by Susan Finlay
Jeannette said, “Help me open the shutters. We need as much light in here as we can get.”
After they pulled open the outside shutters and secured them, the three women entered the house. In the foyer, they stopped and gasped. The sharp contrast of outside light shafts splaying higgledy-piggledy around the foyer and living room gave the house an eerie feel. Maurelle eased forward and ran a fingertip along the top of a bookshelf. A decade worth of dust blanketed everything. She gazed up to the ceiling and shivered, following the thick cobwebs that dangled from it like stalactites. Mouse droppings littered the dusty wooden floorboards and furnishings. For a moment, she was back in her lonely cave with only its resident mouse for companionship. On second thought, the cave was decidedly cleaner and preferable.
“Well, I think we should get to work,” Fabienne said. “We should have brooms and mops and such in the closet.”
“I’ll bring in our things from the car,” Maurelle said.
“That’s a good idea, dear girl.”
Jeannette glared at Fabienne “I thought you were tired. You said you wanted to rest.”
“N’importe. I’ve got a surge of energy. How could I not, now that we’re here?”
An hour later, as the sun was setting, the three women sat in the living room admiring the transformation. Fabienne had found a few candles salted away in a cabinet, behind stale half eaten soda crackers, so there was at least going to be minimal lighting available. Surprising everyone when Jeanette tried the faucet, there was actually running water. Maurelle decided her earlier comparison to her cave may have been hasty after all. “You know,” Jeannette said, “this is like coming home. Thank you for letting me come with you, Fabienne. And you, too, Maurelle.”
In the soft flickering candlelight, Maurelle studied the two older women. Jeannette closed her eyes for a few minutes, her lips curved up in a smile. Fabienne sat next to her on the couch, her hands folded in her lap, still clutching her dust rag, a faraway look in her eyes, the same kind of look Maurelle had seen in her own grandmother’s eyes years ago, when she, her mother, and grandparents had visited her grandmother’s childhood home. Maurelle felt a satisfaction knowing that she’d inadvertently made this emotional journey for Fabienne and Jeannette possible, and yet she still couldn’t shake her worries, couldn’t forget that this was no mere pleasure trip.
Jeannette sprang up from the couch, screaming, and causing Fabienne to jump up, too, and clutch her chest.
“What’s wrong?” Fabienne shrieked.
“A mouse!”
Fabienne looked across the coffee table at Maurelle and burst out laughing. “Well, I think we have acquired a pet. Better leave some bread crumbs out on the kitchen floor for the poor thing.”
Jeannette glared at Fabienne as though she thought she was out of her mind, but Fabienne smiled and sat back down, folding her hands in her lap.
“Oh, thank God you’re home!” Dave said when Simone answered her phone. “Where is everyone? I’ve been trying to reach Grand-mère for two days.”
She didn’t say anything. Dave wondered if he’d gotten a wrong number. “Simone?”
“Yes,” she said. “Where are you?”
“I’m on a business trip. Didn’t Grand-mère tell you? Where is everyone?”
She was silent again, making Dave want to scream at her. Instead, he clenched his jaw and waited. Rain pelted against his hotel window and people walking down the hall past his room were laughing. On the other end of the phone, though, the silence was deafening. Finally, Dave said, “What the hell is going on, Simone? I’ve spent the past two hours calling people—my grandmother, Jeannette, Coralie. No one answered their phones. Where did everyone go?”
“You left me without saying a word. We had a date. I bought us tickets to the theatre. You didn’t bother to cancel or to even say goodbye.”
“Huh? What are you talking about?”
“I dressed up for our date and waited for you to arrive to take me out. Do you have any idea how embarrassing it was to be stood up? And I wasted all that money on tickets that we didn’t use.”
“Simone, I’m sorry. Something came up unexpectedly. I should have had the decency to call and cancel, but with everything I had to do to get ready for my trip, I completely forgot about our date. As for saying goodbye—well, there wasn’t time.”
“You can cut the act, Dave,” Simone said, with a bitter edge to her voice. “I know that you’re trying to help Maurelle—or should I say Maura Barrington—get away with murder.”
“What?” He felt as though she had slapped him across the face, and he nearly fell off his chair. He recovered quickly. “Okay, first of all, I’m not helping anyone get away with murder. I am trying to find out exactly what happened. That’s what I do. I guess you were right about one thing—I am still a detective deep down.”
“Of course you are, Cheri,” she said, cooing at him. It was something that he used to find attractive about her. Now it seemed phony. What bothered him, too, was her desperation and insecurity. She didn’t need to be that way. While her physical attractiveness and sophistication were superficial, created and honed for and by her modeling career, yet not enough to keep him interested, they were certainly enough for some men.
“And how do you know about Maurelle?” he asked, his stomach churning suddenly. “What happened?” He heard her sigh this time, and braced himself for the worst.
“I only found out after the gendarmes arrived. I didn’t call them. I wouldn’t betray you. You must believe me.”
“Then how did they find out she was in Reynier?”
“Someone called them. It wasn’t me. But, well . . . I guess it was sort of on my behalf.”
“What the hell did you do?”
“It wasn’t me. I swear. It was Paul. I tried to stop him. Maman and Grand-mère tried, too.”
“Oh, Christ,” Dave said. “Why would he do that? And what do you mean it was sort of on your behalf?”
She was silent again.
“Simone, please tell me. What happened?”
“Paul was upset that you stood me up, and he knew it had something to do with Maurelle. We all did. He came to me and told me he’d put together some clues—my God, she was hiding in a cave! He also told me she was hitchhiking last week and he gave her a ride. He didn’t know who she really was or what kind of trouble she was in, but he figured that if he called the gendarmes, she would run away. Anyway, he thought that he was doing me a favor because with her out of the picture, and you available again, you might return to me. He meant her no harm, really, and he was only looking out for me. You know how protective he is.”
Dave bent forward and closed his eyes. “Paul’s created a huge mess.”
“He knows that now, and he’s sorry about it.”
“Where is Maurelle?”
“I don’t know where she is. That’s the truth. The gendarmes don’t know either, if that makes you feel better.”
“Where is my grandmother?” he asked as calmly as he could.
“I . . . well, I was told that she and my grandmother were going with mother to Brigitte’s.” She paused. “The Belvidere gendarmes notified the Vendome and Orleans gendarmes, but they only found my mother. No one seems to know the whereabouts of the others.”
Dave didn’t say anything as he tried to comprehend what she’d told him. Finally, he said, “So you’re telling me that Maurelle and two elderly women are what—hitchhiking, hiding in caves, walking through the woods—what?”
“They took mother’s car. The gendarmes are looking for the car and for all three women. I think they’re calling our grandmothers hostages. You see, Maman either had to tell them that she and Grand-mère and Fabienne were all aiding a fugitive, or simply say she didn’t know what had happened.”
“What?”
“I—I’m supposed to notify the gendarmes if I hear from you, Dave.”
“What’s that supposed to mean? Are they going to arrest me too?”
�
��I don’t know,” she whispered.
“Do you have any idea where the women might have gone? Please tell me, Simone.”
“I wish I did know, but I don’t. And neither does Maman.”
After he hung up the phone, Dave pounded his fist into the desk in his hotel room, sending shooting pains into his knuckles. He couldn’t have imagined his day getting any worse, and yet it had. Kate Hill had told him she would help with the investigation, but the fact she knew about his past and about his knowing the suspect was unsettling as hell—and now this! He concluded that there wasn’t going to be any point in trying to sleep tonight.
He picked up the phone again and dialed. “Hey, Greg. Did I wake you?”
“Na, I was watching the TV. Did you know they show topless women on TV here?”
Dave didn’t laugh. “I was wondering if you’d meet me downstairs in the bar. Something big has come up, and I could sure use a friendly ear.”
“Of course, buddy. That is, if you’re buying.”
Two hours and three beers later, Greg said, “Sounds to me like you need to go back to France. I can stay here and continue working the case.”
“I can’t. From the way Simone talked, I’d probably be arrested if I showed up in Reynier or Orleans.”
Greg took another swig of beer. “What if I went instead? You could stay here. I haven’t seen Maura or whatever you call her. I don’t have any real connection. I can poke around and talk to your friend, Simone.”
“Hmm, that’s not half-bad. What kind of cover story would you use?”
“I could say that I’m your old partner from the police force, which is true. I’m on vacation, traveling about Great Britain and Europe, and you invited me to visit you in your grandmother’s hometown before I left home.”
He got up then and walked over to the bar, returning a couple minutes later with two more beers. “I could show up, expecting to find you and your grandmother. When they tell me that you’ve left, I can pretend that you must have forgotten about inviting me.”
“That actually sounds plausible,” Dave said, taking a leisurely swallow of draft. “You’re pretty good at this.”
Greg laughed. “Yeah, scary, isn’t it?” Both paused to think about this new proposal and down a couple more sips of their beer.
“I think that could work, assuming that you can speak French,” Dave said. “You’re sure you wouldn’t mind?”
“What’s to mind? I look at it this way—I get to travel, see France, and meet this Simone that you’ve told me about. So we’re clear, she isn’t your girlfriend any more, right?”
Dave laughed, seeing Simone turning her charm on Greg, and Greg dishing it right back at her.
“She’s all yours, pal,” Dave said. “I can’t wait to find out how you two get along. You’ve gotta promise to keep me posted on your investigation and on your flirtation.”
Greg gave Dave a sly look. “And if I find Maura? Is she your girlfriend, or isn’t she?”
Dave hoped his friend was kidding, but not taking any chances, he said, “She is off-limits.”
Greg laughed. “I saw photos of her online. She’s pretty. I hope Simone is as pretty.”
“Didn’t I tell you? Simone is a former model.”
“Well, then, it really sounds like a plan,” Greg said, laughing heartily. Raising their mugs, they toasted each other and their new plan. “I guess I better try to get a few hours’ sleep before I shove off. Can you give me details in the morning, say nine o’clock?”
“You bet,” Dave said, finishing off his beer.
“By the way,” Greg said as they reached the hotel’s staircase, “I do speak French, though admittedly I’ve never gotten a chance to use it for real. Studied it in high school and college. Obviously it’s been a while, but hopefully it’ll come back to me, at least enough to get by.”
Dave smiled and patted him on the back, “You’ll do fine.” The two entered the hotel and the elevator to Greg’s floor, just below Dave’s. Before Greg stepped into the hallway, Dave said, “I don’t know what I would do without you, Greg. I’m sorry I didn’t keep in touch much over the past few years.”
“Yeah, me too. My fault too; I wasn’t any better keeping in touch. But at least now, we can catch up. Maybe you’ll even decide to come back to the police force after we’re done with all this.”
Dave nodded and his friend disappeared down the corridor toward his room.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
At breakfast, Dave filled Greg in on everyone he would likely meet in Reynier, and then talked about his grandmother and her friends.
“Your grandmother sounds like a real character. I hope I get to meet her, though it doesn’t seem likely if what Simone said is true.”
“Simone is a bit calculating, but I don’t think she would lie about something that big, especially knowing I am already unhappy about what she did.”
“Yeah, it must have been difficult for her to tell you what happened. What about her brother?”
“Huh? She’s an only child.”
“Oh, I guess the guy was a cousin or something?”
“Paul.” Dave shrugged. “Yeah, he’s her cousin. I guess I’d call him a friend—we’ve known each other practically forever, but I don’t always like the guy. Quiet, somewhat lazy and moody, but a damn good artist. He could probably go places if he applied himself.”
“Sounds like my brother and my relationship with him. What about Simone’s mother? You said she went with Maura—I mean Maurelle.”
“Only as far as her sister’s house in Orleans. Supposedly, Maurelle stole Coralie’s car and took off with my grandmother and Jeannette.”
“Well, if she really is guilty of murder, she might be desperate enough to take hostages, and two elderly women would be easy targets.” As Dave gave him a look of protest, Greg held up his hand. “I’m just sayin’.”
Dave looked down at his coffee mug. Greg was supposed to be supportive and at least try to be open-minded enough to consider Maurelle innocent. Apparently, he was more willing to believe in gossip—like most people. Perhaps sending him to Reynier was a bad move, but what else could he do?
After breakfast, Dave walked with his friend to the Tube station.
“Good luck, buddy.” He patted Greg on the back, then shook his hand. “Call me when you can, and give me updates.”
“Will do.” Greg smiled, waved, and fed his train ticket into the automated slot. When the ticket popped back up and the gate banged open, Greg removed his ticket and passed through the gate.
As Greg disappeared, Dave again hoped he was doing the right thing sending him to France. Of course his decision meant that he would be working solely with Kate Hill.
Later that morning at Kate’s house, Dave sat in her office drinking coffee while she read aloud from a document she’d obtained from a ‘source’, whom she wouldn’t name. The report began with the basics in information-gathering—the five W’s and one H, as they were known in journalism and police investigations: who is it about, what happened, when did it happen, where did it take place, why did it happen, and how did it happen? It was written in clear, simple English the way police reports were written.
“According to witnesses, when Maura broke up with Jared and moved out, he was devastated. He wouldn’t let go. He got into fights at school. Eventually the school’s governing board became involved. They placed Maura on suspension, pending an investigation and a hearing.” Kate paused, and took a deep breath, letting it out slowly. “People claimed they believe she killed Jared so that he wouldn’t be able to testify at the governing board’s hearing, and thus she wouldn’t lose her job.”
“That’s all circumstance and hearsay,” Dave said.
“Yes, but it is also logical. Several credible witnesses, including the head teacher at the school, said that Jared had confided in them.”
“Have you actually seen the case files?”
“No,” Kate said, “but I spoke with a detective on the case
when I was working on my pieces for several newspapers.”
“So far, I haven’t seen or heard any evidence that there really was a relationship between them. She says not.” He shook his head. “Is there any way that we can get a look at the evidence? Maybe we would pick up on something that was overlooked, especially since I’ve spoken with Maura.”
“Hmm.” She leaned back in her chair. “Perhaps. Not the actual evidence, but I know people who might be able to get me copies of some of the paperwork about it. I’ve been in this business a long time and have quite a few friends who owe me favors.”
“Thank you. That would be great.”
After she made three phone calls, they ate a light lunch together in her kitchen while they waited.
“Do you miss being a police officer?”
“Sometimes. But definitely not the politics. The investigation and finding the truth I miss.”
She nodded.
“You already know quite a bit about me from your queries,” Dave said, “but what about you? Why did you go freelance?”
“I needed to write facts. My bosses were more interested in opinion pieces even when they seemed to lack facts. I want people to think for themselves, draw their own conclusions.”
As they ate, they continued to chat about perspectives and the work that brought them to their current situations. About forty-five minutes from the first call, the phone rang. The fax machine beeped and started printing.
They returned to her office. The fax machine was humming as it continued to spit out paper. An itemized list of evidence collected at the scene was unsurprising. He had seen hundreds of files such as this in his career: fingerprints and hair strands collected from Jared’s room (including Maura’s, Jared’s parents, and the father’s girlfriend, Robin, none of which proved any of them were there on the night of the murder), unidentified clothing fibers, blood spatter evidence, two puncture wounds on the victim’s neck, etc.
Kate handed him copies of photographs, body diagrams, witness statements, and emails sent from Jared’s computer to Maura.
By the time he finished reading the medical examiner’s report, toxicology report, dental charts, and death certificate, Dave could see why Maura couldn’t necessarily be ruled out as a suspect, but didn’t find anything that actually pointed to her guilt.
