Surviving Venice

by Anna E Bendewald

  Giselle had eyed the two of them. “What’s with her?”

  “Very excited about the gifts,” Markus said.

  This morning when she arrived in the workshop, Giselle had been filled with purpose. But as she completed the final panel, she felt strangely empty. Normally she craved solitude while working, but as this afternoon crawled on she felt a creeping loneliness that built and pressed. Now, with the sun casting long shadows across the floor, Giselle felt bitterly alone. She leaned the panel against the wall and knew should feel proud—these units would save the monks a lot of money—but she felt…off.

  As she put her tools away, she thought of recent Christmas Eves with the Veronas, their cheerful palazzo filled with a procession of friends, and Juliette’s special dinner before midnight mass. Then came thoughts of her childhood, the château filled with boisterous guests, a mismatched herd of their pets stampeding over furniture and each other, and—according to Forêt tradition—everyone entertaining.

  Her parents and grandparents would tote the enormous green velvet bag around to wherever the action was taking place and bestow prizes with a gushing “Ton prix!” on anyone who took part in the entertainment. Her sister’s ballet across the marble floor of the entrance hall with guests looking on from the grand staircase, her brother’s magic tricks, Aunt Tina’s heart-breaking rendition of “J’attendrai” that never failed to make everyone misty-eyed, only to be remedied by Giselle and her friends’ uninhibited musical reviews complete with pratfalls and costume malfunctions.

  Everyone in her family was long gone, and Gabrieli Verona gone so recently he still felt near. The memory of his murder brought her violently back to the present, and as she grabbed her coat, the fact that she was still being hunted was suddenly all too real. Giselle wanted to be near Markus.

  She hurried out into the frigid silence of the late afternoon, her footsteps echoing through the cloistered courtyard where stones amplified the cold like an elaborate gothic freezer. Emerging from the arches, she looked up at the towering Madonna and child on the front of the church and thought of the baby inside her. Would she be as serene a mother as the haloed Mary? She thought of her own mother’s relaxed “que será, será” philosophy and her heart ached. She broke into a jog.

  The interior of the church smelled of old candles, old cloth, old books, old wood, and the mineral tang of eternal stone. Markus was high up on a ladder at the altar, bathed in the twinkling glow of the delicate stars he was placing. He smiled when he saw her.

  “I have just finished,” he called. He came down off the ladder and then descended the altar stairs as she admired his work. “What do you think?”

  “They’re so beautiful, I don’t think they’ll take them down after Christmas.”

  The door opened, and Daniel and Yvania rushed in. They both looked excited, and Yvania was clapping her gloved hands either from the cold or approval of something.

  “Giselle, your present is arriving! Come outside to receive it,” Daniel said and turned to leave again.

  She looked at Markus to see if he was in on this surprise, and from the excitement on his face, he certainly was.

  “Present?” she asked as Markus propelled her toward the door to follow them.

  “More like many presents,” Yvania said as she hustled along. “Hurry, you must not miss the arrival.”

  When they got to the walkway above the farmland, Giselle spotted two sleighs emerging from the forest trail in the twilight. She saw a tall figure stand up and wave. It had to be Laetitia with her impossibly long arms and legs, the braided tassels of her knitted hat flying. Auguste and Robert were holding her steady as their sleigh glided at top speed behind the big Belgian horses. She looked like the prow of a Viking ship.

  “They’ve been traveling all day to avoid being followed,” Daniel said. “We invited them for the night.”

  Giselle felt her heart suddenly full to bursting, and tears rolled down her cheeks.

  “Oh! Merci! Merci!” She pushed through the gate and tore down the stairs to meet her friends with Markus, Daniel, and Yvania following.

  As the sleighs approached the paddock, Selma stood up in the other sleigh and made a move to jump out, but Carolette hauled her back yelling, “Me first!” and jumped out and into a run straight for Giselle. Selma was right behind her, and then Fauve piled out. Within moments, the foot race turned into an epic snowball fight with Giselle and Markus joining in. Finally, as they all lay in the snow panting, Henri walked past at a dignified pace bearing a case of champagne.

  “You must be Daniel and Yvania. I’m Henri, that woman with the wicked snowball arm being held down, is my wife, Fauve. The trio spanking her is Laetitia and her twin brothers, Auguste and Robert. The three energetic snow angels next to them are Selma, Solange, and Carolette.”

  “Oh! Carolette! She is the blonde with the beeg hair?” Yvania asked.

  “Oui, the beehive is her signature,” he responded.

  “Even in spin classes!” Giselle looked up from between her friends. “Yvania, Daniel, meet mes amis!”

  “I’m the most mature one of the group, but they’ve been like this since they were all in diapers together,” Henri said.

  Giselle helped Solange to her feet and asked, “You’re sure no one followed you?”

  “Boh! Not a chance. We split up, some of us went by train from Charleville-Mézières to Paris, then came back via train through Brussels. Some went to Nice, then flew to Lyons and rented cars. Carolette and I drove all over in crazy routes picking up the group, and then we parked in a locked barn way past the forest. Spratman is no match for us.”

  “I’m sorry it was such a hassle.”

  “More like an adventure. Something fun to do and now we’re all back together. Going back tomorrow morning, we’ll just take sleighs back through the forests and pile into the two cars. Simple.”

  “I’m so glad you guys came!” Giselle said and wrapped her arms around her dear friend.

  Everyone followed Daniel to a bunkhouse where they dropped overnight bags, then proceeded to the dining hall where the first course of Yvania’s feast was being brought in for the party.

  The meal was a big family-style affair. Giselle’s friends swept Yvania and Daniel up in their steady stream of local updates that tumbled out in gleeful bursts while each jockeyed to be the one to deliver the punchline. Over dinner, the conversation circled around introduction stories from each of the guests, and then the latest news from the region.

  “Did you know there’s been a rash of thefts around Gernelle?”

  “No!” Giselle gasped. “No one texted me.”

  “In such a tight community?” Markus looked unbelieving.

  “Mais oui! It started with some tools from sheds and workshops.”

  “A wind chime from near Madame Panel’s lounge chair.”

  “The keys for the community playground gate.”

  “No!” Giselle said. “How strange.”

  “Jerome lost the velvet curtain from his sun porch along with all the antique brass curtain rings. Then the Picards lost pieces of their silver off their kitchen drying rack!”

  “But the gang of thieves has been caught,” Fauve jostled into the conversation and then pointed at the whipped sweet potatoes and snapped for Robert to pass them.

  “Their lair was discovered,” Solange said while taking a spoonful of potatoes from Robert before handing them to Fauve.

  “Two days ago, Maurice…you know, Jeneve’s uncle from Nevers…well his car wouldn’t start, and when he opened the hood all his wires had been chewed and there were pieces of dog food and family photographs all over the engine.”

  “What?” Yvania said, her eyes narrowing at the clue.

  “Wait! And there were photo bits and dog kibble all over the floor of his garage.”

  “What?” Daniel leaned forward, caught up in the mystery.

  “When Maurice climbed into the garage rafters, he found velvet shreds from Jerome’s missing cur
tain.”

  “The gang was in his garage?” Giselle asked.

  “Wait!” Auguste put a hand up. “So, he called the fire department, and on a hunch, they pointed their hoses down inside the cinderblocks of the garage walls, you know those two openings in the blocks? And woosh! Out flew pack rats and all the missing stuff!”

  “Pack rats!”

  “Pack rats?”

  “Oui! They’d made a condominium complex inside the cinderblock hollows!”

  “They’d been scuttling everywhere, even into people’s homes through their dog doors, and taking whatever caught their eye!” Solange announced.

  “So…” Carolette casually waved her fork about indicating the walls. “Daniel, like all school children of the region, we’ve all visited your abbey’s cheese shop many times, but what’s the story with this place? Tell us about the ghosts, the folklore.”

  “We are mostly known for our beer, but our most famous story is how Abbaye d’Orval was founded. In 1113 Countess Matilde of Tuscany was visiting this area and lost her wedding ring. She knelt by our stream and prayed for God to return it. Just then a golden trout surfaced and opened its mouth to reveal her ring. After plucking it out she declared, ‘Truly this place is a val d’Or!’ In thanks to God, she founded a monastery on this site, in this golden valley, and named it Abbaye d’Orval.”

  “Any more of those trout around? I love jewelry!” Fauve said.

  “This bread is the best thing I’ve ever eaten, and that layered dish comes second!”

  “What else is going on?”

  “Not much. Spratman is our big past time, watching his every move, but he’s so erratic.”

  “I have a plan,” Yvania said, which got everyone’s attention. “No goot sitting here hiding. We believe Spratman is brother of the hitman Bernardo, who the police have?”

  “Absolutely!” Fauve said firmly. “He looks just like him and dresses just like him with those shiny black shoes, too.”

  “Hokay, so we will trap him,” she said as if it were the simplest thing.

  “How?” the group asked in unison.

  “Make him think he is following Giselle, take him to a place where your friendly police…”

  “Luc, Terrance, and Gendarme Evan,” Henri supplied helpfully.

  “…are waiting, and we take him.”

  “Take him?” Laetitia asked.

  “To question,” Yvania said.

  “On what grounds?” Henri asked.

  “If you are so certain that he is part of the murderers Salvio hired, I am not worried that he would take us to court for questioning him. Then Giselle, Markus, and I can go live in Gernelle in peace.”

  Giselle felt a spark of hope.

  Robert looked dubious. “Um, how would we accomplish that?”

  Yvania’s expression became even more nonchalant, if that were possible, and she flipped a pudgy hand. “When you next see Spratman, Carolette can pretend to be Giselle—driving Giselle’s beeg truck—and get him to follow her.”

  Giselle’s hope deflated. No one could drive that truck but her and some elderly gearheads.

  “I’m a good driver,” Carolette gave her a knowing look and turned to Yvania to explain. “But that tank has a transmission called ‘three-on-the-tree.’ No one but Giselle knows how to drive that. I might be able to get it moving, but in a car chase I’d stall it and get murdered by Spratman.”

  “Oh.” Yvania tapped her lip thoughtfully.

  “What about the Exagon?” Solange asked.

  That brought a round of hoots and “Oohs!” from the group.

  “What is an Exagon?” Yvania asked.

  “Vincenzo has an outrageously fast electric car called an Exagon Furtive-eGT,” Henri said. “It’s one of Vincenzo’s prized possessions, and of course since he grew up in Venice with no streets, he adores tearing up the French countryside in it. It’s metallic gold, unmistakable. Unlike anything on the road. No way Spratman could miss it. It’s still parked at Giselle’s château.”

  “Our château,” Giselle corrected as she reached out for Markus’ hand.

  “Right.”

  “Sounding even better,” Yvania said. “When Spratman is seen next, Carolette gets into that Exagon and drives to where he is lurking, and you get the people to point and yell, ‘There goes Giselle!’ so Spratman follows.”

  “I can do that,” Carolette said. “Where do we spring the trap?”

  “Some place your police friends…” she gestured helplessly trying to recall their names.

  “Luc, Terrance and Gendarme Evan,” Markus said.

  “…can hide, and Carolette can run inside and back out without Spratman catching her.”

  “What about Château de Clavy?”

  “It’s public.”

  “Very public, non-stop school tours and tourist groups.”

  “Right.” Carolette continued, “They have a secret passage from the downstairs up into that second floor library.”

  “Is it in the general area where he has been searching?” Markus asked.

  “It’s in the area.”

  “If we make him believe he has intercepted Giselle while she runs an errand, that would work.”

  “Like dropping off a package at Château de Clavy?” Giselle offered.

  “Brilliant!” Laetitia got excited.

  “Theenk about it while I go to bring dessert and coffee.”

  “Got any dessert that goes with that amazing sweet beer your brethren make, Daniel?”

  “Of course!” he said proudly and followed Yvania out of the dining hall.

  The moment Yvania and Daniel left, Selma turned to Markus. “Is she serious?”

  “Yvania is always serious about anything tactical,” Markus replied.

  “Not what you’d expect from a short pudgy old Russian dumpling with Dame Edna glasses,” Fauve said.

  “Ukrainian,” Selma supplied helpfully.

  “Actually, Yvania is Chechen,” Markus said.

  “Lord! You’ll have to give us time to keep this stuff straight,” Solange drawled. Markus winked at her, and she fanned herself. “And don’t flirt with me, I can’t resist those ice blue eyes any more than Gigi can.” She grinned and ran her fingers through her chopped platinum hair, making it stand at attention.

  Giselle felt herself getting her hopes up at the prospect. “I want to try her plan. I’m sick of just hiding. I’d feel better actually doing something.”

  “I’m all for it,” Carolette said. “Drive V’s car, get Spratman to follow me, get far enough in front of him to get a running start into Château de Clavy.”

  “It’s simple, actually.” Fauve said. “The rest of us would get locals to point as you drive by, and then we’d get over to Clavy to be on hand in case you need help.”

  Reaching for her phone, Laetitia said, “Luc, Terrance, and Gendarme Evan would do it in a heartbeat. I’ll call Luc,”

  “I’ll call Terrance,” Auguste said.

  “I’ve got Gendarme Evan.” Solange was already tapping on her phone.

  The dining hall became a flurry of activity as some of them paced around on their phones and others helped clear the big table.

  Giselle pulled out her phone. “I’ll call Stephan at Château de Clavy, see if he’ll let us use the château as a trap sometime in the hopefully near future.” She saw that her contacts were missing. “Damn this burner phone. Who has Stephan’s number?”

  “Here,” Henri said as he tapped Stephan’s contact and handed his phone to her. It rang a few times, and then Stephan’s voice came on. “Henri, Joyeaux Noël. Qu'est-ce qu'il y a?”

  “Joyeaux Noël, Stephan. It’s Giselle.”

  “Ah, ma chérie! How are you? Staying safe?”

  Yvania reappeared, rolling a cart bearing a Bûche de Noël cake, which looked like a perfect log with cocoa sprinkled for realistic bark, a quivering blancmange, and a towering croquembouche contained within a finely spun golden sugar net. Daniel followed, rolling a bar
cart tinkling with bottles of dessert beer, the champagne her friends had brought from their vineyards, an urn of fragrant coffee, and assorted cups and glassware.

  While dessert was being served, Giselle convinced Stephan to join their plan. She overcame his initial reluctance to any possibility of danger to his visiting public by offering to buy a new pergola for the visitor’s restroom area next to the château’s parking lot.

  They all finished their calls and sat down to dessert. Giselle said, “We can use Château Clavy.”

  The rest of the group reported that their police buddies were happy to join the plan.

  As Yvania served up delicacies, she said, “Of course we must have a Plan B.”

  “Ooh! Plan B! Can I do something fun in Plan B?” Fauve asked.

  Daniel looked unhappy. “I promised Juliette that Giselle would be having a quiet pregnancy here until the hit men are caught. Let’s not get too crazy with these plans, Yvania.”

  “Nothing crazy. But if Spratman gets away from the police boys, Carolette drives to that airstrip near Gernelle, hides the car in a plane garage and a plane takes off. Fauve, you can tell Spratman when he pulls up that, uh-huh Giselle Verona was on that plane, that she is going to Iceland to the home of art collectors named Guðmunds. I theenk Spratman will quick drive to the nearest commercial airport and fly to Iceland to follow her. So, for Plan B we need a plane.”

  Henri and Robert both said, “Stuart!”

  Robert continued, “Our friend Stuart has his Cessna Citation at the Gernelle airstrip. He’d take off in the ruse to help us. Any excuse to fly his jet.”

  Yvania nodded. “Be sure to say she is going to Kópavogur, Iceland to install one of her sculptures at the home of some collectors named Guðmunds.”

  Selma looked at Yvania with admiration. “You really think fast, don’t you?”

  “You have no idea,” Markus said. “And it’s not just thinking, you should see her in action.”