The Handyman (Chambre Noir Book 1)

by Susan Finlay

  “It was the same for me when I was young. And yes, I wasn’t the most faithful girlfriend or wife. I understand her to some extent. It’s not easy resisting all that attention and temptation.”

  He stood up, pushing his chair back and almost knocking it over. “You’re siding with her, with them?”

  Before she could answer, he stormed out of the troglo.

  Part of him wanted to go back, grab his belongings, and get the hell out of there. But then what? Go home? Be the obedient son and fiancé? Sweep his hurt under the rug the way his mother did?

  Clomping in his sneakers, he took a different route than before, not knowing where he would end up. Maybe lost. Might be the best thing that could happen to him. Maybe fall off the cliff and die. Better yet.

  CHAPTER SIX

  VANESSA MYERS PACED across her Paris hotel room, high heels clicking on the tile. She’d tried calling Josh dozens of times. Her calls kept going to voicemail until the last one, which hadn’t gone as planned; hadn’t in fact gone well at all. “Mo-ther. What am I going to do about Josh? I can’t let him dump me like that. If people found out, I would be the laughingstock. Help me.”

  “Give him time, my dear. He’ll forgive you and come running back. He’s trying to make you pay. Men don’t stay mad at women as sexy and beautiful as you are. They think with their man parts. Mark my word, he’ll come running and beg you to take him back.”

  “You really think so? Did Daddy truly forgive you when he found out about your affairs? How long did it take?”

  “A week or two. Let Joshua get bored and lonely without you. He’ll see that he needs you.”

  She gazed out the window at the sidewalk and at the young couples strolling in the moonlight, arm-in-arm. That should be her and Josh.

  Turning away from the window, she stared at her mother, who was tapping away on her phone.

  “Who are you texting?”

  “A friend.”

  “Another old flame?”

  “As they say, when in Paris . . . .”

  “That’s ‘when in Rome’, Mother.”

  “Same thing. Your father understands. Women like you and I need more attention than the plain-Janes. He’s too busy with his career. He can’t lavish me with what I need.”

  Hah. Too busy with his own affairs, you mean. Did they think she was that stupid that she didn’t know how it was in their marriage?

  “I’ll call Daddy. He can get me Josh’s location.”

  SHOVING HIS WAY through brush and low-hanging tree branches that scraped his arms, Josh’s anger dissipated somewhat. Although his swatting at anything that got in the way wasn’t as strong a stress reliever as punching bags at the gym, it helped.

  Shoulda recognized that French women were all the same, even if they were only half French. Damn it. Vanessa had told him early on that the French had a different attitude toward love, sex, and loyalty. He hadn’t understood that at the time. Now he got it, in spades. Took getting pounded over the head with it, but he finally knew what she was saying. Her French-ness—by her way of thinking—gave her an excuse to do whatever the hell she wanted.

  Something rustled in the bushes, and Josh froze. Visibility was poor, because of all the dense greenery. Ears zeroing in on the sounds of the woods—birds, a squirrel skittering up a tree, occasional leaves dancing downward—he waited. There it was again.

  A big cat stepped out from behind one of the bushes.

  “Apollo, is that you? You scared me.” Josh reached down and petted the cat as it rubbed against his leg.

  “What are you doing here?” a voice spoke at him.

  Josh tilted his head upward to see who had spoken. “Uh, sorry,” he said, recognizing the woman from the bakery. “Is this private property?”

  “Well, non. I didn’t mean . . . . It’s just that you startled me. I walk in this area often and have never seen anyone else.”

  “That’s good. Not that I startled you. What I meant was that it’s good I’m not trespassing.”

  She gave him an odd look, one that said she didn’t understand.

  “Oh, trespass means intruding on private property. I’m glad I’m not doing that.” He ran his hand through his hair. “I hope you don’t think I’m an idiot because I don’t really know where I am. To tell you the truth, I wasn’t paying attention when I left the troglo. I needed to walk hard and fast.”

  She nodded. “Come, Apollo.”

  “Is that your cat? He’s beautiful.”

  “Oui.” She turned around and started walking away.

  “Wait. Am I gonna get freaking lost out here? How far am I from town?”

  She wheeled around and groaned. “You can follow me back if you want.”

  “Why are you angry with me? Did I do something wrong?” he asked as he trudged behind her.

  She wound her way around a clump of tall trees, the variety of which he couldn’t identify, and eased her way down a steep incline until she came to another tier of the hillside. Soon she was weaving through bramble wood and then crossing a large grassy area dotted with wildflowers.

  Josh kept up with her and could have walked alongside her, but kept a few feet distance between them, not wanting to anger her further. The sound of running water caught his attention, and he searched to look for the source. To his left, about ten feet away, was a tiny waterfall. He looked up the hill, wondering where it came from, tripped over a rock, and almost keeled over. He caught himself and quickly glanced in the woman’s direction. She was still walking forward as if nothing had happened. Phew, that was close. If she’d seen his stumble, that would have cinched her ‘idiot’ opinion of him.

  A couple minutes later, she stopped and glanced over her shoulder, then sat down on a fallen tree. “We rest now, oui?”

  “Good idea.” He limped toward the tree, his foot hurting after his trip. “Hey, I’m really sorry if I’ve offended you in any way.”

  “I—how do you say?—prefer to be alone. It’s what I’m accustomed to. It’s not you, exactly. It’s, I don’t know.” She waved her hands, then looked away, focusing her attention on the cat who was chasing a butterfly.

  Josh sat beside her, and she scooted a foot further away. “I can relate,” he said. “I came to Mythe to get away from my family. I needed alone time to think about what I want to do with my life. Not sure this is the right place for me to do that, though. Maybe I should leave. Don’t know where to go, though.”

  Neither of them said anything more. They sat there, him looking around and occasionally glancing at her out of the corner of his eye, as she watched clouds glide by.

  The cat came over, rubbed the woman’s legs, then laid down near her.

  “What’s your name?” she asked.

  “Oh, yeah, I guess we didn’t introduce ourselves. I’m Joshua Clayton from Santa Barbara, California.”

  “I’m Isabelle Bernot. I was born in Mythe. I’ve been to Paris and a few other cities in France. That’s all, nowhere else. What is your Santa Barbara like?”

  “Hmm, let’s see. We have palm trees, expensive downtown shops, beaches, seagulls. I’ve taken lots of photos there. My favorites are of the people, though. I like printing them in black-and-white.”

  “You’re a photographer?”

  He shrugged. “Not a professional. I’ve taken photography classes and if I had my way, I would become a professional photographer.”

  “Why not do it?”

  “No money in it. I’m a . . . was a banker. Surrounded by money, especially in a wealthy community like Santa Barbara.”

  Her body tensed. He could see her back straighten, her hands squeeze closed. WTF? What did he say to aggravate her now?

  “We should walk now.” She abruptly stood and walked off.

  Josh jumped up and rushed as much as he could to catch up to her, almost tripping again in the process. “What is wrong with you? Why are you running away from me?”

  She swung around and stood with her hands on her lips, staring at him. “I�
��ve heard the gossip. People say you came here to prey on Paulette. You’re trying to get her money. The elderly and the ill are vulnerable and that makes them easy prey for thieves like you.”

  “What! That’s insane, and insulting I might add. Why would I need her money? You think I’m poor, just because I said I worked in a bank at a paying job instead of as a photographer who might not make money?”

  She glared at him, but said nothing.

  He calmed himself and tried to explain, not sure why her opinion mattered to him. “Look, I actually come from a wealthy family. I’m not poor. My parents paid for my college education. They set up a trust fund for me, too. But I work for my own support, because I’m not a freeloader. I value a hard day’s work for decent wages.” He didn’t add that his former fiancé didn’t share his attitude. Sure, she worked and got paid damn good money, but that was only because she loved having real photographers take pictures of her, ogle her, and adore her. The money wasn’t important to her. She could get that from her parents at the snap of her fingers.

  “Then why did you take the job of caring for Paulette?”

  “First, I should clarify—she told me she was hiring me as a handyman, which I thought meant doing stuff around the house, like fixing broken things, painting, weeding. I didn’t know she wanted a nurse, too.”

  Isabelle twisted her mouth.

  “Second, I—I don’t know, I guess I probably would have accepted it anyway.” He ran his hand through his hair as he struggled for words. “I was on vacation in Paris with my parents and fiancé. We got in a big fight. Not the kind of fight where you kiss and make up in an hour or two. I couldn’t stay there and I wasn’t ready to go back to California. Hell, I don’t even know if I’m going back. Coming here, helping someone else, and getting a place to stay while I figured things out seemed like a good solution.”

  She nodded and said, “I guess I can understand that.”

  “Thanks.” He sighed, feeling his heart-rate slow back to normal. “Why are people gossiping about me? Surely not all young guys who help the elderly want something from them.”

  “True. The problem is, we are a small town and don’t get much excitement. Locals talk about their neighbors, and sometimes there’s something big, such as someone getting engaged or expecting a new baby, or someone who got arrested or had an accident. But most of the time life here is uneventful.” She stopped talking for a moment and pointed out a squirrel to the cat.

  The cat, Apollo, fixed his eyes on the squirrel who was frozen about three feet from him. Before he had a chance to pounce, however, the squirrel leaped and darted up the tree to safety. Apollo turned his head away, acting as though he’d grown tired of the squirrel and had ‘let’ him get away.

  “Sorry, as I was saying, life in Mythe is mostly uneventful. Then a newcomer arrives. It’s as if a celebrity has come to town. Everyone grabs onto that person, not physically, but they talk about everything he or she does. In case you don’t know about small town gossip, the more—how you say?—ah, scandalous, I think is the word—the rumor the better. I think sometimes people twist situations around to get the most response.”

  “Yeah, I think that happens in big cities, too.” His snooty high school had been a good example of gossip taking on a life of its own.

  “Earlier, you said you thought maybe you should leave, but you didn’t know where to go. Why did you say that? Is Paulette making you work too hard, or is she driving you crazy?”

  “Oh no, neither of those. I just got mad at her, briefly, when we were talking about what happened to me in Paris. I over-reacted to what she said. But I definitely didn’t over-react to what my ex- fiancé Vanessa did.”

  “What did Paulette say? That you shouldn’t have left Paris. That you over-reacted to the argument there.”

  “No, well, not exactly, but she basically made excuses for Vanessa cheating on me. I won’t go back to Vanessa. That’s become clear to me since I’ve been walking around up here on the hill.”

  “And now you don’t want to go back to your home, either?”

  “That’s just it—I don’t know. What would I be going back to? I mean, I’m not even sure I was really happy before, and now I have nothing, not even a place to live. Vanessa will keep the apartment, and I sure as hell don’t want to live with my parents. Their house is big enough, don’t get me wrong, but—well, I don’t really want to go into it. I won’t live with them.”

  “Then stay here. Paulette needs you, and it will give you a chance to think about your life and make plans. I’m sorry how I acted earlier.”

  He nodded, choking up, not sure he could trust himself to speak. It was the first time in days that someone had actually said something supportive to him.

  They started walking again. This time, Josh walked alongside Isabelle, sneaking glances at her now and then.

  “What about you?” he asked. “You said you’ve always lived here. Do you have family in Mythe?”

  “No, my family is all gone. It’s only me and Apollo now.”

  “Gone as in moved away, or gone as in—?”

  “They’re all dead. My brother, our parents, and our grandparents. My brother has only been gone for two months. It’s not easy.” She looked at the ground, averting her eyes.

  He felt her pain. “I’m sorry for your loss.”

  Pausing a moment and looking over at Josh, she asked, “Do you have brothers or sisters?”

  “A sister, two and a half years older than me. We rarely see each other anymore, since she got married and moved to New York. Were you and your brother close?”

  “Oui, he was two-and-a-half years older than me and was injured in a motorbike accident. My parents died soon after. I took care of Henri after that.”

  “What was wrong with him?”

  “He was a quadriplegic. I don’t know all the words in English. Henri was incomplete paralyzed, and he mostly stayed in bed for nearly twelve years.”

  “Oh, wow. That’s really sad.” As they continued on in silence, thinking back to their earlier conversation about gossip in the small town, he wondered how she’d survived all those years. What had the townspeople said about the accident? How horrible for her and her family.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  JOSH PUT HIS hand on the doorknob, ready to open the door and enter the troglo, but hesitated when he heard loud voices coming from inside. Did Paulette have visitors? If she did, should he stay out and give her privacy? Then the volume increased—and he recognized the sound of a familiar commercial jingle. He shook his head. Shoulda known she was watching TV. Well, probably asleep in front of the TV was more like it. He entered the troglo and looked around for her. There she was, sprawled in her chair with all three puppies covering her lap and one halfway falling off it. The mother dog, Gigi, was sprawled across Paulette’s feet. Good grief, it looks like they’re holding her hostage. She was awake, but he couldn’t tell if she’d been awake all along or if his opening the door had awakened her. “Sorry I stormed off like that,” he said. “And thank you for the delicious dinner. I should have helped you clean up the kitchen. I hope you’ll forgive my poor manners.”

  “I’ve already forgotten. Why don’t we watch television together? One of my favorite old movies is starting in a few minutes.”

  He plopped down on the sofa, relieved that she wasn’t angry at him. He noticed his mouth felt like sandpaper after spending so much time outside. “I’ll get us something to drink.” He got back up and headed toward the kitchen, then hesitated and looked back. “Is there anything else you want or need while I’m up?”

  “A new body.” She smiled, stroking one of the puppies.

  When he returned, he set down a glass of tea and the last chocolate éclair on the side table next to Paulette.

  She smiled up at him. “My favorite. Can you buy some more tomorrow? And more chocolates, too. I certainly don’t need to worry about my figure anymore. You see, there are some perks to having cancer.”

  “Sure,
I’ll go early in the morning before I start work again on the piles outside.” He returned to the kitchen to get something for himself. When he arrived back in the living room a moment later, he sat down and took a big sip of his own tea, then popped the last piece of chocolate in his mouth.

  After helping Paulette upstairs to bed hours later, he checked the mouse traps, one in her room and one in his. Full. Two mice caught! He disposed of them, and put out new sets of traps before going to bed.

  Laying on his bed, hands behind his head, he relaxed, enjoying the quiet, offset only by the ticking of the old clock that sat next to the new digital clock. Didn’t really need the old one, but he liked the ticking. It was comforting somehow. The room was more than a bit cool, being inside a cave, so he drew his light blanket up over his legs. His body felt tired and sore from all the physical work and the hillside walking and the tripping. Too sore. Sleep would not come. He tossed, he turned. No matter what position he tried, he couldn’t get comfortable.

  After an hour and a half, he decided it was the mattress—lumpy in some spots, springs sticking up in other places. That’s it! Maybe turning it over will help. He got up and switched on the light, then pulled off the sheets and blanket. Grabbing hold of the twin-size mattress on the side closest to him, he flipped it over.

  WTF? Two long rips were taped closed with painter’s tape. He ran his hands over the first rip. Lumpy. Pressing harder made a crunch sound. He yanked off the tape. The two pieces of fabric had been cut—it was obvious because each side was perfectly straight.

  Oh, this is weird.

  He picked up the flashlight he’d set on the dresser earlier in the day, pulled the two sides of fabric back, and shined the light inside.

  Practically falling backwards in surprise, he caught himself and stared at the contents. Holy . . . ! Cash. Some loose bills, mostly strapped bundles. No telling how much. Good God, he’d heard stories about old people hiding their money in their mattresses, but he didn’t believe them. Was this her life savings, or had she robbed a bank? There seemed to be an awful lot of money there.