by Susan Finlay
“I know it’s dangerous, but I’m being careful.”
“I guess you’ve always been more adventurous than most,” he said. “I remember when you hitchhiked to Vendome last year.”
“Technically, I wasn’t hitchhiking. You happened to drive by and recognize me and offered me a ride.”
“And you accepted, even though you didn’t recognize me. Have you forgotten that?”
She’d been walking through the woods, away from Reynier and away from Dave. After she’d told him about her troubles in England, he’d been angry and stormed off. Later that night, she’d sneaked back into her room at Fabienne’s house intent on leaving, only to find her backpack and duffel gone. She’d searched for them and came up empty-handed. Leaving anyway without money and decent walking shoes, she’d become worn down and felt in dire straits. She’d had little choice but to accept a ride from him.
“I was exhausted,” she said. “And lucky. You could have been a rapist like the man who gave me a ride from Vendome. Did Dave ever tell you about that?”
“He said you’d managed to escape. I would have thought you’d be more cautious after that experience.”
“What do you mean?”
“Young women are being murdered right here in town. I’d hate to see you in danger, that’s all. I told Simone to stay indoors, too.”
“Thanks for your concern, that’s sweet, but I’ll be all right.” She was never sure about Paul. There was something unsettling about him—yet he could be kind and generous. He was one of the few people who’d given her a birthday present, she remembered as she instinctively fingered her bracelet.
“Whatever you say.” He shrugged and then added, “Maurelle, do take care. I want you to stay safe.”
She nodded. “Thanks. Where are you off to?”
“Work. The storm caused a lot of damage. Good for my remodeling business. I’m replacing some windows at the Gavaldas’ place today.”
“Ah. I heard about their bad luck. I’m glad you’re able to help them so quickly. I’m sure they’ll appreciate it.”
A few minutes after Paul left, while Maurelle was walking along rue Corneille toward the post office, she heard Jeannette calling out her name. Maurelle turned and walked toward her.
“Bonjour, Maurelle. Have you seen Fabienne?”
SIMONE COULDN’T BELIEVE her eyes when the uniformed gendarme came into the café and took Alain aside again. She thought they’d finished with him. A few minutes later, Alain whispered to her that the gendarme was taking him back to the Gendarmerie. He hadn’t needed to tell her that, since she’d eavesdropped on their conversation. She knew she shouldn’t have, but it was her restaurant and her boyfriend after all. The gendarmes wanted a DNA test to establish the paternity of Gabrielle Thibault’s child.
Why on earth would anyone suspect him? He didn’t know the woman, and even if he did, he wouldn’t cheat on me, Simone thought.
Then she remembered Dave. She couldn’t exactly say he’d cheated on her. He was supposedly only going to be in France for a short stay, and they’d dated only for a couple weeks. Nothing serious between them. He’d made it clear he’d be going back to the U.S. She had managed to talk him into going on a short sightseeing trip around France with her before he returned home, hoping he would fall in love with her along the way. Of course, that sightseeing trip never happened. Once he set his eyes on Maurelle, it was over between them.
If Dave could leave her for another woman, might Alain have contemplated the same? He had been acting strange lately.
Simone went into the back room of the café, where no one could see her, and pounded her fists into a sealed bag of flour. Even Paul sometimes acted like he had a crush on Maurelle. Damn her.
Thirty minutes later, Alain returned. He jumped right in, helping her and Isabelle cook and wait on tables. Was he trying to smooth things over with her? It was going to take a lot more than Alain doing his own share of the work to make that happen.
After the last customer of the morning closed the door behind him, Simone wiped off tables and began sweeping the floor. She jumped when she felt a hand on her shoulder.
“Sorry,” Alain said. “I didn’t mean to startle you. Can we talk? Let’s go upstairs.”
She put the broom away and said to Isabelle, “Will you wait on any customers that come in while we’re gone?”
Isabelle nodded.
Simone turned and stomped up the stairs. Alain followed her and closed the door behind him, waking up the dog, Bono, lying on a bench under the window. As usual, Bono had been sunning himself while he napped. He jumped down and ran to them, tail wagging, to get petted. Simone patted him on the head and then plopped herself down on the sofa.
Alain sat down beside her. “I need to tell you something, Simone, but it’s not what you think.”
“How do you know what I think? You’ve stopped talking and listening.”
“I’m sorry. I’ve been under considerable stress lately. It’s time to tell you why.” He paused a moment to choose his words, then proceeded.
“I did live in Vendome, like I told you. What I didn’t tell you is that I was involved with a married woman there. Her husband found out and moved the family to Paris to break us up. I tried to go on without her but couldn’t. I quit my job and went to work in a restaurant in Paris. I was there for four months. That’s how I learned about waiting tables.”
Simone opened her mouth to speak but closed it.
“One night, I received a text message from her phone, asking me to meet her at a bar. I went there, but instead of her, her husband and several of his buddies showed up. The husband had found out I moved there and had sent the text message. They beat me up and threatened to kill me if I didn’t leave. That’s when I moved back to Reynier.”
“Why didn’t you tell me when we first met? Why lie?”
“I was ashamed. I’d helped a woman cheat on her husband, and then I’d made a fool of myself by following her to Paris. I was afraid that you wouldn’t be interested in me if you knew.”
“Are you still in love with her?”
“No. That’s all in the past. I’ve moved on—literally. I love you, Simone. That’s why I’ve been trying to get you to marry me and have babies with me.”
“Speaking of babies, why did the gendarmes want to do a DNA test on you? Was the first victim—Gabrielle, whatever—your girlfriend?”
“How did you know about the DNA test?” She shrugged, and he said, “No, I’ve never met her. I guess rumors are going around Reynier saying I may have dated her. The gendarmes are doing the tests on several men from here, mostly because of more rumors.”
“Who else?”
“They’d finished with your cousin, and Jonas was waiting for his turn when I left.”
“Paul and Jonas?” Simone pursed her lips. She’d heard some rumors, too. “What about Felicia? Was she really pregnant?”
“I heard that, too, but the gendarmes didn’t mention her. At least I don’t think they did. To be honest, I was shaken about the whole thing. I’ve never been asked for DNA for a paternity test. It’s an unsettling feeling.”
She unfolded her arms. “Why would people think you were having an affair?”
“I don’t know. That really bothers me. The only consolation is that they’re saying that sort of thing about a lot of people. You know how they are here. One little spark of something juicy, and it ignites likes fire.”
“That’s an understatement.”
“I’ve heard rumors about Paul being involved with both victims. I knew he dated Felicia, but that’s been over for a while now.”
“He was really sad when I gave him the news of her death. I blurted it out to him without thinking.”
“I saw Jonas when he heard the news,” Alain said. “Don’t remember who it was who told him. He didn’t act particularly sad or surprised.”
“Do you think Jonas killed her?”
“I don’t know. It’s hard to believe anyone we know could have done some
thing that horrible. But I suppose people can get pushed too far, or get desperate sometimes. Maybe he, or whoever it was who killed those women, lost it and couldn’t help what they were doing.”
“I can’t say I really liked Felicia,” Simone said, “but I don’t think she was a bad person. She certainly didn’t deserve to be murdered.”
“I agree. If she really was pregnant, maybe she pressured Jonas to leave his wife and take care of her and the baby. That might have pushed him too far. Or maybe Lillian found out and was jealous. I don’t know, I’m just thinking out loud here.”
“Hmm. You might be on to something. Lillian moved out of their house yesterday. She’s staying in the chateau.”
“Did she say why she moved out?”
“Only that Jonas was a ‘no good cheating bastard’. She didn’t specify who the woman was.”
“You know, the husband of my former girlfriend threatened to kill me to keep me away from her. I suppose it’s not that big of a stretch to imagine Lillian going to extreme lengths to keep her husband. Only, why move out then?”
Simone sat leaned back. The image of Lillian chopping meat in the butcher shop where she worked sprang to mind. She shivered and tried to shake the thought away.
“I do have something else I want to talk to you about,” Alain said, drawing Simone back to their conversation. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a small box bearing the name of a well-known jewelry store.
IN GODDARD’S MEETING with Yvette Girard, he told her about Bertrand Martel’s murder. She came across as genuinely surprised. That could have been acting, but she also had a solid alibi for the time period in question—almost enough to rule her out as a suspect. Goddard decided he would wait to hear from Roland.
His interview with Simone didn’t give him much to go on, either. She did tell him her theories, but cautioned that it was all hearsay and speculation and she didn’t have any concrete knowledge about her friends and neighbors.
She had, however, sworn that her boyfriend was not involved with either of the women. As for the white Renault, she had waved her hand and said she had momentarily thought she might have seen a car fitting that description, but on further thinking about it realized she was mistaken.
“OF COURSE I heard about Luc,” Aimee Augustin said. “Everyone in the village has heard. I can’t believe he’s really dead.” She dabbed at her eyes with a tissue.
Dave leaned forward. He was sitting across the table from her, the same table where he’d sat the day before with Maurelle. The smell of freshly baked bread and sweet pastries wafted out through the open doorway of the bakery. On warm days the baker, Odette Capelle, liked to prop the door open. She always said why not let the smells out to do their job and lure in the customers.
“When did you last see him?” Dave asked.
“Oh, gosh, I don’t know. I suppose it was right after the storm. I was expecting the businessman from Paris—you have met him, haven’t you? Monsieur Lamont. He’s quite charming. Anyway, I was preparing for his visit and looking for an empty shop to show him. There are only two in Reynier, three if you count the little shack close to the river’s edge. I went to look at all three places. One of them was next door to Chez Orleans, so I stopped in for lunch. Luc doesn’t usually work the lunch schedule, but he did that day.”
“Was he friendly? Did you speak with him?”
“He nodded in my direction. Oh, and I think he stopped by, once, to see if the food was satisfactory.”
“You and Luc dated when he first moved here, didn’t you?”
She smiled. “We did. You know, there aren’t many eligible men in my age group around here.”
“When did you and Luc stop seeing each other, and why?”
“I tried to help him plan his restaurant remodel. I’ve been an estate agent most of my adult life. I know real estate and I know what makes a good business. I could have turned his restaurant into a high-class restaurant that would have drawn in people from all around the region. But would he listen? No.”
Dave nodded. Of course Luc, or Bertrand, wouldn’t listen. He didn’t want someone telling him what to do. That’s why he’d fought with Nina. Second, he wouldn’t want to draw people in from far away. He needed to keep a low profile.
“Was he seeing anyone else?”
She stopped drinking her coffee and lowered her cup but didn’t set it down.
“I wouldn’t be surprised. Women throw themselves at handsome men, don’t they? The waitresses over at that restaurant were always flirting with him. It was disgraceful.”
Dave thought about Felicia, Luc’s waitress who had been murdered. “Did you ever suspect him of cheating on you while you were dating?”
She sipped her coffee again and diverted her eyes. Finally, she said, “I’ve yet to meet a man who didn’t cheat on his wife or girlfriend.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
“BONJOUR, SIMONE,” JEANNETTE said, opening the door for her to enter the house. “I didn’t expect to see you this afternoon. Shouldn’t you still be working?”
Simone sighed. Sometimes she wished she hadn’t bought the café. Sometimes she wished she’d stayed in Paris. Modeling wasn’t the only thing she could have done. Even washed-up models could become agents for the young girls trying to get into the business. She certainly could have done that. But then she probably wouldn’t have met Alain. Not unless serendipity had thrown them together when he was working at that Paris restaurant he’d told her about.
“Probably, but I desperately needed some time off. Alain and Isabelle are covering for me.” She had considered bringing the engagement ring with her to show to her grandmother but had decided to leave it at home since she hadn’t given Alain an answer yet.
“Have they not reopened the bookshop, then?”
“Not yet. Alain says he’s going to wait until the case is solved and things return to normal around here.”
“Simone, did you hear that Fabienne and Eloise are speaking to each other again? I had to call Fabienne and find out what was going on after that son-in-law of hers showed up here with the gendarme captain.”
“Yes. I heard it from Maman.”
Simone plopped down on her grandmother’s settee and sank down, making Jeannette frown.
Jeannette took a seat facing her and studied her a moment. “Seems like you’re not just tired,” she said. “What’s wrong?” Simone shrugged. “Come on. Don’t pretend with me. I know when something’s troubling you. You might fool some people but not me.”
“What isn’t wrong around here?”
“Are you and Alain still having difficulties?”
“We’re okay now. We had a long talk earlier today. It’s—well, he wants to get married and have kids and I don’t know if—”
“If what, dear? Are you unsure about him?”
“I don’t know. I love Alain, but marriage and kids? Please, Grand-mère, I really am not in the mood to talk about that right now if you don’t mind.”
Jeannette frowned but tipped her head, agreeing to drop it for the moment, but Simone doubted she was done with the subject.
Simone said, “Did you hear the gendarmes are doing DNA tests on Alain, Paul, and Jonas to see if one of them is the father of that toddler Maurelle found?”
“They think Paul might be the father?” Jeannette clasped her hands together. “I saw that baby girl before the gendarmes took her away. She’s adorable. Oh, she needed some scrubbing and more fashionable clothes, but what a wonderful great-grandchild she would be!”
“It’s ridiculous,” Simone said. “Paul would have told us if he’d fathered a child. No, he’s not the father, Grand-mère. Of course Jonas could be the father, but he wouldn’t dare say so. Lillian would strangle him if he came home with a baby by someone else.”
“I’m not so sure Paul would tell us, either.”
Simone frowned. “Why would you say that? Paul and I tell each other everything.”
Jeannette twisted her mouth.
“What’s that supposed to mean? Do you know something I don’t?”
“I know that you don’t want children. You try to hide it, but you’re not good at it. Paul is my only hope of becoming a great-grandmother, unless you get over your selfishness.”
“My selfishness? I’m not selfish. Why on earth would you say something like that?”
“You don’t want children because you would have to share Alain’s attention. You’ve never been good at sharing.”
“Sharing has nothing to do with it. I just don’t care for children. And maybe if I’m not good at sharing it’s because you’ve doted on Paul his whole life. Having a granddaughter wasn’t good enough. It was a grandson that you really wanted. I guess having only daughters was a huge disappointment for you, and you made up for that with your precious grandson.”
“That’s not true, dear,” Jeannette said. “I wasn’t disappointed in you or my daughters. You’ve got it all wrong. And I didn’t have only daughters. I had a son.”
Simone gasped and stared at her grand-mère.
Jeannette looked as though someone had let the air out of her, realizing the confession she had just blurted, and then quietly said, “It was before I met your grandfather. I had to give him up. I couldn’t keep him.”
They sat in silence, except for the ticking of the antique clock on the mantel. At the moment it sounded twice as loud as it had moments ago. Simone closed her eyes. What is one supposed to say when they find out their grandmother isn’t the saint they thought she was?
She took a deep breath, let it out slowly, and carefully said, “Did Grand-père know?
“He knew. He promised he would never tell a soul, and he kept that promise.”
“No one else knows?”
“Fabienne does. She helped me through the pregnancy. That was back when we lived in Paris. It was a different life back then. We were young girls. Young girls make foolish mistakes.”
Simone nodded. “What happened to your son?”
“I put him up for adoption.”
