An Official Killing

by Nell Goddin

  “Yeah, exactly!” said Malcolm with a crooked grin.

  “One more question. Be forthcoming, Malcolm, this one’s important.”

  Malcolm nodded.

  “Any connection with Coulon in all this?”

  The boy shrugged. “I don’t know anything about that. Coulon’s crooked, you’ve probably figured that out by now. Dirty money every which way you look. So it’s no shocker that someone killed him, but I haven’t heard a peep about who that might have been, I swear.”

  Molly looked closely at him, and felt satisfied he was telling the truth. It was a funny quality for a kid who had been caught stealing and breaking and entering multiple times—but as far as Molly knew, he was not a liar.

  A drug ring, in Castillac. Whoever would have thought?

  44

  Friday, the day of the wedding, broke cloudy with an off and on drizzle. Molly was up early. Her wrists and arms sore from being dragged through the meadow, she felt unsettled, the stress having caused her to fall asleep before Ben had gotten home, still full of far more questions than answers. Drug-dealing, multiple villagers implicated in the scheme, an attempted abduction—but was any of that pertinent to Coulon’s murder? It felt as though they kept uncovering wrongdoing in every direction but the one that mattered.

  Was Coulon mixed up in the Vasiliev’s drug ring as well, and if so, had that gotten him killed? She had no problem imagining Vasily committing the act, not now. But she had nothing to connect him directly to Coulon, nothing but a devious and murderous nature, which did not equal much of anything in the eyes of the law.

  With a sudden panic, she realized she had gone to bed the night before without finding out what had happened with Fedosia. She ran to put water on to boil and then woke Ben up.

  “Sorry,” she said, giving him a quick kiss. “But I just realized—the other half of the criminal enterprise is in the pigeonnier! Did anyone tell Fedosia that her husband is in the hospital? And according to Malcolm, she was a partner in the whole thing—”

  “Monsour took her in. That’s probably why you couldn’t reach him last night about securing the crime scene in the building up the road.”

  “I admire your ability to wake up and be coherent right away.”

  “I was dreaming about you,” he said, putting his hands on her shoulders and pulling her closer.

  But Molly twisted away and stood up. “I’ve got a million things to do,” she said. “I can’t quite believe it, but the wedding’s today. I’m expecting deliveries any minute and I just realized that I forgot to get Nico’s ring from the jeweler’s. I’m going to sit down and drink one more cup of coffee and go through my list, see if there’s anything else important that I’ve forgotten. And please—pray it doesn’t keep raining?”

  Ben watched her leave, knowing she was chattering because there was something she needed to say but was not yet ready to say it. With a sigh, he rolled over, hoping to grab just another fifteen minutes of sleep before facing the day, but as soon as Molly was gone, Bobo jumped on top of him and licked his face.

  “Good dog,” he said, pushing her out of face-range just as his cell buzzed.

  “Bonjour, Dufort,” he said, propping himself on an elbow. His hand hurt from the fight with Vasily, his knuckles bruised and tender.

  “Vasiliev has made a complaint against you,” said Maron, with no preamble. “Look, I understand the circumstances, believe me. But his nose is broken and he has a concussion. The doctor…the doctor said you bashed him up pretty bad.”

  Ben felt the same rage sweep through him that he had felt when he saw Vasily with Molly. “Are you telling me I did something wrong? That I wasn’t completely within my rights to stop him—and make sure he stayed stopped—given what he was attempting to do? If I had been two minutes later, if Wesley Addison hadn’t warned me—”

  “I just need you to come to the gendarmerie to fill out the paperwork. Don’t worry, we’ll get it sorted out.”

  They said goodbye and Ben swung his feet to the floor, angry and sleep-deprived. The creep had his hands on Molly, he thought, again feeling an uncomfortable surge of adrenaline.

  He came out to the kitchen looking for her. She was just putting her mug in the dishwasher and getting ready to leave.

  “I have to go down to the station,” he said. “Is there anything you need me to do today to help you get ready? Besides the praying,” he added with a smile that Molly did not return.

  “Coulon,” said Molly simply. “All this drama with the wedding, and the Vasilievs, and drugs…but what we need is Coulon’s killer. And correct me if I’m wrong, we have nothing but circumstantial evidence and shaky suppositions to show for our efforts.”

  Ben took a deep breath to fend off a flash of anger. Why wasn’t she more grateful? Hadn’t he stopped her from being dragged into the woods by that thug?

  * * *

  Molly went back inside to get a slicker in case the rain got worse, then hopped on the scooter and turned the ignition. It did not cough or even sneeze, but made no sound at all. She turned the key again, then again, but it was undeniably and completely dead.

  “Dammit!” she muttered under her breath. Pausing, she considered asking Ben to drive her into the village, but shook her head. She just didn’t feel like being around him just then. It was not that big a deal to walk.

  “Stay, Bobo!” she said, as the dog trotted hopefully with her to the end of the driveway, then turned back with an expression of woe.

  I just want to be alone for a few minutes, thought Molly. I need to get my head clear and think.

  Have I failed to look objectively at Odile, she wondered. It’s true that as a fellow divorcée, I felt sympathetic. Maybe too sympathetic. She might have had keys to Coulon’s house. She might have come up with any number of reasons to get him up on the second floor—something she’d forgotten to take with her when she moved out, even seducing him for some reason. Her temperament was fiery, possibly to the point of violence. How could she and Ben approach her, what questions could they ask so that she might incriminate herself without realizing it?

  Walking quickly past the cemetery, the drizzle intensifying, Molly felt even more dispirited. The very last thing she felt like doing was hosting Frances and Nico’s wedding, and knowing that she had volunteered for the job—not to mention the guilt she felt, knowing they were her best friends and deserved her attention and joy that day of all days—did not improve her mood either.

  What had happened to Daniel Coulon, anyway? It felt as though he had loomed up out of nowhere but then disappeared, like the elusive whale in Moby Dick, she thought, laughing in spite of herself. The disappearance is somewhat incriminating behavior, thought Molly, unwilling to completely let go of him. Had he returned to his mother in Brittany? Molly did not think pursuing his inheritance would necessitate staying in Castillac; she made a mental note to ask Ben about it later.

  It was not yet ten o’clock when Molly turned into the alley, taking a shortcut on the way to Pâtisserie Bujold for a rejuvenating almond croissant before going to pick up the ring at the jeweler’s. The drizzle had blessedly backed off and she slowed down, her eyes drifting over the gardens and backyards as they always did when she walked this way.

  Then she stopped. She clambered onto a small pile of planks to get a better view. And the realization hit her violently, as though someone had come up behind her and clapped her on the back of the head. It was just like the classic Sherlock Holmes clue: the dog that did not bark, the thing that was not there. She stood for a moment, staring and thinking hard. What she now understood—it wasn’t quite enough, she didn’t think, for an arrest. Molly was almost certain she was right about what had happened, but they were going to need just a little something extra to prove it. She had a few ideas of what that might be, but would Maron agree to help her find it?

  And was there any way to get it done before the wedding?

  45

  Back at La Baraque, Ben was doing some thinking of h
is own. The events of the day before had clarified some things for him, and as he stood at the window looking out at the meadow, the memory of seeing Molly being dragged through the grass replaying over and over, he nodded slowly to himself.

  The doorbell rang and he took the delivery for the wedding food and put it away. The wine and liquor delivery arrived soon after. He kept glancing outside, listening out for Molly, but there was no sign of her.

  Wesley Addison came down and made himself tea, and Ben brought him up to date, thanking him profusely. “If you hadn’t told me to go that instant…” he said, his English quite good, since he was feeling the memory so strongly he forgot to worry about grammar.

  “I am only glad I could help,” said Wesley. “Well, I will not keep you. I know the wedding is tonight and you and Molly no doubt have much to take care of.”

  “Are you…” Ben started, feeling awkward.

  “No, I am not invited nor should I have been. Nancy and Emily have invited me to dinner in the village, as a sort of farewell before they leave tomorrow. I believe they have made reservations at La Métairie.”

  “Ah! Well, you will certainly enjoy the meal. The chef is quite accomplished.” Ben was talking but his mind was all the way across town, wondering what Molly was doing and why she had not come back.

  “Doubtless whatever Molly makes for the dinner will be most larruping,” said Wesley. Ben nodded, not even trying to understand what he was saying.

  Then Frances was at the front door, her eyes red, and Ben had no idea what to tell her. “I’m sure she’ll be right back, she just mentioned one quick errand…um, is everything all right?”

  “All right? Haha! Yes, everything is dandy, Ben! Oh, you mean my eyes? Yeah, I know, it’s crazy, I had a little bit of a crying jag this morning when I woke up. Not sad-crying though, it was happy-crying.”

  Ben nodded, having no idea what she was talking about either.

  It was past one. Thirty people were coming at four, the bride looked like she wanted to jump off a bridge, and still no Molly.

  Constance came wheeling down the driveway on her bicycle, late for cleaning. “I’m just going to fly through here like a tornado,” she said to Ben. “Where the heck is Molls?”

  “We have no idea,” said Frances. “But I’m not worried. She probably uncovered an international jewel thief when she went to pick up Nico’s ring. Once she has him subdued and his entire network under arrest, she’ll amble back here, whip up an incredible meal for a big crowd of people, and I don’t know, perform a few other magic tricks along the way.”

  “Sometimes I don’t know when you’re kidding,” said Ben.

  “Me neither,” said Frances, shrugging. “Anyway, I’m serious when I say I’m not worried. I’ve been friends with Molly for like twenty-five years, and she’s never let me down yet.”

  “Where’s your dress? asked Constance. “I bet it’s incredible.”

  “Nah. Look, this is trip number three down the aisle. You start to get a little spooked by symbolic stuff like wedding dresses when things have gone horribly wrong so many times.”

  “Constance, how about you get the work out of the way now, so Molly has less to worry about when she gets back?” Ben suggested, trying to get preparations moving in the right direction.

  Constance shot Ben a look and went off to find the vacuum cleaner.

  Frances took a long, deep breath and wondered whether having a shot of whiskey would be bad luck.

  A rap on the door and Madame Angevin came in holding a gorgeous bouquet of pink roses. “Congratulations, chérie,” she said to Frances. “I’m going to see if this can fit in the refrigerator. You don’t want to walk down the aisle with a wilted bouquet!”

  Next Lawrence swept in. “Ben, can I have a word?” he said, after exchanging the necessary kisses and greetings all around. The two men stepped into the corridor. “I heard from Molly. Apparently your phone is dead?”

  Ben’s eyes bugged out. He took his cell out of his pocket and saw that indeed, it did not show a pulse. “Mon Dieu,” he muttered.

  “Happens to the best of us,” said Lawrence. “Listen, Molly has been at the station talking to Maron. She’s pretty sure she’s figured out who killed Coulon—and she didn’t go into details with me, damn her soul—but there’s some piece of it Maron has to take care of. She asked me to tell you she’s on her way home, and the wedding should be able to go ahead on schedule.”

  “No details at all?”

  “Zero. I tried, my friend, believe me. But she was in a great hurry so we didn’t talk long. I was already on my way over to help Madame Langevin with the flowers, and get the music set up. I offered to pick her up, but for some reason she insisted on walking back. Anyway, she should be here in ten minutes at the outside.”

  Constance was the picture of industry as she went over the living room rug and even, as opposed to her usual practice, vacuuming under the sofas. Thomas showed up and set up the bar outside, Lawrence and Madame Langevin took bowls of flowers out to the tables, Frances had disappeared with a bottle of Jameson’s, and there was nothing for Ben to do but wait and wonder.

  46

  “I know, it seemed like such an extravagance,” Molly was saying to Lawrence as she put four enormous bowls of salad into a second refrigerator in a utility room off the main corridor of her house. “But for moments like your best friend getting married, having a second refrigerator is an absolute must!”

  “I’m going to tell you, because we’re old pals, that your voice is rattling on about an octave higher than usual. Are you going to tell me what’s going on?”

  “Can’t!” said Molly, flashing Lawrence a grin. “Would you put candles on the tables? They’re in the closet of the room in the new addition. And be ready with matches or a lighter or something when it gets dark. You’re the best!” she said, giving him a loud kiss. He gave her an exaggerated scowl.

  “I don’t know how Ben puts up with you, I really don’t.”

  Molly shrugged. “There’s just not time right now. Let me get the last of the wedding stuff done, take a shower, get dressed—and even then, it would be so rude to overshadow Nico and Frances’s big day with a bunch of talk about a murder investigation. And you know it.”

  Lawrence laughed. “It’s not like they met you yesterday, dear one. Even if you managed to get through the entire night without uttering a single word about Coulon, don’t you think Nico and Frances would know very well that you’re thinking about it? Just tell Ben and me, and I promise to stop harassing you. Just give us the name, chérie.”

  “You’re relentless! Now I’m beginning to understand how you always know what’s going on in the village. You hound people until blood starts pouring out of their ears!”

  “What an unsavory vision,” said Lawrence with a sniff. “Ben has been setting up the chairs. I’ll go get him, and you can at least give us a big hint. Please?”

  Molly shook her head. “I’ve got to get the steaks ready, there’s the—”

  “It will take three minutes!”

  “Oh, all right. Get Ben while I season the steaks and check on the grills. But first, check to see how Nico is doing? I told him he could hide in the annex until the ceremony is ready to start. He’s very sweetly superstitious about seeing Frances beforehand.”

  “Will do,” said Lawrence, wasting not a second.

  In ten minutes Ben was hustling along after Lawrence and they met Molly outside, around the corner of the building, where none of the people working to decorate, clean, and set up for the wedding could hear them.

  “I can’t believe I had to strong-arm you into telling your own partner,” said Lawrence indignantly.

  Ben looked amused. “I’ve learned that Molly has her own timetable, and it’s best not to try to force her onto yours.”

  “Well, you’re disgustingly understanding. Okay Molly, out with it for God’s sake. What did you figure out? Who killed the mayor?”

  “I don’t one hundred per cent
know, not yet. And I’m sort of amazed I didn’t realize it sooner. It’s sort of a long story which is why I wanted to wait, but here goes the short version: before I got the scooter, I walked into the village almost every day, sometimes more than once. And a lot of those times, well, most of them actually, I was on my way to Pâtisserie Bujold, and so I cut through the alley that comes out on rue des Chênes on the edge of the village.”

  Ben and Lawrence listened, mystified.

  “And all right, I snooped a little bit, looking into people’s backyards. I peered over some walls, curious about what was behind them. And I noticed, starting right when I moved to Castillac almost two years ago, that someone was hanging some very fancy lingerie on the line in the backyard of one of the houses. La Perla is the brand—it’s quite expensive, quite luxurious. And you know, it made me wonder. I mean, you know I love Castillac from the bottom of my heart, but I would not say—no insult intended—that it is chock full of glamorous wealthy women who look like they might be have La Perla on underneath.”

  “Molly!” shouted a rather desperate-sounding voice.

  “Oh—that’s Frances. She sounds on the brink of something,” said Molly. “I’ll finish this story later. Just hang on, and let’s see if Maron gets anywhere—”

  And then she was off, leaving Lawrence and Ben standing in the corridor with bemused faces, painfully frustrated, wondering how in the world fancy underwear could possibly have anything to do with the death of Maxime Coulon.

  47

  Molly ran to her bedroom where Frances was getting dressed.

  “You’re fine, right?” she said, smiling at her friend, who looked absolutely stunning in a simple white silk sheath, lips a luscious red, jet-black hair brushing her shoulders.

  Frances took a slug of Jameson’s out of the bottle. “Giddy,” she said. “I’m giddy, I’m nuts, I’m utterly and madly in love—”