Chapter 17
Around Midnight
No screens were on any of the windows or doors. So, though it felt strange when visiting in southern France, and not having much of a choice, I tried to adapt. Note, tried. But because it was so hot, I left everything wide open and enjoyed what little breeze wafted through the villa. The openness of everything felt fine.
That is until it turned dark.
So when my notes were finally put to bed after that late night laptop session, I closed everything up, showered, and headed there myself. But it was much too hot. The ceiling fan had failed completely, as heat still radiated from the attic. I desperately needed fresh air, and after tossing for an hour, I ignored past fears, opened the terrace doors, and finally fell asleep.
Sometime during the night, I heard an indefinable sound. I opened my eyes in the dark and propped myself up on my elbows, not quite sure what it was. Because of the unsettling events of the past couple of years, I had acquired the habit of waking at the slightest noise. I looked at my bedside clock. Midnight. I listened for about a minute, but after hearing nothing, rolled over onto my stomach and promptly fell back to sleep.
My eyes flew open! I had a horrible feeling that someone was nearby, moving about my personal space. My heart began pounding and I froze, afraid to move. Was that someone else breathing nearby or was that just me? Was someone sneaking through my room? A bead of sweat trickled down my lips.
I started choking on my own fear, my legs refused to move to roll me over, and my breath caught.
Who would be sneaking around my room?
My eyes darted about, catching nothing, just the dark shadows, my clock, and my cell phone on the night table. I listened intently, and then thought I heard something in the hall, but wasn’t exactly sure. Then I heard absolutely nothing, as everything went perfectly still.
Whoever you are, go away!
I listened for another five minutes, watching those glowing numbers change on my bedside clock. Still nothing. Then I turned on the lamp and eased myself out of bed. I was jumpy and most likely blowing it all out of proportion.
But had someone hovered over me? …Maybe.
I tiptoed to my doorway and stuck my head out and scanned the upstairs hallway. Nothing. I flicked on a light switch. My heart thumped, hearing another noise, but this time it was a howl coming from outside, below my terrace. I pivoted and rushed out to the balcony, only to find a cat racing across the back lawn, down below in the moonlight, after leaping from a flowerpot on the ledge.
Had I overreacted? Was someone watching me as I slept? I needed to snap out of it and get back to sleep and so I boldly stomped back to my bed and slept like a baby for the rest of the night.
…That is, after closing the balcony door and locking it.
Chapter 18
Lunching On The Past
The next morning I arranged for a light lunch with Martine after her morning swim with Sonia in the Mediterranean. I was anxious to talk with her about the neighbors. Knowing Martine, she would be dependable, reliably straightforward and honest with all her answers.
I waited at the restaurant on the beach that sat below our houses, sipping my glass of wine. Martine rushed over to the table, out of breath, and quickly placed her order even before she sat down. Of course, it helped to know the staff and to speak fluent French. I had stumbled through the menu moments before, barely explaining my order.
“Oh, Martine! I don’t think I will ever remember that your adjectives come after the noun. I’m not sure what I ordered. I can only hope it is cooked and not raw.”
“I think you will get… how do you say, the hang of it?”
The waiter brought a glass of white Burgundy for Martine and we clinked glasses. “Salut.”
“Salut. Now, what about Monsieur Tussout?”
“What about him?” Martine replied, sipping her wine and watching me steadily.
“Why is he harboring all that built-up anger? I don’t get it. Is there something I should know about?”
She replied cautiously, “…He has suffered much in the past. I am afraid he is taking it out on all the surrounding neighbors. It is very unfortunate.”
“What happened?”
“What didn’t happen is what you should ask. His daughter ran off with an undesirable, his son’s scandalous behavior involved prison, and his wife had a nervous breakdown.”
I sat there, curious for more. “I expected something, but not that. No wonder he has all this anger brewing.”
Martine began to explain. “We tried to reach out to them, but Monsieur Tussout is stubborn and wouldn’t socialize. Eventually, we let it go and stopped calling on them. The rest is, like you say, history.”
I understood withdrawing, but why hate the neighbors?
Martine nodded, knowingly. “As this was the first of many incidents, I can tell by your look, you are wondering why he started lashing out, trusting none of the neighbors.”
“That had crossed my mind.”
“Long ago, his wife was accused of stealing a valuable antique brooch from the powerful widow Sorrell while at her house for tea. With Madame Sorrell’s husband, Henri, being a powerful politician at the time, Sorrell demanded and got the Gendarme Marie to search Toussout’s house.”
“Did Madame Toussout ultimately admit taking it?”
“No! The police never found the brooch. Later, Sorrell’s husband offered token apologies, that maybe his wife was mistaken and had misplaced it, but Monsieur Toussout never forgave Madame Sorrell for causing his wife such public humiliation. Like you say, it was the last straw.”
Chapter 19
Lectured & Lesson Learned
I returned home, feeling a bit more up to date about Sorrell and Toussout. Martine said she would fill me in on the others later. Jean was leaving on business, so she hurried off. He was to fly his plane from the local airport and was waiting for her to say goodbye.
I pulled into the garage, but didn’t hit the remote because Luc was working in the gardens and had the garage door open for his electric lawn mower and work wagon loaded with rakes. As I closed my car door, Luc confronted me, looking deeply upset, and addressing me in French at lightning speed. Understanding the language was something I had not accomplished even remotely. I held up my hands to slow him down.
He got the message and finally explained why he was so upset. “Did you know, Madame, that your living room door was partially open when I arrived this morning? You must close it when you go out!”
I was surprised. “That can’t be!” I said. “I could swear I locked it myself before I went to bed last night, and then this morning I remembered to firmly lock the front door behind me.”
He shook his head in disapproval. “It was unlocked and opened wide enough for a rat to squeeze right through.”
I shuddered at the thought of anything lurking about.
“…What do you mean—a rat? There are rats around here?”
“But of course! They are all over the area. That is why there are so many stray cats running around wild.”
This nonexistent screen thing and its downsides were starting to get to me with the threat of possible unknowns slinking around while I was sleeping.
“You must be careful. Besides the rats or cats, burglars roam the area and look to rob the unsuspecting tourists, looking for any doors or windows left open or unlocked. They only choose the houses where they know someone is living. Otherwise they come up empty-handed. They look for money, passports, and jewelry.”
“Since I always stayed at Martine’s before now, I never gave it a thought.”
Luc, waving his finger at me, was now in full protective lecture mode. “They watch day and night in these areas, waiting to pounce. You don’t have a dog and must lock all the windows and doors every time that you leave!”
I stood there as his words of warning finally sank in. I knew that I thoroughly checked earlier to satisfy my paranoia and found nothing out of place, missing or taken.
So, last night I hadn’t imagined it!
Someone had been in the villa. It wasn’t a knee-jerk reaction at all, and it wasn’t the cat outside. Whoever had been on the terrace where I was sleeping, had slipped out the living room door. Was it random? Or were they looking for something? If so, what could it be? I wasn’t a fan of either scenario, but preferred to think that it was just an impulsive hit.
After Luc left me, just to be sure, I took another visual inventory inside. But, like once before, there was just one problem with what I came up with when I finished.
Why wasn’t something missing?
Chapter 20
Surprise! Surprise!
Later that afternoon, I was sitting in the living room, typing, when I heard tapping on the glass door. I looked up and saw that it was Luc trying to get my attention.
He smiled, and then leaned through the open doorway. “Excusez-moi, Madame.”
“Yes, Luc. What can I do for you?”
“There seems to be someone pacing back and forth in front of the villa’s gate. She keeps looking down at a piece of paper, and then up at the gate mumbling to herself.”
“What does she look like?” I asked, suddenly wary.
“She seems to be an older woman, wearing many colors. There is something else I think you would want to know.”
I sat straighter, getting ready to stand up. “…What?”
“There seems to be a lot of luggage also with her.”
I stopped mid-move. “What does she look like?”
He covered his mouth with his hand, trying not to laugh.
“She has bushy white hair that is short. It is poking out in many different directions. What do you call it again?”
“You mean, spiky?” I jumped up, laughing, and ran for the door. Then I hit the button for the gate and flew out the foyer door, across the courtyard, and finally came to a stop at the opening gate, grinning.
“Well, I can’t believe I am still in one piece!” a voice greeted me indignantly. There stood Martha with her hands on her hips. “At first I thought I had the wrong address, and then I couldn’t find the damn button to give a holler and find out if this was the right place!”
I walked through the open gate, laughing, and gave her a big hug. “Welcome to the French Riviera!”
“Do you know that cabby left me here after I told him to wait until I checked to make sure this was your place? I had given him the 125 euros, and when I was looking for his tip, he was already speeding up the hill, having dumped my luggage in a heap.” She shrugged. “Oh, well. His loss. And to think I was going to give him a one euro tip, too!” She turned to me. “Hey, what is a euro worth in American?”
I tried not to laugh. “Not much, nowadays.”
“Hey, get this, Sam. Math is not my forte! How do you like that? I’m speaking French, already!”
Still laughing, I looked down at all her suitcases in various shapes and sizes. I started getting nervous when I got to seven. “Are you sure it’s all here?”
“Yup. But I might have to go shopping if I run short.” She sized me up and down. “I know we’re both a size four, but your taste seems to run on the bland side, if you know what I mean. Nothing personal, but I sort of like flashy colors. It brings out my youthfulness, you know?”
I eyed my seventyish employee/friend. “Good point!”
There’s no way I’d attempt to wear fuchsia and orange!
Chapter 21
Catching More Than Trouble
I led Martha up the curved marble staircase. “Wow, will you look at all this marble!” She laughed. “Why, it’s even on these steps! Can you believe this?” She noticed the half naked female sculpture on a pedestal on her way up. “I guess racy statues are the in thing on the French Riviera.”
“Remember the house I leased at the beach and all those vases?” I asked. “This is a more interesting piece of art.”
“It sure must have been pretty chilly, though, when she modeled for that thing!”
I was still laughing when I guided her into the guest bedroom that shared my terrace, facing the Mediterranean.
“This is where you’ll be staying. I hope you like it.”
“Wow! Now, this is the way to go! Will you look at that view! I don’t know if I’ll be able to sleep one wink. I’d be afraid of missing something going on out there.”
I smiled. “I’m hoping you will be able to get in some beach time while you’re here.”
“I’m sure counting on that and looking forward to buying one of those French bikinis in that town that Brigitte Bardot made famous. What is the name of it again? You know, where all those big yachts are.”
“St. Tropez,” I replied, trying to wrap my mind around the mental visuals of her parading out on the beach wearing a bikini. My head started to hurt just thinking about it.
She turned me toward the door. “Now, scoot! I’ll let you go for the time being, and I’ll start unpacking, and then take a quick nap. Then I need to attend to my toilette! Hah! How do you like that? I was speaking French again!”
I laughed. “I’m impressed.”
She leaned in. “I have to confess, I’ve been practicing for weeks. I couldn’t come all the way over to be taken lightly, like some tourist.”
“Believe me, Martha. Nobody ever takes you lightly, especially me.”
She leaned in further, more conspiratorially. “Who is the hunky bull working in the gardens? I don’t mind telling you, he’s a nice piece of real estate, if I do say so myself.”
“He’s seventy-five. Right about in your age group.”
She looked crestfallen. “Well, after Ocean City, I’ve washed my hands of the geriatric set. I’ll have to think about this one some more. Is he married?”
“He was. He’s been a widower for many years.”
She hit me with a wary eye. “Don’t let him get any ideas about you just because you’re a widow in her thirties. I heard how these Frenchmen can get; pinching and all.”
I laughed. “Martha, that’s what Italians are known for, not the French.”
She looked disappointed again, but then perked up. “Hey, how close are we to the Italian border, Sam?”
I shook my head. Oh brother, was I in for big trouble!
Chapter 22
Amoré Than Pizza On The Beach
As we sat beachside, a ten-minute walk below the villa, I explained to Martha that when I stayed at Martine’s, she would always treat her guests the first and last night of their visit to a wood-fired outdoor oven pizza. It was a great hello and goodbye to the Riviera, a tradition I’d continue.
I sipped my wine and smiled at Martha’s rhinestone sunglasses. They were a real attention-getter. “Well, what do you think?”
“I can’t believe I’m sitting outdoors, watching three people playing volleyball on the beach, while we’re sipping wine and waiting for pizza.”
My back was facing the players. “Why is that so odd?”
“Someone better tell that young lady over there she’s lost the top half to her bikini!”
I whipped my head around to take a look myself and laughed. “Welcome to France, Martha.”
Martha kept eyeing them. “But I would think that young girl would feel kind of uncomfortable playing that game with her husband and her father. Although I’ve got to hand it to them, they sure seem to be enjoying it.”
We both sat there sipping our wine and watching their very competitive game bouncing about before us.
“Martha, you’ll see here in France adults and children eat, talk, and take nudity in stride.”
She laughed and looked around at the other adult diners and children. “It’s pretty obvious they could care less about what was going on with the game or the players.”
I was about to change the subject when I noticed two diners off to the side under an awning next to the building, obviously trying to conceal themselves from everyone else. They must have already been there when we first arrived and I did
n’t notice. Well, surprise, surprise!
It was Madame Sorrell and Mademoiselle Forniet.
Talk about polar opposites! What was that all about?
It was bad enough that I was having a difficult time trying to figure out what was going on. This put a different spin on the bad-blood relationship thing.
What would a powerful woman of Sorrell’s standing be doing talking to a woman with an obvious repute of another color? My mind was speculating, but rationality wasn’t coming into play. Martha grabbed my arm and attention, so I reluctantly turned away.
“Look at that! That young man walked off, while that young lady was walking off, too, but with her father!”
As they strolled off, daddy kissed her lips. I quickly turned back to look at those two women, but it was too late.
Poof! Gone! Just like that!
Chapter 23
Planting Seeds Of Doubt
Martha was still attending to her toilette that morning, so I took the opportunity to corner Luc in the garden to feel him out on some things that were bugging me about Curat’s garden. I found him methodically transplanting. That man was always slicing and separating plants to expand the garden. He was a very frugal gardener and didn’t waste anything. He even collected rainwater in a barrel.
“Bonjour, Madame! Comment allez-vous?”
“I am fine, thank you. And you, Luc?”
“I am well. Merci!”
This quickly became our customary greeting each week. I edged closer to him, not wanting our voices to carry up to the second floor where Martha was getting ready.
“Do you have a minute to talk?” I asked.
“Oui, Madame. I always have time for you.”
“Martine said you knew Curat for a very long time.”
“Oui, many, many years since I am a very young man.”
Like the other day, I was counting on him being straight with me. “What was he like?”
86 Avenue du Goulet (A Samantha Jamison Mystery Volume 3) Page 4
