better than nothing. Load him up."
I did, but his name garnered almost zero on Google. Then I adjusted my search to include Jasseron Paris Groceries, and up popped: Marché Badiz al Bin Jasseron. Coincidence? You be the judge. Were we wrong about this guy? Was he legit?
I put those questions to Jan, who shook her head. "Doesn't matter if he turns out to be President of France. He's bad news for Rhonda. Forge on."
Jan, never one to let evidence get in the way of a good hunt, doesn't let go easily.
That's one reason we get along so well.
We really had no agenda, other than maybe saving Rhonda from herself by somehow getting her to wash that weasely Rousel le Roué right out of her badly-styled hair. I would like to say we were on this mission strictly in good conscience, but Jan and I are a mite short on what most folks consider a normal moral sense of right and wrong, and generally err to the side of good old vigilante justice.
The first lock Rousel and Rhonda had to clear was a little over four and a half kilometers away, and we wanted them to pass through that one well before we arrived.
We took the car for a major grocery run at a super store, since we'd be cruising a part of the canal Jenks and I had already covered, and I knew stores were few and hard to get to on foot.
After loading up with enough provisions to start our own store—just in case our quarry spent an entire week underway—we decided to double check our tracking device's accuracy. Of course, it's not like Rhonda and Rousel's boat could disappear on the canal like a ship at sea, but we wanted to know exactly where they were.
Driving to the next set of locks, we parked out of sight and spotted them waiting to pass through along with two other vessels.
I checked the GPS against a chart. "Perfecto. We're golden and good to go."
"What are we gonna do with the car?" Jan asked.
"What do you think? Leave it at Castelnaudary or leapfrog it to somewhere ahead?"
"Since they don't seem to be in a big hurry, we have time. You've been on this part of the Canal. Is there a place where you can drop the car and take the train back?"
"When we get back to Castelnaudary I'll Google the train schedules. Maybe I can do it today."
My BFF, Google, told me I could drive to the port of Negra, where Jenks and I picked up the first boat, put the car in their storage lot, catch a train in a nearby village, and be back by Happy Hour.
"Okay, while you stash all the goodies, I'll drop the car at Negra and catch the train back. We can leave tomorrow morning and still keep within striking distance of their boat.
"Sounds like a plan. But, Hetta, you hate public transportation."
"Yes. It's so public, but when in France and all that."
"Po Thang and I'll do the laundry while you're gone. I saw a washer and dryer at the harbor master's office."
"Great. You need any help with the machines before I leave?"
"Oh please, just because I don't speak French doesn't mean I can't load a danged washing machine and dryer."
"Hookay, just remember I asked."
On the way to drop off the car, I looked for Trebes as I drove the country lanes near the canal. I spotted her staked to the bank near a lock and she seemed settled in for the rest of the day and night. Hopping onto the autoroute, I quickly reached an exit near Negra, and got there ahead of my own schedule, with plenty of time to catch a train back to Castelnaudary.
Much to my surprise, I actually caught someone in the office at the marina, arranged to store the car, and they called a taxi for me. Things were going way too smoothly, which made me highly suspicious, but I was back at the boat without a hitch. I had to remember to buy a lottery ticket.
Jan and Po Thang were sitting out on deck when I returned. Po Thang was keenly watching his swans, who were keenly watching him. They seemed to be having some kind of ESP conversation involving little yips, long-necked head shakes, wing lifts, and a hiss or two.
Just as I approached the boat, Po Thang sprang to all fours and began furiously barking, but not at me. Jan, who'd stood to greet me, whirled to see what Po Thang was so upset about, and yelled, "Hetta, there's a rat in the water the size of Houston. Come look at this thang!"
Po Thang, literally at the end of his rope, was going crackers.
I rushed onboard and peered over the side. "Holy crap, what is that?'
All the commotion had snagged the attention of a passerby who spat, "Coypu."
According to the Internet, the Coypu (Myocastor couypus, to you nerds) this two-foot long, orange-toothed critter who had Po Thang in such a snit, is a large, semi-aquatic vegan rodent that has origins in South America. They were hunted almost to extinction for their fur at one time, which, judging by the disdain of the woman who identified him for us, was fine with her.
We asked why people didn't like them and it turns out they not only beg for treats on the canal, they also burrow better than Roto-Rooter, demolish gardens, eat tires off cars, and use wooden homes and fences for teething.
In other words, a rat is a rat no matter what you call it.
And speaking of, René called to tell me he'd learned that should I be interested, Luc DooRah was in Gruissan visiting family for the next two weeks.
"Oh, goody. DooRah is in our trap. We gonna bait it up and do something bad to him?" Jan asked, rubbing her hands gleefully.
"We are not. We are going to do something far more noble for as long as it takes, namely stalking someone far more deserving, Rousel le Roué."
"Dang. So many rats, so little time."
We went inside, where I was greeted with damp laundry draped over every imaginable space throughout the boat.
"What happened?" I asked.
"I dunno. I ran the dryer at least six times, then it just quit working."
"How very French. Its thirty-five hour work week must have been up."
Our clothes were not much drier by morning, thanks to a light fog that moved in overnight. The boat smelled like laundry detergent. I rigged a line on the aft, ran out to a local store for some clothespins and, before we left, we hung what we could to dry in the breeze while we were underway. It would take several batches. We looked like Romas, the gypsies as some called them back in the day, who plied French waterways in barge communities. Well, before they deported them back to Romania.
Jan gave our moving clothes dryer a critical look. "Wouldn't get away with this Beverly Hillbillies decor at Marina de la Paz, I'd bet."
"Not likely. Oh, well, so much for looking chic while cruising le Canal. Let's get this show on the road."
Dodging wet laundry, we untied the shore lines and left for our self-assigned rescue mission of a fair damsel who didn't know she was in distress yet.
Call us a couple of meddling broads with too much time and money on our hands, but...well, I guess that sums it up.
Chapter Nineteen
Just before we left the dock at Castelnaudary, I checked on Trébes' coordinates with the tracker. They hadn't moved, but as we waited to enter the first dock of the day, a beep let me know they were underway again.
"Off they go. We've gotta keep close tabs on that boat, because we don't want to run up on them, but once in a while we'll have to get a visual. You'll have to use the bicycle to ride ahead and see what's up with them."
"Me? Why me? I haven't ridden a
bike in a million years, Hetta. You do it."
"No way. I'd probably kill myself. Okay, if we need to take a look ahead, I'll walk it. That I can do."
After we cleared the first locks, Jan gave in and rode the bike ahead to take a gander at Trébes. Yes, we knew the boat was only a kilometer and a half ahead, but had no way to be sure Rhonda was. With everything we knew to date, we were honestly afraid he might settle for whatever he'd already pilfered from her accounts and throw her overboard. Quite a stretch for even my overworked imagination, but we were now so mistrustful of Rousel, we wanted an occasional visual health and welfare on our friend.
Po Thang was not happy being left behind with me on the boat while Auntie Jan took off on her bike, but our quarry was too close and if he followed Jan, he might run ahead and give us away. From the sketchy schedule Rhonda gave me, and my calculation of time and distance, I figured they wouldn't be in a big hurry to get to Toulouse. If Rousel had told her the truth about their plans.
We planned to surprise them in the flesh with our unwelcome presence soon, but not so soon he freaked out and took off.
Jan came back a little winded. "Did they move? I rode to the next set of locks at Pont du Rocie but didn't see them. We're okay to clear those locks today, but I guess we'd better hunker down right after that for the night."
I checked the tracker and sure enough, they'd moved a few kilometers, but were no longer underway. Since there were no locks near them, we figured they were tied up for the night. "Okay, let's roll, and then I'll walk ahead after we tie up. I hope to heck they don't decide to walk or bike back our way. We're way too easy to spot. We're the ones with all the laundry. Oh, and swan groupies." I pointed to the other side of the canal.
"Crap, when did they show up?"
"Right after you left. Po Thang actually wagged his tail when he saw them. I think they've achieved detente."
"Yeah, as long as he doesn't try to swim with them."
"I think he's learned his lesson there."
After we cleared the last lock of the day, we tied to the bank and settled in for Happy Hour. I felt a tee shirt on our improvised line. "Dry. How about that."
We spent time folding and stowing our clothes, and then I dismantled the line before one of us clotheslined ourselves. And once, before Jan got her bollard-lassoing mojo back, she'd snagged the clothesline, almost dumping half our wardrobe into the drink and around our spinning propeller.
Po Thang whined. "What do you think, Auntie Jan? Safe to let the critter loose on the path?"
"I think so, but let's put on his cam and GPS tracker, just in case."
We took out folding chairs and stationed ourselves in the path to block him from taking off in the direction of Rhonda and Rousel. He ran a bit then doubled back, sniffing all the way. A couple of friendly backpackers went by, so he followed them. When the path disappeared around a bend, I whistled and he trotted back with a huge and shaggy critter in tow that could've been a dog. Or a miniature musk ox. He finally barked, so we decided he was part of the canine family.
With the beautiful countryside all around us, large trees shading the canal, and Po Thang and his new buddy's antics for entertainment, I sighed with contentment. "You know, Jan, Po Thang's turning out to be a great dog."
"Yep, until he's not so great."
We shared a laugh and clinked glasses.
I fetched us another wine and settled back into my chair. "You know, it has occurred to me maybe we're getting a little too focused on this Rhonda thing instead of enjoying this trip for ourselves."
"Ya think? I'm sure of it. Screw walking ahead tonight to see if the queen of passivity has gotten herself offed. Let's eat a big old steak and play cards."
"Deal."
The big animal finally trotted off, probably returning to a nearby farm or zoo, leaving Po Thang to stare at his dust and whine. I warned him not to follow, so he set up a game of chase with Odette and Siegfried. Fast as they are, swans are no match for a flat-out retriever, so he slowed his pace to keep them interested.
Jan videoed the dog-and-bird game for a few minutes, then put down her phone. "By the way, while I was biking, I spotted a boulangerie ahead that'll be open tomorrow morning. Should'a bought something for dinner, I guess. I notice we're out. Again, I might add."
"What? We bought a baguette this morning."
She shrugged. "Okay, Hetta, fess up. Did you eat the whole thing while I was gone?"
"No, I did not."
We both glared at Po Thang, who turned and looked behind him.
Jan and I both recalled what I'd said just minutes before, and repeated, in unison, "Until he's not so great!"
The next morning I printed out a blank monthly calendar and we began planning our next two weeks, figuring by then surely Jenks would show up.
I wrote in the day Rhonda said they were leaving for Paris and worked backward. "So, they gotta turn in the boat, get to Toulouse, and catch a plane or a train."
"Why can't they take the boat all the way to Toulouse?"
"For the same reason we can't take this one. The rental company doesn't allow it, and since they control the lock at Negra, that's that."
"So, they can only go as far as where you left the car?"
"Yep. So, how long do you think, given this time frame, before we make an appearance?"
Jan studied the calendar. "Two days, before we surprise them with our fulgurous gloriousness."
I gave her the look that sentence deserved. "You're playing with the thesaurus again, aren't you?"
"Yep. If Rhonda gave us the right date they're going to Paris, they'll probably turn in the boat here," she tapped a square on the calendar, "and go to Toulouse. However, there are no guarantees on that. They could drop the boat day after tomorrow and be in the wind," she snapped her fingers, "just like that."
The snap woke Po Thang from his first nap of the day, but when he realized it wasn't meant for him, he grumped and went back to snoring after his morning canal path swan chase.
Those swans were turning out to be great dog walkers.
We stopped for a fresh baguette and pain au chocolat at the boulangerie Jan spotted while on her bike ride the day before. After breakfast, our GPS detected Trebés in place where they'd stopped the night before, so despite our wine-inspired declaration to let Rhonda stew in her own folly soup, clearer minds prevailed.
I reluctantly agreed it was my turn to go ahead for a peek at Trebés. Despite saying I'd rather walk, I wasn't going to let Jan get one up on me. However, it ain't true what they say, you do forget how to ride a bike.
"Jan, turn that damned camera off," I yelled. Taking my eyes off the path for that second was a bad idea. Rolling out of control toward the canal bank I barely saved myself and the bike from a good dunking. Throwing my weight to the side, I tipped the bike over and ended up under it. The wheels were half-in-half-out of the water, and I was face down in muddy grass.
The swans honked in derision, Jan guffawed and continued to video my humiliation to share with hundreds on Facebook, and Po Thang raced over to jump me, probably thinking this new game was much more fun than tormenting swans.
Jan finally stuffed her phone in her pocket, grabbed a bottle of water and shooed Po Thang away. She pulled me to my feet and poured Evian over my muddy face. "You okay?"
"Nothing damaged but my dignity."
"You have dignity? Where have you kept it hidden all these years?"
"Very funny. That's it. I'm walking."
"Up to you, but you know what they say?"
I pushed the bike at her. "What do they say?"
"You know you're getting old when you quit taking left turns. It means—"
Grabbing the handlebars, I cut her off. "I know what it means." I pointed at her and growled, "I'll be back," in my best Schwarzenegger.
The only thing kind I can say about the bike that came with the boat is it was a basic girl model without gears, and the seat was low enough so I didn't have to stick my butt in the a
ir. After twenty wobbly minutes, I got the hang of it and enjoyed the ride. Not that it was like I was ten again, racing the wind without fear; every time I saw bikers or walkers coming, I stopped and rolled my ride to the side of the path and pretended to watch those fascinating ducks or boats on the canal.
When I found myself on a surprisingly smooth patch of dirt, I picked up speed, almost forgetting my mission in the joy of conquest. Then I turned a curve and almost fell again in my haste to stop. Rhonda was walking toward me. She looked startled, then waved and chirped, "Hetta!"
Pushing the bike slowly toward her, I tried to come up with a fast story, but decided the truth would just have to do.
I hate it when that happens.
When I returned to Sauzens, Jan was waiting impatiently. "Where the hell have you been? I was getting worried, thought you were dead in a ditch."
"You are not going to believe it. I was talking with Rhonda."
"Really? You went to the boat?"
I told her how we met on the path.
"So what did you tell her."
"The truth."
"Just in case I have to testify one day, what exactly would that be?"
"We decided to take the boat to Negra."
"That's it? Gee, I wonder if that truth thang could work more often?"
After a moment of silence we both said, "Nah."
A fist bump later, we settled down for an iced tea. "Did you pump her for info?"
"Of course. You think you're playing with kids here? We had a nice long chat."
"Dish. Tell all."
"Well, for starters, she was dying to talk to someone. Evidently, her phone has mysteriously gone on the blink so she couldn't call us or her friends back home, and go figure, her pocket Wi-Fi hotspot somehow got knocked overboard."
"How very convenient. And that happened how?"
"She went for a walk, and they lost the signal while she was gone. Rousel took it outside to see if it would work better and danged if it didn't slip off the deck and into the canal when a work barge went by and threw a wake," I said dryly.
Just Pardon My French (Hetta Coffey Series, Book 8) Page 12
