In the Shadows (The Outsiders Book 1)

by Susan Finlay

  “The clasp was broken, but the locket didn’t come off,” he explained. “I fixed it.”

  “That was very kind. Thank you.”

  “Glad I could help.” He smiled and watched her put the necklace around her neck, prepared to get up and help with the clasp if she needed it. She didn’t. “What brings you to Reynier? You don’t live around here, do you?”

  “No. I’m on holiday.”

  He was about to ask her more, but she was watching something down the road. He turned to see what it was.

  Halfway between the bakery and the post office, a gendarme vehicle was parked in front of a shop on the ‘no parking’ side of the street. Two gendarmes exited and stood in the street, looking around. If Dave remembered right, the nearest Gendarmerie was in Belvidere, the small market town three-and-a-half miles from Reynier. Dave waited to see where they were going. Perhaps there’d been a robbery. That would certainly give the locals something to talk about. When the gendarmes started walking toward the bakery terrace, Dave turned back to the woman. She had disappeared—again. He scowled. The gendarmes had stopped, and looked as if they weren’t sure where to go. Dave approached them. “Bonjour, Messieurs. What brings you to Reynier?”

  The red-haired man eyed him suspiciously. “Who are you?”

  “Dave Martin.” He extended his hand. “I’m a cop from the U.S. Here on an extended visit with family.”

  The gendarme smiled. “I’m Jacques Roland. This is Henri Du Bois.”

  “Is there a problem in our little village?”

  “No. We stopped to buy coffees on our way back from Clairmont.”

  “Ah,” Dave said. “Where is that? I don’t think I’ve been there.”

  “Not far from here. A few kilometres,” Du Bois said. “Where do you recommend for coffee?”

  “I have a coffee waiting for me over at the bakery’s terrace. Would you care to join me? I’d like to buy your coffees, if that’s okay.”

  The gendarmes looked surprised, but shrugged and nodded. They followed him to the bakery and sat down at Dave’s table while he went inside to buy their coffees. Dave returned a couple of minutes later with the beverages. “So, where are you headed now?”

  “To Belvidere,” Roland said.

  “Ah, back to the Gendarmerie.”

  “Not right away. Officer to officer, we have reports of pickpockets and bag-snatchers in the area. We’re investigating.”

  “What’s being stolen?”

  Roland said, “Wallets, handbags, watches, and jewelry.”

  The older officer nudged him, then said, “Thank you for the coffee, Monsieur. We must be on our way.”

  They got up to leave, but stopped when Dave said, “Any description of the pickpocket? Doesn’t hurt to have another officer on the lookout, right?”

  Du Bois, the younger officer, looked at the older one, then said, “A man and a woman in their mid-twenties, dark hair, nondescript.”

  “That makes it tough,” Dave said.

  They nodded, then shook hands once more and left.

  Dave walked along the main street again, stopping now and then to gaze up at the hillside. The woman, Maurelle, may have gone into the caves or into a shop or into the hotel. While he was debating whether to climb up the stairs or stay down on the main street and check out some of the shops, he passed by one of the openings between the buildings on the river side and caught of glimpse of her. He ducked through the opening and followed the long path down to the river. Trees on the other side of the river blocked his view temporarily, and then he saw her again. She was heading toward the church. Unfortunately, to get to her, he had to cross the bridge which was in the opposite direction. By the time he crossed the river, she was out of sight. The tree branches began to sway and he looked up at the sky. Clouds were moving over the village.

  He checked out the church and found it empty, then made quick stops at each of the shops on that side of the river. No one had seen her. Lastly, he entered the only restaurant around. “Bonjour,” he said to the patron.

  The man nodded, eyeing Dave suspiciously. “Can I get you something?”

  Dave scanned the dreary room. Café Charbonneau, while not chic or fancy, made this place look like a dump. The walls were a dingy gray, and the tables were scratched and chipped. No wonder they only had one customer. Not wanting to appear rude, Dave ordered a coffee to go. While he waited, he said, “Have either of you seen a young woman around here, long, dark hair? I don’t think she’s local.”

  “Haven’t seen her,” the patron said.

  The customer shook his head.

  Dave left the restaurant and walked briskly along the residential streets. Fifteen minutes later and without any clues, he trudged back across the bridge, intending to go to the hotel and then the bed-and-breakfast inn. But with rather ominous dark gray clouds gathering overhead, darkening the sky and making it seem much later than it actually was, he expected rain was imminent. Just then, thunder cracked loudly overhead. As he arrived at the main street, a great flash of lightning lit up the sky. He raced toward the center of town as cold rain began pounding him.

  Coming upon the shorter linking staircase near the bridge, Dave decided the hotel and inn would have to wait. He dashed up the stairs and along the gently sloping road back to his grandmother’s house.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  Dave closed the door quickly to keep the rain out. Drenched and shaking from the cold, he went straight to the bathroom, towel-dried his head, grabbed another towel, and then took the stairs two at a time to his bedroom, where he peeled off the clothing sticking to him, toweled himself dry, and changed into fresh clothes. Downstairs, he threw his soaked clothes into the dryer and proceeded to the kitchen to help his grandmother prepare lunch. While he worked, he thought about the stranger, Maurelle: beautiful, elusive, and quite possibly a criminal.

  They ate lunch in near silence, on Dave’s part at least. Fabienne alternated quiet munching with bursts of gossip to which he grunted and said “really?” automatically, his mind elsewhere. When they had finished, he carried his dirty dishes to the counter and left the kitchen. Rain still pounded against the roof. He picked up his laptop from the coffee table and sat down on his preferred chair in the living room. Fabienne didn’t own a computer, which meant no internet. Without suffering much angst over the obvious piracy, Dave logged onto a neighbor’s unprotected wireless internet and began searching for news about crimes in the area. After twenty minutes or so of browsing the internet and finding nothing of interest—not even the pickpocket reports—he returned to the kitchen for a cup of coffee.

  Fabienne glanced at him, but said nothing. As she hung up a dishtowel, strands of coarse white hair strayed from her chignon, and her bifocals slipped down on the bridge of her nose. She picked up a stray saucer, put it away, and closed the cupboard door sharply.

  Dave opened his mouth to speak, but hesitated when she breezed past him into the living room. Frowning, he followed her, sat down in his chair across from where she sat on the sofa, and waited for her to say something.

  “You were very quiet during lunch,” she said finally, laying her reddened hands in her lap. “Did you have a fight with Simone?”

  “No. Why?”

  “Nothing happened between you two?”

  He shrugged.

  “You don’t seem yourself. Are you sure nothing’s wrong?”

  He looked at his computer lying on the coffee table in between them, closed and hibernating. Leaning forward, he said, “Have you heard about any problems in Belvidere or the surrounding area? Burglaries, pickpockets, vagrants?”

  “No. I don’t think so. Why?”

  “You know I’m supposed to leave with Simone the day after tomorrow, right?”

  She nodded.

  “I need to check something out, first.”

  “What does that mean? Are you cancelling the trip?”

  “No. I haven’t said anything to Simone yet, but I might need to postpone it a few days
. Something’s come up.”

  Fabienne was silent for several moments, and then she said, “What is it? Something to do with your book?”

  He took a deep breath before saying, “I met someone here who puzzles me. I need to find out more.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “It’s probably nothing. But you know me. I can’t ignore a mystery.”

  She pouted and frowned, then looked as if a light bulb had been switched on inside her brain. “It’s that woman, isn’t it? The stranger everyone is talking about.” She wagged her hand at him. “Even if she isn’t what people think, you would be a fool to get involved.”

  “What have you heard about her?” he asked.

  “She’s a gypsy. That’s what most people think.”

  He leaned back. Gypsies used to be a problem in this part of the valley. The police had even dismantled some gypsy camps because of similar problems. Okay, he supposed it wasn’t impossible they were moving back into this area. And yet the gendarmes had told him about pickpockets and bag-snatchers, but said nothing of gypsies. “I bumped into the woman in the general store yesterday. There was a minor commotion. I didn’t see it, but when I went over to find out what the noise was, she was there.”

  “You let me hear about it from Jeannette instead of telling me yourself.” She folded her arms together. “She always knows everything before I do.”

  “I didn’t think it was a big deal.”

  Fabienne pouted again for a moment, but then, in a sudden turnabout, she shrugged and waved her hand. “Well, go on.”

  “There’s nothing to tell, really.”

  “Then I don’t understand. Why do you need to find out more?”

  “I saw her a second time.”

  “You did? And what happened?” She leaned forward.

  “You haven’t heard yet?” Dave said.

  She shook her head.

  “The woman was walking out of the bakery this morning. I bumped into her and caused her to drop her baguette and spill her coffee. I replaced the ruined purchases, of course, and we sat for a few minutes. She seemed, I don’t know, almost afraid.”

  “Afraid of what?”

  He shrugged.

  “I may be an old busybody,” she said, “but I know trouble when I see it. And this woman is trouble. Everyone thinks so. Why put yourself in the middle of it?”

  “Look, I’m not saying you’re wrong. All I was trying to say is that I want to find out what’s she about. If you know something, please tell me. It’ll save me time and maybe I won’t have to postpone the trip after all.”

  “I don’t know anything,” she said. “But you’ll tell me, before anyone else, if you find out something, right?”

  He shrugged. She huffed at him, got up, and left the room. Dave sat alone for a few minutes, then followed her into the kitchen.

  Fabienne was sitting with her back towards the doorway. He approached her, but stopped abruptly when he overheard her talking on the telephone about his accident outside the bakery.

  He turned on his heels and walked out, slamming the front door. The sun had emerged from behind the rain clouds revealing sparkling beads of water on the leaves and flowers, reminders of the preceding rain.

  CONTINUING WITH THE plan that had got dampened by the rain, Dave headed straight for the village’s hotel. At Chateau de Reynier, he opened the heavy carved door and crossed the room to the reception desk on the far right. After waiting several minutes, Dave called out, “Bonjour.”

  A tall man peered around the corner and upon seeing Dave waiting, hurried forward. Simone had mentioned last week or maybe the week before that someone new had bought the hotel, and Dave guessed that this was the new owner. He had wavy hawk-brown hair, a curved nose that resembled an eagle’s beak, and yellowish-brown eyes behind thick glasses.

  “Welcome to Chateau de Reynier. How may I help you, Monsieur?”

  “I haven’t been inside this place since I was a young boy. Obviously it’s been remodeled. I’m impressed. It’s a beautiful transformation. The chandelier and grand piano really give it a luxurious feel.”

  “We try,” the man said, shrugging.

  “Are you the proprietor, then?”

  “Yes, with my wife. I am Jean-Pierre Wickliff.” They shook hands, and Wickliff glanced over at a woman who seemed to have appeared out of nowhere. She was no more than five-foot-four or five, slender, with a round face and straight fawn-colored hair draping past her shoulders. She, like her husband, was well dressed in a business suit. “Ah, this is my wife Camille,” Jean-Pierre said.

  “Bonjour,” Dave said. He introduced himself, adding, “I’d love to stay here sometime, but I’m visiting my grandmother and she would be offended if I didn’t stay with her. You know how that is.”

  Jean-Pierre nodded. “I do indeed understand, Monsieur Martin. For one thing, I know your grandmother. I’ve heard about you, of course. Fabienne is proud to have her grandson visiting.”

  “Yeah, she does love to talk.”

  “So, Monsieur Martin, what brings you to Chateau de Reynier?”

  “Actually, I’m looking for someone. She’s visiting the area and may be staying here. Her name is Maurelle Dupre.”

  “Sorry, Monsieur. She is not a guest here.”

  Camille looked up and exchanged a knowing look with Jean-Pierre, giving Dave the distinct impression that gossip had already been

  sowed and was spreading like weeds in a rose garden.

  As he exited the hotel, Dave swore under his breath. He stood out front trying to decide where to go next. He glanced straight ahead at the partial view of the river, and then to his right he caught sight of Simone and her mother, Coralie, standing on the staircase that linked the levels, watching him.

  CHAPTER SIX

  Dave walked to the stairs where Simone and her mother stood waiting for him. There was a rundown bed-and-breakfast inn he still needed to check out at the outside edge of the village. He sighed. That would have to wait. He greeted Coralie with kisses on both cheeks as was expected, and then did the same with Simone. “You look lovely,” he whispered in her ear.

  “Come walk with me,” Simone said, placing her hand on Dave’s arm. “I’m on my way back to the café. I had to make a quick trip to see Maman and she was going to come with me. I guess she changed her mind.” Coralie excused herself after exchanging an undecipherable look with Simone.

  Dave and Simone made their way to Café Charbonneau in silence. As they entered the café, he nodded at Isabelle Lambert, Simone’s employee who was chatting with two old men sitting at a table.

  “Sit here at the counter,” Simone said. “I’ll be with you in a minute.”

  She stepped around the counter, brought out a self-serve basket of fresh croissants, and placed it in front of him. She then left to wait on another customer. Although Dave wasn’t hungry, he took a croissant and slid the basket to the center of the counter. He broke the warm croissant in half and bit into it. Damn. He didn’t need this problem with Simone.

  A few minutes later Simone set down a steaming cup of espresso in front of Dave. She leaned forward with her elbows on the countertop and her chin propped on her hands. Her silky blonde head tilted to one side as she seemed to study him.

  Dave took a long sip of the black liquid. He thought she looked beautiful in her flowing skirt and white blouse.

  “It’s all right, you know,” she said. “Do what you need to do. Get it out of your system.

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Dave said. “What is it exactly you want me to get out of my system?”

  “You aren’t the only person around here who has seen her. We’ve all seen her off and on for a week. She’s pretty, to be sure, but she’s not your type.”

  He raised his eyebrows, but didn’t answer.

  “I know you. It’s in your blood to hunt for answers, to investigate, to solve mysteries. You may no longer be a detective, but you can’t resist. I understand you better tha
n you realize. You aren’t really interested in the dark-haired woman, only the situation.”

  He cocked his head to one side. “So you’re a psychoanalyst now. What other secret identities are you hiding?”

  She pouted. “You mock me,” she said, shrugging. “But I know what I know.”

  “Maybe you should be the crime story writer,” Dave said, “since you think you have all the answers.”

  “She’s a gypsy. That’s what some of the locals think, and I agree.”

  He grimaced. “I’ve actually heard that theory already. You’ll have to come up with something better.”

  She shrugged again. “You’ll see that there’s nothing mysterious. I can wait.” She bit her lip, then leaned in and added, “But don’t let her trick you.”

  “I’ll keep that in mind.”

  She nodded, then glanced away towards her customers, giving Dave the impression she was returning to her hostess duties. “I don’t want to hurt you, Simone. I care about you. You do remember that I’m going back to Chicago, don’t you?”

  She nodded, but he didn’t believe her.

  THE CONTRAST BETWEEN the chateau and the bed-and-breakfast inn was stark. Dave grimaced at the peeling wallpaper, the mildew-splotched ceiling, and the spider-webbed furniture.

  A man Dave vaguely recalled from his childhood appeared from a back room. “May I help you?”

  “Well, actually, I’m looking for someone. A woman who may be staying here. Her name is Maurelle Dupre.”

  “Oh. The inn closed down six months ago. I’m the new owner. I’m going to remodel the building and turn it into a single family home.”

  Dave nodded. “Best of luck with the renovation. Sorry for bothering you. I didn’t know.” The new owner thanked him as Dave saw himself out.

  Outside, he stood irresolute, debating what to do next. He’d already checked the Reynier hotels in person. He’d looked up all the hotels in Belvidere online and called those, without success. His grandmother and Simone had told him that locals were talking about the woman and that no one knew her, which made it unlikely she was a houseguest around here. He’d seen her in Reynier two days in a row and, according to Simone, other people had seen her around here for a week.