Birds of a Feather: 3: Fly the Nest (Bennett Sisters Mysteries Book 16)

by Lise McClendon

  “But why? Why would he kill her?” Merle asked. She had been mulling this question all afternoon.

  “Lovers quarrel?”

  “So he takes a kitchen knife to stab her? I don’t get it.”

  Another shrug from Pascal. “This cocktail party is worse than the last one.”

  “Fewer distractions.”

  The company had dwindled, that was certain. Bree and Sally were gone, Duncan was absent. Sabine and Gabriel had disappeared in their own ways. The children were good in the distraction department but not so much with conversation. Freddy spent much of his time corralling the boys, keeping them from spilling drinks, falling into the fireplace, and knocking over the furniture.

  “Watch this,” Pascal whispered as he smiled at Pauline. She stood alone, nursing her wine, ignored by everyone. She blinked and returned the smile as he stepped over to her. “How are you, Pauline? Ça va?”

  “Pas mal. Et vous?”

  “Fine, thanks.” He tipped his head in a way Merle knew was irresistible. “I had a thought. Maybe you can help me.” The puzzled smile, another winner. “You work with Louis Bordeaux, is that right? Same as the chef and her little helper?”

  She twisted the stem of her wineglass. “Sometimes.”

  “What is he like, this Louis?”

  “Like?” She frowned, pouting a lip. “I don’t know. A Frenchman, middle-aged, a little fat. Bit of a flirt, as men are.”

  “From Corsica, correct?”

  “Oh.” She raised her eyebrows. The Corsican connection, from one French citizen to another, generally indicated some criminal activity. “I don’t know.”

  “Because if he’s helping you find work under an assumed name, he may find himself in hot water. Both with the tax authorities here in the UK and possibly even in France.” He leaned down to peer into her face. “He doesn’t pay you in cash, does he?”

  “No. In check, always.” She tried to brighten but was obviously lying.

  “And Gabriel and Sabine. You knew them in London.”

  She grew more agitated. “I wouldn’t say I knew them. I worked a party at their house, that’s all.”

  “When was that?”

  “Last year. At the holidays. I think.” She squinted her eyes. “Why the questions? What is it to you?”

  “Nothing, honestly. Just feeling a little odd about all three of you, plus Gabriel and Sabine, coming together from London. All connected to Louis Bordeaux. And Duncan being in the dark about it all.” Before she could reply, he set a hand on her arm. “Excuse me, I have to check on something.”

  A quick glance at Merle was the indication she should follow him out of the drawing room, through the dining room, and into the kitchen. Merle had to double-step to keep up. “Slow down!”

  Pascal pushed through the swinging door. The good smells of French cuisine wafted over them, causing momentary bliss. Merle bumped into Pascal as he stopped, stunned by the scents of rich meat, garlic, onion, and wine, in the middle of the kitchen. Audette and Gini stood at the big AGA range, stirring pots. Audette looked up, brushing sweat off her forehead.

  “Oui? This boeuf bourguignon is taking too long. It won’t thicken properly.” She stirred madly, glaring at the intruders.

  “Audette. Put the spoon down for a moment,” Pascal commanded gently. “It will thicken, you know it will.”

  The chef let go of the wooden spoon and sighed. She stepped back from the range, wiping her hands on her apron. “What is it? Another request from the family? I am doing the best I can, monsieur.”

  Pascal crossed his arms, pensive. “I know. This is different. I was wondering—what did Gabriel and Sabine say about Louis Bordeaux?”

  Audette straightened her hair, tucking strands behind her ears. “About Louis? Nothing.”

  “They never mentioned him? Did they owe him money?”

  “Perhaps, I don’t know. They didn’t pay our salaries, as you know. I am still quite upset about that.”

  “What about Pauline? What is her relationship with Louis?”

  Gini dropped a heavy ladle on the floor. She gasped and apologized. Pascal turned to her as she wiped up the sauce on the floor. “What is it, Gini? Something about Pauline and Louis?”

  Audette said, “I have seen— there was some tension there. I think he hits on her. Not —“ she mimed punching — “but you know, kiss-kiss. I know nothing more.”

  “I see.” Pauline had said as much. He turned to Gini. “You have something to add?”

  “Pauline—” The young woman hesitated, glancing at Audette for a clue, then took a step forward. “She came to our rooms one time. To speak to them.”

  “To Gabriel and Sabine?” Pascal asked.

  Gini nodded. “I let her in and she goes to their room. I hear shouting— very loud with much French cursing. Salaud this and Fous-toi that. I tried not to listen but it was impossible, even with the door shut.”

  “Excuse her,” Audette told them. “She is young.”

  “But I know these words. You think I am innocent? Please,” Gini replied.

  “When was this?” Pascal asked.

  “In the morning, very early. I was dressing when I heard the knock. It was not light out. Audette was in the bathroom. I was surprised anyone was up, but we rise early, me and Audette.”

  “What day was this, Gini. Think.”

  The girl bit her lip and looked at Audette again for guidance. “That morning— the day you went out shooting and we fix the picnic baskets. The day she disappeared.”

  Chapter Sixteen

  Conor knocked lightly on Duncan’s door then inserted the key in the lock. The latch turned loudly. There was no answer from inside the room so he and Elise pushed open the door. Duncan lay on his side under the blankets and quilts, turned away from them.

  They rounded the bed. “Duncan,” Conor said loudly. “Wake up.”

  His mouth hung open and a string of saliva hung from his lips onto the pillow. Elise peered at his face. “He’s out cold. Is he breathing?”

  Conor held his hand in front of his brother’s mouth. “Yes.” He nudged his shoulder. “Duncan? Are you all right?”

  Duncan’s eyelids fluttered. Then he turned onto his back and began to snore.

  “Wow. What’s he been drinking?” Elise asked. She looked on the table by the bed and found a glass of clear liquid. She sniffed it. “Water.”

  Conor frowned at his brother’s prone, still figure. “Let’s look around. You take that side of the room, I’ll take this side.”

  Elise moved around the bed. “What are we looking for?”

  “Mum’s laptop, for one. A small Mac, gray, no cover. And anything weird.”

  Elise opened the doors of the freestanding wardrobe. Inside clothes were jammed on hangers and in piles on the floor. She sifted through the floor items: underwear, stockings, socks, undershirts, and other “smalls” as Conor called them. Two handbags sat in the back. The bigger one was yellow vinyl, cracked and worn. She unzipped the top. It was empty. She zipped it and pushed it into the back of the wardrobe.

  The other bag was newer and more expensive, definitely leather. It was black and smooth, shaped like a bowling bag. She peered inside. There was a tablet similar to an iPad. She pulled it out.

  “Is this it?”

  Conor looked up from his search of the chest of drawers. “No. Quickly now. We don’t want Pauline to show up.”

  Elise shoved the tablet back in the bag and felt the interior pockets. She pulled out a pill bottle. It was a French prescription in the name of Agnés Loup. Twenty small white pills rattled inside. “Found something.” She handed the bottle to Conor.

  He squinted at the label. “No clue what that is. I’ll ask Mum.” He put the bottle in his pocket then had a second thought. He took it out, snapped a photo with his phone, and sent it to his mother. “Put it back for now.”

  Elise stuffed it back in the black bag, closed it, and shoved it in the wardrobe. She began patting down the hanging cloth
es, a tedious chore as both Duncan and Pauline had so many. She had almost finished Pauline’s side of the wardrobe when she felt something in the pocket of a wool coat. A mobile phone.

  “Her phone, Conor.” Elise held it up. It was an older model, inexpensive, that flipped open to reveal the keyboard.

  Conor asked, “Can you get in?”

  Elise opened the phone and the dim, green screen brightened. There was no password. “I’m in.” She went to the call record and scanned through a dozen numbers. Then she went to the messages. Another dozen or so, with no names attached, only numbers. She would have to read each one. She groaned inwardly, getting anxious about the time.

  Conor moved to the night tables, pulling open drawers as he looked at his brother again. “Bottle of whisky. Great.” He slipped the flask-size bottle into his pocket. “You find anything on the phone?”

  “A bunch of messages. I wonder if I can forward them to myself.”

  “Not in here. The signal is terrible.”

  Elise sat down on a small embroidered chair with a wooden back. She skimmed the messages, trying to figure out who they were from. She found one thread that began with “Looking for fun in Newport?” Someone had answered “Gawd, yes. Save me from this horror.” That had to Bree. Then there was the address for the pop-up club they went to in the bigger town, the one by the rail station, and a thank you in reply.

  Elise straightened, excited by this deduction. She opened her mouth to tell Conor when he rushed to the other side of the bed and began flinging open drawers on that nightstand. “Hurry up. We have to get back.”

  “Can I just take the phone?” She stood up. “There’s stuff on here. I think we should take it, Conor.”

  “Yeah, fine.” He kept rummaging, pushing aside condoms and old rail and museum passes, lottery tickets. Elise scrolled down the messages to one sent the morning of December 31, the day Sabine went missing. It was in French.

  “Conor, here. Translate this one.”

  He straightened, looking at his watch again. He took the phone and read the message aloud: “You must never do that again. You have upset my Sabine and that is unacceptable. She will never understand, you just have to accept that. She is very hurt by all of this. She is fragile and delicate like a rose—” Conor snorted— “it is necessary that I take care of her first and foremost.”

  “That must be from Gabriel,” Elise said, taking back the phone. She looked at the gaping drawers of the nightstand. “Done?”

  Conor shoved them in roughly. Duncan never flinched. “Let’s go.”

  As they were leaving the room, Elise caught sight of the corner of something sticking out from the bedskirt, under the bed. “Wait.” She kneeled down and slipped out a silver laptop with a large Apple logo on the lid. “Ah ha.”

  They met Merle and Pascal as they were crossing the hall toward the drawing room. Elise waved the mobile phone in their direction and said in a stage whisper: “You have to read this.”

  “Where have you been?” Conor asked them.

  “In the kitchen,” Pascal said. “Pauline went to Sabine and Gabriel’s room the morning she disappeared. There was a big shout, a row about something.”

  Elise handed the mobile to Pascal, open to the messages. “Read that one.”

  Pascal read it quickly and handed the phone to Merle. “So they had some kind of relationship.”

  “But what?” Elise asked.

  “Did you get that background report on Agnés Loup yet?” Merle asked Pascal.

  He looked at the open door to the drawing room, thinking. “I need to make a call. Go in, stall them.” He went out the front door, grabbing his coat from the hat stand.

  Conor slipped into the library with his mother’s laptop, sliding it under a seat cushion, and led the sisters back to the cocktail party. Conor was very good at acting, his face placid and serious, revealing nothing. Elise herself felt a charge of excitement over their discoveries. Pauline had stolen the laptop, she had shouted with and been rebuked by Gabriel, she was taking something for some malady (or recreationally.) She was the one who sent Bree and Sally to that Newport club where Gabriel conveniently found the Jag and hitched a ride back in the boot.

  Pauline was the one who was off on her own, lost in the mud and dead leaves for hours, the night Sabine went missing. Otherwise known as ‘opportunity.’

  And yet the drawing room seemed the same: dull conversation, bored, inebriated adults, cranky, hungry children. Even the fire had died down to embers. Nothing happening at all.

  For the moment.

  Chapter Seventeen

  The three of them— Conor, Elise, and Merle— refilled their glasses at the bar. Merle looked nonchalant like Conor so Elise tried to dial back her excitement. After all, it was not good form to be invested in someone else’s failures as an upright citizen. Still, hard to deny that a deserving comeuppance was satisfying. Pauline stood alone by the fireplace, examining family photographs on the mantel. Aubrey, Freddy, and the children left the room, off for dinner.

  Conor set the room key to on the mantel. He hadn’t bothered to lock Duncan in his room. Pauline slipped it into her hand surreptitiously. Isabelle rose and walked casually to Conor, pulling him toward the other side of the room to speak privately. She pulled out her mobile phone. “What is this?” she whispered, indicating the photo he’d sent. Elise moved closer.

  “Found in their room,” he said. “What is it?”

  “A sedative, an anti-anxiety drug like Xanax.” She glanced at the label again. “It calms you down. Makes you sleepy.”

  Conor flinched slightly. “Duncan was out cold. Couldn’t rouse him. Also found whisky in his room.”

  “Sedatives mixed with alcohol?” Isabelle shivered and shook her head. “This can’t continue. She must leave.”

  “There’s more,” Conor said, still in a whisper, touching his mother’s arm to keep her calm. “She has some sort of relationship with Gabriel. She went to their room the day Sabine disappeared. There was an argument. Afterwards he sent her a text.” He looked at Elise. She handed over the mobile phone. He opened it and gave it to his mother.

  Isabelle stiffened with anger. “What does this mean? Is this Gabriel?”

  Conor shrugged. “Presumably. We aren’t sure what the argument was about.”

  “I’m calling the Inspector,” Isabelle whispered. “Tell them I’m checking on dinner.” She strode to the hallway, grabbed a sweater, and went out the front door.

  Elise walked to the window with Pauline’s phone in her pocket. She hadn’t read all the texts yet. There were several more in French, short ones. She gestured to her sister to join her. With their backs to the room, Merle took the phone. “Read those for me,” Elise whispered.

  “It says: ‘Where are you?’ Then: ‘Why don’t you answer?’”

  “That’s it?” Elise asked.

  “One more says: ‘When can I meet you?’” Merle handed the phone back. “All to the same number.”

  “What if we called that number?” Elise asked.

  “It might tip him off,” Merle whispered. “You assume it’s Gabriel?”

  Elise shrugged. “Or another boyfriend. Or even Louis Bordeaux, who knows.”

  Merle looked over her shoulder. “Put the phone away. She’s coming.”

  Pauline was right behind them as they turned from the window. “Beautiful evening, yes? What are you looking at?”

  “Just the sky,” Merle said quickly.

  “So silky,” Elise remarked, smiling.

  Pauline looked between them suspiciously. “Another glass of wine?”

  “I’m good.” Merle raised her full glass.

  “Me too. Just got a refill,” Elise said. “But go ahead. It’s open bar here at Monnow House. You gotta love it.”

  “Oh, I guess I’ll wait until dinner. I don’t normally drink wine at all,” Pauline said. A lame excuse since they’d all seen her drinking wine at every meal and cocktail party.

  “What’s y
our favorite?” Elise asked. “I’m trying to learn more about wine.”

  “Um, Sancerre?” Pauline said. “Do you know it?”

  “Oh yes. One of my favorites,” Merle said.

  Elise batted her eyelashes at her sister. What a stupid conversation. When would Pascal return, or Isabelle? Or the police? How long would they have to wait? Her exhilaration had turned to anxiety.

  “Excuse me. I need Conor for a second,” Elise said, disengaging from the nonsense. She found her boyfriend staring at his mobile phone by the fireplace. “Oh my god, that Pauline is—” She glanced at Conor again. “What is it?”

  “Pascal. He’s found out a bit more about Agnés Loup.”

  “What?”

  “He is waiting for Inspector Powe then all will be revealed.”

  “Damn him,” Elise swore under her breath. “The suspense is killing me.”

  The wait for Isabelle, Pascal, and Inspector Powe would take half an hour. The grandfather clock would chime six times. Wineglasses would be refilled. The fire would be fed with fresh logs. Gini would arrive with a tray of hors d’oeuvres as she always did, one pass then she was gone. Elise wanted more than one melon wrapped with prosciutto but she restrained herself.

  At last a police car arrived, gliding silently up the drive without fanfare. In a few minutes Isabelle appeared, rubbing her arms for warmth. She walked to the fireplace and held out her hands against the flames.

  “Is he here?” Conor whispered.

  She nodded. “Pascal is talking to him.”

  Elise drained her wineglass. Her anticipation was back, big time. She set her glass on the mantel and turned as Pascal, Inspector Powe, and a constable entered the cottage.

  Evans stood up. “Inspector. What do we owe the pleasure?”

  “We have some questions for Miss Lajoie,” he said, looking at Pauline. “Can you come with me please?”

  “Questions? Quoi que. . .?” Pauline went paler than she already was.

  “Miss, please. This way.” He looked at Evans. “Can we use your office, sir?”

  Everyone watched Pauline as she held her head high, strutting as always, leading the policeman and his constable out of the room. The library door shut gently behind them.