The Witch Who Mysteries Box Set 2

by Katie Penryn

  I waited until Felix had shut the door before walking round to Désirée and putting my arm across her shoulders in comfort.

  “Come,” I said. “I’ll help you finish scrubbing that graffiti off the wall. Then I’ll fix you something to eat.”

  “You are kind. Here you are an Englishwoman helping me when my own people have turned their backs on me.”

  “It doesn’t mean anything,” I told her. “Not in the long run. It’s the uncertainty. People can’t stand it. They’d rather believe the worst of Ben than think some mad man is going around slitting throats.”

  “Oh, don’t,” she said shrinking away from me. “I didn’t like Joseph much, but he didn’t deserve to die like that, and I feel so sorry for Oscar and Paul. And the business will be so much more complicated now because they will inherit their father’s share and neither of them is interested in oyster farming.”

  “You’re worrying too far ahead. Ben is still missing. Let’s cope with things on a day-to-day basis.”

  She pushed back her chair and went to fetch her bucket saying the water would be cold and needed changing. I followed her out onto the verandah and while she performed her water carrying duty, I watched the boys and the dogs playing in the garden. Jimbo’s therapy idea was working. Marcel had a smile on his face. He and Jimbo were playing piggy-in-the-middle, Zig and Zag being the piggies. No matter how high the dogs jumped they were unable to reach the ball until Marcel dropped a catch. A dog and boy scrum followed with much giggling and tail wagging.

  “Penzi, I’m ready,” Désirée said from behind me.

  I picked up a brush and began scrubbing away at the bottom half of the letters on the left while Désirée tackled the top half from the right. When we met in the middle, we crossed over. As I was the one on the bottom I didn’t get off scot-free. Désirée dripped soapy water on my hair and down my neck, but the sight of Désirée’s face growing less somber as a result of our comradeship made up for my wetting.

  With the wall clean and boys and dogs worn out, I rustled up a macaroni cheese for Désirée and Marcel, while Felix swept the verandah and put the step ladder away in the garage.

  I promised to call in the next evening to check all was well, and I told Désirée I’d have a word with Dubois about the graffiti. Maybe he’d send a patrol car past once in a while during the night.

  When Felix and I arrived home with a tired boy and two exhausted dogs, Gwinny met us with the news that the mayor had phoned and wanted me to visit him in his office the next afternoon, Wednesday, at 2 p.m.

  “Did he say what for?” I asked her.

  Gwinny shook her head. “No, and he was a bit frosty.”

  “Oh no, now what?” asked Felix, but I didn’t know.

  Felix wanted to discuss what we’d discovered so far, but I said we’d all had enough for one day. Whatever had happened would keep until the morrow.

  I phoned Dubois to tell him about the harassment of Désirée Marin and took the opportunity of asking him for the latest on the case and on his search for Ben. He had no news to give me.

  Before he rang off, he said, “I’m ashamed of my fellow citizens sometimes. Of course, I’ll organize drive-pasts during the night.”

  Chapter 16

  Martine arrived early next morning with the post and, as usual, took her place at our kitchen table for a coffee. I was beginning to wonder if she ever had breakfast at home before she left on her round. I picked up the bundle of mail she’d tossed in her cavalier fashion on the table: circulars, bills and a quote from Desjardins, the landscape gardener.

  I gasped at the price he’d quoted.

  “Hey, let me,” said Felix snatching it away from me to read it. “That’s a bit steep for digging about a bit and sowing some grass seed.”

  He handed it on to Gwinny. She took her time reading it before commenting.

  “Penzi, it is indeed a lot of money, but the garden has to be sorted. You and Felix haven’t got the time with one investigation after another.”

  “This is the last one, Gwinny,” Felix said and winked at me.

  “I don’t believe that for a minute,” she said. “And the work’s too much for me. Anyhow, if you have any spare time, you should continue with your work on the brocante. Your father wanted you to earn a living from it. You three children can’t keep living off your trust fund for ever.”

  “I contribute for my board and lodging,” said Felix.

  Gwinny nodded. “So do I, but that still leaves Penzi, Sam and Jimbo spending more than is coming in. And next year Sam will want to be off doing his thing. He’ll need financial support.”

  Martine coughed. “If I may,” she said, “I’ve seen some of the gardens Desjardins has developed. He has talent. His gardens are beautiful without being too fantastique.”

  “Speak of the devil,” I said catching sight of Desjardins’ van pulling up outside. “What am I to do? Shall I accept the quote?”

  Before anyone could answer Jimbo ran into the kitchen still half dressed.

  “Cool. The garden man’s here,” he said excitedly running to the window.

  “Guess that’s a yes then,” I said hurrying off to open the front door escorted by Zig and Zag.

  Desjardins had a copy of the quote in his hand. In case I hadn’t received it yet, he said.

  I invited him into the kitchen where he and Martine exchanged bises, the kisses the French exchange every time they meet a friend. One on each cheek, I noticed, so they were acquaintances not close friends or blood relations. I was finding the etiquette surrounding bises confusing. Sometimes one each side, sometimes two, it all depended on the degree of relationship. As ours was a business relationship we had shaken hands at the door. No bises until he became a ‘friend’.

  Gwinny poured him a coffee which he drank quickly without sitting down at the table.

  “Et alors, madame?” he asked as he put his cup down. “Is my quote good? Do you want me to do the work?”

  “How soon can you start?” I asked.

  “This minute. You could come into the garden with me and tell me exactly what you want and I’ll measure up and draw a detailed plan. I can get my team in tomorrow.”

  Felix and Gwinny nodded at me and Jimbo said, “Please, Penzi.”

  “Very well, monsieur. We have a deal.”

  And we shook hands on it.

  I asked Gwinny if she’d mind taking Jimbo down to the school bus stop. Jimbo begged to stay and help design the garden. He sulked while he ate his breakfast when I said no.

  Gwinny popped upstairs to ask Sam if he wanted to be involved but apart from the fact that he was still in bed, he said he and Emmanuelle had so few days left together that he’d trust us to get the garden right without him.

  It took over two hours for Gwinny, Felix and I to explain what we hoped for and for Desjardins to take all the measurements he needed. No sooner had he drunk his coffee after we finished than Izzy and Garth arrived. It was going to be one of those mornings.

  Desjardins left as Izzy and Garth entered. Another round of coffee and Gwinny’s delicious cookies. Izzy said she’d come to ask about Joseph Marin’s murder and whether there was any news about Ben. Felix and I caught her up to date on what we’d learned so far.

  “What a horrible time for Désirée Marin,” she said. “Spiteful graffiti when her husband is missing. But, I have a second reason for coming round this morning. I wanted to dissuade you from intervening in the case this time. Garth says it could be dangerous.”

  Felix said, “Save your breath. She won’t listen.”

  Izzy carried on as if Felix had said nothing. “I want to turn your attention back to the brocante. From what you’ve said your investigations so far haven’t borne any fruit, so why don’t you take a few days off until the police find Ben.”

  “Good idea,” said Felix, but then he would. “Apart from the safety angle, Gwinny was only reminding us at breakfast that the brocante should be bringing in an income by now and all we’ve d
one is clear out the storeroom next door.”

  And use up a few diamonds to summon the High Council of the Guild of White Witches.

  Izzy went on, “Garth and I are here to help today and we can spare a few hours tomorrow as well. We’ve talked it over and we suggest that we begin sorting the items and stacking them in the empty storeroom. I’ve a contact in Paris who is a specialist in art and objets d’art. I’ve spoken to him and he’s excited to come and appraise the stock.”

  Gwinny laid her hand on my arm. “That’s an excellent idea. You could do that today and tomorrow.”

  Felix nodded in agreement. “We want to interview Bella Marin but it would be insensitive to do that before Joseph’s funeral which must be held by Monday at the latest?”

  “Oh?” Izzy asked.

  I told her that Monsieur Bonhomie had informed us before funerals must be held within seven days in France unless the police order otherwise. I continued, “I’d like to work on the brocante. In fact, I’ll move it up from a pleasure activity to a necessary work activity in my mind. So far, I’ve considered the brocante like an Aladdin’s cave to be explored as a treat.”

  “There you go then,” said Izzy. “With the four of us we should be able to accomplish a lot today.”

  “Just one problem,” I said. “Felix and I have to visit the mayor at 2 p.m.”

  Gwinny suggested Sam should pull his weight. She would make sure he and Emmanuelle reported for duty with Izzy and Garth when we left for the mairie.

  We spent a happy morning shifting paintings from the dirty brocante proper to the cleaned out storeroom at the side. Sometimes it took all four of us to move the heavier frames of plaster or carved wood decorated with gold leaf. A thick film of dust lay on the artwork itself obscuring much of the subject matter, but the age and possible value shone through. Lacking in expertise, we stacked the paintings according to size.

  At one point Felix picked up a duster and said, “Let’s rub some of the dust off and see what lies beneath.”

  I’ve never seen anyone move as fast as Izzy did. She flew across the room and grabbed hold of Felix’s hand.

  “Never. Don’t touch a thing. Some of these older paintings are oil. You’ll damage them irreparably. If they’re valuable, they’ll need to be cleaned by specialists, probably people who work for the big art galleries.”

  Felix laughed. “And if they’re a load of old rubbish?”

  “It won’t hurt to wait until my friend has had a look at them,” Izzy replied.

  “Some of them could be valuable,” I said. “Many of the frames are gilded. People wouldn’t waste gold leaf on paintings of little value.”

  “Patience, patience,” was Izzy’s reply.

  After three hours of hard work, our clothes were as dusty as the paintings and our throats parched. Gwinny arrived to summon us to lunch to find us sitting on the dusty floor telling tall stories about the millions we had stacked against the walls.

  Sam and Emmanuelle joined us for lunch having responded to Gwinny’s order for them to help out that afternoon. When Felix and I left at ten to two Emmanuelle was pulling a reluctant Sam along the pavement to the carriageway opening of the brocante.

  *

  Monsieur Bonhomie, the mayor of the town of Beaucoup-sur-Mer and the surrounding commune, merely nodded at us as his secretary showed us into his office. Felix glanced at me and raised his eyebrows as if to say, What now?

  I angled my arm down behind my back out of sight and patted my hand up and down to warn Felix to keep a low profile until we found out what was wrong because something was. Monsieur Bonhomie had extended a warm and kind French welcome to my English family since our unexpected arrival a few weeks before. That wasn’t all. A few days before, he’d been bursting with gratitude when Felix and Sam saved his daughter, Emmanuelle, from a melodramatic fate worse than death at the hands of a handsome blues singer from Louisiana. So what had changed?

  Monsieur Bonhomie pointed at the chairs in front of his desk, an uncouth gesture for a Frenchman to make. I ignored the rudeness and sat down. Felix followed my lead. We waited silently while the mayor gazed with exaggerated interest at the cornice that ran around the ceiling. Felix risked another glance at me and I gave him back a warning shake of my head. Bonhomie harrumphed and dropped his eyes to his desk. He made much of opening and shutting the drawers, shuffling the contents about in exaggerated busyness. When he had exhausted that ploy, he rustled through the pages of his desk diary and made several jottings. Only then did he look up at me, but he couldn’t keep his eyes on my face. He shifted to Felix’s, but couldn’t hold that look either.

  It had gone on long enough, and so I coughed.

  At last he addressed me.

  “Madame Munro, you have put me in a difficult position. I owe you a debt of gratitude for what you did for my daughter, but….” He dried up.

  “I’ve done something to offend you, Monsieur le Maire?” I asked him in a voice deep with deference.

  We all liked the mayor. He could be pompous at times, but he’d been good company at the parties we’d held, and he was Emmanuelle’s father. Added to that, it was important to my family that the mayor be on our side, especially with the upcoming ramifications of the Brexit vote in the United Kingdom. Once implemented, we would be aliens and no longer fellow citizens of the European Union. Our right to stay in our new home with all the friends we’d made since our arrival, and Jimbo’s chance to continue at his new school, would depend upon the French authorities looking favorably upon our future applications for residence permits.

  Monsieur Bonhomie sighed and fiddled with a pencil.

  I coughed gently again.

  He straightened his spine and took on an official voice.

  “It has come to my attention that you’ve been going around the town asking questions and demanding answers saying that you have my blessing.”

  For a moment I was speechless. I swallowed hard and thought about our actions over the past few days. Felix and I had stumbled on Joseph Marin’s dead body early on the Sunday morning. And then? What the mayor said was true. I had implied to the various people we’d interviewed or talked to about the case that Monsieur Bonhomie was aware of what we were doing and had sanctioned our investigation. So I was at fault… but only by omission.

  I didn’t have to fake the look of apology on my face. It was genuine. I had never intended to take the mayor’s good name for granted. We’d slipped into it when I plunged into the search for Joseph’s killer. On all our other cases the mayor had been part of the investigation, had even asked me to intervene. I’d allowed my enthusiasm for the case to usurp the mayor’s authority. No wonder he was put out. Perhaps enthusiasm was too mild a characterization. Bigheadedness was more appropriate. I’d been so keen to find the murderer and, hopefully, exonerate Ben Marin that I’d charged in all guns blazing without checking the etiquette of war.

  I leapt to my feet, hand on heart, and said quickly, “Je m’excuse, Monsieur le Maire. I apologize from the bottom of my heart. I meant no disrespect. My colleague Felix and I allowed ourselves to be carried away with the thrill of the hunt for the person or persons who dared to strike down a friend of ours.”

  “Sit down, please, Madame Munro. You are young and headstrong. I realize that, but there are niceties to be observed. You can’t go around telling people you are working for me when I haven’t even discussed the matter with you.”

  “Monsieur, we are so worried about Ben Marin. He’s disappeared and some of the townspeople are harassing his wife. The boys in his son’s class are bullying his son, Marcel. Public opinion has come to the conclusion that Ben murdered Joseph and has run away.”

  Monsieur Bonhomie nodded as I spoke.

  “I, too, heard these rumors. But you don’t agree, Penzi?”

  Oh good, I was back to being Penzi.

  “No, monsieur. I like Ben Marin.”

  “Perhaps you should tell me about the case while we drink a cup of English tea. Yes?�
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  Monsieur Bonhomie levered his wide hips out of his admiral’s chair and stepped to his office door and called out his order to his secretary. He moved lightly on his feet for a man of his imposing bulk.

  “Forgive me for rebuking you, Penzi,” he said when he drew level with my chair. He halted, pivoted on his tiny feet and made for me. He clutched hold of me and gave me the bise one on each cheek.

  “We’re agreed. No more using my name without checking with me first, c’est compris? You understand?”

  “Absolument,” I said, and Felix echoed my promise.

  The mayor continued on to his desk where he sat down again with a big pluff from the seat cushion. He leaned on his steepled fingers on his desk.

  “Now, you must tell me all. I don’t like not knowing what’s going on in my little town. That Dubois has told me nothing. I only found out about the murder from the television. I shall have a word with him.”

  For the next hour we told the mayor the gist of our findings so far and drank a pot of excellent English tea.

  When the pot was drained he suddenly said, “What are you doing here if you have a murder to solve?”

  As we were taking our leave, he took hold of Felix’s arm. “You keep our Penzi safe. Our town needs her intuition and insights.”

  *

  As I parked in front of Izzy’s and Garth’s cars outside Les Dragons, Jimbo’s school bus appeared in the rearview mirror. It halted outside The Union Jack. I switched off the engine, got out of the car and waved to Felix to stay.

  “I’ll only be a minute and you can see the bus stop from here.”

  “Not on your life,” he said unbending his six foot plus frame as he stepped onto the pavement. “You’re not going alone.”

  We reached the bus as Jimbo came down the steps laughing with a group of friends. That was a good sign. Perhaps everything had gone well at school, but as we walked along the street towards our house, he told us that Désirée Marin hadn’t been in school that day.