Where Secrets Reside

by Susan Finlay

  Other guests trickled in, including the new guests who had arrived while René and Paul were talking yesterday. They were a snooty French couple, introduced last night as the Marchands, with their teenage daughter. Camille Wickliff soon appeared, carrying a tray with their meals and began setting them out in front of each guest.

  “Am I late?” came a gruff voice. “No one told me what time dinner would be served.”

  Camille looked up and, seeing who it was, shook her head. “Sit down, Bruno, and I’ll bring your dinner in a few minutes. Yours isn’t quite ready yet.”

  “Huh? Why not?”

  “Because I didn’t know you would be staying here until an hour ago.”

  “Oh.”

  He sat down across from René and crossed his arms.

  René had heard about him from Aimee Augustin. Bruno was the town drunk. Well, at least he’d showered. His hair was wet and slicked back, his beard was shaved, and he wore a new shirt with the price tag still attached. Maybe the guy had robbed a bank.

  When René started eating, he felt Bruno’s eyes on him and it gave him the creeps. Camille walked back in a few minutes later and set a plate in front of Bruno. Once Bruno focused his attention on eating, René relaxed.

  Camille sat down next to her husband and introduced Bruno to the rest of the guests.

  “What brings you to the chateau, Mr. Houdan? Madame Marchand asked.

  “Uh, I live in the area. I’m staying here in the hotel one night, courtesy of the local gendarmes.”

  René quirked an eyebrow. Why would the gendarmes pay for food, lodging, and clothes for a vagrant? Then it hit him—the man must be a witness. To murder? Well, at least having a witness here probably meant the killer wasn’t amongst them—unless the gendarmes placed him in the hotel to watch someone. Camille and Jean-Pierre Wickliff? Although the husband seemed okay, Camille was off. René couldn’t quite put his finger on it, but something wasn’t right with that woman. Well, he mused, between drunks being hotel guests, multiple murders, a murderer on the loose, snooty guests, and gendarmes swarming the town, there never seems to be a dull moment around this town.

  OFFICER ROLAND PARKED his car on a one-way street in Parc Monceau, in the 17th Arrondissement of Paris, and walked a block to La Belle Café. It was the establishment owned by Nina Girard, the aunt of Yvette Girard. Captain Goddard had sent him here to interview her.

  Normally, he would immediately ask for Madame Girard straight away, but it was the beginning of the dinner crowd and the place was busy. Besides, it could wait. His stomach was growling.

  He followed a waiter to a small table in the back of the dining room and ordered his meal. The service was slow but the food was excellent.

  After he finished eating and paid for his food, he spoke to the maître d’ and told him he needed to see Madame Girard on official police business.

  He waited for twenty minutes and seriously thought about barging into the kitchen. Just as Roland was about to take action, the maître d’ reappeared. “Apologies. Madame Girard will see you now.”

  Roland followed him past the open doorway to the kitchen. It resembled something on that American reality-show he once saw when he and his family visited a friend in New York last summer.

  They passed through the kitchen and arrived at an office. A woman, perhaps forty-five years old, stood up.

  “Madame Girard?”

  “Yes.” She held out her hand, and he shook it.

  “I’m Officer Jacques Roland of the Gendarmerie in Belvidere. Do you know someone named Bertrand Martel?”

  “Have you found him?”

  “Pardón.”

  She sat down and motioned for him to sit, which he did.

  “I went to the police and reported that he’d stolen money from our business account, stripped the equipment away, and disappeared while I was away. That bastard!”

  “Why did he do that?”

  “We had a big argument. He had this bright idea to turn my restaurant into a gaudy bistro with questionable clientele. I told him I wouldn’t have it.”

  “How long ago was this?”

  “Five months.”

  “Have you ever heard the name Luc Olivier?”

  “No. Why?”

  “We believe Bertrand may have been posing as Luc Olivier and running a restaurant in Reynier, France.”

  “Reynier? That’s near Belvidere, isn’t it? My sister and her daughter live there.”

  “That’s right. Your niece is the one who discovered his false identity, assuming she’s right.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “We can’t find him. He seems to have disappeared.”

  “Ha. Probably got spooked when Yvette made the connection! He better carry on running if he knows what’s good for him!”

  Bertrand studied her. That sounded like a threat. Perhaps she had a motive to . . . to what? No one knew what had happened to the man. Still, Roland figured he should let the captain know that Madame Girard’s name should be added to their list of possible suspects.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  FABIENNE’S IVORY SOFA was so comfortable that Maurelle had trouble staying awake even with the television blaring. She was curled up on it, her bare feet covered by a lightweight baby-blue blanket Fabienne had knitted last winter. Fabienne had said she was practicing for when she had a great-grandchild.

  “Oh, there isn’t anything worth watching,” Fabienne said as she flipped through television channels. They’d already eaten their dinner in front of the television earlier.

  Maurelle raised up on her elbow to peer at Fabienne. Strands of coarse white hair strayed from her chignon.

  Fabienne noticed her looking at her, and asked, “I don’t suppose you’re up for a stroll, are you?”

  Maurelle tilted her head. She supposed now was a good opportunity to talk. If she was going to walk anywhere tonight, it should be to home to see Dave, and she was not prepared to do that. She took a deep breath, then let it out.

  “I’m not really sure if I should say something,” she said.

  “About what, dear girl?”

  “Well, uh, I actually saw Dave right before I came to your house.”

  “You did? Did you two quarrel again?”

  “No, I saw him, but I don’t think he saw me. I was walking down the unpaved part of Rue Corneille when I saw him. I didn’t announce that I was there.”

  Fabienne raised her ivory eyebrows.

  “I mean, I was going to, but then I saw him taking luggage out of the boot of the car.”

  “Whose luggage?”

  “Well, that’s what I wondered. I waited to see. I—I’m not sure but I think the luggage belonged to Dave’s parents. A middle-aged man and woman were standing near him. From where I was standing, about fifty meters away, they looked like his parents, you know, like the photograph on our mantel. They gathered up the bags and started walking on the trail toward our house.”

  “Eloise and Edward are here? In Reynier?” Her voice sounded shrill and she leaned back against the sofa. “Oh dear lord, what were they thinking, showing up now, what with the town embroiled in a murder investigation? I can’t imagine worse timing for anyone to come visit.”

  Maurelle shook her head in agreement.

  “I didn’t know whether to tell you, especially since I’m not positive it’s them.”

  “That must be why Dave was avoiding me this morning. I saw him coming out of the café and I called after him. He glanced my way, but then he turned and went the other direction. I just thought he didn’t talk to me because he was worried about you. But he probably didn’t want to tell me about their visit.”

  “Not necessarily, Fabienne. He may have been distracted with so much happening.”

  “Well, it doesn’t matter. I don’t want to see them. I’m glad you warned me. Now I can avoid them. Eloise left me here all alone, shut me out of her life for all these years. I know what she thinks of me.”

  Fabienne’s mouth changed
instantly into one of her famous pouts, and Maurelle hugged her, then whispered, “I hope you change your mind and will see them. You should try to work out your differences. Life is too short to hold grudges with family. I couldn’t have borne it if my mother and I had been estranged before her death.”

  Fabienne rearranged her glasses, straightened her dress, smoothing the paisley fabric which had become wrinkled across her lap, and then began nervously wringing her hands. “I don’t know. I suppose I could meet with her, for yours and Dave’s sake. But not tonight. It’s not a good idea to go traipsing along the hillside in the dark, especially with a killer loose.”

  “Thank you, Fabienne and you’re right. We should go there in the morning. I could use a good night’s sleep first, anyway. The hotel I stayed in last night had a terribly hard mattress. I tossed and turned all night long.”

  “You’re going to talk to Dave, too, aren’t you, and work out your differences?”

  “Yes, I want to try. But it won’t be easy. I’ve kept something big from him and he suspects it. I’m afraid he won’t want me after he finds out the truth.”

  “Dave loves you, dear. He won’t turn his back on you. He’s not like my daughter.”

  WHEN MAURELLE AROSE, she felt groggy and didn’t want to get up, but she finally got dressed and walked downstairs. Fabienne was already dressed in another of her paisley dresses, a purple and pink one that Dave had told Maurelle was particularly ugly, though he had never told Fabienne and probably never would, knowing his grandmother liked the dress. Maurelle thought about suggesting she change clothes but couldn’t think of any excuse for suggesting it. Fabienne looked tense as she stood by the front door and asked, “Are you ready to go?”

  “You’re sure you want to do this?”

  “No, I’m not. Not at all. Let’s get it over with before I change my mind.”

  While Maurelle slipped on her shoes, Fabienne said, “She’d better apologize to me for her bad behavior, that’s all I have to say?”

  Maurelle had a bad feeling this visit was going to be anything but pleasant. They walked past the chateau in silence until Maurelle jumped, startled by Bruno Houdan appearing from behind some bushes.

  “Sorry, didn’t mean to startle you.”

  “That’s okay. You look different today.” She didn’t want to say he actually looked clean and tidy because he might take offense at the implication.

  “I stayed there last night.” He pointed to the chateau and grinned. “Best night I’ve had in ages. Sure beats sleeping in a cave. Of course I don’t need to tell you that. Did have trouble with the bed though. Too soft, not used to it.”

  He winked, then excused himself and walked away. Maurelle felt her face grow warm. She would never be allowed to forget what it had been like, living in the abandoned cave. No matter what anyone might think, there was a world of difference between that and living in a troglo, where caves were modified to have all the amenities of a home.

  She walked on, her mind flashing back to her makeshift cave home. Several days after she’d moved into the cave, she hadn’t much of a reason to get up, not early, anyway, so when the morning light filtered through the narrow cave opening, she’d groaned and rolled over. “Go away,” she’d muttered groggily. She’d squeezed her eyelids closed but strange scratching sounds nearby made her instantly open them again.

  She held her breath, looking around for the source of her concern. Just then, a brown mouse darted back and forth, leaving tracks in the powdery white tufa, the limestone dust on the floor of the cave. It slipped into a narrow crevice and then back out again, its round eyes peering around nervously. She relaxed and lay there quietly observing the little creature. Poor little beast. Upon thinking it, she chewed at her lip. Bloody hell. Here she was, feeling sorry for a rodent squatting in a dirty old cave, when she was living the same way. Both of them desperate to maintain a low profile and remain invisible; both of them running for cover at the slightest provocation; and both of them burrowed in a dark hole to live. “I promise to bring you something tasty to nibble on before I leave town, little guy,” she said to the mouse.

  “Maurelle, wait for me!”

  Huh? She stopped and turned around. Fabienne was half-running to catch up. Good grief! Lost in her own thoughts, she’d forgotten about Fabienne and had walked too fast. “I’m so sorry.”

  “It’s nothing,” Fabienne said when she caught up to her, huffing and puffing. As Fabienne caught her breath she commented, “Can you believe it, Bruno looks like he won the lottery.”

  Chuckling, Maurelle replied, “Yes, he certainly does.”

  As they were about to turn onto Rue Corneille to get to the trail to her house, Maurelle stopped. “I’ll go check to see if the car is here first, before we trudge along the hillside and all the way to the house, in case they’ve gone out.”

  “Yes, thank you dear, good idea.”

  She walked past the café, peered at the car park, and returned to café, her shoulders slumping involuntarily.

  “What’s wrong?” Fabienne asked.

  “The car is gone.”

  “Oh, dear. Maybe Simone knows where they’ve gone off to. Do you think we should go inside the café and ask?”

  Maurelle nodded and followed Fabienne into the café.

  “Well, look what the cat dragged in,” Simone said when she saw Maurelle. “Dave was here earlier. That poor man has been looking all over for you. Where have you been? You missed him by two hours.”

  “Did he say where he was going?”

  “Yes. The Gendarmerie. Several officers were here. They were talking to customers and told Dave they would be taking him to the Gendarmerie when they finished. He told them not to bother because he was headed there himself.”

  “Was Dave alone?” Fabienne asked.

  “No. Edward and Eloise Martin were with him.”

  Maurelle was standing close enough to Fabienne that their arms were touching. She could feel Fabienne start to shake. “We need to get to the Gendarmerie,” Maurelle whispered to her.

  Alain, who was also standing nearby, said, “Give me a moment and I’ll drive you there.”

  Simone shot him a dagger look, but he ignored her.

  Fabienne and Maurelle followed Alain out the café’s backdoor to the car park. Fifteen minutes later they arrived at the Gendarmerie. Dave’s car was indeed there.

  JONAS TOSSED ONE shoe after another out of the downstairs wardrobe. “Where the hell are my boots?”

  Lillian, standing with her arms crossed, sighed. “I got rid of them.”

  “What? Why? How did you get rid of them?”

  She didn’t answer. She sat down on the sofa and picked up a book from the coffee table. As she thumbed through it, pretending she was interested in the book, she peeked at Jonas.

  From his squatting position, he looked over his shoulder, his eyebrows raised and his mouth open. He stared for a moment, then asked, “What did you do?”

  “I threw them in the river.”

  “Why would you do that? I paid good money for those boots. What’s wrong with you?”

  “Me? You want to know what’s wrong with me. I was protecting you. That was before I found out you were sleeping around. It’s bad enough you were staying out all the time. I figured you’d gotten yourself into a gambling debt or something, and that’s why you killed that woman. But then—”

  “What! What are you talking about? I didn’t kill anybody!”

  “Right. Like I’m supposed to believe that after all the lies you’ve told me over the years.”

  Jonas stood up and then lunged toward her with a raised fist.

  Lillian stared in disbelief for a second. He wouldn’t really hit her would he? His face was scrunched up and his teeth were bared, reminding her of an angry dog. Not taking any chances, she jumped up and out of his reach, and ran up the stairs. She pulled a bag out from under the bed and began filling it with her clothes. Jonas had followed her up the stairs and he stood near the be
d scratching his head. As she ran down the stairs with the bag, he followed her again, this time yelling, “Where do you think you’re going?”

  “I’m leaving you!” she screamed. “Understand? I’ve had enough and I won’t stay with a—a—man like you!”

  SIMONE GRABBED A fire extinguisher and sprayed the stove for the second time in two days. Paul rushed to her aid.

  “I think it’s out now,” she said. “Thanks.”

  “What happened? Are you trying to burn down this place for the insurance money?”

  “It wasn’t really a fire. I burnt two crepes I was making.”

  “Must have been really big crepes. I think it would take a whole carton of my cigarettes, lit up all at once, to create that much smoke. Maybe you should leave the cooking to Isabelle.”

  She glanced at him, intending to say something snide to his smirking visage. Instead, she just said, “Ha, Ha. Hilarious. I was too busy and distracted. Do you know Maurelle had the nerve to show up here and ask us to drive her to the Gendarmerie to look for Dave? And the jerk Alain took her there. He knows I don’t like her and he knows I’m already angry with him. It’s like he was deliberately provoking me.”

  “Can’t sympathize with you on this one, Simone. You know my feelings about Alain. Maybe you’re finally seeing his true colors.”

  “I wish you’d tell me what went on between you two to cause this antagonism. It’s not like Alain stole a woman from you.”

  “Touché. I’m not going to bore you with the details of our differences. As for Maurelle and you, I don’t think she intended to steal Dave. She started out avoiding him if I remember right.”

  “Don’t go defending her, Paul. You know, the more I think about it, maybe she wanted Alain to drive her to Belvidere because she wants him. Maybe she’s leaving Dave. I heard that they had an argument and Dave hasn’t seen her since. He’s been looking for her. Maybe Maurelle and Alain are having an affair. That could explain why Alain has been acting so weird.”

  “Whoa, there. I think you’re over-reacting.”

  Simone huffed, then turned her back to him, tending her cooking.