The Red Brick Cellars: A Tolosa Mystery

by R. W. Wallace

  Catherine stood her ground. “I’d rather throw the pictures in the trash than give them to Arnaud.” She pointed in the general direction of Arnaud’s desk. “He can continue to cover the political impact of Monsieur Saint-Blancat’s death and I’ll follow this lead, which will focus on going after the killer, not the repercussions on the city of Toulouse.”

  Her boss breathed out heavily. “Fine. But you run everything by me before showing it to anybody else.” He pointed at Catherine and leaned closer so she could smell the minty Tic Tacs he was so fond of on his breath. “And you be nice to the Saint-Blancat family, both during research and when writing the article. Pierre Saint-Blancat was on very good terms with le Midi Républicain, and I intend to honor his memory.”

  “Fine,” Catherine replied. She briefly wondered how her boss intended to honor the old mayor’s memory while publishing a photo of his dead naked body, but decided to bring that up when it was time for publication.

  Satisfied, Mathieu moved off to tell Clément to copy the pictures without touching them, and Catherine picked up the phone to call the police. While she explained to the man on the other end of the line, she couldn’t help keep a smile from spreading across her face. She hoped the smile didn’t reach her voice, or the officer would think her a complete lunatic.

  Ten

  Thursday morning found Louis shopping for fruit and vegetables with his mother. He pinched one of the peaches on the stand before him. Smooth to the touch because of the skin’s fine hairs and with just the right amount of give, it should be delicious. Casting a glance at his mother picking up plums and grapes at the other end of the stand, he chose two peaches, then strolled over to put them in with her purchases.

  “Excellent choice,” the fruit vendor, an Arab with a graying beard, said to Louis. “The peaches are succulent this year, since it has been so warm and sunny.”

  “Yeah? So the summer’s been good this year?” Louis smiled at the man and extended an arm to shake his hand.

  The vendor beamed in return. “Oh yes! We’ve had the parasols out often, but to give us shade, not to protect from the rain.”

  “Let’s hope it continues,” Louis said, touching the wood of the table in front of him.

  “Insha’Allah,” the man replied. He picked up a peach and cut it in half with a knife. “Here, young man. Have a taste.”

  Nodding his thanks, Louis accepted the fruit and brought it to his mouth. As his teeth broke the skin, sweet juice flooded his mouth. Little strips of fruit meat caught in his teeth and sticky juice trickled down his chin. Leaning forward to save his t-shirt, he caught most of the juice with his fingers and licked them clean. Couldn’t waste such fabulous nectar.

  The vendor held his arms out palms up as if to say, “See? Told you so.”

  Once he was sure his t-shirt was out of danger, he picked up three extra peaches and put them in his mother’s basket.

  She eyed him with a faint smile gracing her mouth and tears in her eyes. “You shop like your father,” she said as she gave the basket to the vendor for weighing.

  “What does that mean?” Louis wanted to put his hands in his pockets, but they were all sticky. Licking them again didn’t help in the least. “You wouldn’t happen to have a handkerchief in your bag?”

  His mother pulled a packet of handkerchiefs out of her back pocket and gave him one. While Louis used it to clean up as best he could, his mother continued their conversation. “It means you spend all your time chatting with the vendors and come home with whatever struck your fancy instead of what was on the shopping list.”

  “I don’t have a shopping list,” Louis remarked. Absolutions done, he shoved the used handkerchief into a pocket and crossed his arms over his chest.

  “Of course you don’t. I know better than to trust a male Saint-Blancat with a shopping list.”

  Louis rolled his eyes at his mother. Women.

  The vendor handed a plastic bag with their fruits to his mother and told her the price. Louis grabbed the bag while his mother paid.

  They moved down the line of stalls filled with fruits and vegetables. It was Thursday morning, so it wasn’t too crowded, but the Marché du Cristal was always bustling, six days a week. The market occupied 200 meters of the contre-allée, the narrow street lining the boulevard de Strasbourg. Cars and buses droned past on the boulevard on one side and the vendors’ vehicles partially blocked the wide sidewalk behind the stands on the other. When the market closed at noon, the cleaning trucks would come to pick up the ruined fruit and vegetables and empty boxes, releasing sought-after parking spots.

  “So when are you enrolling with the Republicans?” his mother asked.

  Louis hung his head. “You too?” Perhaps he shouldn’t have told his mother he planned to stay in Toulouse. He’d been between jobs in the States anyway. All his things were in storage and he’d been searching for a new place to live for a few months. Now it felt right to stay here with his family, at least for a while. Louis glared at his mother. “Did Audrey put you up to this?”

  His mother snorted in that elegant manner only elderly ladies manage. “Audrey didn’t put me up to anything. That girl always wanted to do everything herself.” She stopped at a vegetable stand, picked up a basket, and started filling it with carrots.

  Louis shook hands with the vendor and complemented him on his merchandise. The man offered him half a bundle of mint leaves. “If Audrey wants to do everything herself,” Louis said to his mother, who had moved on to the eggplants, “why does she want me as a groupie?”

  She shook her head; at Louis or Audrey, Louis wasn’t sure. “Because she’s afraid of running against you. You’re much more like your father than her and stand a better chance to win an election.”

  “Why does everyone assume I even want to be elected?” He waved the mint in the air. “I don’t want anything to do with politics. If she leaves me alone, I’ll do her the same kindness.” Louis pointed the green leaves at his mother. “Can you talk to her, make her understand that I’m not interested?”

  “I make it a point never to lie to my children,” she replied as she handed her basket, now also brimming with onions and tomatoes, to the vendor.

  “Ha, ha,” Louis deadpanned. He hadn’t managed to persuade Audrey he wanted nothing to do with Toulouse politics, but he’d been hung over and stinking of canal at the time. Perhaps he stood a better chance with his mother now that his brain was up and running again. “I just got back, Maman. I’d like to get a job that actually has something to do with my diploma. And as you might remember, I studied aeronautical engineering, not social sciences.”

  His mother handed Louis the bag of vegetables and paid the vendor. Louis sent him a “Bonne journée,” as they walked away. Have a nice day.

  “Nobody cares what you studied,” his mother said with a dismissive wave of her hand. “What matters in politics is your charisma, your engagement, and your knowledge of the zone you work in. You”—she pointed a finger into his shoulder as they walked—“have all of those.”

  Louis set his jaw. “I’d argue with that, but there’s not really much point. What about Audrey? Can’t you champion her instead? She knows Toulouse much better than me and she actually wants to do the job.”

  His mother shook her head. “She’s good, but not quite right for Toulouse. She would do better to get behind you. A woman can do much more good in the background than up in front of everyone. Audrey is like me; she would work better in the background.” She gave Louis a stern look. “I have accomplished at least as much as your father for Toulouse over the years. I simply did not seek the public acclaim.”

  Louis eyed his mother as she ordered olives and dried tomatoes. “I know how much you’ve accomplished, Maman. But that’s a very traditional point of view. What about equal rights and women having the same worth as men?” His mother had always cherished the patriarchal family she was part of. She was perfectly happy being a housewife in addition to working with dozens of associations a
nd charities, of course.

  “I did not say she is worth less. I said she would get more things done by staying in the shadows. But she won’t listen. She never does.” Handing another bag over to Louis, she walked down the line of stalls. “By the way, Jean-Paul Bousquets called me yesterday. He’d love to give you a tour of the Capitole. I think it would be a good opportunity for you to show some interest and see what a politician can do in a city like Toulouse.”

  Was there no end to the line of people who wanted him to get into politics? “Thanks, but no thanks.” Louis didn’t bother to hide the anger in his voice. He decided to change the subject. “I started putting my resume together yesterday. Once it’s ready, I’ll send it to Airbus.”

  Nodding with thoughtfully pursed lips, his mother replied, “You could do that. They’d take one look at your name and hire you for the commercial teams in the blink of an eye.” She tipped her head from side to side as if weighing the pros and cons of something. “It would probably give you an interesting background in negotiation.”

  They turned down rue de la Concorde toward home, apparently done shopping. Louis allowed himself to raise his voice slightly now that there were less people about. “I will not work for the commercial team. I want to work in structures, preferably carbon structures.”

  His mother waved a dismissive hand. “It’s too late for that. The only aircraft they have with carbon structure is the A-three-fifty, and it’s already in production. All the new programs in the foreseeable future are derivative aircraft.” She glanced at Louis. “You know, improvements of the existing range. New engines, new cockpit, new cabin layout. That sort of thing.”

  Louis digested the fact that his mother was probably right. She knew more about what Airbus was up to than he. How depressing. If he was serious about working for Airbus, he’d need to spend some time getting up to speed on their news. Seeing the importance that Airbus had in Toulouse’s finances and vice-versa, they probably would hire him based on his name.

  “Well then,” he said. “Maybe I’ll go back to the States and try my luck with Boeing.”

  His mother barked a dry laugh. “It’ll be the same thing over there, chéri. You don’t think they’re aware of the name of the man who’s been mayor in Toulouse for a total of twenty years? They are Airbus’s only competitor, you know. They’ll hire a Saint-Blancat in the blink of an eye.”

  Louis fumed in silence as they passed the crowded terrace of the Café de la Concorde. Students and businessmen alike were having breakfast in the sun before starting their day. When they were alone on the sidewalk, Louis tried again, but without real conviction. “Paris, then. Dassault makes aircraft. I’ll try my luck there.”

  His mother’s lip raised in a partial sneer. “I guess that’s a possibility. But remember: Paris is full of Parisians.” She patted him on the arm. “Take your time to consider your possibilities. But I agree with Audrey on one thing: you belong in Toulouse. You simply need to come to that conclusion yourself.”

  Frustrated, Louis shook off her hand and sped up enough to stay a few steps ahead until they reached their house. She was right about him needing to learn negotiation. He couldn’t even convince his own friends and family that he wanted nothing to do with politics. He needed to come up with a plan to get the message through to them. Once they accepted his non-interest, he could go about finding a job he was actually interested in. Getting drunk in a bar hadn’t quite worked, but the success of his pictures on social media gave him an idea.

  ***

  While scrolling through his feed on Facebook, Louis discovered an invitation from a high-school acquaintance for a party at an enormous, city center street round-about with a park in its center. The Grand Rond was more than 200 meters across, giving enough space for groves of trees, winding paths, a water feature, and a charming gazebo. As was the custom in France, the park was closed to the public after sun-down, something Louis found to be a shame after living with the open parks in the States for the past ten years. With the photos of his stint in the canal doing its rounds on Twitter fresh in mind, Louis replied favorably to the invitation and shared it to a friend with a large following on Twitter. Doing something illegal but not dangerous and having it documented seemed like a good plan to get his mother and sister off his back.

  Standing with ten other party-goers, Louis eyed the wrought iron fence towering above him. This could easily turn into a disaster. He cringed at the thought of slipping while climbing over. Mouad, ever the faithful friend, stood next to Louis looking like a man getting ready to watch a Champions League final from the opposing team’s section.

  A blond man close to Louis’s age—the one who’d organized the event—approached. “We better get a move on if we don’t want the police to catch us climbing over. You can use this blanket for protection, if you want.” He handed Louis a thick blanket before he grabbed hold of the bars of the fence and started climbing. “Once we’re in, nobody will see us thanks to the trees.” He scaled the fence, balanced carefully while going over the spikes, and jumped down on the path. Looked simple enough.

  “This is a really stupid idea,” Mouad said under his breath so the other participants waiting in line to climb the fence wouldn’t hear. “If I get caught, it could cost me my political career.”

  “That’s overreacting a little, don’t you think?” Louis hefted the heavy blanket, considering how best to throw it over the fence to cushion their climbing. “Trespassing in a public park isn’t exactly like Strauss-Kahn raping a maid in a New York hotel.”

  Mouad shoved his hands into his pockets. He clearly had no intention of helping Louis with the blanket. “It’s not like I have the whole Socialist Party backing me up, a vast fortune to pay my way out of lawsuits, or a wife with connections across all media.”

  “Right,” Louis replied. He rolled the blanket into a roll, took hold of one end, and clumsily threw the whole thing up at the fence. The bundle cleared the spiked fence and settled down across it. “Et voilà.” He turned to his moping friend and draped an arm across his shoulders. “Don’t worry, Mouad. You’ll get there.”

  A huffed laugh escaped Mouad’s lips. “On which point?”

  Throwing out his arms, Louis grinned. “Whichever one you want, my friend. Though I’d appreciate it if you didn’t rape anyone.”

  “Done,” Mouad replied before eying the blanket. “We’re really going over there?”

  Louis shrugged. His phone beeped in his pocket and he pulled it out to read the new text message. It was from Catherine Marty.

  Can we meet? There has been a development in your father’s case.

  Louis shoved the phone back in his pocket. If there was a development, he’d learn about it soon enough. From one of her articles, most likely. There was no way he’d give her a quote to improve sales.

  “Come on,” Louis said to Mouad. “Might as well get it over with.” He grabbed two bars, put his feet on the hip-level concrete wall in which the fence was installed, and pulled himself up. His face was now on a level with the blanket draping over the green spikes. Trying not to think what would happen if he slipped on his way over, he grabbed hold of two spikes through the blanket and, with a great push, heaved himself up so he was hanging along the top. Very carefully, he put one foot between two rungs, drew his other foot across, and finally let himself drop into a crouch on the other side. He breathed a sigh of relief before standing to move out of his friend’s way.

  Louis smiled in satisfaction. It felt good to be back in Toulouse after so long. It still gave off a big village vibe, despite being the fourth biggest city in France. People took the time to just stroll around at night, looked you in the eye and nodded to you on the street, thanked the bus-driver for the ride when leaving the bus, and struck up conversations with complete strangers if they felt like it.

  Ten minutes later, eleven participants were over the fence and comfortable in front of the gazebo. In the center of the park, the fountain sent its central spray almost ten mete
rs into the air, and a number of shorter sprays created a circle around it. Its calming effect contrasted with the constant noise of cars navigating the round-about. Louis could see the lights of the cars less than fifty meters away, but they wouldn’t be able to see him because of all the trees and bushes.

  Two groups formed: Louis and Mouad were part of one with six acquaintances from high-school and the blond organizer formed a second group with two friends, neither of whom Louis recognized. The biggest group got comfortable in the gazebo. The last trio set up on the far side of it. Louis could barely see them hovering around some bushes in the darkness. What was the point in organizing the event if they weren’t going to interact with the people who showed up? Was it only for the kick of doing something illegal? Though that had, in fact, been Louis’s motivation for coming, he recognized the transgression as a minor one. He didn’t think he’d need something big to convince his family they shouldn’t count on him. It was hardly worthy of an adrenaline kick.

  He did, however, need to add something more to the mix. His mother was so fixed on the idea of him needing a wife for his political career to take off, Louis figured that if he could show his mother he had no intention of marrying any time soon, it could only help. Intent on flirting with as many girls as possible and there only being three girls present, he decided that would have to do. Of course, flirting with a guy would be even more efficient, but Louis couldn’t bring himself to do that to his own reputation.

  The flirting didn’t go quite as smoothly as he’d hoped. One girl kept scooting farther away from Louis each time he gave her a compliment, and a second seemed much more interested in Mouad despite the fact that his friend had hardly said a word since they got there. Perhaps she liked the brooding silent type.

  Louis was starting to grasp that while abroad, he’d come to rely on his sexy accent as a means of attracting girls. Here, he had the same accent as everyone else, and being an unemployed thirty-five-year-old living with his mother apparently wasn’t very attractive.