Mischief in St. Tropez

by C. G Oster

  “He was a lovely man, wasn’t he?” Lady Pettifer said and Dory had to pull herself out of her thoughts.

  “Yes,” she said quietly.

  “Completely unattached, as I recall. He would be perfect for you.”

  Color flared up Dory’s cheeks. She wasn’t normally one to get embarrassed about something like that—in fact, she wasn’t normally one to swoon over any man, but she had liked DI Ridley. There was something very sensible about him. He also seemed to know exactly what to do when the occasion required it. Without a doubt, he was an excellent investigator, relentlessly pursuing the person responsible for the crime he was investigating.

  All in all, Dory wasn’t sure her interest in solving murders would have been left unexplored if she hadn’t met him. In a way, perhaps she was trying to do what he did.

  “Until we hear back, I think it’s best we put the whole thing behind us,” Lady Pettifer said. “Oh and now the tea is cold and we sent Mr. Fernley away.”

  “I’ll refresh the pot,” Dory said with a smile, knowing full well Lady Pettifer hoped she would do so the minute she’d said it.

  Chapter 18

  T he next couple of days were spent trying to avoid Vivian. When he was at the house, she found herself in need of a long walk, returning when he had gone again, or she had been absent long enough. Her strategy didn’t always work and he would be sitting either in the covered seating area outside or in the salon. Luckily, he seemed to ignore her much of the time as well. Still, Dory knew she could bear the brunt of his moods anytime he felt like it.

  The sky was sunny and pure blue. A warm breeze was coming off the sea, but the house was starting to build up heat in the afternoons.

  Today, both Vivian and Livinia were staying at home, which meant the house would likely feel crowded. It was by no means a small house. Perhaps Dory would see herself off to a secluded corner and read. It would be an evening of gin and tonics. Lady Pettifer always liked a gin on a hot day.

  Walking into the house, the warm atmosphere felt repressive, and she wasn’t in the mood to read. Surely, she couldn’t go for another walk. She’d just returned from one and was hot and sweaty as a result. What she wanted was to cool down. The sea, she thought. Maybe a dip was exactly what she needed, so she went upstairs and dressed in the deep navy maillot she had bought in Cannes. It was lovely and it fit her perfectly. It had a rounded neckline and it finished at on her hips.

  With towel over her shoulder and her book in hand, just in case, she left the house again, feeling a sense of purpose. The path down to the sea led through the extensive gardens along the rough terrains of the hillside, then down a rocky path to the small wooden jetty.

  Spreading the towel on the jetty, she left everything there and climbed down the ladder into the refreshingly cool water. It had a sting of coldness for only a moment, then it mellowed into wonderful.

  The water was so clear she could see all the rocks along the bottom and even some of the sea life. Diving under, all noise disappeared for a moment and she felt alone. The unpleasantness of the day was cleared away and she emerged tasting salt on her lips.

  Glittering sun reflected all around her and she swam away from the jetty, where she turned around and floated for a moment. Swimming in the River Darent Lake had always been their summer outing as she’d grown up. They would cycle over and picnic by the lake shore. It had been the most marvelous days growing up—they’d been happy. Lower Darent Lake didn’t have the spectacular colors of the Cote D’Azur, but it had its own charm, and Dory felt a pang of longing for home.

  Gradually, the water started feeling cold and Dory swam back to the jetty and climbed out, laying herself down in the sun.

  Baron Drecsay snuck into her mind. It felt wrong that he would never experience another day like this, just because someone had decided to steal his life from him. There had to be some way of moving ahead.

  The sun quickly warmed her and she decided to return to the house before she started to burn. Unfortunately, her complexion wouldn’t allow her to lie in the sun for very long and now had to seek shade.

  The path to the house felt much steeper on the climb up, the breeze cooling her wet swimming costume as she walked through the shaded parts of the garden.

  “Miss Dory,” she heard Mr. Fernley call.

  “I’m here,” she called out.

  “A phone call for you.”

  “Oh,” she said and ran up the rest of the path and through the garden. Her towel was flung over her shoulder and she wrapped it around her as she approached the house.

  The telephone was sitting on a small table in the hallway, the receiver lying on its side. Picking it up, she held it to her ear. “Hello?”

  “Miss Sparks.”

  Dory recognized DI Ridley’s voice immediately, even with the relentless crackling along the line. “DI Ridley. I didn’t expect your call. I am so pleased to hear from you.”

  “I received your letter.”

  “Yes, I am sorry to bother you with this, but we seem to have stalled in our investigation. I know many feel we shouldn’t, but the police here do not have the time to look particularly deeply into this.”

  “Much is being diverted everywhere,” he said. It was hard to hear the exact intonation of his voice. “You mentioned the next step was to find this girlfriend, a local girl.”

  “Yes, but we struggle to find her. She is not of the community Lady Pettifer belongs to.” She was going to add herself too, but it felt wrong in more than one way. “The police cannot assist us, so we do not know where to look.”

  “Census data is always a good place to seek people if you are looking for someone quite static, but it can be difficult to reach the census office if you are in a more rural location. You could call.”

  “Of course,” Dory said, feeling slightly stupid because in hindsight, it was such an obvious avenue. “I should have thought of that.”

  “But most likely, if this girl is more of a goodtime girl, as you seemed to allude, just asking for her in some of the pubs is usually a quicker way of finding someone.”

  Dory didn’t see any need to explain that the French didn’t have pubs as such, but they did have taverns, and there were clubs and bars around where she could ask. Perhaps any of the drinking establishments near the Hotel Carlone. The baron and Marie were likely regular patrons there. It seemed so obvious now. How had she not thought of it? “I will ask in the establishments around the hotel where the baron lived.”

  “They might not provide you an answer, but if she was a local girl, then you could probably hone down on her district, then repeat until you get a street. From there it should be relatively simple to find her house, or her family’s. If she has left town, her family will know where she is, and even how to reach her. Be careful, though. She might be the person responsible. And perpetrators do rash, irresponsible—even illogical—things when they are cornered. You shouldn’t go alone.”

  “I won’t. I promise.”

  “And I don’t mean you and an elderly lady. Take someone who can guard you. It always pays to have someone watching your back.”

  “Yes, I will.” Unsolicitous thoughts turned to Vivian, but she couldn’t say he would actually agree. The thought of running around Nice with Vivian, looking for a trace of a woman seemed almost absurd.

  “Typically with murder, the motives are primarily jealousy or money. Look to those first. Lady Wallisford didn’t neatly fit into those, but most murders do.”

  Dory nodded even though he couldn’t see her. “Thank you.”

  “You can write to me again if you wish, but it appears I will be at the Pirbright Camp in Surrey in the near future. If you write to the Met, there is a good chance it won’t reach me.”

  “Pirbright?” she said.

  “My letter to appear just arrived,” he said a little more quietly.

  “Oh,” Dory said with surprise. “You’re being conscripted.”

  “Effectively yes; technically it’s not offi
cially conscription. The expectation is clear. I head off in a couple of days.”

  “I see.” She had no idea what to say to that. The pressure on people like him to join the struggle must be rampant. Was she supposed to send her condolences?

  “Apparently they need men with certain skills.”

  “I hadn’t realized,” she repeated. The news still stunned her. “I hope you will be alright,” she said without thinking.

  “It’s only training. I’m sure I will survive. Perhaps the French police are having the same issue with many of their officers being pressed into service.”

  That could explain why they seemed so unwilling to investigate the baron’s murder. “I’m not sure England could do without its police.”

  “Not everyone is being called from the essential services. The firemen have all been exempt, but some of us investigators can be released, it seems.”

  At this point, Dory had no idea what to say. It felt as though she wanted to say so much, but couldn’t think of anything appropriate.

  “Are you safe where you are?” he finally asked.

  “We seem to be. Lady Pettifer intends to stay put provided the Germans do.”

  It was silence down the line for a moment. “We should probably end this call.”

  “Yes, it must be costing you a bit. Thank you so much for your assistance. I know exactly what I need to do now.”

  There was a chuckle down the phone. “Goodbye, Dory.”

  Dory didn’t want him to go. “I’ll let you know how we progress.”

  “I would appreciate that.”

  With that, he hung up and the line clicked a few more times as the operators disengaged the calls, until Dory’s phone was left with only static silence and she replaced the receiver.

  Chapter 19

  D ory felt a little stunned as she walked back to the salon, where Lady Pettifer, Vivian and Livinia were all sitting. They all turned to her expectantly, having heard her speaking on the phone.

  “It was DI Ridley,” she said absently. “He had some good advice.”

  “So you know how to proceed now?”

  Dory sat down, eventually remembering that a question had been put to her. “Yes.”

  “You seem a bit startled.”

  “It was just… DI Ridley said he’d been asked to join the services and he was leaving his post.”

  “Everyone and their dog have been conscripted,” Vivian said dismissively and all turned to him. “It’s not unusual. Anyone with a hint of education is being conscripted into officer training.”

  “You have education,” Livinia said.

  “So I have. Knew it would lead to no good.”

  “You haven’t received a letter, have you?”

  “Turns out I have. Wasn’t there to receive it, though. Had already left.”

  The room was silent for a moment.

  “Like I said, everyone and their dog. Women too, apparently.”

  “What?!” Livinia said.

  “Mostly nurses and eminently sensible girls, so I think you’re safe, Livinia.”

  “Technically, I don’t think women can be required to serve,” Lady Pettifer said.

  “Not if Sir Beveridge has his way. He seeks to conscript every woman in the country.”

  “I couldn’t possibly go to war,” Livinia piped shrilly.

  “Don’t worry, Livinia,” Vivian said. “No one would subject the Germans to you. More likely they will send you to a farm to milk cows or something.”

  The horror on Livinia’s face made Dory chuckle. It wasn’t really funny, though. This only showed that the people in power didn’t expect that the lack of aggression that had kept things peaceful would continue. And it seemed they could all be a part of the war. This thing that had seemed too abstract and removed had shifted closer. People she knew were being sucked into what she saw as a menacing cloud.

  Everyone knew the losses that had occurred with the Great War. A whole generation of men had been lost. With men going to war, the chances of them not returning were high.

  Absently Dory stroked her fingers along her mouth.

  “Andrew,” Lady Pettifer said and rose, marching over to the telephone. In a sense, it felt as though hearing of Andrew’s conscription would be worse, because Lady Pettifer was a mother. As much as everyone worried about friends and acquaintances, mothers must be devastated.

  This conversation and Lady Pettifer’s reaction wasn’t something Dory wanted to be a part of. Lady Pettifer wouldn’t want it either if it turned out Andrew, her son, had been conscripted. She bore blows in solitude.

  “I have to go to Nice,” Dory said.

  “God, yes, let’s get out of here,” Livinia said. “All this talk of war makes my skin crawl.”

  With worry, Dory pressed her lips together, wondering if she should ask Vivian to accompany her. Livinia would be more of a hindrance if there was danger around. But she had no idea if Vivian would be of any use either. Use or not, anyone with ill intent would pause at taking on three people, even if they were essentially useless and oblivious.

  Not that it mattered yet. Dory hadn’t even located Marie Chard. When it came time to question, perhaps she would ask both of them to accompany her.

  “He has received a letter, too,” Lady Pettifer said at the door with a strained and tired voice. “I think I will rest for a while.”

  “In that case, we might continue with our inquiries,” Dory said and stood. “Follow up on some of DI Ridley’s suggestions.”

  With a nod, Lady Pettifer turned and walked toward the stairs. Sighing at the sight of Lady Pettifer’s silent suffering, Dory felt awful. In a sense, it was hard not to think of it as a death sentence. Or at least Lady Pettifer would, who so remembered the telegrams relentlessly coming with dreadful news.

  Without a son or a husband, Dory wouldn’t receive such news, and her brothers were yet too young. If the war stretched on for four years like the Great War, then at least one would be pulled into the malaise as well. She couldn’t imagine losing either of her brothers.

  Maybe the fact that nothing had really happened yet meant there was still hope of a diplomatic solution. It could be that all of this ended without great loss. Surely no one wanted another war like the one before. It had devastated everyone.

  “Come on,” Vivian said. “I’ll drive.”

  Still feeling deflated, Dory grabbed her hat off the coat stand. Livinia disappeared upstairs to change, leaving Dory and Vivian to stand by the car. An awkward silence hung between them.

  “I am sorry to hear you have been conscripted.”

  “Wouldn’t have happened if I’d been stupid enough to start a parliamentary career like Cedric.”

  “He’s exempt?”

  “All parliamentarians are.”

  Livinia finally appeared and they all got into the motorcar. Dory sat in the back, still feeling heavy from the day’s developments. She spent most of the trip lost in her own thoughts while Vivian and Livinia chatted between themselves. Notably, since Vivian had arrived, they hadn’t engaged in the petty barbs they used to sling at each other when she’d first met them. His jabs seemed to be exclusively reserved for Dory now.

  The drive took long, but happened along beautiful vistas. The coastline was stunning the entire drive from St. Tropez, through multiple small villages and through Cannes.

  “Why are you going to Nice, anyway?” Vivian asked.

  “I’m going to ask around some of the bars if they know this Marie Chard woman.” In a way, the murder seemed like a paltry concern against the looming specter of war, but that was exactly why they couldn’t lose focus. Justice was still needed for this man.

  Arriving in Nice, Dory asked Vivian to pull over by the Hotel Carlone, where she got out. “I’ll meet you back here in two hours,” she said.

  “And what if we want to stay for more than two hours?” Vivian challenged.

  For a moment, Dory was stumped. “Then I suppose I will take the bus.” The bus was sl
ow, but it did wind its way back along the coast. By no means was it a comfortable ride, but it would give everyone the flexibility to do as they wished.

  “Two hours it is, then,” he said before suddenly driving off.

  With raised eyebrows, Dory simply watched them as they disappeared down the street, then decided she couldn’t be bothered with Vivian and his strange behavior. She had a job to do.

  Turning around, she spotted a brasserie. The baron and his girl must have visited there on a number of occasions. It was a nice place with beautiful standing lights between neat rows of wooden tables. The place had a warm, welcoming feeling.

  A sharp-featured man stood outside in his starched white apron. It was that quiet period between lunch and supper, when many of the French took their siesta. “Monsieur,” Dory said as she approached.

  “Are you dining with us, mademoiselle?” he asked with a curt bow.

  “No, I’m afraid not. I was wondering if you could assist me to find a woman that I believe frequented here with Baron Drecsay.”

  The man mused for a moment and Dory feared he would be as unhelpful as the manager at the hotel. “Baron Drecsay had many dining companions.”

  “I meant specifically Marie Chard.”

  “Oh, Marie. We have not seen her for a while. The baron met with an unfortunate fate, you know.”

  “I heard. It is just that his family wishes to give a gift to Marie, but they cannot find her.” Dory was lying through her teeth, but she had to do something to get past the suspicion in the man’s eyes.

  “I see. I can tell her if she comes,” he said with a shrug. “And you are?”

  “Miss Dory Sparks. I am actually trying to track her down. Do you know where I could ask next?”

  “I cannot help you. I don’t know her address.”

  “I understand she is a local girl. Do you know the district she is from?”

  “I believe Riquier.”

  That was quite far away. She would have to take the tram. “Perhaps I will try to find her there.”