by Susan Finlay
Looking sad she replied “He hasn’t come back here in all these years. He hasn’t even written to me.”
How terribly sad, Josh thought, patting Paulette’s hand, to not see or hear from ones son all those years. He felt so sorry for her and hoped he could somehow reconcile the issue and bring them back together before it was too late. Glancing at his watch, Josh realized it was getting late and said, “I have to go out for a while. We’ll talk more tonight. Would you mind if Isabelle helps me search through the storage area?”
She sighed. “I guess it’s all right.”
“I need to take a quick shower before I go out. Is there anything you need? Something I can get you?”
“Non. I think I’ll look through my album some more and possibly take a nap.”
He set his remaining two chocolates on her plate.
She gave him a big smile and conspiratorially whispered, “If you get a chance, maybe you can buy some more of those.” She was pointing to the chocolates.
“Sure thing.” She gave him a confused look and he clarified. “Sorry, it means I will. See you in a little while.” Turning to leave, he called over his shoulder, “Call me if you need anything. I won’t be far away.”
CHAPTER TWELVE
“THAT’S INCREDIBLE,” Isabelle said, responding to what Josh had uncovered. “I’ve heard about the Resistance hiding in the caves here and in some of the other towns in France, but didn’t know Paulette’s parents helped fund their movement.” Shaking her head in assent, she added, “Good for them.”
Josh and Isabelle were sitting in the grass near Paulette’s troglo. When they’d first arrived, Josh told her that Paulette and he had made up and that Paulette had told him to convey her apology to Isabelle for her earlier behavior. He also told her that he had talked to Paulette and she had agreed for him to continue searching for her son.
Isabelle said she was relieved and said she had additional news to share. She told him that prior to yesterday’s scene in the troglo she’d sent an email to another long-time resident of Mythe, currently on holiday with great-grandchildren in Italy. Certain that the woman, Annabelle Kneff, had known Paulette and her family her whole life, she asked the woman for information about them. A response had come early this morning. Annabelle had recounted what she remembered about Paulette’s family and had included her recollection of one occasion in which Paulette’s husband had gone into a rage over something his wife had done, but Annabelle couldn’t recall what it was.
“Didn’t the Nazi’s know about the troglos and caves?”
“No. Locals covered the fronts of the troglos with tree branches to hide them. As far as I know, the Germans never found any of them.”
Josh sat quietly, taking in all the new information. “Going back to what you said earlier, “She didn’t have any idea what it was that had made Paulette’s husband go into a rage?”
“No. But her husband died only a few days after that, according to Annabelle.”
“He died?”
She nodded. “A heart attack, she thinks. It seems odd to me that he died that soon after their quarrel. He wasn’t old, either.”
“Did anyone suspect foul play?”
“I don’t understand this word ‘fowlplay’.”
“Oh, sorry. Did anyone suspect that it wasn’t really a heart attack? That maybe someone killed him?”
“Annabelle didn’t say.”
“Humph.” Josh fidgeted, trying to find more comfortable seating, picking up a small rock he had been sitting on and throwing it into the trash pile. “By the way, Paulette gave permission for you to help me go through the stuff in her storage area and troglo. Will you help? I found an old diary that I need translated. Maybe we’ll find more clues about her past.”
A look of panic flashed in her eyes. “It seems wrong to me. I wouldn’t want someone prying into my personal effects, especially a diary.”
“I understand that, but we need to find her family. They’ll inherit from her. I’d rather they see her while she’s still alive and can talk to each other, you know what I mean?”
She nodded, her mouth pouting as if to say she understood but still didn’t like it.
When Josh and Isabelle entered the troglo, Paulette hugged Isabelle. “I’m sorry about yesterday, dear. I shouldn’t have yelled at you.”
“I understand how you felt,” Isabelle said. “I probably would have reacted the same way.”
“You forgive me?”
“Of course.”
“Will the two of you help me upstairs? The memory is fuzzy, but I’m sure Papa hid something behind the wardrobe in the bedroom—the bedroom where I now sleep. It’s too heavy for me to move.”
Josh glanced at Isabelle, then said, “Sure. Let’s go see what’s there.”
“It’s important. I know it is.” Paulette wrung her hands together, watching them.
After checking around the seven feet tall wardrobe, Josh said, “I don’t see how there can be anything behind it. There’s only a few inches between the wardrobe and the wall.”
“It has to be there. I’m certain he hid something.”
Hmm, could be she was confused. But then again . . . . “Is it possible that he hid something inside the wardrobe? At the back?”
Her eyes lit up. “You mean like a false back?”
Josh nodded. “I guess that’s possible. Can we find out?” He opened the double doors and took out the clothing on hangers, laying them in two piles on top of the bed. Leaning inside, he poked and prodded around the back wall. He soon found a hole in the wall that one finger conveniently fit into. He pulled, but nothing happened.
Paulette, who was leaning her head inside the wardrobe beside him, said, “Pull harder.”
Not wanting to damage the wardrobe by using excessive force, Josh decided there might be another hole or latch. Poking around some more, looking for a possible clue, he found another hole on the opposite side.
With a finger in each hole, he pulled. The false-back panel suddenly came loose. As he started to move the panel out of the way a nearly flat brown package fell forward onto the false panel. Josh grabbed it and removed it from the hiding place.
What had at first looked like a bag was a very large brown leather satchel almost as wide as the back panel of the wardrobe.
“You did it!” Paulette exclaimed, holding her hands on her cheeks.
Josh laid the satchel on the bed beside the piles of clothes and tried to untie the strings that kept the flaps closed. Instead, the string broke, partially shredding in his hand.
Isabelle stood on one side of him, with Paulette standing on the other side, grasping her hands together in anticipation.
“Are you ready to see what’s inside?” Josh asked, teasing her, holding the flaps closed.
“Oui. Hurry up Josh-you-ah, Paulette urged. I can’t take more of the suspense.”
He smiled, then pulled the flaps apart, reached inside, and withdrew four beautiful canvas paintings. He didn’t recognize them.
“Oh my!” Paulette said, wringing her hands, tears forming in her eyes. “I remember these were hanging in our house before the Occupation. Papa took down most of the paintings and I never knew what happened to them.”
“Do you know the artists?”
“I . . . I can’t remember the names. They were famous French artists, I know that. Papa paid a lot of money for them and was proud to have them displayed.”
Isabelle said, “I’ve think I have seen pictures of these in a library book, though I don’t remember the details.”
“Okay, if you wish, we can take them to a museum curator or an art professor, maybe.” He set the canvases carefully on the bed, then turned to Paulette. “Paulette, is there something else you want us to check next? I’ve looked through the trunks and chests and in a couple of boxes in the cave.”
“Did you find more of my photo albums?”
“Not yet. Are they in the boxes?”
Paulette frowned and shook her head. “I don’t reme
mber.”
Josh sighed, then glanced at Isabelle for suggestions.
She said, “Why don’t you show me the cave? Maybe I can help come up with a plan.”
Not knowing what to do with the potentially valuable canvases for the moment, Josh placed the paintings back in the satchel and returned it to its hiding place, setting the false back in place and began returning the clothes to the wardrobe.
While Josh was rehanging Paulette’s clothes for her, Paulette laid down on her bed. When he was finished, Paulette said, “I think I’ll take a nap. I need to rest after so much excitement.”
Isabelle and Josh nodded, then proceeded downstairs and into the hidden storage area.
“Oh, this is magnifique. I would never have guessed this was here,” Isabelle exclaimed after Josh moved the cabinets and they walked into the storage cave. “I wonder if all the troglos have hidden areas like this that are more cave-like.”
“Hmm. Maybe. I guess I never thought about that.”
They sat down on a couple chests and began work. An hour later, when Isabelle opened yet another box, she yelled out, “Over here. This box is full of photo albums.” She picked up one, and three black-and-white photos tumbled out onto the dirt floor of the cave. “Oh! They’re really old. I’ll take the box into the house and give them to Paulette—unless you want to look through them first.”
He thought about it a moment, twisting his mouth. “Hmm, Paulette needs her rest right now. We wouldn’t want to wake her. Besides, we might find out something important if we look through them first. Would you mind looking at some? You might recognize someone, or it might bring up a memory.”
She nodded, handed him the first album, and opened a second one onto her lap.
The black and white pictures in Josh’s album portrayed a much younger Paulette in evening gowns similar to the gowns he’d found in the trunks. In each photo, a different man held her hand or had an arm draped around her, each man gazing at her as if he was in love. Wow, couldn’t say he didn’t get it—back then she was almost as pretty as Vanessa. Yep, had an entourage like Vanessa, too. Guess the 1950’s weren’t so different when it came to beautiful women and men fawning over them.
Further toward the back of the album he found a few color photos, faded and yellowed. Guess the color photos don’t last so well. In those, a somewhat older Paulette mostly wore flowered dresses and high-heeled shoes. Her dark hair was swept up in a twist, lips painted red, eyelids covered with blue eye shadow. Sixties, no question about it.
He flipped to the next page. A picture of Paulette, standing next to a man—her husband?—dressed in black slacks and a white dress shirt, with a baby carriage in front of them, grabbed Josh’s instant attention. On the opposite page, she was sitting in the grass with a little boy, maybe four years old. Charles?
He was about to comment on the find when Isabelle said, “This book has pictures of Paulette and her son at a funeral. At least I think he’s her son. He looks the right age—around seven or eight.”
“Her husband’s funeral?”
“I think so.”
After removing a picture of the boy from the album, they continued looking through several more boxes. A while later, Josh set his latest album back in the box, satisfied that they had found what they wanted, and said, “Why don’t you go ahead and take your box of albums to her? She’s probably awake now.”
She nodded, stood up, then stooped over to pick up her box.
“Oh, sorry, I wasn’t thinking. That box is probably heavy. Let me carry it for you.”
“I’ll be fine. I’m used to lifting heavy boxes at the shop.”
He started to get up, but she waved a hand at him, picked up the box, and disappeared around the corner. Sitting back down, he wrapped his arms around his knees. They were almost done with the boxes. If he couldn’t trust Paulette’s memory—or even her honesty—was he wasting his time? All he had was her son’s name, his approximate age, and an old picture that might be him as a boy. How was that going to help him find the guy?
Sighing, he yanked himself up. This wasn’t working. Of course, what he was doing in the storage area was the job Paulette had asked him to do, and he was doing fine with it. It was his ulterior motive—figuring out what really happened all those years ago when her son disappeared—that was frustrating the hell out of him. If his fear was right and there wasn’t a son left to find, how was searching in here going to answer that question?
He surveyed the area again. Then he remembered Paulette had swept the dirt this morning while in a dazed state—or while sleepwalking. It was odd. Why had she done that?
Going back into the house, he paused at the base of the stairs. Paulette and Isabelle were talking upstairs in Paulette’s bedroom. Good. The mother dog, Gigi, was sleeping on her pad of blankets, with cuddly sleeping puppies sprawled out around her. Josh went outside, leaving the front door ajar, and grabbed his shovel. He came back into the troglo and out to the storage area.
The bristle marks made by the broom were still visible. He stabbed at the dirt floor with the shovel, not knowing if he would hit rock below a thin layer of dirt or if the area underneath held more dirt.
His shovel sunk down, and he lifted up a heap of dirt. Then another. And another. A clunk noise soon told him he’d hit something hard. He bent down and started digging with his hands.
Gigi barked once announcing her entrance, then joined him, front paws happily digging away, her tail wagging wildly.
After a few minutes, they both stopped. Josh stared into the shallow hole. His heart thumped in his ears and he could barely breathe. What the hell? He shook himself. Must be seeing things. Must be letting my imagination go wild.
He held his breath, steadied himself, and then looked back down in the hole. Nope, not his imagination. He was staring at what was resolving into the remains of a human being.
Hearing voices coming from the kitchen, he jumped up and ran dirty hands through his hair. Oh, God. Now what do I do?
Glancing at the hole, the skeleton, and the pile of dirt, one thing he knew for sure: he needed to put things back the way they were until he figured out the best course of action. Shaking inside, he shoveled the dirt back as fast as he could, threw the shovel further back into the cave, then steeled himself before heading into the kitchen. Take it easy. Act nonchalant. Don’t do anything to make them suspicious.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
THE TWO WOMEN were cooking dinner when Josh strode in from the cave. His heart was beating wildly and he could barely catch his breath. The remains could be old. Like from the middle ages, right? Or maybe from World War II. It wasn’t necessarily Paulette’s son. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. Okay, act as if everything is normal. You can do it. Gotta talk to Paulette when the time is right, but not now. Paulette was laughing and chatting with Isabelle. Such a change from yesterday. Thankfully, the old photos and talk of the past hadn’t upset her, apparently just the opposite. Maybe after dinner, before they sat down in front of the TV, he could get her to talk about what happened.
“Hey, mademoiselles,” he stated after washing his hands at the sink, “What can I do to help with dinner preparations?”
They both turned their heads and stared at him. Paulette laughed. “That’s a first for me. A man offering to help cook dinner.”
“Well, I didn’t say I’d cook. But I can make salad or cut up vegetables. I used to cut the potatoes for my grandma. Then she’d mash them up the way I loved, with lots of butter mixed in. Soft and mushy.”
Isabelle smiled and shook her head. “Americans.”
Paulette giggled and said something in French.
Josh would have been offended, he suspected, if he understood what she’d said. For once he was glad he hadn’t studied French in school.
“Okay, I guess you don’t want my help. I can take a hint.”
Isabelle shoved a mixing bowl into his hands. “You can stir this.”
He sniffed at the white stuff in t
he bowl. Not something he could identify. Shrugging his shoulders, he began stirring, all the while watching Paulette.
Her pain pills must have kicked in. She moved easily and no longer clutched her chest. This morning, Josh had been worried the end was nearer than she’d told him.
Isabelle was doing most of the cooking and whatever it was she was making smelled delicious. She reached over and relieved him of the bowl.
Paulette handed him plates and silverware.
Josh set the table and fed the dogs some of the dry food he had lugged up from town yesterday.
After dinner, neither spoke as he and Isabelle rapidly cleaned the kitchen. Josh thought about the skeleton and planned what he would say to Paulette. When finished, they walked into the living room and saw that Paulette was already settled into her recliner, the TV volume turned up loud.
Josh picked up the remote control and muted the TV. “Can we talk a moment?”
“What do you want to talk about?” Paulette asked, pulling her sweater closed.
Isabelle sat on the sofa, watching and listening.
Josh said, “I—well—I don’t know how to begin. I mean, you already told me you had a son who left home when he was a teenager. But you never said why he left or where he went.”
She didn’t respond.
“What happened?”
“We had such a good afternoon today. Why are you ruining it?”
“I don’t want to ruin it, Paulette. I care about you and want you to be happy, but I found something. Bones. A skeleton to be exact. Buried inside the cave.”
She looked shocked, turned pale, and clutched at her heart again.
Isabelle’s eyes widened, but she said nothing.
“Did you know about it? Is that why I found you sweeping there?”
Tears welled up in her eyes. “You won’t understand.” She covered her face with her shaking hands. “No one was ever supposed to find out.”
Josh sat on the edge of the sofa and leaned toward her. Softening his voice and taking her hand, not wanting to shorten the time she had left, he said, “Paulette, you can tell us. We’re on your side.”
