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

by Peggy A. Edelheit

  Madame Sorrell nodded. “I am sure of it. What that is, I do not know, but they do it under the cover of darkness.”

  “How long has this been going on?” I asked.

  “I do not know exactly how long, or if Curat knew anything about it. But I knew Curat for so many years and he was above reproach.”

  My mind was working the angles.

  What was it and where was it now?

  “I have one last question, Madame Sorrell. At Curat’s advanced age, was he mentally diminished and maybe not aware what was happening on his own property?”

  “Yes, he was, maybe the last several years. Why?”

  “It sounds like someone took advantage of that.”

  “Yes, but who would do that?” she asked.

  “I haven’t figured out that part yet, but I will.”

  Chapter 84

  Regrouping Rejection

  I heard them arguing back and forth as I walked into the kitchen an hour later. Smelling the French press coffee, I surveyed the table. Pastries, another one of my favorite breakfasts and a close second to crusty French rolls, were spread out on a platter. I was starving and grabbed one.

  I scanned the faces seated at the table. At least my so-called comfort zone was still on my side and looking out for me. But as I looked over at Clay, sometimes I felt I was in the iffy zone again. Some people were tough to classify.

  “Bonjour,” I greeted the group cheerfully.

  Clay handed me a fresh mug of coffee.

  Martha spoke first, motioning toward Hazel and Betty.

  “As far as the bullets go or shell casings, it’s a dead end. We searched those gardens and came up empty-handed.”

  “I may have been mistaken about what I thought I heard, but it sure scared off the cat lady. Nope, without any proof, I’m afraid the authorities wouldn’t waste their time.”

  “Jean said Philippe’s shot was accidental,” said Crystal.

  “You know, the bones you found in your purse?” Hazel asked. “They were chicken! Doesn’t make sense.”

  “If it’s a message, it sure is a strange one,” I said, and then turned to Clay. “Do you have something, anything?”

  All eyes veered to him. “As far as both incidents being tied together, maybe, maybe not, but until we can prove something, forget it. We can’t go to the authorities.”

  They all turned back to me. I wasn’t sure whether I should thank them for at least trying to help, or run to the hills for safety. This whole saga had become a complicated mess. However, one thing stood out in my mind. I knew it wasn’t what they expected me to say, but I had to anyway.

  Why? Because I was scared. Even for the sake of my book, all this wasn’t worth getting killed over.

  “I don’t think I can do this anymore. Fiction is easier.”

  There was dead silence, not even a slurp of coffee. It was as if someone had hit the pause button, which was unthinkable with this group.

  Martha quipped, “Now what kind of crazy talk is that? We certainly don’t need a meltdown now.”

  “Especially,” Betty added, “since that latest incident.”

  Hazel stood. “A French caper and you want out?”

  “Ladies, will you give us a moment?” Clay asked.

  Reluctantly, they all shuffled out of the room, griping.

  “Meltdown my foot!” Martha complained, grudgingly walking away.

  “Now, Martha, come on. Let’s go.” Betty said grabbing her arm. “She needs breathing room.”

  “I’m casing the garden again,” Hazel announced.

  “Your investigative skills are amusing,” Crystal said.

  Hazel smiled. “Why, thanks for the compliment.”

  Martha looked at Hazel, catching up. “You see? You’re not getting the nuance in her response, are you? Didn’t you catch her sarcastic tone? Once again let me explain…”

  Chapter 85

  Concentrating, Commiserating & Complaining

  Clay and I sat in silence for a moment after I told him what Madame Sorrell had disclosed and how surprised I was by her unexpected and complicated account about what happened in the past and how it was probably tied to now.

  I was glad to see he was amazed and impressed.

  “Well, you have been busy, Sam.”

  I sighed. “Yes. This whole thing is so interconnected I doubt I’ll ever figure out the real truth. I mean, who else is related in this crazy neighborhood? It’s like family group analysis run amok.”

  Clay laughed. “You always had a way with words, but they might not dig you out of this one.”

  “I’m sure there is some…” I stopped talking and turned to him, smiling.

  “What?” he asked.

  “What if I said I figured it all out?”

  “Now, why would you do that when you haven’t?”

  “It might flush out who is involved.”

  “Oh, so now you’re the bait?

  I smiled. “It’s not the first time.”

  “How generous to offer yourself up to the gods.”

  “I do what I can, when I can,” I said, straight-faced.

  “I don’t think I like this one bit,” he complained.

  “Who said you have to like it? Just play along and see where it takes me.”

  “Why can’t you have a normal life like everyone else?”

  I smiled. “Because it’s not written in my books. Now, quit griping and let’s see how we can get whoever is behind this whole thing to reveal themselves.”

  “How are we going to do that, genius? I’d say, let’s talk this over at my place, but that’s not possible, Martine and Jean live there. You’ve got company, and there’s no back seat of a car that’s practical to work my charm, so I guess we’ll just have to verbally duke it out here in the kitchen.”

  “Gosh, Clay, you’re so romantic. Why, it makes me blush. Okay, let’s get everyone in here to set this up.”

  “No need,” said a voice from the foyer.

  We both turned. There stood the gang, who had heard the whole conversation. Privacy was a lost art with them.

  Martha laughed. “Now, Sam, did you honestly think we were going to miss the opportunity to eavesdrop?”

  I glared at them as they filed back into the kitchen. “Why do I even bother to think I could ever make a move without you guys?”

  Crystal grabbed another pastry and sat. “Beats me.”

  “I think we’ve got to be creative,” Betty said.

  Hazel nudged her. “Some nut-job is at work out there.”

  I had to laugh. “Then that makes us about even, doesn’t it?”

  Chapter 86

  Glitz, Glitter & Getting Antsy

  To say this whole thing was finally coming together was sort of stretching things. In the meantime, Martine offered to keep an eye on the villa, while all of us took off for our dinner in Cannes that the ‘bookworms’ had arranged.

  Since no one wanted to be the designated driver, the girls chipped in and hired a limo. We would make our entrance in style at the Carlton on the beach. The sky was clear and the temperature was cooperating.

  I had never seen outfits tossed, retrieved, swapped and changed out more in one evening than I did that night. The results were eclectic. As we exited the door, I believe I spotted plenty of rhinestones and glitter on Martha, feathers and veils on Hazel and Betty, plenty of cleavage, four inch scary high heels and fishnet stockings on Crystal.

  My eye started to twitch, but then I smiled. I loved it!

  When we finally pulled up to the curb, Clay jumped out first, helping each of us, one at a time. Between the gray hairs, bun, wrinkles, curvaceous tattoos and yours truly, blondie, no one could figure out what category we all fit in; famous, rich, relatives, or the nearest home for the unstable and geriatric challenged, who apparently, were already arguing about who would sit where to have the best view.

  I sighed. “We’re all looking up! Fireworks, remember?”

  “There could be photo
graphers!” Martha announced.

  Betty was looking all around. “See any movie stars?”

  Crystal pointed off to the side. “Look at those hunks!”

  “Get a grip, ladies. It’s show time!” Hazel said.

  I shook my head, laughing as waiters appeared, lavishly pouring champagne and serving up appetizers. I felt sort of sorry for Clay being the only man at the table. Well, almost.

  Several courses later, the show was about to start.

  Clay leaned in, whispering in my ear. “Sam, I hope you appreciate my gallantry this evening, escorting you and your lovelies tonight. Another man might feel intimidated among all this sexuality. Not me!”

  I leaned in, too, and winked. “It’s a testosterone test.”

  “Well, have I passed?”

  “I’ll let you know if you come out of this alive.”

  “What’s the prize if I do?”

  “Well, it’s not the door prize.”

  “Which is…?”

  Babysitting the others while I go to the ladies room.”

  He laughed. “Hey, piece of cake.”

  I smiled slyly. “That’s what they all say.”

  “You mean we’re doing this prize thing in reverse?”

  “Uh, huh. I have to go powder my nose, so to speak.”

  He nodded. “Just don’t take a powder, okay?”

  “Wouldn’t think of it,” I said, getting up to go.

  I felt his eyes on my back as I walked away. I made a beeline for the stairs after walking down from the boardwalk platform over the water. I really just wanted to walk up to the sidewalk overlooking the dining area to study the scene and make sure we had no followers.

  Chapter 87

  An Unexpected Present Is Presented

  I felt a hand on my back and jumped out of my skin.

  “Madame Samantha?” A man was standing there with a tiny box in his hands. “I was told to give this to you.”

  “Who gave it?” I asked, looking all around.

  “A gentleman, who also gave me a very generous tip.”

  Understood. In other words, no description would be forthcoming. What more could I say? “Thank You.”

  Onlookers were trying to catch a glimpse of who was down below, while waiting for the fireworks. A few people gave me side-glances, but nothing more, so I hesitantly opened up the tiny package. I took a calming breath, removed the top and peeked inside. Bits of tree bark and two shell casings, the two shells no one could find in the garden. Who sent it?

  Angry and frustrated at the same time, I hit the railing.

  I glanced around. Then my eyes flew to the tables below, scanning faces. Nothing. It was a long shot anyway. Whoever brought this box was probably long gone.

  Or was he? Something made me turn and I caught sight of another man hastily running across the street, nervously glancing over his shoulder. Did he send me the box? There was only one way to find out.

  I shoved off from the railing and followed him, making my way through the crowds crossing the busy street, while trying to keep eye contact. As I got to the other side, he veered off to the left away from the Carlton, moving briskly down the sidewalk to the next corner. He stopped and turned around. I stopped and did the same thing, pretending to check something in my belted Louie Vuitton purse, but I was still watching him through the plate-glass window to my left. I waited a beat, took a chance, and then slowly turned around. He was gone!

  Where did he go? I ran to the corner and looked down the side street, but didn’t see him, and kept running to the next block, while scanning the shops that were still open. I caught sight of him darting into an alleyway up ahead. I started to step in and then stopped, reconsidering.

  Another alley.

  There was no way in hell I was going down another alley. It was dark and I was already in danger. I put on the breaks reconsidering following him in there. I should probably go get Clay, but by that time he might be gone. Just as I was turning away from the shadowy passageway to retreat I heard heard a footstep and was tackled, and then felt a hard tug on my belt and was forcefully slammed against the wall. Hey, not my Louie! I gave a solid kick and was roughly knocked off balance and fell to the ground along with something else.

  As fast as I was tackled, he was gone, running away.

  When I stepped out on the sidewalk again, all I saw were people, lots of people.

  Curious about what dropped, I felt around in the shadows on the ground and latched onto something, picked it up, and ran over to the lights of a shop window to see exactly what it was.

  Thank goodness he was gone. Good riddance!

  And me? I was holding some woman’s wallet.

  He was nothing but a pickpocket!

  Chapter 88

  Working The Case

  The next morning we all agreed that, other than my misadventure, everyone had an unbelievable evening.

  Martha fingered the small box. “The shell casings!”

  “I’m not eager to share this info yet,” I told the group. “I want to figure out who it is first, and we can’t do that with a bunch of people running around asking questions.”

  “And what do you call us?” Clay asked sarcastically.

  Crystal cut in. “My Harley friend still can’t figure out who owns Vichy, Inc. There were so many corporate layers unraveling that he started getting suspicious, so I let it go.”

  Betty tapped her finger on the table. “Who would go to all this trouble? Whatever it is, it must be valuable!”

  “Another possible lead gone stale,” Hazel grumbled.

  “Maybe we should break up in twos,” Clay proposed.

  Martha gave him a quizzical look. “Why do that?”

  “As a group, we’re more noticeable.” Crystal suggested.

  “No, as a group, we’re not getting anywhere,” he said.

  Hazel jumped up all excited. “Wait, that’s it!”

  “What is?” I asked, as we all turned to her.

  “Pairing up in twos in a stake out. We set up each night to see if we can catch anyone moving anything in or out, scattering in twos all throughout the gardens. One or two alone wouldn’t cut it because it’s too big. That way all the gardens are covered. I mean, how bad could it be? We don’t have another plan, do we?”

  No one said anything for a moment, thinking it over.

  I started to involuntarily scratch imaginary bites.

  Finally, Martha said, “All those bushes and flowers for cover. Hazel, that’s not a bad idea!”

  Hazel blushed at the compliment.

  Betty patted Hazel’s arm. “Elementary, my dear!”

  “It’s so simple it might just work,” added Crystal.

  Clay shrugged his shoulders. “What have we to lose?”

  Excited, Hazel said, “Since this is clandestine, I suggest we all wear black from head to toe.”

  Martha rolled her eyes. “I hate to admit it again, but she’s probably right.”

  “Reading all those detective books helped,” Betty said.

  Crystal was skeptical. “Who and what are we looking for?”

  Clay surveyed the group. “Someone carrying cargo in, or …possibly burying more bones.”

  A lot of eye contact went on around that kitchen table. No one spoke, but you could hear the visuals being carried around the group. This could be a waste of time, or it could be something we weren’t prepared for, a possible death.

  Restless, I tried to shake my apprehension with some humor. “I don’t know about you guys, but I’m wearing netting this time and bringing mace. Forget the intruder, those damn mosquitoes are downright vicious.”

  Chapter 89

  Help! I Need Somebody

  “This is wearing thin,” I whispered to Clay.

  He shrugged. “It’s only been two nights.”

  “Two nights of pure hell with bug bites, cold and dirt.”

  “You can’t let the stakeouts get to you, Sam.”

  “I’m dying out here,�
� I said, zipping up my sweatshirt.

  “What kind of detective are you?”

  “A lousy one and proud of it. I write, remember?”

  “Here, have a Twinkie.”

  “How can you eat that? That can’t be nutritious.”

  “Who cares? It tastes good,” he said, swallowing.

  “How’d you get a Twinkie over here anyway?”

  “I didn’t. It’s the French version of one. It’ll do.”

  Starving, I snatched what was left of his. “Thanks.”

  He took a swig of bottled water. “You’re welcome.”

  “How much longer do we have to do this?” I asked.

  “Maybe a few more…”

  We heard a scream. In seconds, Clay took off, running. I ran as best I could in the dark, but something hit me, a breathless Martha, crossing directly in my path. “Sam?”

  “Did you hear that?” I asked, falling against her.

  Off balance, we both stumbled against the wall of bougainvillea. But before I could shove off from her, we heard a click, tumbled into total darkness, and then something latched behind us.

  “What the heck?” Martha said.

  I couldn’t see a thing. “…Martha what is this?”

  “…Beats me,” she said, still holding on.

  “Was that a door that shut? Where are we?”

  “…I’m not quite sure, but I don’t like this one bit.”

  “Martha, I feel lumpy things underneath my feet.”

  “Me too! Hold on a sec,” she said, letting go of me and fiddling with that familiar key chain of hers. A small beam of light came into view. “That’s better,” she said, swinging the light around. “It looks like some kind of storeroom.”

  “For what?” I asked, looking around the space.

  Old wooden crates were stacked about five feet high.

  “Martha shine that light down to the ground.”

  “Holy mackerel!” she yelled, jumping back.