86 Avenue du Goulet (A Samantha Jamison Mystery Volume 3)

by Peggy A. Edelheit

  “Oh, Samantha, your Clay is such a pleasure to have around,” announced Martine.

  My Clay?

  I smiled. “I know, isn’t it great to have such a cook to help out in the kitchen?”

  Clay leered at me. “That’s not all I’m known for.”

  Jean chuckled. “Ah, men. We need our egos intact.”

  Jean embraced me—but Clay didn’t. I sat down and Martine handed me a glass of wine. Then she caressed her husband’s face. “Mon cheri, as Samantha always says, don’t let it go to your head.”

  I laughed. “Yes, we tell you men what you want to hear, so it advances our causes.”

  Clay turned to me. “Such as?”

  “Allow me,” Martine said, interrupting. “Men are such a strange species.”

  “In what way?” Clay asked.

  “They think they have women figured out, but they are pathetically behind the… how do you say it, Sam? Ah yes, the eight ball.”

  Clay and Jean both laughed at her wordage, which was perfectly stated. But the way they eyed each other, I wasn’t so sure that they wholeheartedly agreed.

  “Hey, wait a minute!” I said, mockingly. “You two don’t see it that way?”

  “Not at all,” Clay said, sipping his wine.

  “Why not?” I asked.

  Jean laughed. “When it comes to women, we men prefer to pretend we are dumbfounded by your actions when in reality we are…”

  Clay held up his hand. “Wait a minute, Jean. Those are for our ears only.”

  “I have news. They already know,” Jean said laughing.

  Clay arched an eyebrow. “Not quite everything.”

  Oh, if they only had a clue!

  Chapter 72

  Conversation Interrupted

  I was about to take a bite out of a canapé when a siren blared in the distance, getting louder and louder. It finally stopped at what sounded like the base of my villa’s driveway. All conversation came to a standstill.

  Then Jean jumped up. “I’ll get the car, it’s faster.”

  We followed his lead and hustled to the garage. Parking at Curat’s entrance, I breathed a sigh of relief when I caught sight of Martha, Hazel and Betty standing outside the villa’s gates, staring across the street.

  Then my hand flew to my mouth. Mademoiselle Forniet?

  “I know the authorities,” Jean said, jumping out first with Martine close on his heels. “Let me find out what is going on.”

  They went right over to the police, speaking in rapid-fire French. Clay and I made our way to my crew.

  Martha told us what happened. “We thought we heard a shot, some yelling, then nothing. Next thing you know, the police appeared.”

  Jean and Martine joined our group in minutes.

  “It wasn’t Dominique, was it?” I asked.

  Jean shook his head. “No, no. She wasn’t home.”

  “Then who?” Betty asked.

  “It appears this Philippe fellow got shot.”

  “Oh, no!” said Hazel.

  I was shocked—horrified. Philippe!

  “That nice young man?” asked Betty. “Is he dead?”

  “Where did he get it?” Martha asked.

  Misinterpreting and always the gentleman, Jean cleared his throat and lowered his eyes. “In the bedroom.”

  Clay stifled a laugh, knowing better. “Direct hit?”

  “No. He was lucky. Only his head was grazed.”

  Hazel took notes on her iPhone. “Forensics?”

  Martine shook her head sadly. “They won’t say.”

  Martha eyed me and shook her head, disappointed. “I guess that’s the end of your tango lessons for a while.”

  Clay came in real close to me. “What tango lessons?”

  I figured this conversation had the potential to turn south. “Forget it, not important right now.”

  Martha tossed more salt on it. “But the two of you looked so sexy on the dance floor.”

  Clay was starting to get that look. “What dance floor?”

  Well, all the women started to explain about that dance, but I quickly squelched it. “Okay, okay, the excitement is over. Let’s call it a day. We’ll find out soon enough about all of this tomorrow.”

  Clay frowned. “But I’m not finished yet.”

  I smiled. “Tomorrow, Clay, okay?”

  “Okay, but I’d appreciate some kind of explanation.”

  I smiled, turned and escorted the ladies up the driveway.

  Martha smiled, too. “I thought that went rather well.”

  I turned to her. “What do you mean? Philippe’s been shot.”

  “No, I meant Clay. You know, the jealousy factor.”

  My eye started twitching. I felt like I was losing it.

  Losing what, I wasn’t sure, but I was definitely losing it.

  Chapter 73

  Sympathie Or Suspicion?

  I stood there, determined to offer my get-well wishes. I knew what she was going through. After my accident and Stephen’s death, I was more attuned to the value of life and its aftermath. So when the door opened, I wasn’t shocked when I saw her eyes were puffy and red.

  She stood there and started crying. “Oh, Samantha!”

  I gave her a hug. “Dominique, it could be worse.”

  When the tears subsided, she invited me in. “There is much you should know that I should have told you, but grand-mère wouldn’t allow it. Let me explain…”

  “No need. I already know all about her deception.”

  “But how? Who told you?”

  So I explained about ‘sticky fingers’ Martha.

  She shook her head. “Given the opportunity, I would probably do the same thing. And now Philippe has been shot!”

  “Were you there when it happened?”

  “I was elsewhere,” she said, still sniffling. She then hesitated. “…The police, they asked that also.”

  “And?”

  I told them I was out.”

  “Where were you?”

  “I was trying to talk to the cat lady.”

  I knew that eventually I would learn the ‘what fors,’ but for now, since Philippe was alive and kicking, I decided to pursue this strange twist. “Why the cat lady?”

  “She had left me a small bouquet of flowers.”

  “When? Whatever for?”

  “I have always considered her a little strange, but harmless, and ignored her forays into the gardens. So when I caught her leaving flowers at my doorstep after my Fifi was found buried, I was quite surprised and touched.”

  “It was a very thoughtful thing for her to do,” I said.

  “She is difficult to catch. When I saw her leaving your lower garden gate last night, I ran to tell her thank you.”

  “What was her reaction?”

  “It was so strange. I offered my thanks as I crossed the street, but when she heard my voice, she quickly jumped into her car and sped away.”

  “What did she look like?” I asked, dying to know myself.

  “I don’t know.”

  “Why not? You said you’ve seen her many times.”

  “I have, but she was always covered up with baggy clothes and a scarf covering her hair and wore sunglasses.”

  Was this the truth? Could I afford to ignore it?

  “Maybe she saw something. I’ll try to ask her.”

  “Good luck, Samantha! She was like a scared rabbit and quickly ran away.”

  Who was this cat lady?

  Chapter 74

  Crystalizing The Truth

  Crystal kept glancing back at her bike. After a while, I found myself doing the same thing, still remembering her warning of people with lusty intentions for a gleaming red Harley. Even though it was during the week, St. Maxine was mobbed. Crystal’s bike was one of many parked up on the sidewalk. There was no car to worry about driving around for twenty minutes looking for a parking space.

  The two of us were at an outside café at a small table, me sipping wine and Crystal
drinking her 1664 beer. Music was playing and we were mellowed out.

  “Well, I’ve got some news,” Crystal said.

  “I hope it’s good news. I could use some.”

  “Some good, some not so good.”

  I sat up straighter. “Go.”

  “What if I were to tell you who owned the red house?”

  “I’d be more informed than I was a minute ago.”

  “And what their connection was?”

  I felt static in the air. “I bet it’s someone familiar.”

  Crystal laughed. “Nope, you haven’t gone rusty.”

  “Okay, come on. Tell me what I want to hear.”

  “On her deed is the name Entreprises du Placard.”

  “Well, what do you know!”

  “Want more?” Crystal asked.

  “I can’t wait.”

  “Vichy, S. A. might be linked. He’s still checking.”

  “My, you were busy last night.”

  Crystal turned serious. “…There’s more.”

  “I don’t like what I’m seeing in your eyes. What?”

  “The owner of that company is Philippe Placard.”

  That landed with a thud. “Oh, no!”

  “Yes.”

  “And now he’s been shot.”

  Crystal nodded. “What does that tell you?”

  “That practice makes perfect?”

  “Very funny!” she said, laughing.

  “So, Philippe owns the house, but what about Vichy?”

  “Hey, that’s where you come in, to figure it out.”

  Then I saw a grin cross her face. “What?” I asked.

  “Oh, there is one small thing I seem to have left out.”

  “Tell me now, or I can’t guarantee I’ll pay this bill.”

  “In that case, I’d better spill.” She took a leisurely swig.

  “Okay, you’ve had your fun. Tell me,” I ordered.

  “The house was built in the early fifties.”

  I already knew that. “Go on.”

  “The same time when the Sorrell’s house was built.”

  A mini building boom, right here in Les Issambres.

  Chapter 75

  Itsy Bitsy Teeny, Uh Oh!

  I backed up, blinking. “Tell me you’re kidding!”

  Martha pivoted. “Get used to it, sister. It’s the new me.”

  No, it was the old her, and she had on a string bikini.

  “But that water is awfully cold.”

  “Who said I’m going in the water?”

  I had absolutely no answer for that, so I turned to Betty and Hazel, who I think had on bathing suits. It was hard to tell. They were completely covered from neck to ankle.

  “She thinks we’re prudes,” Betty said somewhat miffed.

  “You two don’t know how to live large,” Martha said.

  “We can’t. We’re too busy covering your ass. Literally.”

  Martha laughed. “Very funny! Hey, you coming, Sam?”

  “No, I think I’ll just rest on the sofa.”

  Martha grabbed towels. “In that case, we’re leaving.”

  Betty checked her bag. “Hazel, got the sunscreen?”

  Hazel nodded. “Got band aids and wipes?”

  Betty checked just to make sure. “I sure do.”

  Martha shook her head. “Hey, we’re not going on safari!”

  Betty looked annoyed. “Well, it sure feels like it.”

  Martha gave her the eye. “What kind of crack is that?”

  Hazel pointed at her. “You’re bringing binoculars.”

  “What’s wrong with scoping out the territory?”

  “Don’t you think of anything else?” Betty asked.

  “No,” Martha said. “My sexual clock is ticking away.”

  They grabbed their beach bags, and made their way out the kitchen door.

  Martha turned back to me. “Look, the beach is only about nine hundred feet down the hill. If you need us, just text me, okay?”

  I still couldn’t get used to my tech savvy crew and was still acclimating. I smiled and saluted. “Got it.”

  Hazel reached deep into her beach bag. “Now, what happened to my iPad?”

  Betty tapped her arm. “I’ve got it, along with mine.”

  Martha had her hand on the doorframe. “Ladies?”

  As they walked away, I heard, “…they’re topless, too?”

  Martha laughed. “I think I’m gonna give it a whirl.”

  Betty groaned. “No… You wouldn’t dare!”

  “Want to make a wager on that?” Martha asked.

  Hazel tossed out, “Ten to one odds, you don’t.”

  Martha laughed again. “You two are such easy marks.”

  With that last statement, they were gone.

  I hit the sofa with relief. Peace and quiet were mine. I rolled to my side and was out in minutes. I wasn’t sure how long I was asleep, maybe a couple of hours?

  The next thing I knew, my eyes fluttered open. I thought I heard something. They must be back.

  More rustling. I finally called out. “How’d it go?”

  When no one replied, I sat up, wary. Uh-oh!

  Chapter 76

  Jumping To More Than Conclusions

  Making like I’d just hung up the phone, I called out. “Clay said he’s on his way over. He’ll be here in a minute. How did the beach go?” I said it all rather loudly, and then I heard a dragging sound, then quiet.

  I silently made my way out of the living room and entered the foyer.

  My eyes darted to the kitchen door, and I came up short. The heavy sliding glass door was now closed, but it was open when the three of them had left. I opened it and looked outside. No one was there. Then I panicked when I remembered my purse!

  I ran back through the foyer and up the marble staircase, aiming straight for my bedroom and nightstand where I always kept it. It was still there. I grabbed it and tore into it; wallet, keys, and my passport were still there. When I reached the bottom of my purse, something rattled. So I dumped the rest of its contents onto my bed.

  I jumped back. Two small bones tumbled out last.

  “What the…” After I recovered, I put it all back.

  I ran to the terrace and looked around the gardens, nothing, not even Luc. It was his day off. Someone knew his schedule and entered the villa while I was sleeping. But what was the point of dumping bones in my purse?

  Luc had warned me that robbers liked to strike while you were inside the house, but instead of taking something, they had left what? A message? My thoughts were spewing all kinds of images, all bad. Did they walk over to where I was sleeping in the living room? Did they stare down at me while I lay asleep? Scary.

  They are very good at what they do and very bold, even in the daylight.

  That’s what Luc had said. I hadn’t paid attention. Now I was scared. Seriously. What was going on? I’d been chased down an alley, locked in a closet, and…

  My breath caught. Someone was downstairs. I aimed for my weapon of choice, a recently purchased metal baseball bat. It was in the armoire. I tiptoed over, opened the door and quietly reached for it. I was now ready for serious business. I hoped Curat’s furniture and statues were, too.

  I swung around when I heard someone in the upstairs hall approaching my room. I slipped behind the door, my arms back, ready to strike. Whoever it was hesitated at the door. I was making my swing just as Clay came into view.

  “Samantha?”

  I pulled back just in time before I hit a home run.

  He heard the movement and turned. “Whoa!”

  I had stopped inches from his head, but not before he threw up his arms in self-defense.

  “Clay?”

  “Sam?”

  I let out my breath in relief, having almost obliterated the one annoying thing in my life that I grown attached to.

  “You scared me to death, Clay.”

  “Ditto! What’s with the bat? Didn’t you hear me call out
your name? The door downstairs was wide open and the house empty.”

  “You must have called me when I was on the balcony.”

  “A hint, Sam? Batting practice is usually done outside.”

  Chapter 77

  Bedding The Truth

  Clay carefully removed the bat from my hands and set it aside, invading my personal space and gently backing me up against the wall. He looked around the room, smiling.

  “I think I like this room the best. How about you?”

  I eyed the bed, now smiling, too. “I guess the king size bed is what finally sealed the deal on renting this place.”

  “Want to test it out?” he asked, starting to nibble on my left earlobe, my neck, and then finishing with a killer kiss.

  I fought it for all of about thirty seconds, okay…five.

  A half an hour later we sat out on the terrace sipping wine, any incriminating evidence erased from the scene. I didn’t want to go through the embarrassment and a litany of explanations with the ladies if they should come back from the beach. I knew they were well aware we had an intimate relationship, but to throw it in their face? That just wasn’t my style with those two proper ladies, Betty and Hazel.

  Now Martha was another story.

  As we sat out there, I felt sure Clay wanted to talk. I knew he’d ask, and he did. “Why’d you really leave, Sam?”

  “Oh, let’s see; a death, shock, adjustments, minor stuff.”

  “Okay, I get it, space to figure where your life fits in.”

  “Yeah, that about sums up how I’ve felt, then and now.”

  “What was going on a little while ago? Why the bat?”

  “Intruder,” I said, and proceeded to bring him up to date.

  “You need to be more careful and lock your doors.”

  “Yeah, but it’s been too hot.”

  “When that happens, call me. I’ll cool you off.”

  I laughed a comfortable laugh, you know, the kind you have when you’re with someone you have an intimate relationship with. “What do you think is going on?”

  “I’m not sure. It seems like someone is pushing back.”

  “So far no physical harm has taken place,” I said.