Locked-Room Mystery Box Set

by Kim Ekemar

  “His will? Well … maybe I can ask one of my girlfriends to stand in for me for a couple of nights. I would have to go back no later than Sunday afternoon, however.”

  “Monsieur Patrice will be delighted. May I propose something, should you wish to bring him a gift for his birthday?”

  “Please do.” Constance yawned again. “What did you have in mind?”

  “Lately he has on occasion mentioned that he would like one of those fashionable, fluffy morning gowns that seem to be so popular in the capital –”

  “I know exactly what you mean, Justine – I’m wearing one of them at this very moment”, Constance purred. “Thank you for suggesting it to me. Rest assured I’ll take it into consideration.”

  *

  After making the phone calls, she entered her own bedroom, which could only be accessed from the kitchen. She removed the key from the lock and studied it. Surely it’s a key like this one that Monsieur Patrice asked Gaspard to make, she pondered. Gaspard wouldn’t have the slightest idea how to make one that fitted into the lock. She decided to show her key to him.

  Monsieur Patrice had gone for a walk in the woods with his dogs despite the chilly weather and the cloudy sky that promised rain. Justine put on her coat and, equipped with an umbrella just in case, set out on the path leading to Gaspard’s cottage. She found him sitting on a decrepit chair next to the little shed that served as his smithy. With his elbows on his knees, he was turning a block of iron over with his hands.

  “I've brought you something that may be of some help”, Justine told him after they had greeted each other. “Perhaps this key, which I presume is similar to the one Monsieur Patrice asked you to manufacture, may help you shape it.”

  She held out the key to her own bedroom door. Gaspard gave it a quick glance before returning his gaze to the object he was studying.

  “I’ve given it a try, Justine, but to no avail”, he finally declared and looked up at her. “I don’t understand locks, so I plan to take it to Monsieur Ricard at the hardware shop and ask him to make the key. Please, don’t tell father, though. He asked me ‘cause he thinks I’m good with my hands.”

  “I see”, she replied while she eyed the bits of scrap metal that lay scattered in the yard. “Well, keep this key and show it to Monsieur Ricard. If it’s no help to you, at least it might give him an idea what the lost one looks like. Return it to me later, please.”

  “I’ll walk into town tomorrow and talk with Monsieur Ricard about it.”

  Justine took a few steps forward and bent down to pick up a small metal object on the ground.

  “I know you work to keep things running at Clos Saint-Jacques, Gaspard, but is it really necessary to keep the place littered with things no longer of use to you?”

  “I don’t mind. And sometimes I can reuse the things I’ve thrown out.”

  “Have it your way, Gaspard, but don’t forget that Monsieur Patrice wants the key by Thursday.”

  “I won’t forget”, Gaspard replied, without looking up as Justine made her way back to the main building.

  Chapter V

  Henri Lafarge

  Henri had remained in Bercy until he was twenty-three. His father often accused him of being the laziest of his offspring. Patrice had repeatedly told Henri that he never did anything productive that benefited Clos Saint-Jacques. Rarely did Henri bother to cushion his father’s disappointment in him by taking a walk together through his cherished woods.

  There was one thing they shared, however, and that was their love of books. This forgiving trait in his son had made Patrice push him to study letters and literature at a university in Lyon. For its duration, he promised Henri to pay for his upkeep as well as his rent as a lodger with an elderly lady of standing who was a distant acquaintance of Patrice’s.

  Three years later Patrice discovered that Henri had earlier abandoned his lodgings while continuing to receive the rent money from his father. After ten months in Lyon, Henri had moved in with a man fifteen years his senior, behaving as discreetly as possible so as not to scandalise the neighbours.

  Patrice blew a fuse when he discovered that Henri lived with another man. To this must be added that he was even more upset over having been fooled for more than two years that he had paid a non-existent rent. He was convinced that the couple had wasted his money on things that could only meet with his total disapproval if they came to light. Patrice didn't tell Henri that he was aware of his relationship. In fact, he didn't speak to him at all for the next five years.

  By 1935, Henri had been living with Rolf for ten years. Rolf was a German who, besides being diet and health fixated, was a ferocious nationalist despite having lived in France since the end of the Great War. Besides sharing their home, they happened to have the same birth date. Despite his burly and somewhat frightening appearance, Rolf had taken on the female role of their household. Rolf revelled in putting things in order, which was exactly what Henri – a distracted dreamer, with much to be desired when it came to carrying out practical things – needed.

  Henri had got to know Rolf one foggy winter afternoon when he had stumbled inside Rolf’s establishment, Le Moulin de Molière, on a narrow street in the old quarters of Lyon. It was a combination of café, bookshop and market of old items that he somewhat boldly referred to as antiques. Henri immediately fell in love with the place, and Rolf with him.

  Henri´s most persistent childhood memory was the constant shadow of his father. Patrice had urged him to participate in physical activities, which he had always disliked. Before becoming a teenager, he was obliged to accompany him to kill furry animals in the woods, an activity he still abhorred. Henri had been beaten when he didn’t produce the expected marks at the end of the school terms. Before finally fleeing Clos Saint-Jacques, he only remembered a home with impositions and fear.

  When his father suggested that Henri should pursue literature at the university in Lyon, Henri felt great relief. The distance improved their relationship considerably, with Henri sending his father interesting essays about the authors he was studying. This ended when Patrice discovered that he had been fooled about the rent money.

  Things came to a head between father and son. Their relationship remained strained for another five years, after which they returned to speaking terms. Once again, their love for literature healed the rift. Henri started sending his father a book now and then; one he perceived would be to Patrice’s liking.

  Henri enjoyed browsing the homes of the deceased as he worked with Rolf to obtain more business for Le Moulin de Molière. Disinterested relatives saw the old books and worn furniture as something they wanted to get rid of, to quickly be able to dispose of the living space. Rolf showed Henri what he should be looking for and, after a couple of years Henri had become quite proficient at appreciating what was commercial. The indolence of his youth never left him, however. On the contrary, it became more pronounced with time. If it was up to Henri, he preferred to be curled up on his favourite sofa in the company of a good book and Rolf’s German shepherd by his feet. Sniffing out lucrative deals that presented themselves with the inevitable passing of Lyon’s citizens was never a priority for Henri.

  Though Rolf constantly chided him for not taking more interest in their business to improve their precarious economy, it was to no avail. Both were equally inefficient in planning or saving their occasional windfall for a rainy day. Instead, when they succeeded in making an important sale, they immediately decided it called for a celebration with their friends. They promptly invited them to a party, on which they generously spent their recently earned money.

  Nevertheless, despite being cash-strapped most of the time, both Henri and Rolf were reasonably happy. That is, until Claude entered their lives. Claude was an intelligent young man, merely twenty-three years old, for whom Henri felt a desperate passion five minutes after he crossed the threshold to Le Moulin de Molière for the first time. He had black curly hair accentuated by the clearest blue eyes Henri had ever locked
his gaze into. Besides being perceptive, Claude was well read and witty. As they got to know one another, he made both Henri and Rolf laugh a lot. It didn’t take too long, however, before Rolf allowed his jealousy to show. Henri was daydreaming about leaving Lyon to live with Claude in the south of France. For this to happen, he knew he needed to come into money of his own and no longer depend economically on Rolf, sole owner of Le Moulin de Molière.

  Thus was the situation when Henri got the call from Justine that his father insisted he should come to celebrate his birthday, and that something important about his will would be revealed.

  Chapter VI

  Michel Lafarge

  Up to this point in his life, when he had reached thirty-seven, Michel was reasonably content with the ways things had worked in his favour.

  At eighteen he had left Bercy for good, since he then still possessed the weaker of two strong temperaments – the other being his father’s. Fed up with his Patrice’s scorn and bullying, on a rainy Thursday in April Michel used part of his savings to take the train to Lyon. There he had changed for the next one going in the direction of the Atlantic coast, because he longed to see the ocean for the first time.

  That is how he ended up in Bordeaux, a large port that from the first day to the present never had ceased to enthral him. The bustling harbour, the sailors on temporary leave, the seedy bars, the rich merchants, the nicely dressed women with their umbrellas and their handkerchieves captivated Michel. But, more than anything else, it was the wine trade that fascinated him.

  He was lucky, because on his second day in the city he found a sign that indicated a need for manual help in a warehouse. He applied and instantly got the job. It consisted of offloading and loading cases of wine bottles destined for export. The business belonged to a merchant by the name of Serge Dupois.

  At first he was much impressed with his employer. However, with the passing years he realised that Monsieur Dupois was a rather mediocre businessman – particularly when compared to Michel’s uncle, Roland Lafarge, who distributed spirits in the same city on a much larger scale.

  Michel was ambitious, so – despite his insight that Monsieur Dupois wasn’t the most successful among the merchants in Bordeaux – he began courting his daughter and only child, Sophie. It could hardly be called a difficult task, because Sophie hadn’t been blessed with the traits that attracted suitors. She was rather mousy, not very intelligent and – to the despair of her father – a carbon copy of her mother. When Michel began to show an interest in the girl, three years his senior, Serge Dupois embraced the prospect of being able to marry her off before she became a hopeless case of spinsterhood. With his calculating personality, Michel envisioned himself promoted to a better position, with a generous raise of his salary and unexpected time off to allow him to pursue romantic involvement with the now desperately enamoured Sophie.

  Michel boldly bared his soul to Monsieur Dupois. He insisted that he didn’t deserve his boss’s only daughter since he was a mere clerk with nothing to offer her regarding financial security and future prospects. After some skilful negotiation on Michel’s part, his future father-in-law gave his relieved blessing to the match. Michel was furthermore assured that, once he was married to Sophie, the couple would settle down in a pretty house in the suburbs as their wedding gift. More important to Michel, however, was the opportunity to become a manager of his future father-in-law’s business – now reporting directly to Monsieur Dupois.

  The first seven years of their marriage worked out to the content of all those involved. The couple produced three children to the pleasure of their maternal grandparents. Sophie delighted in dull domestic and menial activities, and Michel successfully pursued the advantages his managerial position allowed him.

  After celebrating his thirtieth birthday, Michel found himself increasingly bored with the life he had pursued. He perceived his wife as a sack of potatoes once he noticed how rapidly she had physically become to resemble one. It was impossible to have an intelligent conversation with her. Sophie only dwelled on topics that involved small talk of no interest, and worse, she kept repeating the issues until he thought he would go mad.

  No wonder, then, that Michel began painting the town in search of more captivating company. He had two temporary liaisons before he met the beautiful and vivacious Juliette Sinclair, a young woman with dimples and an air of importance with whom he rapidly became love-struck.

  Juliette considered herself as an aristocrat, although the truth was that some distant ancestors of hers had been gentry. She nevertheless possessed the gift of keeping the besotted lover at bay while occasionally hinting at the rewards he would reap if he could make a successful conquest.

  At the cost of his family life, his previously untroubled sleep and his sound finances, Juliette Sinclair turned his life upside down. Such was his infatuation with her that he no longer cared about the things that previously had driven him, and which he regarded as sacred: the money, his children, the opinion of others. His dwindling resources as a result of the secret life with Juliette and her eccentric demands of costly proofs that he really loved her had him deeply worried. For each day that passed, it looked as if the last straw he would be clinging to for economic survival was his father's death. He was fully aware that it would benefit him greatly if this would occur sooner rather than later. When it eventually happened, Michel knew that he would financially be in the clear again.

  Then, in late April 1935, he received a phone call from Justine. His father wanted to meet with his children to celebrate his seventy-fifth birthday but also to announce some important detail in his testament. It was only the latter part of Justine’s communication that caught Michel’s attention. He had no interest whatsoever in celebrating anything concerning his father, a man he had detested all his life.

  This will be a great opportunity to take Juliette with me, he thought as he hung up. I’ll have a perfect explanation for my father-in-law, and surely I’ll be able to extend the weekend under some pretext. Besides, Serge will no doubt be enchanted about the prospect that the day of my inheritance is approaching.

  Chapter VII

  Constance Lafarge

  Initially, life in Paris had been good to Constance, but when her main attraction – that is, her youth – began to fade, her existence became increasingly more challenging.

  She possessed a passable voice and could follow a choreographer’s direction without major mistakes. This had given her bit parts in musical productions during her first time in the capital. Through acquaintances in show business, Constance landed roles as a supporting actress in two popular comedies. After this, her ambition had been to move higher up the ladders of fame and fortune, but she found it difficult to compete for the jobs available.

  Those first years in Paris she had spent exploring its nightlife frolicking with likeminded colleagues. It never passed through her head that she should save some of her income for more difficult times. During the days she slept, more often than not in the arms of a co-worker. As the work became scarcer, she had to resort to finding extra work elsewhere. Since she had an affinity for the nightlife atmosphere, she worked as an usher and a hatcheck girl until finally ending up selling cigarettes from a tray dressed in a uniform that showed her legs at an advantage. Despite her shapely legs, the passing years had made it harder to get men interested in her. That is, until she met Alphonse.

  Alphonse was six years younger than Constance. Although she never suspected it, he was more interested in a place to sleep than sharing her bed. She soon discovered that Alphonse was insatiable in every respect. Not only between the sheets but also in his demands for gifts, cash loans immediately forgotten, long meals in expensive restaurants and rounding the nights off in bars where liquor flowed freely. Since Alphonse never had a franc to his name, he expected Constance to pamper him without complaints. She did so, desperately clinging to their fragile relationship because she was afraid to once again be abandoned and end up alone.

 
Occasionally she went back to Bercy to see her father and – as she’d done so often as a little girl – to twist him around her little finger with words he liked to hear. She indulged him by doing things he enjoyed, such as walking through his beloved woods and patting his dogs. Constance did her best to coax him into a good mood before entering what she mentally referred to as her "extraction moment". Invariably she managed to get a cheque from him, which allowed her to keep up with her life in the capital for another precious few months.

  I’m a city girl now, she thought on one occasion when returning to Paris. Although I’ve always enjoyed walking in the forest, it’s really easier to do so in the Bois de Boulogne in Paris than going to Bercy. The life in the province is no longer mine – and anyway I need the money more than fresh country air. While life in the capital is many times more exciting, it’s many times more expensive, too.

  Then Justine had called with the invitation that she should come to celebrate her father’s seventy-fifth birthday. Constance hadn’t felt enthusiastic about going, until she heard that he would announce something concerning his testament. She was grateful to Justine for suggesting a suitable birthday gift that was both appropriate and reasonably priced.

  Today is Wednesday. Tomorrow I’ll do the shopping, she thought. I can take some of the rent money to pay for the gift and the train ticket. Constance had resorted to this emergency plan on previous occasions, She felt convinced that she would be able to charm her father into giving her yet another loan the upcoming weekend. On more than one occasion had he muttered that she was the only one among his children who hadn’t been a total disappointment to him. Then, when she rummaged through her handbag, she found that her wallet had been emptied.

  “That idiot Alphonse!” she exclaimed angrily. She immediately knew he was behind the petty theft, spending her hard-earned money with his no-good drinking companions. Alphonse had left early for the theatre, and she would have to face him later. Meanwhile, what could she do?