by Katie Penryn
With Hélène laid to rest in the family vault at last, everyone lined up to shake Jean-Claude’s hand or give him a hug of reassurance. Felix and I hung back and were among the last. Jean-Claude invited us to come back to the château for the wake saying he’d like to talk to me. As I was getting back into the car, Felix pulled me aside and said he thought we should skip the wake and drive straight home.
“You’ll find it too distressing,” he said to me.
“I know. But it’s one of those things we have to do. Jean-Claude wants to talk to me. You heard him. And I would like the chance to talk to him.”
“What do you mean talk?”
“I have some questions I want to ask him.”
“Oh no, boss. You’re not going to start sleuthing again?”
“I was thinking it over while the priest droned on and I fought to stay awake in the stuffy church. No one has the right to cause the death of another, and certainly not in the way that Hélène was killed. Her children will have to grow up without their mother, and I know what that’s like. And theirs won’t be turning up again in seven years like Gwinny did. Hélène is gone forever. I have to find out who’s responsible and make sure they pay for their carelessness or their murderous intentions, whichever it is. Don’t you want to know what happened?”
“Of course, I do, but it’s my first duty to keep you safe. How can I do that if you insist on interfering in police business involving the worst of criminals?” Felix argued as we turned out of the cemetery onto the main road out towards the château.
*
Mourners, well-wishers and hangers-on already thronged the reception room by the time we entered and the de Portemorency cognac was flowing. As we made our way deeper into the room, snippets of conversation reached me. Indignation at the apparent negligence that had led to the accident featured high on the list of conversation topics. Parents were worried a similar fate might befall their children when they were out having adventures. One man said he’d heard from a friend in the gendarmerie that the traps belonged to the de Portemorency château itself. I made a note to ask Jean-Claude about that. Others questioned whether Jean-Claude would be able to continue with the business as he had no head for figures, and Hélène had been the guiding hand on the commercial side.
As we passed the head of the de Gonzelles faction, a colleague nudged him with a wink and whispered, “Seize your chance, eh, de Gonzelles?”
De Gonzelles answered, “Every cloud has a silver lining, but show a little respect. This is a funeral after all, and Hélène was a beautiful woman, a great loss to our community.”
Out of the corner of my eye I noticed his friend wink at de Gonzelles’s hypocrisy.
We found a space at the far end of the room against the French windows which stood open in the afternoon sun. A waiter passed by with a tray of cognac and we helped ourselves to a glass each of the water of life. How ironic to be drinking the water of life at a funeral.
Twice Felix asked me if I wanted to leave. I have to admit the crush was fatiguing even with the fresh air blowing across my face from the open doors. However, Jean-Claude had said he needed to speak to me and if I could give him even a few moments of my attention in his state of grief, I wanted to do so. Eventually, the crowd thinned either because they’d run out of gossip or because the trays of cognac had ceased to circulate. By that time, my unintentional eavesdropping had convinced me that many of the attendees were merely paying lip service, in more ways than one, as they tipped the glasses up and savored the Gold Medal liquor so appreciatively.
I glanced across at Jean-Claude who was busy with farewells. Life was all change for him now. He must be overwhelmed with his grief and his knowledge that his wife’s business acumen was now a thing of the past; he’d have to cope with the financial side of things on his own, or try to find a qualified assistant.
At last the mourners and well-wishers had all departed. Jean-Claude caught up with us. He invited us through to the library, the room where we’d come upon him lying prostrate on the floor after his accident. I noticed in passing the blood-stained Oriental rug had been replaced with another, the original no doubt being off at the cleaners.
What did he want to talk to me about?
Chapter 13
Jean-Claude indicated the solid mahogany table standing in front of the floor to ceiling fireplace. As Felix and I pulled out chairs and sat down, he asked if we’d like anything to drink. I suggested tea would be good after the crush and the emotion of the church service and the wake. Jean-Claude put through a call to the kitchen and walked over to the window where he paced up and down waiting for the tea to arrive. Felix and I kept silent, acknowledging his need to collect his thoughts.
There was a knock at the door and Madame Brune came in. Felix relieved her of the tray and placed it on the table. She asked Jean-Claude if she could do anything else.
“Wait until the last of our visitors has gone and all the cars have left, then please let the children out. They can play in the garden for a while. They need some liberty after being cooped up in the church and during the wake.”
She nodded and withdrew, leaving us to hear what was so important that Jean-Claude couldn’t leave what he wanted to speak to me about until another day. First, he indicated the tray of tea things. “Would you, Penzi, please?” he asked me.
“Of course,” I said and busied myself pouring out tea and offering round milk and sugar, lemon for Jean-Claude, while he settled himself in a chair opposite Felix and me.
“Well,” he said at last having sipped his tea in silence. “I guess you’re wondering why I asked you to stay behind.”
I nodded, not wanting to pre-empt anything he had to say.
He replaced his teacup on its saucer, glancing up as he did so.
“As you know, Monsieur Bonhomie, the mayor of your town is an old family friend. He has spoken highly of you both. First having suggested you’d be the right people to write about my business for the Chamber of Commerce project… and now, in view of what has been going on here: my accident and, more importantly, what happened to my beloved Hélène—”
“Now, just a minute,” Felix began, uncrossing his legs and leaning forward.
I put out a hand to stop him, saying, “Let Jean-Claude speak, Felix.”
Felix held his tongue but maintained his posture of challenge.
“Monsieur Bonhomie warned me you’d be reluctant to have Penzi involved in this matter,” Jean-Claude said looking across at Felix, “but I have to put it to you both.”
“Put what?” I asked anticipating his answer in the pit of my stomach. I wasn’t sure whether I wanted my guess to be correct or not. I was curious, yes, and thought I should help, but squaring up to evil was frightening and dangerous.
Jean-Claude was speaking. “I’d like you both to look into Hélène’s death for me. Monsieur Bonhomie says he has every confidence in Inspector Dubois, but that you have always added invaluable insights to his investigations. I have checked with our mayor and he is agreeable for me to put this proposition to you. He has already spoken to Dubois who has said that as long as you do not get in the way, as he put it, he would welcome a parallel investigation by you.”
I didn’t need Felix’s permission to undertake the case, but it would be difficult for me to proceed without his support so I asked him what he thought: should we or shouldn’t we? By this time I’d grown intrigued by the case and my interest was being fueled by my duty as a white witch to help quash evil whenever called upon to do so.
Felix gave a great sigh and sat back in his chair recrossing his legs in a gesture of resignation. “I know better than to try to stop Penzi when she decides her skill is needed in the ongoing battle against the evil-doers of this world. But… if I feel she is at any time putting herself in danger from whoever is concerned, I will do all in my power to get her to drop out of the case.” He gave a rueful laugh. “Not that it’s ever worked before.”
“Thank you,” said Jean-Claude s
tanding up and leaning across the table to shake our hands. “You will be well recompensed, I assure you.” He sat back down again, saying, “Now, where do you want to start? What can I tell you?”
“Let’s start with the gossip I overheard at the wake,” I said. “It’s reported that the wolf trap that injured your dog Juno and the man trap that led to Hélène’s death belong to you.”
“I was going to mention that. Although Inspector Dubois is treating me with courtesy, it’s quite clear from the questions he’s been asking me that I’m top of his list of suspects.”
“That’s classic detection tactics,” I said. “The partner is always the first suspect, especially when the victim is a woman.”
Jean-Claude continued, “The fact that the traps came from the château is highly suspicious, according to Dubois. And, you may not know this, the police found two more wolf traps when they searched the area, both from here.”
Felix shuddered. No doubt thanking providence we hadn’t stepped in one when we scouted the area. “How do they know that?” he asked.
Jean-Claude looked down at his feet for a moment wondering how to give us the bad news. When he raised his head again, he said, “My family crest is stamped on the bottom of the plates. Couldn’t be clearer than that.”
“What ideas does Dubois have about the traps being in such good condition?” I asked.
“He says it’s possible I rubbed the rust off them, greased them and lubricated the spring mechanisms with WD40.”
Felix burst in. “Anyone could have done that.”
“No Felix,” I warned. “Only someone who knew where they were kept and had access to them.”
A sigh escaped Jean-Claude. “You see how hopeless it is. I knew there were some ancient old traps down in the tunnels under the château. It’s true other people would know that, too. We take tourists around the cellars and tunnels when we do guided tours of the château on open days.”
“Anyone else?”
“Most of my colleagues from rival houses have been down there at some time. I can’t think offhand of anyone who hasn’t.”
Felix got up and paced to the window and back. “Knowing they were there and having the access and opportunity to steal them and carry them out unnoticed is something else again.”
“See,” said Jean-Claude. “How could anyone except me do that? I lock the cellars and therefore, access to the tunnels at night, and I’m the only one with a key.”
I waited for him to sit down again before posing the million-dollar question. “What motive does Dubois ascribe to you?”
“Oh, the usual one. A husband wanting to get rid of his wife.”
“How does he explain the randomness of your apparent plot to kill Hélène?” I asked.
“He says I must have known her favorite rides—”
“Well, you did,” said Felix. “But you can’t have known she’d get off her horse and stumble into a man trap.”
Jean-Claude put his head in his hands and let out a sob. I jumped to my feet and ran around to give him a hug. He gave himself a shake and sat up.
“Sorry about that. I am not going to break down again. It’s just that I can’t see how anyone else could have arranged Hélène’s accident either. It’s all such a puzzle.”
“Leave that for the moment. Does Dubois have any grounds for thinking things haven’t been going well between you and Hélène?” I asked remembering Madame Brune’s allusion to loud arguments and tension in the house.
“If he’s asked around the staff. Life’s been difficult over the past couple of months. And we’ve bickered a lot, quarreled even. The staff are bound to have heard us when we’ve raised our voices in the heat of the moment. But it was only because we had problems, not because there was any fundamental break in our relationship. I loved Hélène deeply and she loved me.”
Felix and I exchanged glances. How many times had we heard that?
“What were the problems?” I asked.
“Oh, this and that, primarily money. Isn’t that always the case?”
“And life insurance?” asked Felix.
Jean-Claude reeled back in his chair and ran his hands through his hair. “Oh no, you can’t think that.”
“Dubois is bound to consider it,” I said. “Was her life insured?”
“Of course.” A sudden thought struck him. “Oh dear, she was insured as a key member of the business as well. That hadn’t occurred to me until now.”
Felix kicked me and I had to agree. We weren’t going to get anything more useful out of Jean-Claude.
I pushed back my chair and indicated to Felix we should leave the subject. “Jean-Claude, that’s enough for now. How about you show us the cellars and the tunnels so we can get an idea of what was involved in spiriting the traps away?”
“Sure,” he said. “If you’d follow me.”
As we passed the windows on the way to the door, he looked out into the garden where the children were playing with the two dogs.
“My poor kids,” he said.
I’d have to see if I could have word with the dogs, Juno and Jupiter, on the sly. Their input could be important.
Chapter 14
We followed Jean-Claude through the marble-floored hallway and into the nether regions of the château where the floor changed to more commonplace stone slabs. The kitchen itself boasted every modern appliance a talented chef could wish for. Once through the heavy oak door at the end, located to the side of the ancient chimney breast which still held the old spits from long ago, we entered a vestibule which obviously served as a mudroom as it had an external door. We plunged through several centuries of history as we descended the steep spiral staircase that led down from the far end.
The foot opened out into a large ante-room currently being used to store preserves and kitchen paraphernalia for occasional use. The only door was at the far end. Jean-Claude took out an old key wrought with an ancient design of his family crest. With this he unlocked the old lock which turned smoothly and was obviously well-oiled. We found ourselves in a long tunnel, the ceiling and walls forming one continuous archway of tailored limestone. I took a second to marvel at the precision of the stonemasons of long ago.
Jean-Claude pointed to a series of short side tunnels. These were filled with old garden equipment and machinery. We passed through another door, entering the château’s wine cellars. Here the side tunnels were stocked with wine bottles, some new and some so old their labels were illegible through the veils of cobwebs.
“Do you store any of your cognac here?” I asked him as there were no barrels on view and none of the château’s custom-shaped bottles.
He shook his head. “No, that’s all at the distillery. What I showed you the other day. I bring home a crate or two when we need it, but that’s all. We don’t want to move it around more than we have to, and while it’s at our business premises, it’s covered by our commercial insurance.”
“So, we can rule out a would-be burglar finding the traps while on a recce to steal the cognac?” Felix asked.
“True,” Jean-Claude replied. “I make a point of letting everyone know we don’t keep our product here.”
We passed through another old door, unlocked again by Jean-Claude. On the other side, the quality of the finish of the masonry fell a level; the stones had not been faced. I remarked this part of the château seemed to be much older.
“It is. We’re in the beginning of the oldest part of the tunnels now. These tunnels go back hundreds of years. They’ve been dated back to earlier than the twelfth century towers and gatehouse. It’s thought they were part of an even older fortress built during the Roman occupation and that the Romans used the tunnels to ferry their troops to areas of unrest even going so far as the coast.”
“You don’t know for sure?”
“No, many cave-ins have occurred during the centuries. It would cost a fortune to excavate over fifty miles of tunnels… and that’s without the offshoots.”
On both side
s of the main tunnel, breaches had been patched with modern concrete blocks, so I asked Jean-Claude if he had an ongoing problem of maintenance.
“Yes, and even using casual labor, it’s prohibitively expensive with France’s thirty-five hour week and minimum wage.”
I ran my hand along the mortar on one of the modern patches on the right of the main tunnel. It was damp to the touch. As I rubbed the sand and cement off my fingers, I asked how recently repairs had been carried out, thinking it might be relevant, but Jean-Claude said nothing had been done for months.
“The damp air down here could be preventing the mortar from curing,” he suggested. “I’ll make a note to check it again next time I come down here.”
Felix kicked aside a pile of old gunny sacks asking if the tour of the château came down this far.
“If you look in those large crates over there,” Jean-Claude replied, “you’ll see pieces of old armor and other leftovers from past centuries. Tourists love that sort of thing.”
He moved on to peer into a crate behind the first one.
“Empty, as you can see. This is where the traps were… rusting to bits. The police have already been down here to look.”
When we reached the end of the fifty-yard stretch of tunnel, we came to another heavy oak door.
“This is where we turn back. The tunnel’s not safe beyond this point and I no longer have the key,” said Jean-Claude suiting his actions to his words and pivoting to return the way we’d come.
As we walked back we discussed the likelihood of anyone being able to gain access to the tunnels and make off with the traps. All three of us had accepted by now that the traps must have come from the château with Jean-Claude’s being missing and with his family crest being on the ones involved in the death of Hélène and Juno’s injury.
