Where Secrets Reside (The Outsiders Book 2)

by Susan Finlay

  Martin wiped his palm on his thigh. “I don’t understand. Why do you need anything from me?”

  “You told me someone took that baseball bat out of your house after the first victim was killed. Who else besides you and your wife had access to your house? Should I assume your wife took the bat, murdered Felicia Beaumont with it, and buried it near the bookshop?”

  “Okay, okay!” He hesitated and then seemed to come to some decision. “I didn’t go to the U.S. I went to England to do some research for a new book idea. I didn’t want Maurelle to know, because . . . well, because I didn’t want to upset her. She grew up there, but she doesn’t think she can ever go back. She was cleared, you know that, but the stigma of being accused sticks to a person like mud.”

  Goddard didn’t respond. It was obvious Martin was trying to maintain eye contact. Undoubtedly, he knew that the lack of eye contact would give him away; but too much also suggested lies. Goddard had expected as much and had checked the man’s blink rate earlier. It had doubled during his last statement.

  “I’ll accept that explanation for now,” Goddard said. He stood up and prepared to leave, then glanced back at Dave Martin. “Do keep in mind, though, that I’ll need hotel and transportation receipts for that period.”

  Back in his own office, Goddard sat down and made notes in a file. His phone rang and he answered.

  “I’ve been trying to reach you, sir,” Officer Roland said. “We’ve visited Gabrielle Thibault’s apartment, spoke with someone there, and also interviewed her parents. If you have a few minutes, I can fill you in on what we know so far.”

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  A LIGHT RAIN was falling as Lillian Lefèvre walked down to the Trizay River. She stopped and pulled a scarf out of her handbag, and tied it firmly over her head the way her grandmother used to do. She hated walking in the rain, but it was the best time to do what she needed to do. Not many people would be out and about in this weather.

  At the river’s edge, she followed a narrow path leading into a clump of trees. She stopped and looked around. No one was watching. She set down her vinyl tote bag, the one she carried for grocery shopping, and opened it.

  Something splashed in the water and she jumped, her heart racing. She snatched the bag up and held her breath, prepared to run. A second later she heard a squawk and spotted two mallards swimming a few feet away, partially hidden behind a hanging branch, dipping their beaks under water, then splashing and circling as if playing a game. The water level was still higher than normal from the storm on Tuesday night. A couple of fallen tree branches floated by. Lillian let out her breath, relieved, as she set down the bag and lifted out a muddied, scratched boot. She glanced around again. No one around. Standing at the edge, she raised her right arm up high and tossed the boot into the water. It landed with a large spray of water and a loud plunk sound that sent the ducks squawking and flying away. She removed the second boot from the bag and flung it after its mate, then closed her bag and walked away.

  “HOW DID IT go?” Maurelle asked.

  Dave had barely stepped into the house. He didn’t answer right away, but closed the door behind him and hugged his wife. The gendarmes had dropped him off near Café Charbonneau and he’d walked from there along the trail. On the way, he’d stopped at the taped off area where Maurelle had found the toddler, and studied the scene. He couldn’t for the life of him figure out how the child and mother had ended up so far apart. It didn’t make sense. He gazed at Maurelle and ran his hand through his hair. “I guess it went okay,” he said. “Captain Goddard strikes me as a decent enough guy. I hope I can persuade him to let me help with the investigation. If you don’t mind, I’m going to go out for a while and look around the village and the hillside. The gendarmes don’t know this place like I do. I may notice something they missed, or get someone to open up to me.”

  Maurelle bit her lip and nodded.

  “Is something wrong?” Dave asked.

  “No, I—I just didn’t want you to get sucked into my problems again. It’s bad enough you had to get me out of trouble once.”

  He raised an eyebrow and said, “Yeah, well, I think I’m as much a suspect as you are in this one.”

  Surprised and confused at this sudden revelation, she asked “Why, why you?”

  “It seems Felicia Beaumont was murdered with my baseball bat, the same way the first victim was murdered with your flashlight.”

  “But you weren’t even here.”

  “Not at the time of the first murder. But the second murder . . .” he said. “I might have been here then. We don’t know yet if it occurred last night or this morning.”

  “Oh, Dave, no!” Maurelle clapped her hand to her mouth, color draining from her face.

  “Don’t worry, it’ll be okay, honey. I’m going to do whatever I can to clear us both. Then maybe Captain Goddard will let me become involved in the investigation so we can find out who the real killer is.”

  He knew he should really tell her now how much trouble they were in, but he couldn’t do it yet. Tonight he would talk to Maurelle about what he’d found out. It was something he dreaded more than anything. How could he talk to her about the evidence he’d discovered, without putting her in a panic? Would she run again?

  AFTER DAVE LEFT Maurelle couldn’t bear staying inside the troglo alone. She pulled on her jacket and walked to her cave, only to find it was blocked off with tape, and several uniformed officers were standing nearby, talking. She turned and walked away along a semi-trail leading further from the village. She stopped and looked back through an open space between tree branches, remembering her time in her makeshift home as if it were yesterday. Sighing, she sat down on a fallen tree trunk and relived her last full day in the cave.

  The sunlight had awakened her. She’d sat up, tossing aside the cover of her sleeping bag. Then she’d pulled her duffel bag closer and rummaged through it for something clean to wear, eventually settling on jeans and a green shirt. After dressing, she’d combed her hair and rolled up her sleeping bag, then hid everything in the dark corner behind a partially broken stalagmite.

  With that done, she’d decided to go back into town for breakfast and for another attempt to find her lost pendant while she still had the chance. At the bakery, she bumped into Dave again—the second time in two days. They sat at an outdoor table in front of the bakery and he returned her necklace that he had recovered. But instead of showing him gratitude, she had rudely disappeared when he wasn’t looking because she’d spotted two gendarmes getting out of their car up the road. She felt bad about running away, but she had been terrified that the gendarmes were there to catch her. Seeing no choice, she ran for cover, crossing the bridge near the edge of town and hiding in an abandoned and rusted out old car she’d seen in a field near town. Several times, she tried to leave but each time retreated back inside when she heard people talking nearby. Around dinnertime, she finally walked back across the bridge. The gendarmes’ car was gone, but she knew she couldn’t stay. She decided she would leave Reynier in the morning. Her stomach growled as she walked. She stopped in at the general store and bought lunchmeat, cheese, a roll, and a bottle of tea, and took it back to her cave. Sitting cross-legged on the floor, she ate her dinner and tossed cheese nibbles and bread crumbs on the cave floor for the little mouse that she had seen earlier in the day. “Where are you, little mouse?”

  She smiled when the tiny rodent finally peeked out from behind a rock. It dashed forward, grabbed a morsel, and scrambled back to its hiding place. “Hungry little creature you are,” she whispered.

  A sound of birds brought her out of her reverie. Seeing that she remained undiscovered, Maurelle turned her back to the cave and the gendarmes and headed toward the pond, another place that held powerful memories—the place where she’d met Dave for the third time and where everything had changed for her. As she climbed down to the outcropping, she spotted Dave walking down below, near the river, a lonely figure, making her worry for the first time sinc
e they’d married that she was ruining his life. She sat down in the grass and closed her eyes as ducks splashed in the pond, obviously enjoying the higher water level created by the storm. The splashing, along with the trill of birdsong all around, brought back more memories.

  On her very last morning living as a troglodyte in a cave—the day that was supposed to be her last day in Reynier—she awakened feeling dirty and wishing for a bath, but she knew that the longer she lingered in the area, the more danger she faced. Not willing to risk it, she dressed and brushed her hair, then reached into her bag and pulled out her mirror. When she saw her face and hair, she scowled. She looked even worse than she imagined.

  Sighing heavily, she put away her mirror and searched through her duffel bag once more, pulling out her toiletries while simultaneously waffling about a bath. It was awfully difficult to find a suitable place for bathing when you lived the way she did, but here she’d already found such a place. She had found several ponds nestled in this hillside while out hunting for berries.

  Most of the ponds were too open, too visible—except for one. After watching the pond for several days, she had found that it was rarely, if ever, visited. That had given her enough comfort and courage to manage a hasty bath. The second time she bathed there, she had lingered a while longer.

  With her map and a small bottle of shampoo in hand, she headed down the hill eastward, toward the berry bushes that grew wild. After eating a good handful of blackberries, she climbed down a twisting, winding dirt trail to where her pond was situated, about halfway down the hill. She undressed, laid her clothes and map on the grassy patch nearby, then stepped into the pond and washed quickly, peering around suspiciously all the while. Stepping back out onto the grassy bank, dripping wet and cold. She grabbed her things and moved a few steps from the shade to the warmer sunlit grass to dry off. She opened her map, spreading it over the willowy grass next to the guide book, the one she’d bought the day before in Belvidere, to study it while the sun’s warmth washed over naked body and dried the remaining droplets of water on her soft skin and wet hair.

  She liked this part of France, but it didn’t matter. She had to move on. She wanted to travel to southern France, perhaps Montpellier or Marseille but she was beginning to think her safest option might be to head into Italy. She could speak some Italian, though not as well as French. However, she could continue posing a French tourist and that shouldn’t raise suspicion.

  As she traced a possible route on the map, she considered transportation. After her early days in France, she’d been avoiding public transportation for fear someone might recognize her from the news. That left her with walking and hitchhiking. The two times she’d hitchhiked, she’d still worried about someone recognizing her but also worried about her physical safety. Now she thought of a new possibility. Couldn’t she buy a bicycle or motorbike? Plenty of people traveled that way in France.

  Suddenly, a loud rustling sound in the trees nearby startled her, making her jump. Instinctively, she grabbed her clothing and dressed with lightning speed before snatching up her map, book, and gym shoes. She stood up then, intent on running, but it was too late.

  A soft gasp escaped her, and she froze, recognizing the man from yesterday. She immediately wondered if he had seen her naked, making her cheeks burn. Though she knew the French thought nothing of nude sunbathing, her own staunch British upbringing wouldn’t have allowed her to do it if she’d thought someone might see.

  She tried to push that thought away, only to find other equally disturbing questions. How had he found her? More importantly, what did he want? Was he stalking her?

  She stood on the grassy bank, shaking.

  His tall figure crept towards her, the way a hunter might move in on his prey. She frantically backed up, but he continued towards her. She spun on her heel and darted, but before she knew what was happening, his hand clasped onto her arm and she couldn’t move.

  “I won’t hurt you. Don’t run, please.”

  “I—I have to go,” she stammered, squirming and trying to pull free.

  “Please don’t be afraid. Remember me? We met before.”

  She looked up at his face and nodded. Of course she remembered him. How could she not, with his ruggedly handsome face and kind smile, his strikingly white teeth, his firm and sensual lips. Suddenly, she looked away, disquieted by her own attraction to him.

  “If you’re in some kind of trouble, I can help.”

  She looked into his eyes and wished she hadn’t. He was studying her with a curious intensity that was both alarming and arousing. Her first instinct was to run, but trying to run would be futile. Her heart raced as she tried to think clearly.

  She cleared her throat and said shakily, “I’m fine, really. You just startled me.” Trying to appear as though she had relaxed, she forced herself to smile. He in turn released his grip. Now was her chance to run. But as she looked around, she realized that he had more or less blocked her in without her noticing.

  “I looked for you here in Reynier, but I couldn’t find anyone who knew where you were staying. But then I thought to look in the caves. You know, when I was a kid, I was fascinated with the caves. I spent hours exploring, sometimes finding artifacts or animal bones. One day, inside one of the caves I found some fossils—carbonized leaves and small animal foot prints. Cool fossils. At least I thought so. I gathered them up and rushed outside, excited about my treasure.” He paused. “I had barely come out of the cave when I came face to face with a wild boar. It was glaring at me, daring me to make a move. And I’ve got to tell you, that animal was the biggest damn pig I’ve ever seen. Had hairy black legs, grotesque haunches, and woolly grayish-black hair. Reminded me of bristles on a shoe-shine brush . . . but I think it was its huge tusks that terrified me most.”

  “What did you do?”

  “I did what any kid would have done. I backed up, right into the cave, hoping and praying that creature wouldn’t follow. Unfortunately, in my frantic state, and walking backwards, I didn’t see the large rock in the middle of the floor. My heel clunked into the rock and I lost my balance, landing on my ass in the tufa.”

  Maurelle smiled and relaxed. “What’s ‘tufa’?”

  “Just a word for this kind of rock.”

  She reached down and picked up her shoes and then moved toward a large, flat-topped rock. She sat on the rock and put on her shoes. While she tied the second shoe, she said, “You made that up.”

  “Nope,” he said. “I broke one the fossils when I fell. Not only that, I sat in that damned cave all afternoon and well into the night before I had the nerve to come back outside.” He laughed.

  She bit her lip, pondering his words. Though he sounded sincere, she concluded that he was only trying to calm her down.

  He laughed. “I always wondered whether that old boar was too fat and full to go in after me, or if he thought I wasn’t worth the effort.”

  She laughed, really laughed, for the first time in months, forgetting everything else in that moment. His story suddenly brought back a sweet memory of a story her mother had told her when she was a little girl. Absentmindedly, she began running her fingers comb-like through her damp hair. She looked up and saw him watching her with a keenly observant eye, making her blush again. Without a word, he pulled a comb out of his pant pocket and handed it to her.

  Two ducks splashed loudly as they landed in the water, bringing Maurelle out of the past. She smiled at the ducks frolicking in the pond and tried to persuade herself that she and Dave would one day be carefree again. Water droplets fell on her head and her shoulders. She looked upward. The sky was darkening and it was beginning to sprinkle again.

  DAVE WALKED DOWN to the river’s edge and followed it back towards Reynier, looking for any clues along the way. As he neared the village, tall willows and poplars lining the river swayed in the wind. Then he spotted a lone skirted figure among the willows, head covered in a scarf. He frowned. He couldn’t be certain, but it looked like she’d just
thrown something into the river. He approached slowly, without a sound. When he was close enough, he recognized the shopping bag next to her—it was Lillian Lefèvre’s. She carried that ugly thing all over town. What the hell was she doing?

  She took something out of her bag and threw whatever it was into the river, rubbed her hands together, and picked up the bag. After a quick glance around, almost as if she were trying to make sure no one was watching, she rushed away, back toward the main part of the village.

  Dave moved toward the spot where she’d stood and looked into the river. Whatever it was, it had sunk down under the gray water. The river, usually placid, was becoming choppy as the wind gained momentum and it began to rain. It never ceased to amaze him how quickly the weather changed around here. He glanced toward the bridge. You could usually find two or three men fishing at this time of the afternoon but not today. They must have anticipated the storm. He turned around and stared up at the creamy-gold bluff with its multi-layers of buildings and greenery, then looked back toward the village. Lillian was no longer in sight. The wind picked up, whipping the rain in his face. Time for him to take cover, too.

  He dashed to the main street, rounded the curve up to rue Corneille, and pulled open the door of the butcher shop.

  The butcher, seeing his dripping customer, said, “May I help you, Dave? How about a towel? You look like you’ve been swimming in the river.”

  “Good afternoon, Gilbert. Won’t do any good. I have to go back out in it anyway. I was looking for Lillian. Is she working?”

  “No. She only works half day on Thursdays.”

  Dave thanked him and left, hoping to spot Lillian on the way, leaving Gilbert wiping up the wet floor behind him.

  SIMONE SAT DOWN at Paul’s table. It was her first chance to take a break this afternoon and she needed someone to talk to.

  “You looked exhausted,” Paul said.