Amanda was boiling. The dance floor was so packed that she could feel the heat and sweat of the dancers around her. She and Pierre were moving fast, trying to follow the music. The large scarf around her neck wasn't helping. "I was born and raised in Victoria, in British Columbia, a province in Canada. Have you ever been there?"
"No. Never been to Canada. But I've heard only good things about it. So how are you related to the d'Orvilly's then?"
Amanda did a fun move, twisting her back and bending her knees. It looked like a curtsy. "Toinette d'Orvilly was a great-great-cousin on my mother's side. It was a real surprise, not to say a shock, when I learned about this inheritance. I didn't know anything about my French origins. The funny thing is that I've always been passionate about French cuisine and French culture. And two weeks ago, I learned that I had inherited this castle in Normandy! And here I am. It’s crazy."
Pierre did a little pirouette. Amanda was unsure what Pierre was trying to accomplish with this, and neither did the people around them who looked at him, amused. "Totally crazy, I agree. It must cost a fortune to maintain an old castle like this one though."
"Yes, it does... Did you know Toinette d'Orvilly?"
"In the last month before she died, I barely saw her. But in the months before that, she sometimes came to the bakery to buy bread and pastries. She particularly liked chouquettes."
"'Chouquettes?' What are 'chouquettes?'"
Pierre laughed. "The little buns covered with sugar that Bronx devoured the other day."
"Ah! I see. Well, he and my great-great-cousin seem to have something in common then. Was she a nice person?" Amanda stepped heavily on Pierre's right foot. He refrained from moaning and grimaced instead.
"Hmmpff... I remember her as being very polite, but reserved. Probably because of her education, you know, she was French nobility. At least, she didn't take part in all the drama and gossip going on in the village, like the seniors from Bellevue House love to do. They are so bored that it's literally their hobby."
"So, did you hear any gossip about the casino?"
"The casino?"
"I read an article in the Gazette about the project of building a casino in Orvilly. The castle was a potential location for it. Do you know anything about that?"
"Ah... yes. I remember now. It made a big splash. The kind that delights the villagers. It added fuel to the fire that was already burning."
"Which fire?" Talking about fire, Amanda had the feeling that one was burning inside of her. She had to remove this damn scarf as soon as possible.
"Mostly between the mayor and the architect, Delphine Montel. Do you know her?
"Yes, I’ve met her. I thought she got on well with the mayor?"
"It's not what I've heard."
"What did you hear?"
"Something about new contracts and money, I think. I don't know much more about it," Pierre did a rock and roll flip, "am I wrong or are we gossiping too?"
"We might be gossiping, but I'd rather call it investigating."
"Investigating what?"
"I need to find out who murdered Martin Plouque. If not, I won't be able to start the renovation work in the castle for months, maybe not even till next year. I want to turn the castle into an inn. That's my plan."
"Cool plan! If you need pastries and bread for your future guests, I'd be happy to provide them."
The music stopped for a few seconds, then the band carried on with another Valse Musette with a faster tempo. More people joined the dance floor.
"I don't know about you, Pierre, but I need to make a pause and eat."
"Good idea.” He gave Amanda a radiant smile. “We'll go back ridiculing ourselves later."
"We looked ridiculous?"
"Absolutely."
"So, how is it going?" whispered a voice in Amanda's ear.
Liliane was standing behind Amanda, all smiles, waiting for some exciting updates.
"Were you spying on us?" asked Amanda.
"Of course, I was."
"Liliane, I can't keep this scarf around my neck. It's way too hot here. It's insane."
"What are you doing with my scarf, you little thief?"
Germaine Parmentier was standing in front of Amanda. The woman had a plate full of food in one hand, and a threatening fork in the other.
"Is it your scarf?" asked Amanda.
"Yes, it is,” answered the woman. “Where did you get it?"
"Germaine, I’m so sorry," said Liliane, " I thought you wouldn't mind if I borrowed your scarf. I apologize."
"You didn't borrow it, Liliane. She stole it." The old lady was pointing her fork toward Amanda's face.
"This is a misunderstanding, Mrs. Parmentier,” said Amanda. “I can assure you that I had no intention of stealing your scarf. I didn’t even know it was yours." Amanda removed the scarf from her neck and handed it to the woman. "Here it is. I'm so sorry about this."
"My hands are full, you idiot. What do you want me to do with my scarf now? Put it back where it was, with my coat on the rack over there. You didn't empty the pockets of my coat, did you?"
"Of course not!"
"No worries, Germaine," said Liliane, "I will put back your scarf on the hanger with your coat. It's my mistake, not Amanda's. I thought you wouldn't mind."
"Well, I mind. I mind a lot! You, horrid little Canadian." The old woman returned to the crowd, managing to eat from her plate while complaining.
"Great!" said Amanda, "she hated me already, so now I guess that she wants to kill me."
"Don't worry about her. She's like this with everybody."
"Then why did you pick her scarf?"
"I didn't know it was hers. I just picked the first one I saw on the coat rack. It was just bad luck." Liliane walked into the crowd with the scarf in the direction of the coat racks.
"Ah! So that's what it was about!"
Pierre had finally discovered the hidden disaster, and the reason for the scarf cover-up.
"Red wine?" he asked.
"Yep," answered Amanda, "now that I'm officially and publicly ridiculed, please, pour me a glass of wine. I'd like to drink one, this time."
Pierre complied, smiling.
"You know, reddish pink is a color that suits you well though. But I wouldn't recommend patchouli as a fragrance. Too old fashion for you."
Amanda smiled, happy that Pierre didn’t seem to care about the mess.
Liliane took a big bite of the Camembert puff that she was holding in her hands. The cheese, the bacon and the onion flavors melted in her mouth, bringing a blissful smile to her face.
"Hmm, Amanda, this is delicious. You cook like a real Norman!"
"Thank you, Liliane," answered Amanda, proudly.
The two friends were eating and drinking, sitting on two chairs placed along a wall, facing the dance floor that had not been empty since the beginning of the evening. Some dancers who had obviously been drinking too much were making a comical spectacle, forgetting about their Valse Musette moves.
Pierre was dancing with a little girl whose feet were on top of his. She was laughing and her pigtails jumped to the rhythm of the music each time he moved his legs.
"Liliane, I need to ask you something," said Amanda.
"What?"
"About the mayor, Barbon and Montel. It seems that these three don't like each other, right?"
"Hmm... Not exactly," Liliane took a sip from her glass of apple cider. "Barbon and Montel hate each other, the mayor and Montel hate each other, but the mayor and Barbon have been close friends since childhood. Those two always support each other, to the point that I can tell you that it's not only Mayor Desplanques who rules this village. Barbon has a huge influence on him. Therefore, he also has a big influence on all the important businesses going on here. It's thanks to him that Desplanques has been the mayor of Orvilly for over twenty years. More than half of the residents here listen to Barbon religiously, and he keeps them voting for Charles Desplanques as their mayor."
&n
bsp; "So, he could’ve had an influence on this casino project?"
"Yes, I suppose so. Like he does for any major construction work in Orvilly. And the casino would be a big one. Barbon was building up the excitement around it among the villagers because they were really divided. But when the notary, Mr. Perrier, found you, then there was nothing to be excited about anymore."
"So, Barbon could see me as a 'problem?'"
Liliane's attention was focused on a quiche placed on a table nearby, wondering if she had enough room in her stomach to take a piece of it. "He could. But you don't just decide to build a casino like this. The French National Lottery would have to approve it. Convincing the villagers was just the first stage. No one knows if the project would've been approved."
"But it could've been approved? Liliane, I believe that Martin Plouque might've been involved in this casino project, one way or another. Do you see that man over there?"
Amanda pointed to the mysterious man from the hotel who was standing in a corner on the other side of the room, observing the crowd.
"Yes... Why?"
"Do you know him?"
"No. I've never seen him here."
"Well, in fact, he has been here before. He was in a picture taken for the article about the casino in the Gazette d'Orvilly. He was here, in this hall, with the residents and the mayor when the project was discussed. Don't you find it odd?"
"Hmm... I don't know what to think of it. Maybe it's just a coincidence?"
"Maybe not. When I was in the bathroom, I heard him having a conversation with someone on the phone. He was in the corridor. He said that someone 'knew too much about something, so they had to get rid of him.' He must've been talking about Martin Plouque. He also mentioned some 'deals,' and finding it helpful that the police investigation was suspended. That can't be good."
"No, you're right," said Liliane, looking at the man, "but just a phone conversation doesn't make him a killer."
"I need to find out about these 'deals.' Martin Plouque knew something about these deals for sure, and maybe this is what got him killed. He was blackmailing someone. I need to find out who and why."
"Good luck with that," said Liliane, "most people standing in this hall have been blackmailed by him and hated him for it. It could've been any of them."
"Yes, but this time, Martin Plouque went too far. Liliane, I’m pretty sure that someone in this hall is the killer."
The quiche in Liliane's mouth tasted bitter. The woman looked at the crowd of happy villagers celebrating. She knew all of them. A chill ran down her spine.
"Number 2-1-2-5."
The villagers were silent, holding their tickets and reading them carefully, all wishing that this number was theirs. Most of them expressed bitter disappointment, except for one person who yelled for joy and ran to the stage.
"It's me! It's me!" yelled Régine.
She grabbed the gift basket and showed it triumphantly to the audience.
"And a round of applause for our winner," yelled Gérald into the microphone, "Régine Beaudoin, who'll go home tonight with this amazing gift basket filled with foie-gras, ham, chocolate truffles and a good old bottle of our famous Calvados!"
"That's suspicious, she always wins," protested a guy behind Amanda, "the draws are rigged!"
"And now, the last dance of the evening," continued Gérald, "a Slow number before we all go to bed."
Only three couples were left standing on the dance floor, looking tired, hugging each other, and barely moving. One man stood still in the middle, holding an empty bottle of cider in his hand, eyes closed. His body was swinging forward and backward. He might've been already half asleep.
The villagers slowly emptied out of the hall, waiting in a line at the coat racks. It was still raining outside, and people had to fight with the main door when they opened it, battling against the wind.
Liliane and Amanda walked together along the streets of Orvilly, accompanied by Pierre who was the first to part ways.
"Have a good night, ladies. It was a pleasure to see you again, Amanda." Pierre offered another of his wonderful smiles and opened the door beside the bakery that led to his apartment above it, and waved a hand at the women before closing it.
"Isn't he charming?" said Liliane, nudging Amanda and waiting for an expression of approval. Amanda blushed.
"He certainly is."
"So, are you going to see him again?"
"I don't know, maybe... Liliane, enlighten me about something, please. Why do people keep calling me 'the little Canadian?' I know that I'm short, but I'm not that short. Orvilly-sur-Mer is not exactly a village of giants, so why do people keep calling me this?"
Liliane laughed.
"Oh, don't you worry about that. This is just an expression from here, something that Normans say to someone, when the other person is younger than they are. So, you can stay 'the little someone' for many people for many years, even after you become an adult."
"But what if you are exceptionally tall? Would people keep calling you 'the little I-don't-know-who?' if you were over 6 feet tall?"
Liliane made a pause of reflection.
"Hmm, good point, I'm not sure about that... It might be the exception to the rule."
The women walked in the dark narrow streets, barely lit by a few street lamps here and there. They were laughing as they recounted the amusing events of the evening.
Chapter 39
W hen Amanda opened the door of her hotel room, she faced a peculiar situation. Bronx was on the top of d'Artagnan's head, his claws firmly gripped on the poor dog's face, covering his eyes. The Great Dane couldn't see anything. D'Artagnan was shaking his head vigorously trying to get rid of Bronx, yelping in pain, but the wild cat was clinging onto him as if he were on a rodeo ride, screeching with joy.
"What's going on here?" asked Amanda.
The dog and the cat stopped moving immediately.
This is not what it looks like, thought d'Artagnan.
This is exactly what it looks like, thought Bronx.
Amanda removed Bronx from d'Artagnan's head. As usual, the cat gesticulated and protested, disapproving of the forced end of the battle. He ran to hide under a chair and glared at Amanda with slitted eyes. Let's make it clear that it's no capitulation. I'll get this stupid dog later.
"What's wrong with you two? The moment my back is turned, you jump at each other! Can't you be nice, for a change?"
D'Artagnan mumbled. Never gonna happen! I did nothing. This crazy cat jumped on me, out of the blue. He should be in an asylum. Are there asylums for cats? Please say yes!
The dog desperately waited for a positive answer from Amanda. She stood in the middle of the bedroom, hands in the pockets of her wet raincoat. The water dripped on the floor, forming a puddle around her rubber boots.
Bronx looked at her with disdain. By the way, you're dripping. Just saying...
"Staying here isn't good for you. It's too small. We need to move to the castle as soon as possible or you'll kill each other."
Amanda felt something in the right pocket of her raincoat. Something, she was pretty sure, that wasn't there before she left the hotel. Surprised, she pulled a crumpled paper out of her pocket. She smoothed it out. Something was written on it.
If you want to know more about the casino, meet me tomorrow night at the castle. 10:05 p.m. sharp.
Amanda wondered who could’ve put that paper in her pocket and when? She was pretty sure it wasn't there when she left the room to go to the Village Hall, so it must've been someone who was there.
There were about five hundred people in the hall that night, and as her raincoat had remained on the coat rack the whole evening, anybody could've put this paper in her pocket, at any time. It was impossible to figure out who. The only way to find out was to go to this strange rendezvous. But why 10:05 p.m. instead 10 p.m.? What would these five minutes change?
Amanda removed her clothes to slip into her comfy outfit, a striped sweater and pants she had kept si
nce her years in college, which had turned greyish with time after so many years of laundering. She wondered what Pierre would think if he saw her in such apparel. The sexy baker and the 'grungy little Canadian.' Not sure he would find this image very appealing...
She was walking to the bathroom to brush her teeth when she heard a knock at the door. Who could it be at this time of night? It was quite late. She heard another knock. She rinsed her mouth quickly and walked to the door, followed by d'Artagnan. Amanda stood behind the door.
"Who is it?" she asked.
There was a moment of silence.
"You don't know me. I'm staying in the hotel, in the room beside yours."
Amanda turned to d'Artagnan.
"Oh my god, d'Art, it's that strange man," she whispered.
The dog looked at Amanda, waiting for her to do something. She turned back to the door.
"Uh... What do you want?" she asked. "It's quite late and I'm in my pajamas."
"I just have a question to ask you. Please, open the door."
Scared and unsure what was the right thing to do, Amanda half-opened the door reluctantly. D'Artagnan was just beside her, growling, trying to force his head between the doorframe and Amanda's legs, ready to jump up on the stranger who was standing at the door.
"What do you want?" asked Amanda.
The tall man was still wearing his black coat and hat. He looked down at Amanda with a serious expression, his black eyes staring right into hers.
"Did you follow me tonight?"
No introduction, no 'hello my name is...' But his lack of manners was probably not Amanda's major concern at that moment.
"Me, follow you? Is that a joke?" answered Amanda, "No, I didn't. Did you follow me?"
"No," answered the man, "but I have some advice to give you: whether you were following me or not, I strongly suggest that you don't poke your nose into my business, and that you don't repeat a word about the conversation I had on the phone earlier to anybody. I saw you in the bathroom. You were hiding there, listening to me."
Crap! This man was threatening her because she’d overheard him?
"It could be dangerous," he continued, stressing the last word, getting closer to the door. He sneaked a glance at her room.
French Cuisine Can Kill You Page 14
