by Susan Finlay
The mattress in Paulette’s bedroom was full-size. Did she have cash stashed in it, as well? With this kind of money, why was she living in this rundown troglo? Where did she get all that money? Should he question her about it?
After he re-taped the second slit, he flipped the mattress back over and remade the bed—sheets and blankets tucked in, bedspread neatly in place the way his mother had taught him. Oh, wait, that was dumb. I should be going to sleep now. He pulled back the covers, intending to lie down, but how the hell was he supposed to sleep after what he saw? His bed was a friggin’ bank vault. He got up and paced. What else was Paulette hiding? He stared at the stacks of papers on the floor, then at the dresser drawers.
Don’t do it. Don’t snoop.
Oh, the hell with it. He pulled open the first drawer. Bed linens. Gently lifting each one and finding nothing unusual, he moved to the next drawer. Boys’ underwear and t-shirts. Huh? Why would she have those? The next drawer, boys’ shirts; the next drawer, boys’ slacks. He lifted the clothes and felt something hard. Wrapped up in a handkerchief in between two pairs of slacks was a sharp knife with something dark and crusty covering most of the blade. He held it up close. Looked like dried blood. Might be wrong, it might not be blood at all, but it looked like his grandfather’s hunting knife after he’d stabbed a cougar that was attacking his dog years ago. His grandfather had forgotten to wipe off the blood. This could be a hunting knife, too, used to wound or kill some wild animal. But if that was the case, why hide it in a drawer between some kid’s clothes?
It had been a long night, taking Josh a good portion of the night for exhaustion to finally win before falling to sleep on top of the bed. In the morning, he arose early to fix the meal and make coffee, but again the smell of fresh coffee met him on the way down the stairs.
“Good morning,” he said, trying to act as if everything was normal. “I wanted to surprise you and have breakfast ready when you got up. How long have you been up?”
She shrugged. “I rarely look at the clock anymore. Time goes too fast for me now.”
What was he supposed to say to that? He avoided her eyes and poured himself a cup of coffee, no longer feeling obliged to ask for permission.
“I’ll go to the bakery as soon as I finish eating. The best baked goods probably go early, I would expect.”
“Good idea. When you get back, I have a project for you.”
“Okay, I can start work on whatever it is as soon as I finish sorting the stuff outside.”
“Non, non, this other work is more important.”
“Oh, sorry, what do you need?”
She took a bite of her croissant and then a sip of coffee. Her hair was scraggly looking this morning, as if she’d just gotten out of bed and hadn’t bothered combing it. “Behind the troglo, I have a storage area that needs sorting out. A lifetime of papers, trinkets, old clothes, and God knows what else, all packed away in boxes and trunks.” She paused and drank more coffee.
“Behind the troglo? You mean inside the hill?” He scratched his head.
“The cave goes further back—a lot further back. It’s connected to a series of caves and tunnels. Did I forget to tell you?”
“Oh, wow. That’s interesting.” And really weird. Why the heck did she stash money in the mattress if she had a secret storage area?
“I’m not a hoarder, don’t get me wrong. I inherited this place from my parents, along with their belongings. I got rid of a lot of their stuff years ago, but I still have many of my own things packed away.”
“Okay, what do you want me to do? Just haul all that stuff away? Donate it?”
“Non. Sort through it—bring me anything that might be important. You can do whatever you want with the rest.”
Huh? Did she forget where she hid the money and hoped he would find it for her? Probably should tell her I already found it. Could save a lot of work.
He opened his mouth, but then he remembered the boys’ clothing and the knife with dried blood on it. Hmm. Maybe hold off on that.
“Uh, how will I know what might be important? Is there something specific you’re looking for?”
“You’ll know.”
Chills crept up his spine.
“Okay, I’m off to the bakery. I’ll get to work on the new project as soon as I get back.
Nearing the bakery, his heart quickened at the thought of seeing Isabelle again. How would she react toward him today? Would she be cool and business-like or would she treat him more as a friend? Could he ask her questions about Paulette without setting off alarms?
He opened the door, causing the bell to clang and bounce, drawing attention from the five customers already in line. Heat rose up the back of his neck, remembering what Isabelle had told him about the gossip.
Each customer, upon finishing their purchase, glared at him as they exited the shop—all but one, a middle-aged woman who smiled and then wiggled her hips on the way out.
Isabelle noticed. She said, “Perhaps you don’t have to go back to America. You might start a new career here as a ‘handyman’ for lonely women.” She smirked, but her eyes twinkled with humor. Now his face suddenly felt hot.
“Ha ha, very funny. Paulette sent me to get her more goodies.”
She laughed. “What would you like?”
When he paid for his éclairs, chocolates, and turnovers, he asked, “What do you know about Paulette? She hasn’t really talked about her illness. Sometimes, she seems happy, but other times, she’s sad. Does she really have no family left?”
The moment he said it, he realized he might not have worded it right, considering that Isabelle didn’t have any family, either. Damn.
“Why do you think she has no family?”
“She told me.”
“Hmm, that’s odd. When I was a little girl—maybe six years old—Paulette gave my parents some second-hand toys for my brother. I could swear she said they’d belonged to her son.”
“She has a son? Do you know where he is? I wonder why she didn’t tell me about him.”
Isabelle shrugged. “I could be wrong. It was a long time ago and I may have got it mixed up.”
“You’ve never seen him, not in all the years you’ve lived here?”
“I haven’t.” She shrugged. “Perhaps I’m mistaken.”
“In this gossipy town no one talked about Paulette and her son?”
Her face flushed. “Well, yes, I heard stories. Long ago. Adults would stop talking when my brother and I came into the room.”
“What kind of stories?”
“I only vaguely remember bits and pieces. Her teenaged son left home under odd circumstances.”
The clothes he’d seen in the drawers seemed about the right size for a kid that age. If the boy had left with someone, wouldn’t he have taken his clothes? Whose blood was on that knife?
“Did anyone ever see him again?”
“I don’t know. Later, it seemed no one mentioned him again, almost as if he’d never existed. Why are you asking about him?”
Part of him wanted to confide his suspicions—or worries—but he wasn’t sure yet if he could trust Isabelle. Hell, he wasn’t sure he could trust anyone at this point.
“I don’t know,” he lied. “It bothers me that Paulette is sad. If she still has a son, maybe I can find him and reunite them before it’s too late.”
“That’s a very kind and thoughtful idea.” She smiled at him. “I can help you, if you want.”
“You’d do that? Thanks!”
“We probably shouldn’t say anything to Paulette,” Isabelle said. “If we got her hopes up and then couldn’t find him, she would be devastated.”
“I agree. We might not find him or it could be that he won’t want to see his mother. We don’t know why he left. They might have had a huge argument and cut all ties with each other.” He didn’t add that Paulette might have killed her son and wouldn’t want anyone digging into his disappearance.
“I’ll start checking through old
records at the town hall and the library. Perhaps I can discreetly talk to some of the oldest citizens of Mythe, also.
Before he left, they exchanged phone numbers. Josh wasn’t sure if they were doing the right thing, and maybe nothing would come of it, but he needed some answers and, more importantly, he was glad for the distraction from his own problems.
CHAPTER EIGHT
JOSH FOLLOWED PAULETTE to the back of the troglo, as she was taking him to her storage area in the cave behind her troglo. “Will I have to work in the dark? Should we take flashlights?” They stopped in front of the kitchen cabinets, and Josh scratched his head, puzzled, not seeing an exit anywhere.
“Not necessary. My father had lighting put in back there when I was a little girl. It’s a long story. This troglo had belonged to Maman’s family and she inherited it, but we didn’t live in it. We lived in a large house across the river from Mythe. Papa had a vineyard on our property, and he made wine, which he stored in our cellar until the war and the Occupation. He moved some of the wine barrels here to this storage, because no one knew about it.”
She grabbed hold of the end cabinet on the back wall of the kitchen and pulled. After a moment she ceased, declaring, “Merde. I think it’s stuck, or I’m just getting too weak. Come over here and pull.” Josh moved to take her place and began pulling at the same corner, though for the life of him, he didn’t understand what he was doing. All of a sudden the whole set of cabinets and counter top moved into the middle of the kitchen.
“Oh, wow. This is amazing.” Josh bent down and checked the bottom of the cabinets. Wheels. What a clever idea. Rising back up, he peered behind the cabinetry, speechless, at a gaping hole in the rock back wall, a hole nearly as tall and wide as a single-wide garage door.
Paulette pushed past him and disappeared through the opening.
Josh hesitated. Follow an old woman who may have murdered her son into a dark hole in the wall? Yeah, Isabelle may have good reason to think I’m an idiot.
He shook his head, mumbled, “Oh well, in for a penny—”, and followed her.
Paulette switched on the lights; they blinked a couple of times before reaching full brightness, providing a yellowy light. She stepped back through the opening, wheezing, and said, “Oh dear. I’ll leave you to your work. I need to go lay down and rest awhile.”
“You’re not locking me in here, are you?”
She tilted her head to the side, then giggled. “You’re funny, Josh-you-ah.” With that, she turned and walked away.
At least she didn’t close up the entrance, which in itself was comforting, but the slight amount of light from the kitchen filtering into the area where Josh stood was of marginal value, not enough to improve on the dim sallow lighting that cast spooky shadows on the walls and floor.
Okay, this isn’t real creepy at all.
The cold damp air didn’t help, either. It reminded him a bit of Halloween nights when he was young. The only thing missing was the requisite ghosts and ghouls. Okay, get your mind under control he told himself as he looked around.
He walked around the storage room, about as wide as a two car garage, getting a feel for the area and its contents. The room was musty smelling, assailing his nostrils, and he noticed water dripping down the walls in a few places. Six huge wine barrels lay on their sides, taking up residence along the length of one wall. He couldn’t see much further as the lighting was too dim at the back of the cave room. Three more barrels lay along the opposite wall, crowed in place by assorted antique chests and trunks, the kind he’d seen in old photos and on display in his university’s history museum. Though the museum display of historical chests, trunks, and clothing held only minor interest for him, at the time he’d been enthralled by the black and white photographs. Stark, eerie.
He remembered wondering, back when he’d toured the museum with his classmates, if his great-grandparents had traveled on trains in Europe during war-time. His mother’s family had been in Austria and his father’s had been in England back then. Dismissing those thoughts for which he still had no answers, he studied the antiques now confronting him. The hinges and closing mechanisms on these were ancient and very rusty, some tinged with green. Copper. Some had leather straps, all broken, long ago having lost their flexibility and strength.
In the middle of the room stood wooden platforms with, judging from what he could see on the bottom, boxes and crates stacked upon them. He couldn’t tell for sure what all was there, because they were partially covered by khaki green tarps. Yanking off each of the covers, he took a mental inventory. Yep. Cardboard boxes and wooden crates. Six to eight of one or the other in each stack, and arranged to form four store-like aisles. My God, Paulette actually expected him to go through everything in the month or two before she died?
He looked around for a ladder, not paying attention to his footing and jumped in surprise when he stepped in a puddle of water, splashing his pant legs in the process. “What the—” He stared down at the dark pool of muddy water in the dirt-covered floor, wondering where the water had come from. A drop of water plopped onto his head. He looked up and found small stalactites reaching down from the ceiling, water dripping off a few of them. Oh, that’s why the boxes were covered and why they were on raised platforms.
Getting his bearings, he could now see why the lower part of the home ended where it did and also why the upstairs bedrooms of the troglo didn’t extend any further back, not wanting to risk encountering dripping water. He again stared into the back of the room, but couldn’t see the back wall, being shrouded in darkness as it was.
Remembering his stint volunteering at the humane society his senior year in high school, that building had multiple light switches for different areas within the same room. Perhaps this cave had that, too. Couldn’t hurt to check. Where had Paulette turned on the lights? He swiveled around toward the entrance and spotted the switch—but it was just a single switch, which meant that if the back area had lighting, there must be another switch somewhere else. He turned back around, first looking to the sides, but found no switch. Looking to the back again was fruitless. There was no way he’d be able to see well enough to locate something that small.
Going back into the house, he opened the broom closet where Paulette stored light bulbs, flashlights, and other supplies, grabbed a flashlight, and tested it to make sure it worked. He also went over and grabbed his lightweight jacket from the hook by the front door as an afterthought. Paulette was not around. Remembering what she had told him, he decided she must have gone upstairs to lie down awhile.
Back inside the storage room, he headed into the dark area, moving his flashlight back and forth along the walls, shining everywhere that might contain a light switch. He gave up when he realized there weren’t any more light bulbs above and no apparent wiring.
Here, the cave was more natural looking, possessing less of a carved look to it, with more rocky walls and uneven ceiling. He wondered if there might be a tunnel or a passageway to another room and spied a couple shadowy spots, but reluctantly, turned back. He was on the job and would be responsible, waiting at least until he was done with what Paulette had requested before he went off exploring the darker reaches of the cave. He spotted three wooden ladders of varying lengths, lying on the floor. God, he hoped they weren’t damaged too badly by the damp conditions here.
Squatting, he separated the three ladders and examined each. The shortest, which appeared handmade and ancient, was too warped and not usable. The longest, more modern and probably store-bought, by the look of it, was partially burnt. As he handled the wood, charred pieces crumbled onto the floor. Only the middle ladder might—and that was questionable—be of use.
Josh sighed and eased his butt down onto a dry area on the dirt floor, his knees up and his arms draped over them as he studied the task ahead of him. Was he even tall enough to get the upper boxes and trunks down without a ladder? Possibly, but it depended on how heavy they were. The knife he’d seen last night flashed in his mind
. He gazed around him. Could someone have put a body in one of the trunks?
He shuddered. Now there’s a lovely thought. He shook his head at his imagination running wild. Get a grip! Time to get back up and get to work.
A scream echoed from the troglo. Springing up, Josh dashed into the kitchen, fearing that Paulette had fallen and broken her frail bones. Instead, he found her standing stark still in the kitchen near the doorway to the living room. She turned and looked at him, her mouth open, then pointed.
The front door stood partially open, and a wild pig stared straight at them in the doorway, tusks sharp and threatening.
Gigi, the mother dog who was standing next to Paulette, snarled and growled, but didn’t make a move. Smart dog. Her three puppies cowered under a small table in the kitchen.
Josh scanned the living room for something he could use as a weapon. His shovel and ax were outside and, as far as he knew, that front door was the only way out, unless he wanted to chance opening the window and climbing through. Problem with that was that the only window in the troglo was just feet away from the door.
There were knives in the kitchen, but did he really want to get that up-close and personal with a wild boar? Nuh uh. Okay then, need to get to the shovel. He slowly turned to his left and eased his way over to the living room wall, then looked over at Paulette and Gigi.
Paulette’s attention alternated between Josh and the boar.
Josh put his finger on his lip, hoping she would understand the gesture meant that he wanted her to keep quiet and not alarm the animal. He edged his way forward along the side wall toward the window, keeping his eyes on the boar and letting his hands guide him and prevent him bumping into furniture.
His heart pounding, and with sweat beading on his forehead, he finally reached the window. He fumbled with the lock. Oh, hell. Why wouldn’t it turn?
