86

Avenue du Goulet

A Samantha Jamison Mystery

Volume 3

A Novel

by

Peggy A. Edelheit

This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or to actual events or locales is entirely coincidental.

86 Avenue du Goulet: A Samantha Jamison Mystery Volume 3

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Copyright © 2011 Peggy A. Edelheit. All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book, or portions thereof, in any form. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical without the express written permission of the author. The scanning, uploading, and distribution of this book via the Internet or via any other means without the permission of the publisher is illegal and punishable by law. Please purchase only authorized electronic editions and do not participate in or encourage electronic piracy of copyrighted materials.

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ISBN# 978-1-937387-74-7 (Paperback)

Version 2012.06.05

Chase your Dreams

& Remember,

Every Day is a Blessing

This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

Dedication

To my family, the best part of me

Dans la mémoire de Jean, Mercis spéciaux à Martine

IT Technical Support

Jon Denz

A Special Thanks To Editor

Winslow Eliot

Publisher

Telemachus Press

Steven Jackson

Steven Himes

Terri Himes

86

Avenue du Goulet©

A Samantha Jamison Mystery

Volume 3

À la vie! (To Life!)

C'est bon! (It is good!)

Non? (No?)

Chapter 1

Opening & Closing Gates & Chapter One

I leaned against my car rental, staring at those old iron gates, and then looked to the right at the plaque on the lantern-topped, stone pillar. It read, ‘Villa Palmerose.’ Another plaque on the left pillar with a speaker gave the address, ‘86 Avenue du Goulet.’

Was I making a mistake staying here?

Before I changed my mind, I walked over, pushed the button and gave a smile to the camera. In seconds, the old gates creaked open and I drove through, entering the stone courtyard. As they closed behind me, I gave a sigh of relief.

After successfully keeping at bay my concerns about Martine’s call, and exhausted from my transatlantic flight, I had finally arrived from my landing at Nice Airport forty minutes away. I checked out the views, confirming what I had expected: the Cote d’Azur and this villa were a perfect pairing. Stepping out of the car, I stretched, then turned at the sound of my name, grinning.

“Samantha! You made good time from Nice. Right after you called, I told the estate agent I would let you in.”

“Oh, Martine. What a scenic ride! The coast is just as beautiful as I remembered from my last visit.”

She laughed. “Well, of course! An unbeautiful coast would not be very French of us now, would it, Samantha?”

We kissed each cheek, as was the French custom, and then, being friends, we hugged.

I stepped back as we held hands, scrutinizing my friend. She was a striking brunette, but tell-tale dark circles under her eyes belied her cheerfulness. I held her gaze; glad I’d come, but was still mystified by her unusual request.

“I came as soon as possible. Remember, you promised you’d fill me in when I got here. I was planning on visiting you anyway, since I’m in between writing books. Still, I think it was creative and convenient to time it like that!”

Why all the secrecy surrounding her anxious call?

She laughed, making light of my comment. “Ah, the clever novelist! You know me well, Sam! There is plenty of time to explain after you are all settled and rested. A few more hours will not make such a difference. Am I right?”

“…Okay, but then I insist on hearing the whole story.”

She reached into her pocket and held out her hand. “Here is the key. Come, I will show you the villa you insisted on renting for your stay, then you can freshen up and unpack.”

When we finished a brief tour, she instructed, “You will come to me for drinks promptly at six tonight, oui?” She eyed me and smiled, but her skepticism showed.

She knew me too well; how I lost track of time, writing down my thoughts.

“Of course!” I replied quickly. “There is no excuse, anyway. After all, you live right next door!”

“C'est bon! We will talk then, mon ami.” Martine was about to turn and leave, but then paused. “…Samantha, thank you for coming earlier than you had planned, especially after your husband, Stephen’s, unexpected death in that horrible, tragic car accident. You’re resilience is remarkable for accommodating me.”

I gave her a warm smile. “Let’s reserve judgment on the remarkable part of that statement until later, okay?”

“Sam, what is more important, you are here!”

We kissed goodbye, and after squeezing my arm and smiling once more, she quickly disappeared through the extensive gardens and through the walk-in gate, taking the long way over to her property. She never took the easy route, and was always walking or swimming to stay healthy.

“Au revoir, Martine!” I called out, waving.

Years before, Martine and I met in New York through my agent, Sandra, and hit it off. Since then, I tried to visit her once a year or so, plus we Skype when we can. Both of us were too busy to do much more than that, she as a travel writer, and me, a novelist.

I looked up at the old, stone house, admiring it. I always stayed with Martine, so when she had mentioned that the elderly Curat, the owner of this villa, had passed away, and it was vacant for an affordable rent, I decided to stay here without distraction to write. I would start my next book here. But to be honest, I had doubts about the sense of it.

An unexpected chill whipped up from the cool waters of the sea. I heard rustling and peripherally caught a blur of what? I turned, then shrugged. Nothing. After not sleeping for hours, I was obviously imagining things. Jetlag for sure.

I hurried toward the door. I barely had enough time to unpack and take a short nap, then I’d be off to Martine’s to find out why she requested I come sooner than we had originally planned. Was a potential book in the air? I hoped so, but why such urgency? I paused mid-step, scanning Curat’s gardens. I couldn’t believe I was back in France.

…Yes, but exactly what had I come back to?

Chapter 2

Climbing Up The Backdrop

I exited the villa with ten minutes to spare, taking the shortcut, but promptly stopped in my tracks. A wire fence about six feet high with tall hedges behind it, running the whole length of the two properties, stood before me. Since the thick hedge was on Martine’s side, I had never noticed that fence before. Well, so much for going that way.

Was that to keep people in, or keep them out?

I assumed I could walk right over. I was facing a curved arch: a porte cochere, an open ended stone archway that connected the villa with its garage. If I walked through it, I’d go directly to Martine’s backyard patio. But because of the fence, that was out of the question. Luckily, all was quiet so far from her patio. I checked my watch, now pressed for time, trying to think of other alternatives.

I could go out the gated entrance, but that would make me walk out onto the street and down the hill, making a left turn at the next street, and then another left turn to walk up that steep street to get to Martine’s electric iron gates, tread up her long stone driveway, and then climb up two stories of steps to get to her patio. Exhausting and time consuming.

There had to be another way. I stared up at the rest of the villa’s property. Hmm. Not too far! It was uphill with more gardens, steps, some statues, and a level area further up, ending at the governmental forest preserve at the top.

I stared at my feet. Flimsy sandals. Good going, Sam!

Then I looked up again. There was some kind of odd shaped structure up there, too. Intrigued, I chose that direction, because it looked as if my ten minutes would be cut to the bone. Still, I might make it. So I aimed for the upper back gate, already knowing Martine had an identical one as well.

I hustled up the stone path, but was startled when confronted by a massive several-foot-high cactus. I barely edged around it and pressed on, briefly turning now and then; noticing the views of the Mediterranean getting better the higher I climbed. A few empty pedestals with broken shards caught my eye, too. What happened to the statues?

So many pathways crammed this unusual upper garden, but then they always seemed to turn off to a narrower connected pathway, which automatically led you right back toward the villa.

Why the strange maze of paths?

I stubbed my toe and looked down. In the dark, these paths could be hazardous. On the edges of the path, stones were angled in an upright pattern.

Intentional?

Whoever initially designed all this must have had a specific purpose in doing it this particular way.

Why? Was I overthinking the garden’s strange quirks?

I turned back to view the villa and spotted that the flat surface of the roof over the garage was also paved with the same earthy colored stone. At the very end of it, two old cement angel statues faced each other. That was it. Nothing else was up there.

Why were they the only things up there?

A metal, spiral staircase led up to them. Like a magnet, this property began luring me in and latching onto me.

Why was the staircase locked at the bottom with a gate?

When Martine was showing me the house, she mentioned a newly-married couple originally built the house in 1954. I looked down toward the unique white metal-grilled, glassed-in arched front door. It was a work of art, even from this distance. If you stood facing it, you could look right through the intricate pattern, the foyer, and then the house and view the expanse of the Mediterranean.

My instincts were telling me I was meant to stay here, but for what reason? I glanced all around; already knowing the writer in me craved the property’s backstory. I smiled. The writer in me would get it, too, but first, I had to get to Martine’s for hers, and so, once more, I forced myself to continue on.

I finally reached the upper level area where an abandoned swimming pool sat in disrepair, the mosaic tiles around its perimeter falling off or missing. The unusual structure I had noticed from below was a collapsed cabana, a stark contrast to the well-maintained gardens.

Why the disparity between the pool and lush gardens?

I turned again. The panoramic view at this height was spectacular, but being on a timetable, I had to keep going. I paused once more at a gated ‘fruit cellar’ that I was tempted check out, but staying focused, I turned away instead and hastily walked out the back gate to head for Martine’s.

However, my fascination for the villa and its property wouldn’t let me go. I stole one last look at the gardens that seemed to be calling me back for further scrutiny.

Strange. Something wasn’t right. I could feel it.

Chapter 3

A Dog, A Drink, & Disbelief

I made my way down from Martine’s back gate, through her fruit orchard and lush lawn, stepped down a level, passed her enclosed outdoor kitchen, more gardens and in minutes reached her outside patio that was attached to her house. Sonia, her sandy-colored Labrador, jumped up enthusiastically as her husband greeted me warmly.

“Ah, my favorite American neighbor!” announced Jean, as he kissed both of my cheeks and handed me a glass of French wine. He winked. “Vintage, as always.”

I sipped some and laughed. “I’m your only American neighbor! Everyone around here is from Paris.”

Jean chuckled, waving off my remark. “Please! Don’t bore me with details.” He then guided me over to the patio table where Martine had already placed hot and cold hors d'oeuvres. Jean pulled out a chair. “Sam, please sit,” he said, gesturing. “Martine will be here shortly.”

“Merci, Jean. It all looks delicious! I like Martine’s version of come over for drinks.” I spread some Brie on a slice of crusty baguette that Jean had handed me. “I will not be making dinner tonight. This is a feast.”

Martine entered from her kitchen, carrying a dish of hot dip with crackers spread out around it. “Ah, you made it!” she greeted, and then laughed after checking her watch. “How do you always say it? Ah, yes! By the skin of your teeth! What a strange saying that is!”

“You see, Martine? That’s what makes Americans so unique and frustrating, all at the same time. You never quite get what we are really trying to say! It’s another language we use; one of illogical and unexplainable phrases that somehow, to us at least, gets our point across. By the way, you used that phrase perfectly. If only I was that good with my French.”

She laughed. “I have Skyped with you enough, Sam, to pick up many strange phrases you Americans use!”

Jean poured us more wine, as we all bantered back and forth, half in English and half in French, catching up on all the gossip on both sides of the Atlantic.

I finally stared pointedly at Martine. “You know, you are killing me with curiosity. Come on, out with it. I can’t wait any longer. It has been pure torture sitting here.”

Martine smiled. “My friend, I am surprised you lasted this long!” She turned to Jean and gave him a look.

He then shook his head sadly, saying, “It is such a pity, this matter. Cheri, tell her what we know so far.”

I glanced at each of them. “What do you mean, so far?”

“I am afraid,” said Martine, “it all started at your villa.”

Uh, oh! Where I’m staying…alone?

Chapter 4

Chewing On A Bone Of Contention

I wasn’t expecting that. Unfortunately, that’s how my life happened to be playing out lately, with incidents taking place that consumed me with curiosity, followed by out-and-out mayhem and danger, exactly in that order, too. Would this be any different?

Did I hear her correctly: at my villa?

As though reading my thoughts, Martine said, “Yes, Samantha, at the villa where you are staying.”

I took another sip of wine. “What happened? Why would you ask for my help? What could I possibly do? I only write mystery novels.”

“Ah, but you help solve them too!” she countered.

I leaned in for emphasis. “If it’s a police matter, I think they should be handling this, instead, not me.”

Martine shook her head. “That will not work. It is too delicate a situation. Finesse is what we need in this matter. We need someone who our neighbors already know, someone who will use discretion and will not be easily influenced, certainly not one of us. You are the person we need for this.”

“I still don’t understand. You know I’m more than willing to assist anyway I can while I’m visiting you on vacation, but why me? Does this have something to do with someone I know?”

Martine laughed. “Yes, of course! It is you!”

I cleared my throat, confused and annoyed. “Maybe I should explain that, when it comes to discretion, I don’t exactly fit the bill. I’m more like a thorn in your side to be more accurate, or a stone in your shoe you can’t seem to get rid of. No, I don’t think you want me getting involved with this—whatever it is.”

“But we insist! Everyone has agreed that this must be done in secret. There is no one we can trust who won’t gossip about what is uncovered. You could ask questions, like they expect an American would ask, whereas someone who is French wouldn’t think of asking.”

I gave that some thought. In a way, it kind of made sense. “Okay, I’ll keep an open mind,” I said cautiously. “So, tell me more about what you want me to do. And… are we talking dangerous?”

Jean waved his hand dismissively. “Of course not! It is merely about some buried bones we found.”

Chapter 5

Digging Deeper

I looked at one, and then the other. “Bones? Where?”

They looked at each other, and then at me. “Why, in your villa’s garden of course!” replied Martine.

Why of course! Why didn’t I think of that?

I sat there, instinctively holding out my glass for more wine before I said anything further, knowing I’d need it.

Jean knew me well, and complied, filling it up to the rim, especially after seeing my response.

“Merci!” I said, and then leaned in. “Exactly where were the bones found in the villa’s gardens?”

Jean shook his head. “Under roses being transplanted.”

“But why were you digging at Curat’s villa?”

He shrugged. “It wasn’t exactly me that found them.”

“Well, exactly who did?”

“It was Luc, our gardener.”

“What was he doing over in the other garden?”

“He was Curat’s gardener, too.”

“Even after Monsieur Curat died so many months ago?”

“His estate is paying for the upkeep of the gardens until a buyer is found. But I am afraid the local rumors about the discovered bones have kept buyers away, so they rented it.”

“This sounds an awful lot like murder!” I alleged.

Martine nodded. “That is probably correct, Samantha.”

I sat there, shocked. It sounded as if the French were more laid-back regarding murder than Americans were. I couldn’t believe how casually they were treating this.

What was I missing? Murder really, really bothered me, especially when it had taken place on the property where I was staying. “Are we talking multiple murders?”

I was half-joking. But…

“Oui!” replied Martine.

I looked at her, startled, and then at Jean. “What did the police say? Surely they’ve been notified and have some ideas? At least about who was murdered, if not by whom?”

Jean shook his head. “We cannot involve them. Besides, they are much too busy to be bothered with such matters.”

“Are you serious?” I asked in disbelief.

“Of course!” he replied.

I couldn’t imagine this. “Why wouldn’t the Gendarme Marie or Police Nationale have time to investigate multiple people being murdered and buried on the villa’s property?”

Martine took my hand in hers. “Samantha, they weren’t exactly those kinds of murders.”

“What other kinds of murders are there?” I asked.

She frowned. “No, you misunderstand. It was not that.”

Murder was murder, right? “Then what was it?”

“They weren’t human,” replied Martine.

I sighed. “Where were they from, another planet?”

“No,” Martine replied. “They were animal bones!”

I relaxed. “Burying family pets. That’s not so unusual.”

“Not in this case. It’s different! Our neighbor’s missing pets have been discovered dead and buried. And now we are worried about Sonia!”

“But how do you know these are their pet’s remains?”

“They were buried with their collars and name tags!”

I pictured my cat, Sneakers tucked safely away at home.

Could I say no?

“...Okay!”

Apparently, my next mystery had just found me!

Chapter 6

Setting The Scene

Having overslept, I quickly jumped out of bed, wasting no time in opening the glass doors leading out to the terrace from the master bedroom that overlooked the sea.

“Peace and quiet!” I thought back to what felt like only days before, Ocean City and finishing off Without Any Warning and the chaos I got drawn into, and now, here I was pulled into another situation. At least this time the issue wasn’t… well, human murders.

“I’ve learned my lesson! This time, I keep it simple. No complications!”

I stepped out onto the deck. The residential area and town of Les Issambres had not changed much since I was here a year before; just a few new villas and houses here and there had sprouted among all the beautifully landscaped properties dotting the mountainous terrain. Yachts and jet skis crisscrossed far below, as the sun reflected off the sea’s surface.

To my left, in the distance, were the beaches of St. Raphaël jutting out into the water and the magnificent Esterel mountain ranges beyond. Off to my right, in the distance was the lovely town of St. Maxine, and the bay of St. Tropez.

I looked downward. The small manicured lawn off the living room directly below was shaped in a half circle, just like the upper terrace where I stood. A stone wall, three feet high, bordered it to protect people from falling below.

Part of that curved wall dropped about two stories to the neighbor’s house and their pool, and then it curved around to my villa’s side gardens. Red bougainvillea spilled over it and trailed to the bottom. If you didn’t know where the wall was, it appeared as a lush carpet of red, and although beautiful to the eye, to a veteran, it concealed lengthy thorns, as sharp and painful as miniature daggers.

The wall continued from the back to along the side of the villa where stone arches ran parallel, wrapping around to the front entrance. I looked far to the right where an expansive stone stairway descended from the kitchen patio to a mosaic, tiled fountain.

At the bottom of those steps, a maze of pathways cut from the same stone sloped downward along the lower gardens that contained benches and flower-filled urns.

I leaned out further and noticed in one shaded corner a cement table and chairs under a blooming magnolia tree. Ah—a perfect writing spot. I felt as though I had stepped into a Monet painting. At every turn, a blended brushstroke of color! With my agent lambasting me for taking this vacation instead of staying focused for my next novel, it seems as though this burial mystery was just the ticket I was looking for. Apparently my next book was emerging and unfolding right in front of me.

A familiar figure came into view, the gardener, Luc.

I sighed, reluctantly pushing back from the iron railing. If I was going to find out something more, I might as well begin right away. I headed inside to get ready for some dialogue that just might prove interesting and, hopefully, informative.

First and foremost on my agenda was coffee and French pastry, and then I’d be ready to tackle with some luck, the first of my conversations with the gardener.

Chapter 7

Unearthing Some Facts

I set my English/French dictionary on the coffee table and made my way over to the kitchen and out the side door to the lower gardens. It was one of Luc’s days to work on Curat’s extensive property. I’d known him a few years.

If I was going to start, I figured he was the one to begin with. I watched him from a short distance, as he toiled in the flowerbeds, coaxing the soil to breathe, and then watering, methodically working his way down the hill.

He was a widower in his late seventies and built like a bull, with thick dark hair and mustache to match. Refusing to retire, he worked ten hours a day with a two-hour lunch, and knew his way around the gardened property.

As a matter of fact, he also worked on all the surrounding properties, which might be to my benefit. I’d be able to learn some of the neighbor’s background before I met with any of them, giving me, hopefully, a slight advantage in my investigation of the buried bones.

“Bonjour, Luc!” I greeted, smiling as I approached him.

“Bonjour, Madame! Comment allez-vous?”

“I am fine, thank you. And you, Luc?”

“I am well. Merci!”

I decided I had to weigh my words carefully. After all, interpretation was everything to the French. I didn’t want the subject I was about to probe to be misunderstood. “Do you still tend to all the gardens in the neighborhood?”

“Oui, Madame. Martine said you are renting this villa instead of staying with her, like you usually do. Like you, I enjoy working in the quiet. You are still a novelist? No?”

“Yes. I thought I might start my next book here.”

“Well,” he replied, “the French certainly have a lot of stories to tell, don’t they?”

I eyed him, watching his sly smile. What was he really telling me? Maybe he was more observant than anyone thought. “I was wondering if I might ask you some questions about the garden. Do you have a minute?”

“For you? Of course, Madame!” He smiled again. “I guess you want to talk about the burials. Oui?”

“You are way ahead of me, Luc! How did you know I would ask you for information?”

“I know you write mysteries in your books, and this situation is one big mystery. Maybe, you will be able to solve it!” He smiled. “But then, maybe you will not!”

My eyes shot to him, as he started to dig up the ground again. “Can you tell me which neighbors have lost their pets? And what kind of pet they had?”

He looked up at the sun to gauge the time, disregarding his watch. “Come! Let us sit on the wall ledge, while I have some wine, cheese, and a baguette. I will eat an early lunch, and maybe I can help you in some small way, c'est bon?”

“Oui!” I replied, and promptly followed him to talk.

Chapter 8

Paying Particular Attention

I needed to pay attention, particularly to what he said to me, and more importantly, to what he did not. Nuance was everything to the French. One’s words and body language spoke volumes. Subtlety was extremely important. I was about to speak, when he turned to me and spoke first.

“Madame Samantha, are you prepared to get tangled up in something no one is quite sure why or how all this happened? Also, not knowing who you can trust, and, maybe, the potential danger that might be involved?”

So much for French nuance!

It took me a second to respond. “…To be truthful, I haven’t thought that far ahead. Martine was so insistent and worried about Sonia, I guess I got caught up in all the emotion of the moment and told her I would see what I could discreetly find out with the neighbors.”

“Madame, may I advise, you are in a tight spot!”

I shrugged. “Luc, that’s the story of my life. Getting into tight spots, and then trying to work my way out of them without getting into too much trouble.”

He pointed at me. “But this one might prove too difficult to get out of once you are in it. No one knows who or why someone would do such an evil thing as to kill and bury so many innocent animals. It is a tragedy.”

“Yes, it is.” I sat there thinking about his warning. I had to consider those words seriously. This was not a game someone was playing. Or could more than one person be involved? That was a thought worth considering, while talking to those caught up in this terrible situation.

Luc caught my eye. “…And probably dangerous.”

“But all I’m going to do is ask around, Luc. How much trouble can I get into?”

He chuckled. “A lot! I have heard many stories from Martine about all your escapades and your so-called tight spots you always end up in.”

I waved him off, laughing. “Enough with your amusing compliments. I don’t want them to go to my head. Just tell me what you know so far. I would appreciate any details I can use without embarrassing either Martine or myself.”

“That, I am afraid, will take a lot of effort on your part.”

“Luc, keep this up and I might drag you along with me.”

“Ah! No! It is no easy task with this heavy clay soil. I have too much work spending each day at a different neighbor’s house working in their gardens.”

“Good!” I said. “Then you will be a very good source for information on this affair. Now, please, Luc, tell me what you know.”

The whole thing bordered on strange…

And I couldn’t help wondering: What might also be buried along with the pets?

Chapter 9

The Garden Plot Deepens

Luc’s knife slit the cheese like butter. “I am not sure when it began. …Maybe before all the pets went missing.”

I gave him a surprised look. “Why do you think that?”

He looked thoughtful. “Some of the graves had no collars or tags. Maybe, they were strays and this person wanted to try out a burial or two to see if they could get away with it and the other deaths came later. And by transplanting so many roses, I accidentally found them.”

That was an odd interpretation. A follow-up thought hit me. “Wouldn’t you have noticed the soil being disturbed?”

“No, Madame. I only come to this property once a week. As you can see, I dig up the beds because of the clay soil. The ground, it needs to breathe. It disturbs the weeds from growing. I water. Then I set the sprinkler timer.”

I took it further. “So, it’s possible that if someone were to bury something, they could come that night, or the next, and no one would know because you don’t show up until a week later. The sprinklers would wash away any kind of disturbance because it would eventually lump together.”

He gave a huge smile. “Already you see possibilities!”

“Luc, can you tell me something about the neighbors?”

He turned and aimed his knife toward the house below. “They are from Paris. Monsieur and Madame Tussout; an older couple in their eighties. They are not too friendly and constantly irritate their neighbors because they always resist trimming their trees each year, refusing to give the neighbors a better view of the sea, which is the worst sin of all here. The value of a property is in what you can or can’t see. The neighbors said they truly think Tousout enjoys… how do you phrase it? …Ah, yes…the power play.”

I nodded. “You summed that up perfectly, Luc. That is interesting to know. What pet did they lose?”

“They had a …mixture.”

“Oh, a mutt. Was it small or large?” I asked.

Luc looked at me. “Does it matter? It was small.”

“I would think that the larger the dog, the larger the garden bed for burial, and thus the more time to dig up.”

He grinned. “Ah, you see? You are very clever. All the animals buried so far have been of a very small size.”

“So, they used smaller animals to get in and out faster.”

It sounded more like revenge, not about the views.

Luc pointed to the house higher up the hill, toward the forest. “The powerful widow Sorrel. Her problems? She is in her late eighties and under the shadow of French law. When her husband, Henri recently died, partial house ownership passed down to his two children from his first wife. Madame could still use her house, but wouldn’t wholly own it. Her cat was buried in these gardens, too.”

I frowned. “For her, another death. How unfortunate!”

“Oui! Her cat, she did not have the nine lives, did she?”

Chapter 10

The House Of The Red Light

Luc twisted around and pointed to the house directly across the narrow street out in front of my villa. “That is Mademoiselle Forniet’s house.” He smiled. “Also referred to, by the locals, as the house of the red light.”

It definitely sounded like an unwanted complication. I had enough to think about already, but I still asked just to confirm. “What do you mean? Why such a strange name?”

“If you look over after dark, then you will see her porch light. It glows red!” He laughed. “Ah, the neighbors are quite upset. They feel people will get a wrong impression, trying to stop for...?” Embarrassed, he didn’t finish.

I nodded, and then asked, “What does Mademoiselle Forniet say about that?”

Luc smirked. “She said that she is only having a little fun. A joke. Such a sense of humor!”

“How old is she, and what kind of pet did she have?”

“She is young, mid-twenties. She had a small poodle.”

“Isn’t she a little young, especially in France to be able to afford such a large home on the Riviera at that age?”

Luc slapped his leg. “Good point, Madame! There is speculation a wealthy man bought it for her.”

“What wealthy man?”

“Nobody knows. That is another mystery that leads nowhere. Rumors say a Bentley arrives late in the night occasionally. He visits for a bit, and then poof, he is gone.”

Poof! Gone! Just like the pets. …Coincidence?

Luc started gathering up his wrappers and corking his bottle of red wine. “There is one more person you should know about. She is, how do you say, a little eccentric.”

Interested, I leaned in. “And I like to say, I am all ears.”

Luc grinned. “With an interesting mind in between.”

I loved his wit. “Please, go ahead and tell me.”

He turned serious. “She drives around at dusk, feeding the stray cats in this neighborhood out of her trunk. She is an odd and harmless character who means well. She also travels with her vicious Rottweiler, who guards her car while she leaves the engine running, and then she is gone.”

“Where does she live?” I asked, fascinated by this story.

“She appears out of nowhere, and slides the dishes of food and water under the villa gates for all the stray cats, but only on properties where they roam, then she quickly leaves. During the night, she takes the empty plates back.”

“How long has she been doing this?”

Luc thought about it. “She has always been here.”

I smiled, knowing he started here as a boy. “Like you?”

He laughed heartily. “I am like one of the statues in the garden. After a while, no one sees that I am really here.” He got up and stretched, yawning. “I think I am going to take a short nap now. Au revoir, Madame Samantha.”

“Not me, Luc. I’ve got work to do. Merci. Au revoir.”

Chapter 11

I Paws For The Cat Lady

After finishing a light supper and taking my shower, I decided to bring my laptop outside onto the upper terrace to sit and write up some notes, while gazing out at the sea.

I tapped away with interest as the facts, one by one, latched onto me. Drawn in by the storyline, my thoughts skimmed the keyboard, while my fingers barely kept pace.

With my feet propped up on another chair for comfort, I methodically described the neighbor’s conflicts with what info I was given so far, including the unfortunate demise of all their cherished pets in this, as Martine aptly said, so-called garden of death.

I decided to take the initiative by questioning the neighbors later the next morning. I asked Martine to arrange the individual meetings, hoping they wouldn’t object, having already seen me on previous visits with her at the local markets or at her house. Most likely, everyone was on edge wanting the murderer caught, or maybe not.

I heard a meow in the gardens and smiled, reminded of Sneakers, my own black and white cat back in Highlands, North Carolina. Martha, my own eccentric and employee, was minding my antique shop there, and her cousin, Jack, who built my log home there, and Barbara, his significant other, were now babysitting Sneakers at their own place just outside of town. I laughed, not sure who got into more trouble, Martha or my cat.

To tell you the truth, I think I beat them both by a mile.

I seem to have this knack for attracting trouble, like bees to honey. I laughed as I reached for my glass of wine, and then suddenly stopped mid-sip. …Something flashed off to my right in my peripheral vision from the garden below over by the hedges. I leaned forward for a better look.

I caught a glimpse of a hand hastily retreating through the garden gate below. I paused to watch four cats pounce on the food. I had no idea so many roamed the villa’s property and quickly stood to get a better look over the fence and hedge to see exactly who it was.

I only caught a partial glimpse of a dark-colored car, whose diesel engine was still running next to my garden gate. Unfortunately, the tall, leafy hedge concealed most of it.

A moment later a jogger ran up the hill and the car began rocking back and forth, as a harsh growl erupted into a nonstop vicious barking frenzy. The man was startled briefly, but then kept on running up the street, as the restricted image of a loosely clothed, shadowy figure quickly jumped into the car, and then sped off into the approaching dusk to another house on Avenue du Goulet.

Was it the cat lady? Probably. Then exactly like Luc had previously described. Poof! She was gone! Just like that!

Chapter 12

I Risk it, Task It & Take My Basket

It was Tuesday; market day in St. Agulf, the next town over from Les Issambres, which was on the way to St. Raphaël. It was worth the effort and risk of sitting in bumper-to-bumper traffic for such special treats. The twice a week market offered locally raised meats, fish, cheese, produce, trinkets and anything else you could think of.

It was a difficult task maintaining an even foothold with all the locals and tourists vying for the best deals of the day, as I was gently pushed and shoved, while working my way through the boisterous, animated crowd.

Martine had told me that you could pretty much tell the locals from the others by the well-worn baskets they always used to store their purchases, and by the way they bargained passionately for the best price. I patted my fanny pack, holding my wallet, wiser now, although I was still clueless about who stole my credit card back in Ocean City.

Now, speaking fluent French? That was another matter.

I wandered around, picking up whatever looked and smelled appealing using my rudimentary French. It was barely enough to get me by, and barely enough to possibly get some insults thrown in my direction with my occasional …okay, constant mangling of French phrases.

Some thought it was humorous and gave me the benefit of the doubt, as merely an American making an effort at conversation in their language. Others either dismissed me or waved me off with impatience. I really couldn’t blame them. After all, I was in their country and should converse properly.

Years before Martine had told me to take it all in stride and learn from my conversational faux pas. I had to laugh, because sometimes my life felt like one gigantic faux pas, but somehow I always managed to learn a few life lessons, while making new friends and strengthening friendships with old ones.

I was admiring some bracelets when I felt a tap on my shoulder. Startled, I turned around. “Martine! I didn’t know you were coming to the market so early. We could have come here together.”

She didn’t look good.

She shook her head. “I wasn’t sure I would make it today. I’ve had the most terrible headache from all the stress over this dreadful situation concerning the pets. I am …what you always say …beside myself with worry!”

How would I explain that her large Labrador, Sonia, appeared safe at the moment because of her sheer size? She would think I was demented for such a bizarre thought and my completely unproven conclusions. Sonia was her baby and she was anxious about her. For the time being I said nothing regarding my crazy theories.

“You shouldn’t worry so much, Martine. Now that I am staying at the property next door, I don’t think we will be having much activity in the garden.”

She frowned. “But what if they decide to go to another garden, like mine?”

I tried logic. “First off, all the other gardens are not as extensive as Curat’s. Secondly, as far as your garden is concerned, you and Jean are there, as well as Paul and Claudine who live in your guesthouse and maintain your property and house. There is always someone there.

“On the other hand, Curat’s villa has sat dormant for almost a year. Besides Luc tending the gardens once a week, there is no one around. Therefore, it became the garden least likely to be suspected of being tampered with. I have to admit, they thought this out very well, whoever is doing it.”

Martine shook her head, frustrated. “So, now we wait?”

I linked my arm with hers and laughed. “No. We stop at a café to relax, then we go shopping together, and then I leave to confront your neighbors.”

Martine chuckled. “Samantha. I wish I were able to hide in your pocket for that spectacle. I know how they are. I do not think they will make it very easy for you.”

I grabbed my basket and moved us both in the direction of a small outdoor café. “It is a risk I am willing to take and a task I might regret, but I will do it for your baby, Sonia!”

“How do you say it?” Martine asked, trying to get it right. “Is your new mystery book going to the dogs?” She abruptly stopped walking. “I forgot, Madame Sorrell’s cat, too! …Oh! It is all so terrible!”

“Don’t worry, I’ll get to the bottom of it!” I said confidently, but then felt a tinge of uncertainty.

What had I gotten myself into …again?

Chapter 13

Not Exactly Waxing Poetic

I held out my hand. “Monsieur and Madame Toussout. I am sure you remember me from my last few visits to Martine’s? My name is Samantha Jamison?”

No hand was coming my way, so I self-consciously lowered mine.

Okay, so this initial meeting was colder than I expected.

The two of them were sitting poolside, checking me out from head to toe. Madame Toussout spoke first.

“Martine mentioned you would be coming here to ask questions.”

Her husband grunted, gesturing for me to take the only other vacant chair. I sat and plunged ahead. “Yes, well…”

But Monsieur Toussout quickly interrupted. “We know why you are here and I agreed to talk to you, but not for long. I know how everyone feels about us and want to be left alone. This whole matter is very upsetting to my wife. Our dog is no longer with us, so my wife is suffering all over again, now that she knows Pepere was not only stolen, but buried so coldly in Curat’s garden, like some garbage!”

I shook my head in dismay. “Yes, it really is a very unfortunate situation. I can understand how upset you both must be. It is like losing a part of one’s family.”

Madame’s eyes teared up. “Oui! Exactly! And I would like whoever did this terrible thing caught and punished!”

I intervened before she got carried away.

“Do you suspect one of your neighbors?”

Monsieur Toussout leaned forward. “We know the neighbors don’t like us, but to do this terrible thing to get even for the trees, plus kill their own pet? No! Ridiculous! The question is, who would do such evil, and why?”

I didn’t have the slightest idea, but held his stare. “Did you hear anything unusual going on up there at night?”

“No.” he replied, unwaveringly. “We are both heavy sleepers and heard nothing.”

His wife then turned to him. “…But what about the…”

He put his hand firmly on her arm, cutting her off. “We have heard nothing, just a stray cat or two and that terrible woman’s incessant barking dog across the street.”

What was he hiding?

“But I thought her dog was ...disposed of, too.”

Madame Toussout started to cry. “Yes, yes, her, too.”

He glared. “Yes, that is true, but that does not excuse how ill-mannered that woman was to let her dog carry on like that. The smallest noise would start that dog barking. I was tempted to dispose of her myself, once or twice.”

His wife interceded. “Please excuse him. My husband has such a volatile temper when it comes to this matter. He would never do such a thing.” She tried smiling, but couldn’t pull it off, then turned to him hesitantly. “…Oui?”

Uncomfortable, I stood, knowing I wouldn’t get much more. “Well, I’d better go. Thank you for your time.”

There was nothing nuanced about their dialogue.

Chapter 14

Another Chapter & Another Neighbor

I know that at the time I made the commitment, I meant well, really I did. I’d given Martine my word to help, but I was now regretting it. This had been my first chance at getting some useful information and I had gotten nowhere.

You know, I should be sunning myself on the beach instead of trying to finesse something out of people who didn’t want to be finessed. If I thought Tissout’s reaction to me and my meddling was bad, what was I going to get from the other neighbors? Probably not much.

Still, I purposefully made my way up the steep, narrow street to the widow Sorrel’s house. I had promised Martine I would do this for her, but realized I’d been swayed by emotion rather than common sense and should have begged off. Was I out of my league? I hoped not.

I stood before Sorrell’s gate, saw the speaker, pressed the button and announced myself. After a minute, the gates slowly swung open and I entered the property, and then climbed up the curved driveway. She was already standing at her open doorway waiting crossly, arms folded, glaring.

I squared my shoulders, braced myself for more rejection, and smiled. “Madame Sorrell, how are you? It is nice to see you again.”

“I cannot say the same, knowing why you are here.”

I stopped in place, taken aback by her warm response. “I’m sorry, a wrong choice of words. I know what a bad time you are going through. And with the death of your Persian cat so soon after Henri’s passing. It must be horrible.”

She shrugged. “Considering what has gone on around here, it is. I have enough problems and now all this!” she said, waving her arm, gesturing toward Curat’s gardens. She shook her head back and forth and motioned for me to follow. “Come in. We can talk inside. These neighbors of mine always have to know what is going on. Our meeting is none of their business.”

I had never been inside her maison. It was tightly shuttered from the hot sun, but as my eyes adjusted in the dim light, I noticed beautiful lace curtains, Impressionist paintings, and plump couches upholstered in worn velvet next to an overstuffed armchair. She lived very well and her lifestyle now might be taken away from her like her cat, Clouseau. How sad.

“This is so warm and inviting,” I said admiringly.

She nodded as she leaned on her cane. “Yes, it is.”

“How long have you lived here?” I asked, cautiously.

She gazed lovingly around the room. “Over fifty years.”

I frowned. The impact she faced in losing half her home and her security had me speechless by the enormity of it.

Then she shook her head, grimacing. “I know. Imagine sharing all this. Ah, French law! I lose full ownership. Half goes to Henri’s children from his first marriage. Currently, I am dealing with Henri’s death, wills, the law, and now Clouseau, and so much more…”

Why would someone cause this old woman more pain?

Chapter 15

Red Light, Red Faced & Seeing Red

After learning not much more at Sorrell’s, I decided to knock off the last entry on my list of interviews. As I slowly approached the small walk-in gate, I noticed it wasn’t locked, so I entered the side yard entrance and walked right up to the door. Forniet’s driveway was down the hill behind the house facing southwest. This entrance was directly opposite my driveway and gate, so it was much easier to access.

I rang the doorbell. Maybe I’d get lucky and she wouldn’t be home. Although I didn’t think I wanted to come back later after dark when her notorious red light was beaming brightly. My reputation for trouble was bad enough, but the ‘after dark’ misinterpretation I didn’t need.

I forced a smile as the front door whipped open.

“Philippe! I’m not ready yet,” she shouted, petulantly.

There stood a tall redhead, wearing nothing but a towel, with her long hair flowing down to, well, down to there…

I’m sure my skin color was that of a red cherry, forgive the pun here, and I was completely at a loss for words.

“Oh! You’re not Philippe!” she said, looking left and right, then straight at me. “Who are you?” she demanded. “What do you want? I am in a hurry, as you can see!”

For what? A towel convention? Obviously, a small one!

“Martine sent me?” I said, hoping to jog her memory.

In seconds, a light bulb went on. “Yes! Yes! Of course! I remember now.” Abruptly her pitch and impatience escalated. “What a travesty! I am devastated! How could someone have killed my little Fifi! She was such a cute thing! The sweetest poodle you would ever find!”

Apparently with a set of lungs to match all that barking, I thought, remembering Monsieur Toussout’s remarks about her incessant barking at the slightest provocation.

“I need to ask you a few questions and won’t be long.”

She stood with her arms crossed. “Well, hurry up then!”

I figured I wasn’t being invited inside and dove in. “When all the neighbor’s pets were disappearing, did you notice anything that appeared unusual going on over at Curat’s property?”

“You are kidding! No? Why would I pay attention to an old man’s property? I have my own problems.”

…Okay. I took another route. “Have you heard or seen anything out of the ordinary going on lately in the area?”

“Perhaps. Let me try to remember. I did see a small truck in front of Curat’s gate one evening. I waited for someone and he was late. It was eleven o’clock. I remember exactly, because I looked at the clock, and was furious because he promised to be here by ten, but then that voice… Oh!” She went still and paled.

I had to keep her talking. “What truck? What voice?”

“Diesel. Did I say voice? No! I must go. Excusez-moi.”

Chapter 16

Signs, Suspicions & Speculations

So there I was again, another evening sitting on my terrace, sipping wine, and thinking things over. My open laptop, mouse and blinking cursor had been busy with countless unanswered questions that I was still tossing around.

Okay, so Monsieur Toussout was not exactly thrilled with his neighbors, or for that matter, me either. Me, I could understand, but the neighbors? There had to be more.

What exactly caused his finger-in-the-eye animosity?

It was obvious he had a temper and his wife was intimidated by it. I would have to ask Martine for her take on their relationship. Martine and Jean had spent many summers here. Hopefully, she could give me her opinions on what happened to cause such a rift between the neighbors.

The widow Sorrell was a mixed bag. I saw her light up when talking of the past, but her present legal and future prospects might be worth looking into.

Now, the filly across the street was of another color. Red. On the surface, she seemed sincere in her petulant attitude toward being a kept woman. Why not act demanding and bitchy? So, that didn’t mean very much as to the accuracy of Luc’s words that there were plenty of rumors verifying the gossip, but her behavior really didn’t mean all that much. I’ve known some married women who qualified in that category, too.

Now, who could afford such a large house overlooking the sea in this neighborhood in France? And as far as her genuine distress at losing her dog, that I believed, but what about that voice she had remembered, and then refused to tell me about?

Whose voice had she heard? Was it familiar?

I remember she became quiet, wearing a strange look on her face, as though she had said something she shouldn’t have, and then cut herself and me off.

Who was this Philippe? Friend? Sugar daddy?

I would have to ask Martine if the name Philippe belonged to anyone she knew in the area.

About to continue on, I stopped cold. Martine never asked me to interview two significant people who lived here all year round; her two house caretakers, Paul and Claudine. Why not?

Did they know something Martine didn’t want revealed?

I let that mentally roll around, but quickly dismissed it as a completely ridiculous notion on my part. It probably had not occurred to her, that was all. But still…

Chapter 17

Around Midnight

No screens were on any of the windows or doors. So, though it felt strange when visiting in southern France, and not having much of a choice, I tried to adapt. Note, tried. But because it was so hot, I left everything wide open and enjoyed what little breeze wafted through the villa. The openness of everything felt fine.

That is until it turned dark.

So when my notes were finally put to bed after that late night laptop session, I closed everything up, showered, and headed there myself. But it was much too hot. The ceiling fan had failed completely, as heat still radiated from the attic. I desperately needed fresh air, and after tossing for an hour, I ignored past fears, opened the terrace doors, and finally fell asleep.

Sometime during the night, I heard an indefinable sound. I opened my eyes in the dark and propped myself up on my elbows, not quite sure what it was. Because of the unsettling events of the past couple of years, I had acquired the habit of waking at the slightest noise. I looked at my bedside clock. Midnight. I listened for about a minute, but after hearing nothing, rolled over onto my stomach and promptly fell back to sleep.

My eyes flew open! I had a horrible feeling that someone was nearby, moving about my personal space. My heart began pounding and I froze, afraid to move. Was that someone else breathing nearby or was that just me? Was someone sneaking through my room? A bead of sweat trickled down my lips.

I started choking on my own fear, my legs refused to move to roll me over, and my breath caught.

Who would be sneaking around my room?

My eyes darted about, catching nothing, just the dark shadows, my clock, and my cell phone on the night table. I listened intently, and then thought I heard something in the hall, but wasn’t exactly sure. Then I heard absolutely nothing, as everything went perfectly still.

Whoever you are, go away!

I listened for another five minutes, watching those glowing numbers change on my bedside clock. Still nothing. Then I turned on the lamp and eased myself out of bed. I was jumpy and most likely blowing it all out of proportion.

But had someone hovered over me? …Maybe.

I tiptoed to my doorway and stuck my head out and scanned the upstairs hallway. Nothing. I flicked on a light switch. My heart thumped, hearing another noise, but this time it was a howl coming from outside, below my terrace. I pivoted and rushed out to the balcony, only to find a cat racing across the back lawn, down below in the moonlight, after leaping from a flowerpot on the ledge.

Had I overreacted? Was someone watching me as I slept? I needed to snap out of it and get back to sleep and so I boldly stomped back to my bed and slept like a baby for the rest of the night.

…That is, after closing the balcony door and locking it.

Chapter 18

Lunching On The Past

The next morning I arranged for a light lunch with Martine after her morning swim with Sonia in the Mediterranean. I was anxious to talk with her about the neighbors. Knowing Martine, she would be dependable, reliably straightforward and honest with all her answers.

I waited at the restaurant on the beach that sat below our houses, sipping my glass of wine. Martine rushed over to the table, out of breath, and quickly placed her order even before she sat down. Of course, it helped to know the staff and to speak fluent French. I had stumbled through the menu moments before, barely explaining my order.

“Oh, Martine! I don’t think I will ever remember that your adjectives come after the noun. I’m not sure what I ordered. I can only hope it is cooked and not raw.”

“I think you will get… how do you say, the hang of it?”

The waiter brought a glass of white Burgundy for Martine and we clinked glasses. “Salut.”

“Salut. Now, what about Monsieur Tussout?”

“What about him?” Martine replied, sipping her wine and watching me steadily.

“Why is he harboring all that built-up anger? I don’t get it. Is there something I should know about?”

She replied cautiously, “…He has suffered much in the past. I am afraid he is taking it out on all the surrounding neighbors. It is very unfortunate.”

“What happened?”

“What didn’t happen is what you should ask. His daughter ran off with an undesirable, his son’s scandalous behavior involved prison, and his wife had a nervous breakdown.”

I sat there, curious for more. “I expected something, but not that. No wonder he has all this anger brewing.”

Martine began to explain. “We tried to reach out to them, but Monsieur Tussout is stubborn and wouldn’t socialize. Eventually, we let it go and stopped calling on them. The rest is, like you say, history.”

I understood withdrawing, but why hate the neighbors?

Martine nodded, knowingly. “As this was the first of many incidents, I can tell by your look, you are wondering why he started lashing out, trusting none of the neighbors.”

“That had crossed my mind.”

“Long ago, his wife was accused of stealing a valuable antique brooch from the powerful widow Sorrell while at her house for tea. With Madame Sorrell’s husband, Henri, being a powerful politician at the time, Sorrell demanded and got the Gendarme Marie to search Toussout’s house.”

“Did Madame Toussout ultimately admit taking it?”

“No! The police never found the brooch. Later, Sorrell’s husband offered token apologies, that maybe his wife was mistaken and had misplaced it, but Monsieur Toussout never forgave Madame Sorrell for causing his wife such public humiliation. Like you say, it was the last straw.”

Chapter 19

Lectured & Lesson Learned

I returned home, feeling a bit more up to date about Sorrell and Toussout. Martine said she would fill me in on the others later. Jean was leaving on business, so she hurried off. He was to fly his plane from the local airport and was waiting for her to say goodbye.

I pulled into the garage, but didn’t hit the remote because Luc was working in the gardens and had the garage door open for his electric lawn mower and work wagon loaded with rakes. As I closed my car door, Luc confronted me, looking deeply upset, and addressing me in French at lightning speed. Understanding the language was something I had not accomplished even remotely. I held up my hands to slow him down.

He got the message and finally explained why he was so upset. “Did you know, Madame, that your living room door was partially open when I arrived this morning? You must close it when you go out!”

I was surprised. “That can’t be!” I said. “I could swear I locked it myself before I went to bed last night, and then this morning I remembered to firmly lock the front door behind me.”

He shook his head in disapproval. “It was unlocked and opened wide enough for a rat to squeeze right through.”

I shuddered at the thought of anything lurking about.

“…What do you mean—a rat? There are rats around here?”

“But of course! They are all over the area. That is why there are so many stray cats running around wild.”

This nonexistent screen thing and its downsides were starting to get to me with the threat of possible unknowns slinking around while I was sleeping.

“You must be careful. Besides the rats or cats, burglars roam the area and look to rob the unsuspecting tourists, looking for any doors or windows left open or unlocked. They only choose the houses where they know someone is living. Otherwise they come up empty-handed. They look for money, passports, and jewelry.”

“Since I always stayed at Martine’s before now, I never gave it a thought.”

Luc, waving his finger at me, was now in full protective lecture mode. “They watch day and night in these areas, waiting to pounce. You don’t have a dog and must lock all the windows and doors every time that you leave!”

I stood there as his words of warning finally sank in. I knew that I thoroughly checked earlier to satisfy my paranoia and found nothing out of place, missing or taken.

So, last night I hadn’t imagined it!

Someone had been in the villa. It wasn’t a knee-jerk reaction at all, and it wasn’t the cat outside. Whoever had been on the terrace where I was sleeping, had slipped out the living room door. Was it random? Or were they looking for something? If so, what could it be? I wasn’t a fan of either scenario, but preferred to think that it was just an impulsive hit.

After Luc left me, just to be sure, I took another visual inventory inside. But, like once before, there was just one problem with what I came up with when I finished.

Why wasn’t something missing?

Chapter 20

Surprise! Surprise!

Later that afternoon, I was sitting in the living room, typing, when I heard tapping on the glass door. I looked up and saw that it was Luc trying to get my attention.

He smiled, and then leaned through the open doorway. “Excusez-moi, Madame.”

“Yes, Luc. What can I do for you?”

“There seems to be someone pacing back and forth in front of the villa’s gate. She keeps looking down at a piece of paper, and then up at the gate mumbling to herself.”

“What does she look like?” I asked, suddenly wary.

“She seems to be an older woman, wearing many colors. There is something else I think you would want to know.”

I sat straighter, getting ready to stand up. “…What?”

“There seems to be a lot of luggage also with her.”

I stopped mid-move. “What does she look like?”

He covered his mouth with his hand, trying not to laugh.

“She has bushy white hair that is short. It is poking out in many different directions. What do you call it again?”

“You mean, spiky?” I jumped up, laughing, and ran for the door. Then I hit the button for the gate and flew out the foyer door, across the courtyard, and finally came to a stop at the opening gate, grinning.

“Well, I can’t believe I am still in one piece!” a voice greeted me indignantly. There stood Martha with her hands on her hips. “At first I thought I had the wrong address, and then I couldn’t find the damn button to give a holler and find out if this was the right place!”

I walked through the open gate, laughing, and gave her a big hug. “Welcome to the French Riviera!”

“Do you know that cabby left me here after I told him to wait until I checked to make sure this was your place? I had given him the 125 euros, and when I was looking for his tip, he was already speeding up the hill, having dumped my luggage in a heap.” She shrugged. “Oh, well. His loss. And to think I was going to give him a one euro tip, too!” She turned to me. “Hey, what is a euro worth in American?”

I tried not to laugh. “Not much, nowadays.”

“Hey, get this, Sam. Math is not my forte! How do you like that? I’m speaking French, already!”

Still laughing, I looked down at all her suitcases in various shapes and sizes. I started getting nervous when I got to seven. “Are you sure it’s all here?”

“Yup. But I might have to go shopping if I run short.” She sized me up and down. “I know we’re both a size four, but your taste seems to run on the bland side, if you know what I mean. Nothing personal, but I sort of like flashy colors. It brings out my youthfulness, you know?”

I eyed my seventyish employee/friend. “Good point!”

There’s no way I’d attempt to wear fuchsia and orange!

Chapter 21

Catching More Than Trouble

I led Martha up the curved marble staircase. “Wow, will you look at all this marble!” She laughed. “Why, it’s even on these steps! Can you believe this?” She noticed the half naked female sculpture on a pedestal on her way up. “I guess racy statues are the in thing on the French Riviera.”

“Remember the house I leased at the beach and all those vases?” I asked. “This is a more interesting piece of art.”

“It sure must have been pretty chilly, though, when she modeled for that thing!”

I was still laughing when I guided her into the guest bedroom that shared my terrace, facing the Mediterranean.

“This is where you’ll be staying. I hope you like it.”

“Wow! Now, this is the way to go! Will you look at that view! I don’t know if I’ll be able to sleep one wink. I’d be afraid of missing something going on out there.”

I smiled. “I’m hoping you will be able to get in some beach time while you’re here.”

“I’m sure counting on that and looking forward to buying one of those French bikinis in that town that Brigitte Bardot made famous. What is the name of it again? You know, where all those big yachts are.”

“St. Tropez,” I replied, trying to wrap my mind around the mental visuals of her parading out on the beach wearing a bikini. My head started to hurt just thinking about it.

She turned me toward the door. “Now, scoot! I’ll let you go for the time being, and I’ll start unpacking, and then take a quick nap. Then I need to attend to my toilette! Hah! How do you like that? I was speaking French again!”

I laughed. “I’m impressed.”

She leaned in. “I have to confess, I’ve been practicing for weeks. I couldn’t come all the way over to be taken lightly, like some tourist.”

“Believe me, Martha. Nobody ever takes you lightly, especially me.”

She leaned in further, more conspiratorially. “Who is the hunky bull working in the gardens? I don’t mind telling you, he’s a nice piece of real estate, if I do say so myself.”

“He’s seventy-five. Right about in your age group.”

She looked crestfallen. “Well, after Ocean City, I’ve washed my hands of the geriatric set. I’ll have to think about this one some more. Is he married?”

“He was. He’s been a widower for many years.”

She hit me with a wary eye. “Don’t let him get any ideas about you just because you’re a widow in her thirties. I heard how these Frenchmen can get; pinching and all.”

I laughed. “Martha, that’s what Italians are known for, not the French.”

She looked disappointed again, but then perked up. “Hey, how close are we to the Italian border, Sam?”

I shook my head. Oh brother, was I in for big trouble!

Chapter 22

Amoré Than Pizza On The Beach

As we sat beachside, a ten-minute walk below the villa, I explained to Martha that when I stayed at Martine’s, she would always treat her guests the first and last night of their visit to a wood-fired outdoor oven pizza. It was a great hello and goodbye to the Riviera, a tradition I’d continue.

I sipped my wine and smiled at Martha’s rhinestone sunglasses. They were a real attention-getter. “Well, what do you think?”

“I can’t believe I’m sitting outdoors, watching three people playing volleyball on the beach, while we’re sipping wine and waiting for pizza.”

My back was facing the players. “Why is that so odd?”

“Someone better tell that young lady over there she’s lost the top half to her bikini!”

I whipped my head around to take a look myself and laughed. “Welcome to France, Martha.”

Martha kept eyeing them. “But I would think that young girl would feel kind of uncomfortable playing that game with her husband and her father. Although I’ve got to hand it to them, they sure seem to be enjoying it.”

We both sat there sipping our wine and watching their very competitive game bouncing about before us.

“Martha, you’ll see here in France adults and children eat, talk, and take nudity in stride.”

She laughed and looked around at the other adult diners and children. “It’s pretty obvious they could care less about what was going on with the game or the players.”

I was about to change the subject when I noticed two diners off to the side under an awning next to the building, obviously trying to conceal themselves from everyone else. They must have already been there when we first arrived and I didn’t notice. Well, surprise, surprise!

It was Madame Sorrell and Mademoiselle Forniet.

Talk about polar opposites! What was that all about?

It was bad enough that I was having a difficult time trying to figure out what was going on. This put a different spin on the bad-blood relationship thing.

What would a powerful woman of Sorrell’s standing be doing talking to a woman with an obvious repute of another color? My mind was speculating, but rationality wasn’t coming into play. Martha grabbed my arm and attention, so I reluctantly turned away.

“Look at that! That young man walked off, while that young lady was walking off, too, but with her father!”

As they strolled off, daddy kissed her lips. I quickly turned back to look at those two women, but it was too late.

Poof! Gone! Just like that!

Chapter 23

Planting Seeds Of Doubt

Martha was still attending to her toilette that morning, so I took the opportunity to corner Luc in the garden to feel him out on some things that were bugging me about Curat’s garden. I found him methodically transplanting. That man was always slicing and separating plants to expand the garden. He was a very frugal gardener and didn’t waste anything. He even collected rainwater in a barrel.

“Bonjour, Madame! Comment allez-vous?”

“I am fine, thank you. And you, Luc?”

“I am well. Merci!”

This quickly became our customary greeting each week. I edged closer to him, not wanting our voices to carry up to the second floor where Martha was getting ready.

“Do you have a minute to talk?” I asked.

“Oui, Madame. I always have time for you.”

“Martine said you knew Curat for a very long time.”

“Oui, many, many years since I am a very young man.”

Like the other day, I was counting on him being straight with me. “What was he like?”

Luc gave me a curious look, and then smiled. “He was a very quiet man and not at all like Monsieur Toussout.”

“Interesting. What about his wife?”

“Simone was a beauty! She loved her gardens and her husband, in that order, too!” he said, laughing. “And Curat knew it and didn’t care. He was totally devoted to her.”

I smiled at his take on them. “Were they married long?”

“…Maybe, ten years.”

That caught me by surprise. “But I thought Curat died in his late eighties.”

Luc shook his head. “…He did, Madame.”

“What happened to the wife, then? Did they divorce?”

He looked over to the garage, and then at the two angel statues perched at the top. Then he stared out at the sea.

“No…she died,” he said simply, tearing up. Minutes ticked by and he offered nothing more.

“Luc, how sad!” I felt I had gone as far as I could this morning, plus, Luc didn’t look like he would be that receptive either. Maybe I could ask Martine and find out the rest of the story. It didn’t appear as though there was any kind of happy ending from his tone and I certainly didn’t think I should push the subject any further.

He swiped at his eye. “If you will excuse me, Madame. I have much work to get done before the sun sets today.”

“Yes, of course, Luc. Please forgive me for interrupting your busy schedule.”

“It was my pleasure. Good day, Madame.”

“Good day, Luc. Merci.”

What had happened to Madame Curat?

Chapter 24

Food For Thought

Martha and I had accepted lunch at Martine and Jean’s. Currently, Jean was giving Martha a tour of the gardens and their house. It was the perfect opportunity for me to question Martine regarding Madame Curat and what happened to her. The minute the other two were gone, I leaned in at the table as we were sipping our wine.

“Martine, can you tell me about Madame Curat? Luc seemed saddened when I brought the subject up about their marriage. He said she died, but offered nothing further.”

“Ah, very sad tragedies have followed Alain Curat. The last was when his wife, Simone, was accidentally killed.”

“How terrible! What were the tragedies?”

“They had a little girl, Sophie. Such a little princess, she was. That was the first tragedy.”

“How was that a tragedy?”

“She was born blind. They were devastated, but took the news with grace and kindness, doting on her day and night. Several years after she was born, I remember they made accommodations to the property and the gardens so she wouldn’t feel so isolated and would feel free to wander and play about on her own when she was old enough to do so.”

The answers clicked in my mind. “That is why there is the three foot wall and ledges. Also, that explains those stones set on their sides at the edges of all those pathways in the gardens.”

“Yes.” Martine said. “So she wouldn’t wander off the paths, which guided her back to the villa. This way Sophie could always safely make her way back on her own.”

“How clever of Curat! …But there’s more. Right?”

Martine sighed. “Yes. Did you notice the large cactus you have to move away from before you reach the top?”

“Yes. I wondered if it was planted there on purpose.”

“The cactus used to have a warning bar attached. It was Sophie’s signal to go no further. One day, she ignored it...”

She didn’t have to finish. “She drowned, didn’t she?”

A tear slid down Martine’s cheek. “Yes. Luc found her floating in the pool that afternoon.”

“How awful! No wonder Luc couldn’t continue.” The rest fell into place. “That’s why the pool was empty and fell into disrepair. What happened to the cabana, though?”

“Grief-stricken, Alain destroyed it and several statues in anger, blaming himself for not fencing in the pool.”

“And his wife?” I asked. “What happened to her?”

“Simone went into a deep depression, drinking heavily and inconsolable. Late one night, sleepless and inebriated, she wandered up to the roof terrace over the garage and must have accidentally fallen off, fracturing her skull when she hit the stone courtyard below. She died instantly.”

The thought of eating suddenly turned my stomach.

A garden, cursed with death, then and now.

Chapter 25

Bench Pressing

I needed to be by myself to think and decided to walk down to the beach, leaving Martha to entertain herself at the villa. I almost hesitated after seeing her eye Luc several times through the kitchen door during breakfast that morning, but let it go. I had more immediate concerns.

It was a steep nine hundred feet all downhill to get there, but it was a beautiful day and cloudless; perfect for sitting on a bench to hear the gentle surf hit the beach and mull over the information that was pressing down on me.

Okay, this is what I had so far:

There was the mysterious killing of pets.

Common threads?

They were all neighbors. They were annoyed with Monsieur Toussout about blocking their view. All their pets were killed, and all of the pets were small.

The comfortable Toussouts: The husband held an angry grudge, and the wife was intimidated and shy.

The wealthy Sorrells: The husband was now dead, and his widow might lose full ownership of her home that had been hers for fifty years. This kind of law in the U.S. was called ‘Common Law,’ in French law it was called ‘Civil Law.’ It didn’t seem civil to me.

Mademoiselle Forniet: She was young and single with a colorful reputation and had a mysterious wealthy lover.

Questions still unanswered: Who killed all their pets? Why? Why only the pets in this small ring of properties?

There must be more common threads still out there.

More questions popped up. Who was this Philippe? Was he Forniet’s lover and patron? Most likely. I still hadn’t asked Martine about him. I was so disturbed about the tragic Curats’ story that I had completely forgotten.

Finally, I needed to speak to the one couple I hadn’t had the opportunity to interview yet: Martine’s housekeepers, Claudine and Paul. They might play a larger role in this whole affair. Being employees, they lived here all year round. All the others were seasonal, and then returned to their homes in Paris.

Wait a minute. That might be another thread: Paris.

I sat there still thinking this through. There was something evasive nagging me in the back of my mind on this. I turned to look up the hillside at the houses in question, and then it finally hit me. All those properties encircled Curat’s, who also had his own tragic past. One tragic past encircled by a tragic present.

Now, stay with me on this one.

Could all of it be tied together in some bizarre way?

Chapter 26

Dancing In The Park?

Martha was trying to push me into something I had no intention of doing. She paced back and forth, and barely tolerated my halfhearted attitude.

“What is wrong with you? Of course it will be fun! Martine and Jean said the town of St. Agulf is having a soirée in their town center park with a small, live band and party lanterns strung up and everything! It sounds like a lot of fun. They’re setting up stalls and will sell stuff, too.”

“I’d rather stay home and write,” I replied, not interested in pursuing the unknown, which usually led to trouble.

“Oh, please! Tell that to the choir! You’re not fooling me for a second. You’ve been knee-deep in writing for much too long. I can see you need to get out. Your color has gone all mealy. Why, you haven’t even gone sunbathing on the beach yet.”

I threw her a look. “You know how easily I get burned, being so fair and blond.”

“Oh, please, sing me another song. This is at night. There are no excuses. You’re not getting out of this. When was the last time you went out dancing, anyway?”

I came up blank. “I can’t remember.”

“See what I mean? Your social life is looking pathetic. Come to think of it, so is mine. We both need to get out!”

I had to agree with her. I had become so absorbed in the mystery of the gardens that it left me very little time for anything else since I arrived.

I laughed. “I’ve had the marriage ring, the relationship fling and the flirting thing. And you want me to take another social plunge?” I sighed heavily and finally gave in. “…Okay, but only this once. You know how I hate this. I feel like live bait out there, waiting for a hungry fish to come along.”

“What’s wrong with that?” Then Martha gave me a side-glance, now laughing, too. “You’re afraid of getting hurt by putting yourself out there, aren’t you? That’s it, isn’t it?”

She’d had hit her target directly and knew it. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. How ridiculous!”

“I knew it! Hey, worse things could happen.”

I almost asked her what, but knew better from past experience. I physically brushed her aside. “Excuse me. I’ve got to get ready for a soirée.”

Martha laughed again and walked away, saying, “She who protests too much is telling more than she realizes.”

I smiled. “She who talks too much is walking a mighty fine line between here and the airport.”

The one great thing about having a good friend is that they usually know you better than you think.

Eye rolls included.

Chapter 27

Up Close And Personal

I felt completely ridiculous standing there, as the band began playing. We were all sipping wine under the lights. I reached up to touch the flower in my hair once more for the tenth time, sorely tempted to rip it out. I couldn’t do it.

Jean had made a big, gallant show of pinning one to Martine’s belt, one to Martha’s shoulder on her blouse and the last one in my hair. “Ah, the three most beautiful women at the dance tonight.”

If I refused, I would have hurt his feelings. At least it coordinated with all of our clothes. He had bought three exquisite white orchids. He was such a gentleman and quite the dancer Martine had said, laughing.

Jean turned to Martine. “It would give me great pleasure to have this first dance with you, mon cheri.” Arm in arm, they happily drifted away from us, a perfect May/December love match.

Martha smiled, gushing, “Isn’t that so romantic?”

Just then, someone tapped her on the shoulder and she turned. “May I?” he asked in a deep baritone voice.

Both of us were dumbfounded. It was Luc. He looked transformed, wearing a white shirt and tailored slacks. His hair was combed back and his elegant cologne drifted in our direction.

Martha stood there speechless, and then said, “Well, come on. What are we waiting for?” And then the two of them also disappeared into the dancing crowd.

I stepped back and turned, about to make a dart for the exit when I smacked right into him. As my eyes traveled upward, it got better and better. Ooh, la, la! I know this sounds clichéd, but he was what we girls like to describe as tall, lean and handsome, and like a few times before, I might add, in a lethal kind of way, too.

Catching me off guard, his lips came within a hair’s breath of mine. “That flower in your hair,” he said with a heavy French accent, “doesn’t do you justice. No orchid could compare to this vision that stands before me. Would you care to dance?”

This guy was smooth. Despite my inner reservations, I still found myself replying, “I think that can be arranged.”

He gallantly escorted me to the dance floor, and then...?

The damn music stopped!

He looked down at me, disappointed. “What a pity!”

I swear, I actually pouted, repeating his, “What a pity!” I couldn’t believe I said that. There must be something in the French wine. I tried to get a grip, but I was getting lost in those blue eyes of his. “Thanks anyway,” I finally said, reluctantly turning to go.

Just then, the music started to play a …tango. Well, he grabbed my hand, whipped me back to him and my whole body slammed into his. He arched an eyebrow, smirking.

I started to protest. “Hey, I’m not the greatest at this.”

He put his finger on my lips, whispering, “Follow my lead with your body and don’t take your eyes off mine.”

In the past, I’d be too concerned about what kind of fool I’d make of myself and what people might think of me actually trying to pull this off.

But this time a smile tugged at my mouth. What did I have to lose?

“I’m game if you are,” I said breathlessly. “Go for it.”

Well, he was glued to me from the get go with one hand on my lower back, throwing me backward with my hair sweeping the floor, and then the next minute, I was pulled up into a tight embrace, breathing heavily, and then abruptly swept across the floor in several very sexy glides.

It was hard concentrating until we locked eyes. After that, I was swayed, dragged and whipped around, and then finally slid down his leg with that damn orchid somehow clenched in between my teeth! …When did that happen?

All of a sudden, I realized the music had stopped and everything was silent. I looked around. We were the only ones on the dance floor. My heart pounded, and then I heard applause.

The stranger gracefully pulled me to my feet and threw me in a back arch and kissed my lips lightly. “To America,” he whispered. Then he slowly brought me upright.

People applauded and cheered. Then I heard a loud whistle and looked over. Martha. Who else? She winked.

Everybody gathered around, congratulating us on a great performance, then the band started playing, and everyone resumed slow dancing, including Martine, Jean, Martha and Luc. I was still trying to catch my breath on the sidelines, standing next to …who?

We both turned as a petulant voice hissed from behind.

“Philippe! Have you forgotten? You are here with me!” said a very pissed off Mademoiselle Forniet.

Chapter 28

Another Interview

I still felt embarrassed the next morning as I made my way over to Martine and Jean’s to interview Claudine and Paul. I shook my head, incredulous at what had happened. What were the odds? Of all people, it had to be her paramour? When I stepped into it, I usually did it in style. I laughed, shelving it for later. I had an interview.

Martine said I could meet with her housekeepers in the cottage they lived in on the far side of her property. I knocked and was cordially led inside by the elderly pair.

“It was nice of you to see me on such short notice,” I said, smiling, as I sat on their sofa. “I appreciate your time.”

“It is not a problem,” Claudine replied, carefully.

Paul sat down beside her. “I doubt if we can help you, but we promised Martine that we would try.”

Already he was setting the stage with a negative right up front. Was that on purpose? “Why do you say that?”

He moved uncomfortably. “Because we know nothing.”

I focused on Claudine. “Did you hear anything unusual that might have caught your attention the last few months?”

She quickly turned to Paul before answering and something unspoken passed between them.

“…No, certainly not from back here,” she finally said.

“How long have you worked for Martine and Jean?”

Claudine relaxed, relieved by the change in topic. “Oh, for many years, since Paul and I were first married.”

I turned my attention to Paul. “How did you meet Jean and come to work for him and Martine?”

“We met one summer many years ago on the beach and quickly became…fast friends.”

“You met here on the French Riviera?”

Paul actually thought that was funny and laughed. “As a meager carpenter, I could never afford to travel to the south of France to these beaches. No, I met him in northern France. It was much cheaper there back then.”

“What about Curat?”

He sat up straighter, wary. “What about him?”

“What did you think of him and his wife, as a couple?”

His face transformed to one of warmth. “They were completely devoted to each other. Simone loved those gardens and her husband, Alain, very much.”

I turned to Claudine. “And the drowning tragedy?”

Her demeanor altered to one of utter sadness. “Oh, it was horrible what they went through with little Sophie.”

“And afterwards, when Madame Curat fell?”

Her head snapped up sharply. “You know about that?”

“Yes. It must have been a shock to you.”

Paul frowned. “It was never the same. In particular with Curat, too much death, then and now!” He stood. “If you will excuse us, we have much work to do.” So did I.

Chapter 29

Another Angle

I leaned back from typing my notes trying to meet another deadline. I was in what I referred to as, multiple book-deal hell, figuring out how to weave all these pieces together into a book for my publisher already knowing it wouldn’t meet my editor’s expectations. When she got a hold of my books, I referred to it as bloodletting. I could just visualize all her sidebar comment balloons filled with deletions, corrections, and not so gentle suggestions, and I might add, not so delicately put, either.

Okay, so I deserved some of those comments.

I’m not going into what my agent, Sandra had to say.

After all, a mystery built around pet murders wasn’t exactly people murders. Here I was digging around for more clues, but in my heart I knew that this was not going to be the juicy, edgy mystery I had hoped for.

I had been at it for more than an hour. There had to be another angle I wasn’t considering. The more I delved into the past, the more confused I became. And the more confused I became, the more questions I had concerning this whole network of deaths, both past and present, human and animal that I felt were connected, and still left with so little to go on.

Either no one really knew much and couldn’t honestly tell me anything, or there was something more going on behind the scenes that no one wanted me to find out.

Which was it? …Or was it a combination of both?

Everyone seemed to be offering me little to go on. And what little I had so far, was opening up a completely different set of secrets that no one felt comfortable discussing. What were they all afraid of?

Was there one more major thread I wasn’t seeing yet?

The neighbors all confirmed that the police didn’t have the time to investigate the finding of animal bones in an old garden. They were too busy with arson in the forests that surrounded the campgrounds, pickpockets, muggings, and any number of other offenses attributed to the tourist areas during the high season.

Claudine and Paul told me that they didn’t hear anything from their cottage because it was located at the farthest point from Curat’s property line, but what about when they were working inside and outside Martine’s house?

Her house was twenty feet from Curat’s property line and there were several more feet to his house. His gardens were on the opposite side and went up the hill. When in Martine’s house, off and on all year round, they must have seen something, or at least heard something, even if the gardens were on the other side of Curat’s villa.

On past visits to Martine’s, I noticed the couple never said much and went about their daily routine, doing their job. They blended into the background. Not only were they well paid, but also had a house to live in for free.

Like Luc, after a while, you forgot they were always moving about. And that was exactly why I thought both Claudine and Paul, and Luc as well, knew more than they were willing to reveal. Being part of the background, they became invisible, and so people spoke more freely, not editing their words or actions around them.

Was it an unspoken loyalty code of silence the three of them respected? Did they hear or see more than was intended and were now reluctant to share what it was? Was fear of reprisal holding them back, or something else? I was determined to find out exactly what it was.

More than flowers, plants and bones were buried here.

Chapter 30

Laced With More Than Garlic

When Martha returned, I walked over to check out her purchases from the flea market in Les Issambres. She had ridden the old French bicycle she found in the garage and taken my market basket and hung it from the handlebars.

“Wow, Martha! This is quite a haul you have here.”

“I needed a few extras that I forgot to bring with me.”

I reached in, grabbing and holding up an item from her basket. It was lacey…a French thong? I grinned.

She quickly snatched it from my grasp. “Hey, it’s the French Riviera!”

“And you’re on vacation!” I added, laughing.

“Yes, exactly!”

“Anything goes, including the French gardener!”

“Precisely!” she said laughing, and then froze. Busted!

I made a zipping motion. “My lips are sealed.”

She sat down on a bench and I joined her. I gently poked her, still laughing. “Is something in the wine here making you suddenly reconsider your senior boycott?”

She turned to me, smirking. “I must admit, surprisingly, this vintage is pretty good, if I do say so myself.”

There was a loud pounding noise nearby and we both jumped to our feet.

Martha said, “Now, what in blazes is that racket?”

We both scrambled over to the small window in the garage that faced Martine’s to see what was going on.

“Look!” she whispered. “You can see through that spot in the hedge to Martine’s property from here!”

I looked over too. “It’s that quiet, older woman, Claudine; Martine’s housekeeper. Hey, do you smell that, Martha? She’s cooking in the outdoor summer kitchen.  She laces all her dishes with tons of fresh garlic. You’re going to love it. Don’t forget we’re due there at seven.”

Martha pointed. “Hey, she’s grabbing a live chicken by the neck, throwing it down on that butcher block and…”

My hand automatically went to my throat, as I swallowed. “Jeeeeez! Will you look at that?”

“That woman wielded that knife like a pro,” said an admiring Martha. “That damn chicken didn’t see the light of day; just like in those crime shows on TV.”

“Hey, she’s an old French cook just doing her job.”

“That sure ends that mystery,” Martha said, slowly pulling away from the window and shaking her head in amazement. “That’s one cook who knows her way around a kitchen.”

Like Martha said, another mystery solved. I tried smiling, but that image flew by me again, and I shuddered.

“I guess we’re having chicken tonight.”

Chapter 31

Surprise At Sunset

We sipped wine out on the deck and watched the moon slowly rise over the Mediterranean from the bedroom level terrace. Dusk was setting in. Yachts cruised by and cars snaked in and out of view along the coast road down below us, while the sea ebbed and flowed, splashing the rocks.

Martha leaned back on her chaise lounge, relaxed.

“If my friends could just see me now.”

“What would they say?” I asked, turning to her.

“That I had finally cheated them out of the most primo beach time of all. I can hear their voices now.”

The doorbell rang. Martha turned her head in my direction. “Are you expecting anyone?”

“No,” I said. “Are you?” Nothing surprised me with her.

The doorbell rang insistently three more times in a row. She finally stood up. “I swear, I know better, but still...there’s no way in hell this could happen to me twice.”

I laughed, knowing my secret email invite had worked, but still acted clueless. “Come on, what are the odds?”

“About a million to one against me,” she threw back.

“There’s one way to find out. I’ll go see,” I offered.

Martha turned to follow. “I’ll come for back up.”

We both scrambled down the marble staircase and came to a halt at the door. I hit the videophone and only got a bunch of static. “It’s acting up again. The speaker, too.”

Martha looked at me. “Look, just hit the outdoor lights and I’ll walk down to the gates with you. If we don’t like what’s on the other side, we won’t open it. Here, grab the gate remote and let’s see who this is, once and for all.”

We walked down toward the gates. As we rounded the hibiscus hedge, we stopped. A smile crossed my lips.

“Well, what do you know!” I said.

Martha whispered, “Double damn. Senior competition!”

“Now behave. They’re friends, who obviously traveled all the way here from Highlands, North Carolina to spend time with us. I told them to come on over because I’ve got plenty of room at the villa I’m renting.”

I had blind-copied Clay on their email invite. It worked.

Martha tossed back the last of her wine.

I turned back to face the gate and hit the remote. “Well, Hazel and Betty, I’m so glad you two could make it.” I said, while subtly poking Martha in the ribs to join in.

She nudged me away. “Yeah, ditto. I’m surprised you were able to get away from your job at the bookstore. The Book Worm will not be the same without you two oldies.”

“Very funny!” said Betty. “We were forced to take a ‘much needed’ vacation. Some boss Clay turned out to be. I personally think that new female manager was behind it.”

“Clay flew the coop, without explaining a thing,” said an indignant Hazel. “He just left a note saying, au revoir!”

Chapter 32

Another Day & Another Chapter

The next morning the four of us were gathered around the kitchen farm table, catching up with the latest gossip and leisurely sipping our coffee. I reluctantly opened the French doors to the side gardens for air, knowing what was bound to happen on that particular day.

Martha knew, too, and was a tad edgy.

And, before long, there he was.

Betty and Hazel stopped talking.

After deftly smoothing strays from her tight bun and looking outside, Betty said, “Where did he come from?”

Hazel plucked at her short curly gray hair, straining for a better view. “Who exactly is that gentleman in the garden, Samantha?”

“He’s the villa’s French gardener, Luc.”

Martha jumped up, glaring at the two other women. “Don’t bother. He’s not interested in stuffy, old ladies!”

I turned to her. “Now Martha, come on, play nice here. Betty and Hazel are my guests.”

Martha turned and scowled at me. “So am I, and as of this moment, I’m declaring finders keepers!”

She looked back at Hazel and Betty. “From our iffy shared history, need I remind you two about the rules?”

Betty waved her off. “What rules? You always cheat.”

Hazel joined in. “I distinctly recall you hightailing it out of town instead of waiting for us for a certain beach trip.”

Martha glared. “Are you accusing me of plotting?”

Betty tsked, tsked her. “I guess you sneaking off in the wee hours is considered normal? I heard you hired a taxi, and wasted time eating breakfast out, until the bus finally showed up in another town so you wouldn’t be seen.”

“Those town gossips have tentacles everywhere!”

Hazel gave Martha a steely look. “Plus, you promised you would wait for us and you didn’t!”

Enough was enough. “Ladies! That’s ancient history.”

There was a tap, tap on the opened glass door. We all turned to look.

It was Luc, winking at me. “Excusez-moi, Madame. I did not know you had company.”

He would have had to be deaf, not to hear all the noise.

I smiled, winking back at him, and then made all the necessary intros with Betty and Hazel. He made a gallant show of pleasure in meeting them and welcoming them to his country of France.

He then turned to me. “Madame, if I could have a word with you outside, regarding the gardens?”

My antenna went up. Why was he asking me about the gardens? This was Curat’s villa.

He saw my reaction. “It is only that you know so much about gardening and flowers, I thought I might get …how do you say... your opinion?”

“…Okay.”

Chapter 33

Face-To-Face Innuendo & Inferences

We wandered down to the lower gardens and sat on a shaded cement bench out of earshot of the others. But even at that distance I could still hear a lot of friendly arguing going on. I smiled, and then turned to Luc, giving him my full attention. “What did you really want?”

“You are wondering why I asked to speak privately.”

“That thought had crossed my mind, since I don’t know much about these gardens …yet.”

“I wanted to tell you I have overheard that some neighbors are suspicious of you and your questions. But you must keep trying to detect what is behind their uneasy words and actions.”

“I was given a somewhat cold reception.”

He laughed. “Do you think a few interviews are enough to give you all your answers?”

I sighed. “I was hoping for more favorable results.”

Luc smiled. “In time they might let slip up something the will help you. Don’t be intimidated by their gruff manner. After all, they have lost a member of their family. Like you Americans, we French also love our pets.”

“I don’t know how to probe further without appearing somewhat rude.” Eyeing Luc, I half smiled. “But then again, I am an American, aren’t I? They’ll expect it.”

“Maybe Jean can help regarding that time when these houses were first built. Once, a long time ago, they were all good friends, until that episode with the brooch. What a shame.”

“Well, Jean is out of town on business right now, but I will do that. It might give me a better perspective.”

“Oh, I am sure in time you will find out many interesting things about all of them. But be skeptical about what they might say regarding each other.” He stood to go. “I must get back to work. If you will excuse me, Madame?”

“Of course. I appreciate your comments and will keep them in mind next time I speak to the neighbors. Merci.”

Luc nodded, gave me another wink and walked away.

Maybe I wasn’t paying close enough attention to their subtle body language and should dig deeper like Luc implied. Hey, that’s what worked before, right? Asking the uncomfortable questions others wouldn’t or couldn’t?

I would have to rethink my strategy and revisit all of them, and one way or the other, try to somehow get more details. Playing one off the other wouldn’t work. What would? Could I actually get someone to trust me?

I sat there thinking over Luc’s inferences and innuendo.

Were they meant to be helpful hints or subtle warnings?

Chapter 34

Getting My Money’s Worth

The French ATM machine had become my best friend lately, especially since my three houseguests had more than a healthy appetite. They also loved French wine. So there I was at Géant Supermarket in Fréjus, loading up on enough supplies to get me by for a while.

The place was enormous. I gave up counting at the twentieth cash register. I headed straight for the wine section, figuring I might save a euro or two buying some there instead of going to a smaller store. I grabbed whites, reds and everything in between. The boutique wine shops and their expensive prices were killing me. Maybe I would try a local vineyard or two for their wines when I ran out.

Ten minutes later, I was in the cheese aisle, already salivating in anticipation at the choices that were waiting. I was about to grab some French Brie when someone else grabbed it instead. Put out, I looked to see who had violated my personal cheese space.

“Oh! Madame Toussout. What a pleasant surprise! Please, go right ahead. I will take another one.”

Flustered by my gracious greeting, and startled to see me, she cautiously stepped back, saying, “Oh!” herself.

I didn’t want the moment to escape and decided to take advantage of us being alone without her husband.

“How nice to see you again!” I greeted warmly. “I love this store.”

She gave me a guarded smile. “It is also good to see you again. Yes, I agree. It is a nice store.”

I sighed, trying to appear frustrated. “I need your advice. There are too many choices. I am overwhelmed.”

Well, she spent the next ten minutes pointing out the best cheeses to try, some brands that were bad, and a few that were too pricey to even bother experimenting with.

“Why, Madame Toussout, thank you so much! I can’t tell you what a life saver you have been for me.”

She became flustered by the compliment.

“Oh, it was nothing at all. What would it say about my country if I could not help you in some small way?”

I moved in for the kill, shaking my head sadly. “I just wish you could have also helped me in some small way regarding any unusual information about what is going on at Curat’s property. No one is being very helpful. I know Martine will be so disappointed in me for coming up empty-handed.”

She looked both ways and said in a hushed tone. “The truth is, I have heard something, but have been reluctant to seek you out. Can I confide something only between us?”

I couldn’t believe my luck. “Why of course! I would never let on that you said anything to me at all.”

She stepped in closer. “Late one night, I heard a truck stop and a door shut. I went outside to listen. There was a scraping noise, then a flashlight shining, and then a click. I quietly walked over and listened from below the wall to Curat’s villa. Then I could swear I felt a vibration come from the wall itself. Crazy! No?”

Chapter 35

Questions Leading To What?

While driving home, questions lingered about Madame Toussout. What had she heard that night? None of it made sense. Nothing else was found or dug up other than the bones and tags, and they were discovered by accident.

Plus, it didn’t appear she had a personal agenda, so I pushed that to the side. Was it her imagination that night? It didn’t seem so, because she was completely earnest in trying to describe exactly what she heard.

Maybe that was what Monsieur Toussout did not want me to find out. Since her nervous breakdown, maybe he thought people would think she was crazy, too. Besides, why would he confide in anyone, especially the neighbors? Luc mentioned that Toussout was still sensitive about the brooch episode when no one tried to defend his wife, or believe her denial. Had Toussout heard the noise, too?

Perhaps he knew exactly what it was and by dismissing what his wife heard, hoped that she would eventually dismiss it, too. If so, why? For what possible reason would he want it disregarded, except for his own benefit, or possibly someone else’s? Too many questions were still out there.

I remembered Mademoiselle Forniet mentioned seeing a truck across from her house and in front of Curat’s. Could that be the vehicle that Madame Toussout heard? If so, whose voice had Dominique Forniet heard?

What could the scraping noise be that Tissout heard? Was it a shovel? Then why wasn’t something else found? Or was it the actual burial of the pets taking place when she heard it?

I was getting creeped out just thinking about it.

What was so unique about Curat’s property other than it was vacant? Was I going about this whole thing the wrong way? What was the other missing connection sitting out there?

After arriving home and starting to unpack my car, I stopped and pivoted in place in the courtyard, looking all around me, trying to figure out what did or didn’t happen.

Now, who had the one advantage on seeing what was going on, as well as not having to fear being caught? Who could have used that opportunity? To what gain?

…Madame Sorrell!

I stopped in place and turned to stare up at the one house that had an eagle eye view of most of Curat’s property, day and night, and in it, a person who once held power over the others in the past. I smiled at the notion this presented.

What if she saw something? Would she risk using that information for extortion, power and control? Her social position was slipping now that her influential husband, Henri, was dead. Why give up all that power?

Chapter 36

Sidelined By Solicitous Salutations

Making up for lost time was my number one priority for the day. I mean, after all, if she slammed the door in my face, at least I’d feel I had tried to accomplish something rather than sitting out on the terrace and trying to figure out who knew what. I had to go to the source, but in a round about way, and worm some information out of her.

Sorrell’s gate was already open, so I climbed her drive and upon reaching the entrance, hit the doorbell, hoping for the best. Ordinarily people in my situation had a plan of action. Not me. I usually let things play out, grabbing at whatever I could. Sometimes it worked.

I’m not discussing when it didn’t.

I took a deep breath as the door slowly opened. I was about three feet lower on the bottom step and already felt at a disadvantage by her towering figure staring down at me.

“Madame Sorrell, do you have time to talk?”

Surprisingly, she gave me a smile. “Of course. Please come in and share some tea with me.”

Up till now, not one person in this neighborhood had been pleased to see me. Why the change in attitude? Was this a new tactic they were trying on me? I thought it was supposed to be me who was trying out new game plans and was thrown by Sorrell’s unexpected greeting.

“It’s very generous of you to see me without prior notice. I appreciate your time. I know how a woman of your stature has more important matters to tend to.”

She stopped and turned to face me in the entryway. “I think we both know why you are here, so let us both get straight to the point once we are seated. Oui?”

Well, I was sort of nonplused for something to say as a retort, so I kept quiet and just nodded, and then followed her down a darkened hallway that opened up to her kitchen.

“Wow!” was all I said. It had a rough-hewn wood floor, iron and copper pots hanging everywhere with a huge wood fueled stove against one wall, and a rectangular old large farm table right in the center of it all.

The fireplace off to the side had two comfortable leather chairs facing each other with a small table in between. She pointed for me to sit by the window. I stared out at the sea, and then turned back to her. “This is beautiful.”

She prepared the tea. “I thought we would dispense with the formalities of the living room, so you could ask me what you really need to know. No polite games. I am only interested in clarifying any misunderstanding on your part.”

I wasn’t expecting her to be so straightforward. It was unusual for the French to be confrontational. I recovered and said, “Merci, I like you getting straight to the point.”

“As you yourself already know, being a widow has its learning curves.”

Chapter 37

Reading More Than Tea Leaves

What was she trying to convey, that we had something in common, or we both understood the reality of the moment? Just because I was a widow, it didn’t make me feel any closer to what she was going through. I could relate on some level, but I was extremely suspicious of this woman, especially after hearing what the others said about her unforgiveable behavior.

I stopped myself mid-thought.

Were they telling the truth? This was exactly what Luc had warned me against, prejudging anyone by other’s previous comments. What if there was more to it? What if this woman never got to explain the whole story? Maybe Madam Toussout wasn’t so innocent, but was just playing a role to get everyone on her side and against Sorrell?

No, it didn’t make any sense, because if that were true, it clearly didn’t work. No one was on friendly speaking terms with each other.

When she sat down with tea, I came out with it.

“Since we’re dropping all pretenses here, why didn’t you ever apologize for jumping to conclusions and causing the infamous rift with the Toussouts? There was no proof.”

She barely blinked in response. “Why should I? That woman should have apologized to me long before that.”

“Whatever for? She seems like a shy, quiet woman.”

“Ah, don’t let that façade of hers fool you. She can be quite treacherous, ruthless too. Both of them.”

“Why do you say that?”

Her eyes narrowed in anger. “What would you do if one of your neighbors publicly accused your husband of running around with a woman with a known reputation?”

I didn’t get where she was going with this line of conversation. “What are you talking about?”

“Monsieur and Madame Toussot’s actions killed Henri.”

“Wait. What evidence do you have to back that up?”

“The Toussouts! So righteous!”

“But how did the Toussouts kill your husband?”

“They both spread rumors of my Henri going to a house of ill repute!”

I didn’t get it. “Why would they do that?”

Madame Sorrel sighed. “To get back at me.”

“For your accusation and her ultimate embarrassment?”

Sorrel nodded. “Yes. My Henri spent years dealing with those ridiculous rumors. Finally they disappeared.”

“But how did the Toussots kill your husband, now?”

“It all resurfaced in an anonymous note to Henri. Once again those ridiculous rumors were circulating about Henri, now a respected businessman. The stress, and the possibility of blackmail, finally killed him with a heart attack. Those two are the only ones who would have a motive for retaliation and public humiliation.”

Chapter 38

Following The Past

Now, was there something more than petty annoyances and jealousy going on? Blackmail seemed farfetched. Why was Sorrell tossing my attention to the Toussouts and those rumors, decades old? Were they actually relevant now?

I sat staring out at the water, sipping my morning coffee and thinking about my visit to Sorrell. Interesting stuff and a possible diversion, but how could I work that into my story? Could I make it have any relevance to my plot? I doubted my editor would think so. I could clearly visualize her comments in the edit sidebar and smiled.

“…Hello! Are you there? Hello!”

I jumped at Martha’s touch. She was staring at me, as were Hazel and Betty, hovering just behind her.

“…Sorry,” I said. “I was thinking about some things.”

Martha shook her head, but then smiled, knowingly.

“I’ve seen that look before. Something is up, isn’t it?”

Hazel was excited. “You’re in another caper, right?”

I didn’t answer, but she turned to Betty, grinning. “Did you catch that? Sounds like another case.”

Betty nodded approval. “Hazel, ‘caper’ sums it up just like those old detective novels we both devour.”

Martha pulled up a chair beside me. “Now, without traveling down that road of yours with all your usual denials, how about you telling the three of us exactly what is going on?”

Betty and Hazel sat down too and I realized I was cornered.

“It certainly would save us a lot of time trying to pry it out of you, or following you around, listening and watching your every move, like before,” Betty pointed out.

I sighed. But they had proven their worth in the past. Maybe they could be extra sets of eyes and ears and help me. What did I have to lose by confiding in them? I smiled, thinking back on all the chaos they seemed to attract.

…All right, me too.

“Only if you promise me that you three will not do anything crazy without consulting me first, or no deal.”

The three of them exchanged excited looks, but then smiled blandly at me and nodded.

Martha patted my arm. “Great! I was getting a little bored anyway. Inactivity leads to mental rigor mortis.”

“Personally speaking,” said Betty, “I’ve just about seen enough lace panties and bras at all those markets.”

Hazel laughed. “Sam, we brought our iPads and walking shoes with us just in case. Knowing you, we were hoping something might be in the works. Finally, a case to crack!”

I took another sip of coffee, wondering where to begin. “I don’t know what I have exactly, but it sure is interesting, I have to admit. The more I dig, the more mystifying it all gets.”

Martha leaned back in her chair, getting comfortable. “Okay, spill.”

And I did, telling them everything I knew so far: the pet bones, the neighbor’s backgrounds, their animosity, the brooch incident, seeing the two women at the restaurant, the cat lady, the mysterious truck, noises heard from down below, to the red light district and sugar daddy across the street, and of course, the possibility of blackmail.

Betty lightly whistled. “My, you have been busy!”

Hazel hastily took notes, more for her own benefit than mine. She was always jotting down things she might forget that she thought might be important later.

Hazel was slightly shorter than Betty, who leaned toward the thin side, but she was surprisingly in good shape. It must be from heaving and stacking all those books in Clay’s bookstore. She was bristling with excitement and fussing with her curly gray hair in anticipation. “French intrigue at its finest!”

Chapter 39

Armed For Answers

After some epicurean tips from Martine, I was armed with more than questions for Madame Toussout. I had been checking all morning from my upper terrace and finally noticed her all by herself in her backyard, clipping some roses for an empty vase sitting on her patio table.

I also found out from Martine how envious Madame Toussout was of Martine and Curat’s gardens because of their apricot trees. She adored apricots. I picked a basketful, stuck a ribbon on the handle, and hustled over for a speedy interview, excuse me, chat.

I called out from her walk-in gate, as she was pruning poolside. “Madame Toussout. I’ve brought you a gift.”

She looked up guardedly, but her curiosity got the better of her when she noticed the covered basket I was carrying. She set her clippers down on a nearby table, removed her gloves and slowly approached.

“What is this about a gift for me?” she asked, eyeing the basket and opening her gate slowly.

I smiled. “I heard you loved apricots and Curat’s trees are filled with them, so naturally, I thought of you.”

She grinned, pleased. “Oh, how thoughtful of you to remember me and my passion for apricots. Please, won’t you sit by the pool with me and have some ice tea and maybe we can sample one or two while we talk?”

I was in. “I’d love to. How nice of you to ask!”

She gestured to a table and some chairs under a pergola of clematis vines and I made myself comfortable on the shaded patio. When she had disappeared inside the house to get us tea, I glanced up at Curat’s curved wall, spilling over with red bougainvillea, checking it out. I wondered how she heard the sound she had described all the way from down here.

I turned at her footsteps.

“Here we go—don’t they look delicious?”

We settled in, enjoying the fresh apricots and sipping tea. She was experiencing such pleasure in the fruit I’d brought I almost felt bad bringing up the past and all the negativity attached to it. Like I said, I almost felt bad.

But how did she rationalize what happened?

“Madame Toussout, I heard your relationship with your neighbor on the hill goes back many, many years.”

She set her tea down. “I am afraid there is no friendship any longer between us.”

“Oh, that is truly a shame. I’m sorry to hear that.”

“Yes. I have discovered even time can’t erase history.”

“A history of rumors, or something more?”

Her eyes held mine. “Whose version?”

“Why don’t you tell me yours?”

She started fidgeting with her hands in her lap, and then became indignant. Why the conflicting body language?

“How was I to know it was all true and that Henri was secretly meeting with that woman when I accused him of that very thing in public? I know my husband wouldn’t lie to me, would he?”

What was in Henri’s letter?

Chapter 40

Revving Up For A Change

Half an hour later I walked back to my villa, with nothing more than a basket filled with more useless gossip. A loud roar closed in on me. I sidestepped on the narrow road to make room, except no one passed by.

The engine sounded familiar.

Curious, I turned to see who had stopped beside me. There was a smiling Crystal, the owner of Crystal Clear Cleaners of Ocean City, New Jersey, straddling a Harley motorcycle.

“Well, look what we have here!” I said, running over to hug her. “I guess you got my email invite. Welcome to the Riviera. Hey, who’s watching your cleaning business?”

Crystal smirked. “My husband, Pete, of course. After putting up with his father and all his baggage, I deserved it. So, I handed him the mop, saying, ‘you know what to do.’”

“Where did you get the Harley?”

“I rented it for a few weeks from Prestige Motorcycles. Can you imagine a Harley dealer within fifteen minutes of your villa? You know, I’d be lost without a Harley to ride.”

Her traveling tattoos glistened under a tight tee shirt and leather vest, while her jeans hugged her shapely, toned body. Her helmet camouflaged her long brown hair.

“I guess you were heading up to my villa?”

She nodded. “Want a short lift?”

“Sure. I’ve got the remote, so slow down at the entrance, then I’ll press the remote and we can ride right through.”

In seconds, we glided through the gates, coming to a stop at the front door. Martha, Hazel and Betty rushed over.

“What a sight for sore eyes,” laughed Martha.

“Crystal, how nice to see you, again,” Betty greeted.

Hazel eyed the Harley. “Perfect! We’ve got backup.”

Crystal looked at her. “What do you mean, backup?”

“We’re on another case!” Hazel announced proudly.

Crystal laughed. “Already? It’s only been a few weeks!”

Martha smirked. “You know how she attracts it.”

I turned to her. “Attracts what?”

“Mysteries, and now, murder,” she tossed back.

Crystal did a double take. “Murder?”

Betty lifted a backpack from Crystal’s motorcycle and headed toward the villa’s foyer door. “We’ll explain later.”

Hazel grabbed the other bag and followed Betty. “Wait until you hear about her tango with Philippe!”

Crystal looked at me. “You danced a tango? Who is Philippe?”

Martha smirked. “Picture an orchid between her teeth.”

Crystal started laughing. “I can see I came just in time.”

“You’re telling us!” Betty said, laughing.

Hazel started for the door. “The only one missing is…”

I cut her a sharp look of warning about her next words.

“…Sneakers, of course, your cat.” she added quickly.

Martha flashed a grin. “Touchy! You know that…”

I gave her the evil eye back. “Hey, enough!”

They were all trouble with a capital T.

Chapter 41

A Mazed In St. Tropez

“Now, this is how it’s going down, ladies,” I said, while we were walking away from the car. I felt like a drill sergeant, but if I didn’t take control now, the whole shopping experience could end up a fiasco. “We’ll try to begin near the wharf where some nice shops are and weave our way over toward the park, and then back again, covering most of the maze of small boutiques in a grid pattern. I don’t want any of you wandering off.”

Hazel became upset. “I take it you don’t trust us?”

“Where could we possibly go?” Betty asked, offended.

Martha huffed. “Don’t you think your stretching it?”

Instead of letting Crystal stay home to rest from her trip, I should have dragged her along. She would have been an extra set of eyes to counter their constant wanderlust. Besides, I felt responsible for them. This was an unfamiliar area, easy to get lost in, plus it was crowded with tourists.

“No, I’m sticking on the side of caution with you three.”

“I don’t see why!” Betty argued. “I’ve got a map!”

Martha held up her hand. “Forget it, we’ve got bigger fish to fry than to stand here and quibble. I need a bikini!”

I was going to suggest she might want to reconsider a bikini, but then figured, why not? It’s the Riviera. Briefly, I even considered buying one for myself, something I wouldn’t have done while married to Stephen. “I think you should get one.”

Martha’s eyes narrowed, trying to figure out if that was meant to be a sarcastic comment.

I smiled. “I’m serious.”

“I will if you will,” she replied.

I hesitated, but then thought—why not? “Deal.”

She laughed. “Now, that’s the way to go!” She then leaned closer to us, whispering, “Don’t look right this second, but there’s a small truck back there that seems to be trailing us since we parked. There are two men inside, watching us. Why, I do believe they might be attracted to our group, especially me.”

I looked at her rhinestone-dotted tee shirt that sort of matched her rhinestone sunglasses, skinny jeans and silver sandals. Thank goodness I had sunglasses on. It was quite a blinding getup.

She might have a point. She looked as though she had just stepped off one of the cruise ships in the harbor.

After taking turns checking out the truck, Hazel said, “I agree. I think they’ve never seen anything quite like you.”

Martha looked suspicious. “Was that a wisecrack?”

Hazel smiled sweetly. “Didn’t you get my nuance?”

Betty cut in. “They’re probably looking for an address.”

“Frenchmen like hot women!” said Martha, primping.

I checked out the truck, laughing. The two men inside were looking straight at us. “Maybe you’re right.”

Betty checked her watch. “Let’s get a move on, ladies.”

An hour into the spree, Hazel continued, “…nine…”

Martha turned to her. “I think we all got the message.”

“She’s only counting Lamborghinis.” Betty said.

“Yeah, but she sounds like a tourist for goodness sake.”

Hazel stopped short, staring at Martha. “Listen to who’s talking, Miss Rhinestone Sunglasses.”

Martha adjusted them. “A woman always needs bling.”

Betty pointed at Martha. “Talk about being touristy.”

I felt a headache coming on from the heat. “Hey, can we move along?” Then I noticed that same truck from earlier parked off to the side with the same two men inside. I shrugged them off. Deliverymen, I thought and walked on to the next shop.

Two hours later, I felt like a dishrag, starting to sweat and becoming dizzy from tramping in and out of dozens of boutiques, waiting and watching my friends try on bathing suits, gold chains, high heeled sandals, colorful skirts and bicker about sizes and prices with the store personnel. Where did they get the energy? I was running on my last cylinder of stamina and patience as we exited a shop, standing outside on the sidewalk, my decision finally made.

I looked down at my watch. “I think I’ve had enough!”

Betty looked startled. “Why, we’re just getting started.”

“It’s still early,” Hazel added, checking her watch.

Martha simply smiled. “I’m impressed that you lasted so long. Obviously, you are not a pro at shopping like us.”

I raised my hands in praise. “Amen to that. If I see lace, smell potpourri or perfume one more time, I think I’ll throw up.”

Hazel patted my shoulder gently. “We’ll walk faster.”

I pointed out on her map a wharf café. “Just in case we’re separated, we’ll meet there,” I said, pointing. “At the Café Provence at three p.m., okay?”

Betty nodded. “We better move along then, ladies.”

“Come on. We’ll have to hustle to cover the rest of those shops,” ordered Martha, tugging me along.

“Isn’t this exciting?” asked Hazel.

“Will you check out that guy in shorts!” said Martha.

“Which one?” Betty asked, fussing with her hair.

I dawdled, letting them get ahead. It was all a bit much and I really was getting tired. I called out to Martha. “I’ll meet you at three, okay?”

She stared at me for a second and nodded, then finally waved me off good-naturedly. “If you insist.”

I spotted a bikini in the window of the next boutique. Not bad. I went in, plunked my card down to purchase it in my size, and exited in five minutes flat. Now that was my version of shopping!

I really let them go so I could rest at the café by myself to think. I wanted to write up some notes about the truck even though they were probably deliverymen. Maybe I could convince my editor that there was something more sinister about the truck.

I sighed. It was hard to come up with a good reason for why two men in a van would be trailing three old ladies on a shopping spree. I laughed. Even I couldn’t explain that one.

Chapter 42

Running Interference & Running Scared

I spotted that same truck again that Martha had pointed out earlier. The two men inside were still staring at me. I didn’t like it—unlike Martha I wasn’t flattered by their attention. I noticed a winding, cobblestoned passageway off the little street I was standing on. The alley was strewn with metal garbage cans, discarded cartons and drainage puddles. I could lose those creeps by taking that small alley to the next street. …Decision time. I darted to the right down the alleyway, trying to ignore the grimy visuals that felt like the perfect crime scene, and moved along hurriedly.

About a hundred yards in, a rumbling sound caught my attention and I looked over my shoulder. That same truck, barely fitting in the small alley, was still following me. I spun around looking for a doorstep to stand on to let it pass, but then stopped myself. What if they weren’t deliverymen? I didn’t want to take that risk. So when the distance between us narrowed with no let up, bad vibes got me moving faster.

I picked up my pace, approaching a bend in the alley. My ears caught the sound of the acceleration of that truck making its way closer and closer. I glanced back, but the tinted front windshield obscured their faces. Just as well. I didn’t need another reminder how creepy they looked. Now alarmed, I began grabbing at doorknobs. They were all locked! I didn’t have to look back again to know what the vibration under my feet told me. They were traveling faster than I was. My only ticket out was to get to a busy cross street. Now!

I began to run. I had to find a way out. My one advantage was their difficulty in maneuvering the old alley. My shoe caught and I fell to the cobblestones, but managed to scramble to my feet and took off again, deliberately pulling trashcans at random to at least slow them down.

It didn’t work. They were closing in on me.

Gulping air, my heart lurched. Up ahead was a wall blocking me. Can’t be! There had to be a way out. I turned back. It was just a matter of twenty yards and I’d be toast. Panic stricken, like a caged animal, I raced for the building anyway.

Gasping for air, about to give up, I looked to the left and caught sight of a small-tunneled archway, and beyond that, bright sunlight and people passing by, carrying shopping bags. A main shopping street!

I darted for it, and heard the truck screech to a halt, its doors opening and slamming shut behind me. Footsteps pounded on the cobblestones—nearing me.…

Without turning around, I flew into the crowds, dodged left, and then turned right, and kept going. The friendly crowds parted in front of me, and then closed behind me.

Flooded with relief, I finally slowed to a brisk, normal walk, although I was still gasping for air. I could see the wharf in the distance and wound my way through the crowds, dodging in and out, ecstatic to be free of the threat behind me, as I steadily widened the gap between us.

I refused to stop and rest until I physically saw the waterfront cafe ahead of me. Only then did I slow down so I wouldn’t draw attention to myself. I finally came to a stop when I reached the cafe, took a calming breath, and scanned the tables until my eyes latched onto those three friendly faces. I waved and opened my crumpled bag, calling out to them,

“Look! A French bikini!”

Like I said once before, in order to protect them, my lips were sealed …for now.

Chapter 43

Nudging Scenarios And Myself

It was pretty obvious I was now being put on notice about interfering in matters that were none of my business. Apparently, I was the one the strange men were focused on, not the others. That could only be because they thought I was onto something. They were not-so-subtly letting me know there was no place I could go now without risk.

Thoughts of something nastier happening didn’t sit well with me, but neither was dropping the matter. Now that I knew there was no way the truck’s presence was coincidental, and that whoever was inside knew what they were doing, I was at a bit of a crossroad.

I got the message.

But what should I do?

Here I was caught up in another tangle of events and passionate disputes. Why couldn’t I figure out who was telling the truth and who wasn’t, and the real reason behind the dead animals and their strange burials in the villa’s backyard? There were more connections out there I needed to find before it all escalated out of control and another death occurred, human (hopefully not my own) or other.

How did simple inquiries into the burial of animal bones morph into something embedded with layers of jealousy, revenge, lies and questionable secrecy? I didn’t understand the purpose of the burials in the first place.

Why go to all these lengths after the original discovery of some bones? As before, was I being led down a path certain individuals wanted me to travel because they were fearful to do it themselves?

I paused from typing on my laptop. The small truck that had pursued me in the alley was diesel. Could that be the same diesel truck Dominique saw across the street at Curat’s and the same engine Toussout heard?

Who was orchestrating all this? Or was there more than one individual involved? If I could carefully disentangle more, then maybe I might get to the real reason for the burials in the first place. Or were they merely a catalyst that set off something completely different, something far worse?

I wasn’t about to divulge anything about this since I didn’t want anyone to know what I did, or did not know, yet. I did feel strongly about one thing though. I was positive that everything was connected in some way, since I was now making someone very nervous and uneasy.

…Including me.

Chapter 44

Maxing Out In St. Maxine

I was outvoted, four to one. Lousy odds, if you ask me, and dicey. Martha was going to drive my car with Hazel and Betty, while I was to ride on the back of Crystal’s rented Harley. They all wanted to go over to St. Maxine for dinner, and wander throughout the old town to check out the vendors and shops, and, as usual, men.

Everyone thought it was a good idea for me to get out after being so hung up on what was going on. They said I needed a night out with the girls. Last time I did that was in Atlantic City. What could possibly go wrong this time?

As always, the trip itself was pretty direct. Crystal and I led the way on the Harley, the car close behind us. We took my street straight down to the Mediterranean; made a right turn onto the coast road and aimed for St. Maxine. It was about twenty minutes away, through Les Issambres and a few other small resorts, restaurants and commercial areas.

Even though the sun was setting behind the mountains, it still managed to throw off some light between the peaks to the water down below where sea foam splashed through the black rock formations jutting out here and there. As we cruised the shoreline road weaving in and out of the coves, beaches, and rock outcroppings, I shouted out landmarks to Crystal.

Boats, jet skis, bathers and yachts headed in for the evening, or for their dinner destinations, while a few cruise ships dotted the horizon either going to Nice, Cannes, or St. Tropez to anchor for a night of fun.

Clutching Crystal’s waist, we made it without incident and parked across the street by the marina in paid public parking. I had warned the others we were going in cold. In other words, we had no reservations at any particular restaurant, a sort of dangerous way to eat if you knew how busy St. Maxine got at night. It was a top tourist destination and the restaurants were overflowing with diners by the time we pulled in.

The ‘girls’ were more interested in dining outside, so we ended up at Café de France. It was next door to Le Wafou, a restaurant that had live music and a singer on the weekends with a lot of the music being American pop, rock, or oldies. Our spot was perfect, since we could listen from our table on the sidewalk. Perfectly located on the main coast road across from the marina, we could watch the beautiful people, cars, and motorcycles pass by all evening.

It was a warm, still evening, and we were into the moment and relaxed. Everyone unanimously voted the French Riviera was the perfect place for a reunion vacation spot, and I was asked to make a toast for organizing it.

I stood up and was about to open my mouth when I noticed a sudden shift in their body language. They sat up straighter, their eyes were focused on someone behind me.

Still a bit shaky from my encounter in the alley, I spun around to see who they were looking at. As I did so, I tripped slightly on the leg of my chair, and fell right into the arms of…

Chapter 45

Unpredictable Predicaments

Philippe!

Now, I could say, I was disappointed. I wasn’t. I could say I was annoyed. I wasn’t. I could also say, why me? I didn’t. I mean, after all, the guy seemed nothing short of unpredictable!

I liked that.

Elegantly, he set me firmly on my feet, and kissed my hand before letting me go.

I said, “…Uh, we…”

He finished for me. “…Meet again, cheri. It’s karma!”

“You can say that again,” Martha said from her chair.

Betty was busy checking him out from head to toe.

Crystal smirked. “How does this woman find them?”

Martha licked her lips. “I don’t know, but I want one.”

Turning to them, I found myself mouthing, “He’s hot!”

Confused, Hazel whispered, “What, he cooks, too?”

Crystal laughed, replying, “Looks like it from here!”

I turned back to him. Oh, I felt trouble brewing from the get go. I could feel it right where I stood. He was a problem just waiting to happen, but somehow I didn’t care. I had enough of living on the cautious side of nowhere.

Philippe smiled. “What do you say we go for a walk?”

The girls all stood up at the same time.

I stared them down. “I think he meant …with me.”

Getting it, they abruptly sat back down and started talking animatedly, as though I’d interrupted them in the middle of a vital board meeting.

“No, go right ahead,” said Martha waving me off.

Crystal poured more wine. “We’ve got plenty to keep us occupied, don’t we ladies?”

Betty nodded. “Go. We’ll see you at the car later, Sam.”

“What time is convenient for you two?” Hazel asked.

I turned to Philippe, my face wearing nothing but a question mark.

How could I pass up this opportunity?

He smiled slyly. “How about I take you home, cheri?”

I turned back to them. They all nodded in unison.

“Okay,” I said. He waved to the girls and turned to go.

They all gave me a thumbs up.

When we were out of earshot of the others, I planned on asking every question that popped into my head regarding Mademoiselle Forniet and the others. I was going to pluck this chicken clean for any kind of information I could get.

The others? I figured they were okay for the evening with me occupied elsewhere, which, when I thought back on it, might have been a mistake.

What was I thinking when I walked away from them, leaving them on their own? You would think I had learned from past experiences that when left unattended, they were completely unpredictable and mildly dangerous. Okay, let me correct that, completely dangerous.

Now, as far as how the rest of my evening went…

That’s for another chapter!

Chapter 46

Russian Roulette

“Hey, wake up, Sam.” Martha said impatiently, shaking me vigorously. “It’s past noon. You’ll never guess what happened. I can hardly believe it myself.”

I rubbed my eyes. “Believe what?”

“What happened last night, that’s what.”

Okay, she had me. I sat up. “What happened?”

Martha sat on the edge of my bed. “Well, we finished dinner, then visited some shops that were still open, but we still didn’t want to go home. I spotted a casino down the street from the parking lot. Crystal and I wanted to check it out. Hazel and Betty were somewhat reluctant, but finally we talked them into it.”

I was hoping this wasn’t going south, but I braced myself for the worst.

“Tell me those two sweet old ladies didn’t lose much!”

Martha laughed. “Lose? Are you kidding me? Those old biddies won a ton of money.”

“How? They don’t gamble.”

“Well,” Martha said, laughing. “They do now.”

“Playing what?”

“Roulette!” She sat there silent for a second, thoughtful, then smiled. “I wonder if they could learn to count cards.”

I was still confused. “But they don’t know how to play poker, let alone play roulette.”

“Believe me, they learn real quick.”

“How much did they win?”

“Well, let’s put it this way: Enough to take us all to Cannes for dinner and fireworks at the Carlton sometime soon, which includes their several course dinner, while dining overlooking over the Mediterranean by moonlight.”

“The two of them are so ladylike and proper. But gambling? Where are they now?”

Martha snickered. “Right after their first win, they were hooked. Currently, they are sleeping it off after having had a few drinks to celebrate the occasion. We lost count.”

“Oh, my! Remember they didn’t fare too well the last time we all drank through my wine rack in Ocean City?”

Hearing our voices, Crystal appeared in the doorway. “Well, I have to admit, those two sure surprised me last night. They actually forced me to give them turns riding on the back of the Harley all the way home.”

“Exactly how much did they drink?”

They winked at each other and started laughing.

Crystal shook her head. “You really don’t want to know the bar tab they covered. Let’s just say that the two of them should be coming around sometime this afternoon.”

Martha laughed. “They surprised even me.”

Crystal, about to push off from the door to leave us, asked, “By the way, how did last night go with you, Sam?”

“I ended up playing roulette myself. Russian roulette.”

Chapter 47

All Bets Are Off

Changing her mind about leaving, Crystal came back into the bedroom and sat on the other side of my bed. “And this is leading us where?”

Martha gave me that look. “You might as well tell us.”

I leaned back on my pillow. “I was planning on an evening of digging information out of Philippe, but it didn’t exactly go according to plan.”

Martha laughed. “How could the evening go south when Philippe doesn’t know your reputation for trouble?”

I groaned. “Yeah, well, he does now.”

“How is that?” Crystal asked.

“I was about to ask about his so-called relationship with Mademoiselle Forniet when he leaned into me intimately.”

Martha didn’t get it. “So, what’s wrong with that?”

“Nothing. I closed my eyes for what I thought was coming, and then I felt a tap on my shoulder.”

“What? Was he asking permission to kiss you?”

I laughed. No! “Now, guess who it was?”

They both asked simultaneously, “Who?”

I looked from one to the other. “You won’t guess.”

“Should we even try?”

“Not in a million years.”

“Then tell us!” Crystal demanded, impatiently.

“Clay,” I replied, my voice low and even.

After I set that name out there, there was silence. You see, Clay and I had a relationship well after Stephen died, but I just couldn’t make myself commit to anything permanent. I had to sort my life out first and decided that the couple thing should be set to the side, knowing we both had to figure out what each of us really wanted. Plus, I always felt he might not stay, anyway.

He had always warned me upfront that he was a restless spirit. I knew that going into our relationship. Looking back, I sometimes thought my decision to walk away from him might have been a preemptive strike from getting hurt in another relationship.

Maybe he felt the same way, because he took off for parts unknown once I voiced the slightest doubt about “us.”

So when I took off for Ocean City, New Jersey to write my next book, he had already taken off, who knows where? To tell you the truth, I sort of expected it, that’s why I left town, too. Neither one of us were ready to commit. Even so, this time apart gave me time to think that maybe we both made it too easy for each of us to opt out.

The minute I saw him last night I knew Martine had been working behind the scene, arranging this whole surprise, thinking she knew what was best for me. Maybe she did. I sure had been thinking a lot about him lately, mentioning him several times to her in private. She knew I’d be here tonight with the girls. And the old town isn’t that big, either. He’d have no problem finding me.

“…Talk about a game changer,” Martha finally said.

Crystal looked at me kind of skeptical about where this was going. “Now, what would he be doing here?”

“You know, I asked him that myself,” I said.

“Well, what did he say?” Martha asked eagerly.

“He leaned in close, edging Philippe away, whispering in my ear, ‘I came to take care of unfinished business’.”

Martha started fanning herself. “Whew! That’s hot!”

“I’d like to meet this stud muffin.” Crystal said.

“Hey, the two of us had no real commitment.”

“Running away solved nothing,” Martha pointed out.

“…Maybe I’ve reconsidered my priorities.”

Martha looked at me closely. “Does he know that?”

I shifted uncomfortably. “…Well, no, not really.”

“So you’re having second thoughts?” Crystal asked.

I shrugged, then smiled. “I guess I’ll just have to see.”

“Hey, why figure the whole thing out now?” Martha asked. “Why not let it play out and see where it all leads?”

“Look, if I drop Philippe cold, I’d get nowhere as far as learning something about Forniet. On the other hand, if I string him along, then it would further my investigation, but it might screw up any future possibilities with Clay.”

“Or it might prove more interesting,” Crystal said slyly.

I nodded, agreeing. “And it might be worth the gamble.”

Martha sat there, chuckling. “I’d say in your case, that as far as the two of them are concerned, all bets are off.”

What did I have to lose?

“Let the games begin!” I announced.

Now, what were the odds on me regretting those words?

But wait, I digress. Our conversation wasn’t over yet.

Chapter 48

A Ticking Time Bomb

I sat up. “Last night was like watching a ticking time bomb countdown between those two.”

“Sounds like a case study in testosterone!” surmised Martha. “Like two bucks marking their territory.”

Crystal was sipping some 1664 beer from a bottle with a slice of lime floating inside. She was never about the wine and couldn’t be bothered about vintages. Lately, I preferred life like that too. Straight up. It led to fewer complications.

…Depending on the circumstances, of course.

Crystal took another swig. “What happened after that?”

“Now, how can I explain this? It sort of got ugly.”

Martha knew that look. “What do you mean, sort of?”

“Mademoiselle Dominique Forniet showed up.”

“Hormones and testosterone!” Crystal laughed. “Great!”

“So, what are you going to do?” Martha asked.

I shook my head. “Wait, I haven’t finished.”

“You’re a magnet for trouble, you know that?”

“Sadly, yes.” I replied, still put out by what happened. “Dominique said she had enough with all the murders and wanted nothing more to do with me or the crazy neighbors. Then Clay turned to me and asked, ‘what murders’?”

“Well, all hell broke loose and the three of them went at it back and forth about the bones, the villa, and its saga of deaths. Before you knew it, the other two stomped off and I was informed by Clay that he was staying at Martine’s.”

I looked from Martha to Crystal for a response. They looked at each other and shook their heads, disbelieving.

Martha’s stare pinned me in place. “Now, why would Martine take in a stranger without asking any questions?”

I tried to avoid eye contact. “I may have mentioned his name once or twice to her since last year, via Skype.”

Crystal crossed her arms, saying, “You know, more trouble is brewing, both at this villa and next door.”

She didn’t have to remind me. “I saw it clearly when Philippe and Clay locked horns. On another matter, as far as the neighbors go, with one exception, Dominique has something in common with her so-called crazy neighbors.”

“What does she have in common?” Martha asked.

“An interesting past.”

“What’s the one exception?” demanded Crystal.

“You see, she’s now running the family business.”

Martha chuckled. “Just like a French family vineyard!”

I smiled. “I’d say drinks are in order. Friday night? I’ll explain her background to all of you then, okay?”

“You know, there’s a case study,” Martha added, “that said men gossip more than women. Hard to imagine.”

Crystal laughed. “I guess we have our work cut out for us, don’t we ladies. Well, Friday night it is.”

Oh, what mischief lurks in the heart of women!

Taken from Sam’s verse, thus concluding Chapter 48.

Chapter 49

Eavesdropping And Dropping In

If I were leaning any further over my terrace railing, I’d find myself in one of those garden beds down below. But I was hard-pressed to hear exactly what Martine, Jean and Clay were saying to each other over there. It was early evening and they were having drinks. As far as I was concerned, there was way too much laughing going on for my comfort level, and I was skeptical about what was being tossed back and forth. Clay was dangerous. Period.

Let me explain another reason why I faltered before with Clay. In the last year, Clay and I ended up at odds with each other when I set out on my own to find out who killed my husband. But, when it was all over, I had second thoughts on a lot of things, including him. That is, after I discovered what really happened to Stephen. When it came right down to it, in the end, I honestly did, and did not, trust Clay or my feelings regarding that whole incident.

He was restless, sneaky, secretive and dangerous. …And that was my big problem. That was exactly what I found most intriguing about him, especially that last part with him always conveniently catching me off guard in the most ironic situations. I actually missed that.

Crazy, huh?

Unexpectedly, Martine looked over at my villa. “Sam!”

Caught dead in the water! Embarrassed, I waved back.

“Sam, where were you? I called earlier. Come over.”

I hesitated. Did I really want this? Yes and no. Sooner or later, I was going to have to suck it up and face him. Besides, I had to have some kind of control over what they were saying over there. It might be important. I knew from past experience Clay was a professional at weaseling info out of people without them even realizing it until it was too late.

I should know. I was one of them.

Pushing back from the railing, I was glad my crew was out for the evening in Les Issambres for dinner. I had begged off, knowing I wanted to catch what was going on next door. Clay was a new wrinkle in this garden saga.

I didn’t want him taking over and having the upper hand in finding out more information than I currently had at my disposal, which at the moment wasn’t much. I needed more and eagerly headed over to find out what I could.

By the time I walked out the front door, it was almost dark. So I figured I’d take the upper garden route and go through the gate over to Martine’s. That was my first mistake. The second?

Forgetting to expect the unexpected.

Chapter 50

Reconsidering Risky Routes

About a hundred feet into the gardens, I began to reconsider my brilliant move in taking that route. The paths at dusk felt like a warren of uncertainty. My memory of what had happened in the alley of St. Tropez still lingered eerily.

Evergreens cast dark shadows, as did the empty pedestals scattered about. My plan was to save time, but I found myself walking slower and slower, unsure of my footsteps, once I remembered the upright stones on the edges of the paths. Caution set in. Barely able to see my shoes as I made my way, I started sliding my feet to make sure I wouldn’t trip and injure myself.

I was halfway up when I heard it, a scraping sound up ahead, maybe about fifty yards. I quickly ducked behind an evergreen and waited. …I heard it again, voices in the garden up ahead. Not from Martine’s house, but from Curat’s garden, the site of all those buried bones. I took a chance and eased over to see what was going on. I saw a light flash briefly, and then …I fell face down in the dirt.

I had forgotten about the upright stones! Stupid! I quickly rolled over and scrambled behind the evergreen again, but it was too late. Whoever they were had heard me and took off, skirting the pool and jumping the upper gate. They were soon absorbed into the shadows of the park reserve.

I waited a moment and then heard a truck start up on the street and take off. I carefully felt my way along the stone path to where they were standing. In the last bit of evening light I saw their flashlight abandoned on the dirt.

I picked it up and aimed it down at the ground. My mouth dropped open. I was staring down at a freshly dug hole, the pile of dirt mounded at its edges. My stomach turned. At the bottom of the hole were animal bones.

I saw something shiny, some type of metal tag and reached into the hole to retrieve it, then stood and aimed the flashlight to get a better look to try to read what was engraved on it. It was a pet tag. The name jumped out at me. It said ‘Sneakers,’ the name of my cat back at home.

Someone screamed, and then everything went black.

Chapter 51

Rattling More Than My Bones

I moved away from the vile, bitter smell that seemed to choke me, shaking my head back and forth to distance it.

“Ah, she is awake!” said a male voice. I opened my eyes to see a concerned Jean leaning over me, right next to Martine, who was still holding the bottle of smelling salts.

“You put quite a scare into all of us,” she said, relieved.

Just then, Clay came into view behind them, saying, “I swear, trouble gravitates your way, no matter what.”

I sat up, ignoring his verbal jab. “What happened?”

Martine stroked my arm. “We heard a scream come from Curat’s garden. Clay jumped up, saying he recognized that scream and took off through our upper gardens. We quickly followed after grabbing Jean’s flashlight. When we got there, Clay was already at your side and had you in his arms, trying to pick you up.”

Jean added, “And he brought you back here. We were about to call our doctor when you came to.”

Remembering, I explained what happened up until it all went black. I extended my hand, which still held the pet tag, and then relaxed my grip showing them. “I never faint, but must have when I read this tag.”

Clay leaned in to see what I was holding, his eyes growing dark. “I don’t like this. Someone is intentionally playing a mind game with you in some sort of sick way. I don’t think you are taking things seriously enough. Why would you even walk through that dark garden alone like that? Sam, haven’t you learned anything from the past?”

Jean and Martine stared at each other, and then at me.

I sighed. “We have some history and some issues.”

Jean finally laughed. “So it seems.”

Martine added. “So I have heard.”

Clay turned to Martine. “Heard what?”

“I think,” she suggested, “you have to ask this one, who can’t seem to keep her nose out of irresistible mysteries.”

Before Clay could respond, I swung my legs to the floor from their sofa and stood up, shakily. “I think I’ve had enough excitement for one night, thank you.”

Seeing me wobble, Clay put a hand on my arm. “You should stay here and rest.”

“I’m okay.”

“Then I’m walking you home.”

I knew that look and readily agreed. “Okay.”

I hugged Martine and Jean, assuring them that I would follow up with them and that I had found out something and want to confirm my suspicions before I told them yet and would call them tomorrow. “I promise.”

Once outside, I made for Martine’s back patio.

“And where do you think you are going?” Clay asked.

I flicked him a look, heading for the back gate. “Home.”

Clay pointed. “The street is that way.”

I shook my head. “No can do. I want another look. Come with me, Clay. Trust me on this. Please.”

“Let’s wait till the morning. I’m worried about you.”

“No, I need to check something tonight.”

He sighed, shrugged, flicked on the flashlight, and handed it to me. “I’ve got your back. …You can lead.”

I nodded and walked toward Martine’s apricot groves.

Then from behind me came the words “…For now.”

Chapter 52

Getting Back To What?

The infamous flashlight led the way, as we made the slow walk back toward Curat’s villa. Having Clay right next door was both a negative and a plus. The negative, being he could keep an eye on me. The plus, being I could keep an eye on him. Perfect.

I heard a muffled chuckle. “Carrying you back to Martine’s was tricky. Have you gained a pound or two?”

I whipped around. “What kind of crack is that?”

He held his hands up. “Whoa, little touchy aren’t we?”

“Where you’re concerned, yes. I’m never sure what’s going to come out of your mouth next. Like I’ve said many times before, predictability is not your best quality.”

He smirked. “Now, you’re treading on shaky ground. I would think that describes you exactly, don’t you?”

He always seemed to push the buttons that hit their mark. “I learned from the master of evasion, remember?”

“Ouch! Now you’re getting personal.”

“Been there, seen it, done it. Now, let’s give it a rest, okay?” I turned and kept on walking.

After a minute, I heard a laugh. “…Okay, for now.”

We worked our way back to the area where the hole was dug. I stooped down and flashed the light on the bones. Clay joined me on the opposite side. Both of us just stared down at the bottom of the hole.

Clay broke the silence. “Odd. Bare bones, picked clean. And we both know they’re not really Sneakers’ bones after checking with Barbara and Jack back home. He’s fine.”

I looked up at him. “Yeah, I knew it couldn’t be possible, but I guess the visuals must have rattled me.”

He shook his head. “Martine and Jean explained what happened. Whole thing feels wrong. Doesn’t ring true.”

“I know. I feel the same way. Something is going on here that doesn’t add up. Going to all this trouble to bury people’s pets’ bones here is both sick and symbolic, but I can’t figure out why someone would go to all this trouble. There has to be some link involving all of the neighbors. It’s frustrating.”

Clay took the tag from my hand, examining it. “Well, obviously, they know a little about you and how to push your buttons and are playing with your brain.” He stared at me. “…What else haven’t you told Martine and Jean?”

He knew me well, too well. I relented. I needed another set of eyes on this. “Come on down to the villa. We’ll have a drink and I’ll explain what I’ve found out so far.”

He laughed. “Hey, does this mean you trust me now?”

“You should be so lucky,” I said, standing up. “Watch your step, the path is dangerous if you’re not careful. I’ll explain that, too. There’s more here than meets the eye.”

Clay smiled. “That’s what I’ve been saying about me.”

Oh brother! Was this guy persistent or what? I loved it.

Chapter 53

Gaining Perspective

Later, I explained to Clay most of what I knew. Notice my emphasis on most. I’ve learned in the past, it’s always wise not to give away the store all at once.

I refilled our glasses. “So you see, I’m currently at a stalemate. I’ve somehow stumbled onto something more than I’d bargained for. The neighbors each have their own agenda, but someone else on the outside has one as well and that agenda might not enhance my knowledge.”

“That’s a clear possibility, but it sounds bizarre that a bunch of old people and a young girl would be victims of such a cruel gesture.”

“I agree. On the other hand, I doubt that anyone would kill their own pet to make a point, or to appear as a victim. What would their point be?”

“Some murders defy logic,” said Clay.

I sat forward. “Perhaps someone is using these deaths as a distraction. Maybe they’re looking for a chance to accomplish what they set out to do before I arrived, and to silence anyone who may have seen it. Maybe the stakes are higher than we think.”

We looked at each other, both of us thinking the same thing at the same time.

He suddenly smiled, “…Which only goes to prove…”

“…That the perpetrator isn’t sure who saw what and sent threatening notes to them all,” I said.

“They hit everyone’s pet to insure complete silence and threatened worse if anyone talked.”

“That makes so much sense! I can’t believe I didn’t think of it before.”

“You needed me, obviously.”

“I would have figured it out eventually.”

“I’m sure you would have.” His look was warm. “Let me speak to Jean. He might remember anything unusual that he saw or heard that didn’t seem important at the time, but might prove helpful, now.”

I nodded. “Meanwhile, I can take another crack at the three neighbors and see what I come up with. There has to be something out there I can wedge loose.”

Clay grinned. “You see? We can work together.”

“You think so?”

“Sure. The trick is getting you to trust me enough to let your guard down.”

“I’m never letting my guard down again, especially with you. You lean towards shifty and shady.”

Clay gave me an evil grin. “And I’m guessing that’s why I intrigue you so much, am I right?”

“Up to a point.”

Like I said, keep them guessing.

“Where do I play in all this?” he asked.

I wasn’t sure for a moment what he was referring to, but by the gleam in his eye I realized and saw his confusion.

“Watch your step, Clay,” I said. “One move in the wrong direction, and you’re thrown out of the game.”

“Trust me, this is not game, for me or the killer.”

I smiled. “I know. I personally take risks seriously.”

“Good! Now, all you have to do is take me seriously.”

I laughed. “How can I, when you don’t yourself?”

Chapter 54

Tracking The Truth

I was about to walk over unannounced to the Toussout residence when in charged Martha, Hazel and Betty. I stepped away from the door as it swung open, surprised they were back so soon from the market in Fréjus. They didn’t see me.

Betty shook her head. “Well, I have seen it all, now.”

“Disappointed is an understatement,” griped Hazel.

Martha came in last. “He sure hotfooted, lickety-split.”

I rubbed my forehead. I could see this was definitely a sit down. “Okay, what is going on?” I asked, stepping out from behind the door.

Shocked to see me, Martha veered toward the kitchen, saying, “I’m thirstier than a jack rabbit in a desert.”

I whirled around to the other two, who were nowhere in sight. I turned back to the kitchen. They were already there getting glasses out. How’d they do that? I had a sneaky feeling about this. “Okay, what’s up?”

Martha’s whole demeanor changed. “Nothing, why?”

Silent, Hazel and Betty smiled blandly, drinking water simultaneously.

Their behavior sure seemed suspicious.

“Okay, what happened?” I asked, standing directly in front of Martha, blocking her.

“Hey, I’m sure it was just like they said.”

I wasn’t catching on. “Like who said?”

“Clay and that tart across the street.”

Hazel saw the look on my face and stepped between us.

“Why, that pretty, young lady who lives across the way,” she said pointing to Forniet’s house.

I opened my mouth, but then shut it, damage control.

Betty patted me on the shoulder. “Now, it’s probably like Clay said, they met accidentally at the market.”

Martha shot Hazel a look. “They sure were jawing it up for being complete strangers and when…”

Hazel cut in. “Sam, you know how friendly Clay is.”

I realized then what they weren’t saying. So? After all, he meant nothing to me, absolutely nothing, a thing of the distant past.

Okay, not so distant.

“…What did he have to say?” I grudgingly asked.

“Well, he seemed surprised to see us at that market, being it’s much further away than the local market. When he introduced Dominique, she gave us the once-over like we were invading her space. Talk about territorial!”

Betty lifted my tightly gripped hand from the chair. “My dear, relax, nothing to worry over. They were just having a conversation. Right, Hazel?”

Hazel smiled at me. “What does she have you don’t?”

I separated my teeth from my tongue. “Who cares? He’s in France. She’s French. And I’m not interested.”

They regarded me in silence, skeptical, already knowing I was dying to know more about her and what was really going on.

Martha said, “We also heard her mention to Clay she’s going to that Italian place over in St. Raphaël tonight.”

That did it.

They all waited and I fell into their trap.

“…Hey, isn’t this pizza night? My treat!”

Chapter 55

In Hot Pursuit

“Stop leaning. I can’t see a thing,” Betty complained.

Martha hissed, “I should’ve brought my binoculars.”

“Oh, that’s rich,” laughed Hazel. “Talk about subtle.”

My eyes were glued to our suspect in question. How she hadn’t seen us was a miracle with all the commotion playing out in front of me. I rubbed my temples. This was not the time for a stress headache, although this sure qualified as a trigger for one.

“This stakeout was a mistake,” I finally said.

Betty turned to me. “Relax. Clay’s no where in sight.”

Martha glared. “Hey, she’s not going to hold a sign out like drivers do in an airport. Maybe he’ll still show up.”

Hazel looked at her. “I bet you ten to one against it.”

Martha laughed. “You’re on! The night’s still young.”

God help me. This trip has already corrupted them.

“Well, I’ll be!” Martha announced, surprised.

We all perked up. Philippe sauntered up to Dominique’s table. He leaned in to speak to her, then they both stood up and started walking down the sidewalk away from us, leaving her freshly served pizza behind, untouched.

“Quick!” ordered Martha. “Let’s go and follow them.”

“What a waste of the pizza,” Betty said, eyeing it.

“I don’t feel right about this,” I said, dying to know where they were headed, but I wasn’t traveling light, remember? Geriatric crew.

Betty turned to me. “Are you kidding? Let’s go.”

Hazel eyed Martha. “Pay up, Miss, then we’ll tail them.”

I gave in. “It sure might prove interesting.”

Three turns later, up the hill, we fell behind. Annoyed at possibly losing them in the crowds, we took to the street. Hearing an engine, I sidestepped to let a motorcycle pass, and then turned when it pulled up beside me.

“What’s happening?”

“…Crystal? What are you doing here?”

“I’ve been trying to catch up for three blocks, but the traffic is hell. Pizza night, remember? What’s the rush?”

Hazel leaned in conspiratorially. “We’re in hot pursuit!”

“Of who?” Crystal asked, now interested.

Martha laughed. “Don Juan and Jezebel, that’s who!”

Crystal grinned. “I’ve been around you guys too long because I know just who you’re talking about. It’s scary.”

Betty gave her a quick rundown of the market, pizza, and Philippe showing up and leading them up the hill.

Hazel whipped around. “Hey, they’re way up there.”

Martha stomped the ground. “And making a turn.”

“Sam, get on,” Crystal ordered. “I’ll weave in and out.”

I tossed Martha my car keys. “You know what to do.”

She nodded. “I know the way. Be careful you two.”

Betty grabbed my arm. “Pictures. Use your iPhone.”

Hazel stepped in. “Become one with the background.”

Martha turned to her. “What are you now, Yoda?”

As we took off up the hill, I turned back to the trio.

Was I leaving trouble, or heading toward it?

Chapter 56

Some Slick Surreptitious Surveillance

I don’t know how one in hot pursuit is supposed to remain inconspicuous, especially on a loud Harley, but we were definitely trying our best. Crystal knew exactly how far to stay back and blend in with traffic. Thankfully, St. Raphaël was a magnet for motorcycles of all kinds.

I could understand why those two were walking, because parking was at a premium. There wasn’t an open space for a mile or so with the town so jammed. Two cruise ships were docked in the harbor, too. Our main problem was keeping an eye on our two suspects on the crowded sidewalk.

Finally, they stopped and slipped into an old building.

Crystal snuck in between two cars and we hustled over to the nameless, numbered doorway. She tried the handle and it gave, so we stuck our heads in and found ourselves facing a lone stairway going up. We looked at each other and nodded, and then stepped inside and shut the door, all the while listening for anyone coming down the stairs.

The musty hallway was an immediate turnoff. Crystal motioned and we sprinted up to the second floor. After we reached the top and rounded the corner, we heard voices coming toward us. Panicked, we both looked for an unlocked door, already knowing we wouldn’t make it down the long stairway and outside without being spotted.

Crystal grabbed one door and shook her head. I grabbed another and it gave. I motioned for her to come over. The voices were almost upon us as I opened it. Crystal roughly shoved me forward, barely closing the door in time. We fell in a heap, her landing on top, the wind knocked out of both of us. As we blindly felt around in the dark, our fingers latched onto something sticky. Was this a janitor’s closet?

I dry heaved. It smelled awful. What the hell was it? A horrible thought hit. Dried urine? I gagged. I wanted out!

We heard a click.

No, they couldn’t have.

The voices passed, and sure enough, one was definitely Philippe’s, but he was speaking rapid French and it was difficult to understand.

“Shhhh!” Crystal whispered.

They descended the stairs, and then a door slammed.

Crystal turned the doorknob. “...Hey, what’s going on?”

I was antsy to get out. “What’s wrong? Hurry up!”

“The damn thing is locked!”

“What? Can’t be! Try again! Who locked it?”

Crystal gave it another try. “No go!”

I guess they could have.

“Remember that click? I bet they locked us in.”

“Now why would they do that?” she asked. “We already knew where they were going anyway.”

“Maybe they were meeting someone and saw us tail them and set the meet up for somewhere else, instead.”

Crystal sighed. “Do you always think so weirdly?”

“I’m afraid so. I scare myself sometimes.”

Then we heard another click. Crystal tried the doorknob and pushed the door hard.

Chapter 57

Present Company Accepted?

We were both leaning against the door, anxious to get out, and when it opened we awkwardly fell to the hallway floor, gulping fresher air. We didn’t dare look down at our hands, but quickly spotted a water fountain and made for a dash for it, washing our hands, trying to push back the nausea and vivid imagination at what had been in that closet with us. We were still scrubbing away the imagined visuals when a voice approached.

“Concerned for your safety, I followed you. This time, I guess, I rescued two damsels in distress.”

We turned. There stood Clay, grinning like a Cheshire cat.

“You know what you can do with that grin of yours?” I asked sarcastically, mildly jealous of his intuitive skills.

“Hey, I could’ve left you two in the closet, you know.”

“At least the company was more interesting.” I guess I sounded a bit petulant, but darn it, I didn’t like needing him.

Crystal moved in between us, turning to me. “…Sam?”

I relented. “…Okay, we’re out. Good going, Clay.”

He looked around, and as usual, ignored my retort. “Let’s see what’s down the hall. Maybe we can see a name or something on a door. This place isn’t that big.”

Crystal finished rinsing and we followed him down the hallway. Only two other doors remained, as we rounded another corner. Clay stopped. “They must have entered one of these. Let’s see…”

I stepped in front of him. “Entreprises du Placard.” Then I moved to the other. “Vichy S. A.”

He was already tapping in the letters on his iPhone. I was taking a picture of both with mine.

Crystal peered through the glass walls of each office.

“Hey, you guys. They’re both vacant. Nothing in there.”

Clay and I both peeked inside too and slumped in disappointment.

I turned to Crystal and Clay. “Well, all that for nothing.”

Clay moved closer. “Not necessarily. We can still look up these companies and research them. And you, Sam, have three very willing research assistants waiting at home for you to just give the word.”

Encouraged, I saw the possibilities, my indignation and disappointment temporarily set aside. “And you’re going to talk to Jean and I’ll interview the neighbors once more.”

“And I,” Crystal added, “have a date with another Harley aficionado I met at Prestige Motors, who happens to be, drum roll please, the head administrator of Mairie, Les Issambres. He handles all the town records.”

Clay and I looked at her, impressed.

“I don’t know how you did it, and I don’t care,” I said.

Clay laughed. “That’s not important, just the access.”

“After a few beers,” Crystal said, “I’ll inquire about who really owns that house of red light.”

Not bad. We might actually have a team thing going on here.

Chapter 58

The World According To Tissout

No gifts this time, just an insatiable itch for more info.

The door swung open and there stood Monsieur Tussout. He took one look at me, smiled, turned around and went back in, leaving the door wide open. So I followed.

The interior of the house was beautifully furnished. The side that did not face mine was lined with windows and surprisingly bright and open; the complete opposite of his demeanor from last time. I caught him watching me.

“You approve?” he asked.

“Oh, yes!”

“I cannot take credit. My wife’s touch is everywhere.”

“Well, she certainly has a good eye.”

He smiled. “Yes, and also a good heart.”

I looked at him, suspicious of the polar opposite of what I had expected.

Why was he so friendly?

He gestured to have a seat. “I will bring us some wine.”

Instead of sitting, I looked around the room, curious. On one wall, hung a magnificent watercolor of the Mediterranean coastline, signed by an A.T.

On a table, books were stacked haphazardly. Thumbing through, I noticed some were geological, but most were historical, except one. After mentally double-checking my French, I looked again. ‘Historical Rituals.’

Weird?

I turned to see some needlepoint resting on a side table next to a comfortable chair and walked over for a closer look. A dog half-finished. Their deceased pet? Dust lightly covered the surface. I doubted it would ever be completed.

I moved over to an old walnut and leather desk cluttered with stationery and an antique inkwell. In the middle of it was a laptop, which seemed out of place among the rest.

If my geriatric crew was computer savvy, why not them?

Arranged off to the side was a small stack of well-worn geographic maps showing the coastline. All had different dates, but were of the same region.

Was he a history buff and a collector, too?

I walked over to see some family photos along one wall. One in particular showed a younger Madame Toussout, her husband, and a small boy and a little girl. The other photos progressed in age, but the children were missing.

I remembered what Martine told me regarding the estrangement of their two children. Was he allowing her this one family picture and the rest were taken away to avoid a future mental breakdown? I’d think not having the pictures would be more painful. But, hey, that was just me.

Maybe, he didn’t want reminders of what happened. But instead of her, it was too painful for him. Was he the weak one?

I heard a noise and quickly sat down. It was an eclectic interior, at odds with my mental picture of them.

Something was amiss.

Chapter 59

Toussout, Threads & A Threat

“I hope you like these wonderful pastry tarts my wife baked. They are my favorite.”

“Thank you, I’d love one.” I bit into the juicy apricots. “Delicious. I guess that some people have a gift for baking. Unfortunately, I don’t, but I sure can appreciate it.”

Toussout winked and patted his waistline. “Me too.”

“Are these from the fresh apricots I brought her?”

“Yes. A very clever gift to try and loosen her tongue.”

I simply laughed. “I was hoping no one would notice my underlying motive.”

“Ah, I’m sure your motives were well-intentioned.”

Hmm… “Perhaps you may be able to help me.”

“You are still checking into what happened?”

“Yes, I am, and asking for your assistance. Are you sure you haven’t seen or heard anything on your own?”

“Like I said before, I have not seen much. I have little to do with my neighbors, so I have little to tell you.”

“Possibly there is something that seemed out of the ordinary regarding either neighbor?”

He thought it over and nodded. “I am not one to gossip, but we all know what goes on across the street. Once in a while, I hear and see a Bentley late at night. A gentleman stays a short time, and then is gone.”

“Do you have a description of who drives it?”

“No, it is usually dark. Recently though, I heard a conversation that struck me as odd for that kind of visit.”

“How so?”

“The Mademoiselle and this man were arguing loudly about some papers being mishandled and they would have to be signed all over again. He also mentioned something about another scheduled delivery.”

“Delivery of what?”

“Their voices became obscured when he started his car.”

How and why was Toussout close enough to hear them?

I set my glass down and pushed further.

“What about the other neighbor, Madame Sorrell?”

“Ah, that woman!” he said, looking upset. “She is formidable in her own right, but her time will come. If you look for it, you will see her constantly at her window with her binoculars. That old woman has nothing better to do, but watch other people’s business. She should mind her own before it is too late.”

Too late for what? Was that a veiled threat?

He shook his head and stood. “Oh, don’t pay attention to the ramblings of an old man who has a hard time letting go of the past. How do you Americans say it? We have to move on, yes? Come, I will see you to the door.”

Was he deliberately misleading me, or finely threading possible leads for me to follow?

Chapter 60

A Study In Retrospective

Madame Sorrell was tending her impressive flower garden when I approached. She nodded, as though she had been expecting me.

“With the hot sun, we should sit in the shade for you to ask your questions. That is why you are here, yes?”

I smiled. “I am considered by some a provocateur.”

“Not more provocative than myself, I am sure.”

We walked over to an arbor of bougainvillea, a shaded spot, which housed a table and chairs. In minutes, she returned with some chilled wine, my second glass of the day. With this heat, it made an iffy combo I wasn’t used to.

Sorrell sat down. “What do you need to know?”

I set down my glass. “You don’t waste time, do you?”

“At my advanced age, time is crucial.”

“Exactly my point. With time people forget details.”

Madame Sorrell’s eyebrow went up. “Such as?”

“Details about what they might have seen or heard.”

“Or details they might want to forget, don’t you think?”

I hadn’t thought of that. What had Madame Sorrell seen that she didn’t want to recall or divulge?

An assault? A murder? A burial? What?

I needed to push her and took a chance. “Are you afraid of what you saw and might happen if you say something?”

“Ah, what a clever girl you are! You perceive much.”

I pushed cautiously. “…What are you really afraid of?”

“Me? I am an old woman, who has seen much over the years and trying my best to decide what to do.”

“About what?”

She frowned. “Certain behavior might be misread many ways. Individual interpretation is the major disqualifier.”

“For what?”

“Who is guilty and who is not.”

“Regarding what?”

“After all these years, my time is running out. I am getting old, and with my husband, Henri, and his death, and with not having children, there is not much that concerns me anymore, certainly not any veiled threats.”

“What veiled threats?”

“Ah, they think I have never realized the danger and consequences, but I do. The players underestimate me.”

Was this a game of cat and mouse?

“Players in what?” I asked. “Why won’t you tell me what this is all about?”

“Because doubt still lingers about what was seen.”

“What did you see?”

She looked at me. “Now, why would I want to destroy someone, if I am not sure? I must be absolutely positive.”

“Can I ask you, are the burials tied to all this?”

Her hands began to tremble. “That and so much more.”

What was the final thread that tied them all together?

Chapter 61

Requesting Reasonable Responses

As I rang the bell, I realized this interview could go either way. Either Dominique would cooperate, or I would be viewed as a potential threat to her claim on Philippe.

After four rings, she finally responded with impatient displeasure. However, when she saw who stood there, her demeanor completely switched into a welcoming smile.

Was that a rehearsed response for my benefit?

My usual reservations were going full steam, but I calmly explained the reason for my spontaneous visit. Instead of being greeted with annoyance or indifference, she enthusiastically guided me to a shaded area off of her kitchen and excused herself while she ran for refreshments.

I sat under a rose trellis, the heat and fragrance infusing the dreamy air. I caught glimpses over the hedges of the second floor of my villa and partial upper terrace. I also noticed, though her view of Curat’s gardens was sparse, this camouflaged area allowed for perfect eavesdropping of any conversations that occurred on my terrace.

Disappointment set in, because I wouldn’t be able to see the interior of the house which would’ve been a plus in getting a glimpse and better insight into what she was really like. I’d have to get what I needed verbally, instead.

I heard clinking and turned. Dominique set a tray down on the table, which consisted of a white wine decanter, two goblets and a tray of crackers and cheese. I was already lightheaded from the combined two drinks at the other neighbor’ houses and the afternoon heat.

“I would offer my facilities,” said Dominique, but the plumber is repairing the pipes.”

How clever of her to bypass my entering her house!

I reached for some crackers and cheese to dilute the effect of a third glass of wine, while she poured. I really couldn’t refuse the drink because she might take offense. Serving drinks and a snack was the way everyone in the area informally entertained on the Riviera in the summer.

I sat back to enjoy my third glass and munch away, while I tried for more information that might further explain the strange goings on in the area.

Dominique smiled over her glass as she sipped. “You must think that I am …how do you say… flighty and superficial. Well, maybe sometimes for Philippe’s benefit, but don’t believe for one moment that is my real persona. To be blunt, I have a business to run. I am not embarrassed by all the gossip and know you are already well aware of what they all assume. I think it adds to my mystique, don’t you?”

I didn’t quite know how to respond and felt I was walking a fine line with my next words.

“I am sure you have your reasons.”

She began laughing. “You don’t understand Samantha. I am, like you, a novelist! I market books, not my body. I write risqué romance novels!”

Chapter 62

Do Not Judge A Book By Its Cover!

I grabbed my glass, emptied it in one gulp, set it down and shoved it in her direction. “A romance novelist?”

Laughing, she refilled our glasses. “As a fellow writer, I know you will keep my confidence, oui?”

“Is Dominique Forniet your real name?”

“Yes! But I use a pen name. …Madeleine Dupre.”

I sat up. “You’re Madeleine Dupre, the hot novelist?”

She took a mock bow. “The one and only!”

I laughed. “Wait until the ladies hear that one!”

“Ah, but don’t tell the men. Why spoil the mystique?”

I was somewhat confused. “But what about the rumors about you and your grandmother?”

“That is all they are!” she said, laughing. “Rumors!”

“But what about your grandmother and Henri Sorrell?”

Now, she looked confused. “What about him?”

“The rumor that he had an affair with her.”

She nearly choked on her wine. “Who told you that?”

“Madame Sorrell. I thought it was common knowledge.”

She laughed, dismissing it. “An absurd suggestion.”

“Why is that?”

“My grand-mère was merely a romance writer like me.”

“Did she have a pen name too?”

“But of course!”

Talk about bizarre events. “What was it?”

“Jacqueline Sandoval. Dead now, she wrote during the forties and fifties, much too long ago for you to know.”

“I guess you’re right. Plus my genre is different.”

“Yes. You write mysteries.” She abruptly got up, went inside and returned with two of my books. “When I heard who was renting at Curat’s, I ordered two. I wanted to know what kind of woman I was dealing with when I was told you would be asking questions. I like your style.”

I was curious. “Why did you give me such a hard time in the beginning?”

She grinned. “Now, could I be French and not give you a hard time? I wanted to see what you were made of and if you were up to the task of finding out who did this thing.”

I smiled. “I think Martine expected instant success.”

“I think it is very much like our writing. Success may come with time and much hard work, and of course, luck.”

“And I need some luck in getting helpful information.”

Dominique sat back. “I have thought it over and over in my mind and the only thing I can remember is that night when I saw and heard that truck, plus that other night.”

My ears perked up. “What other night?”

“Didn’t I mention that night, too?”

How convenient. “No.”

“My friend and I were out late one night, having some wine, and we heard a scraping and a dragging noise.”

The second one to hear those sounds.

Chapter 63

Summing Up Nothing Much

Once again, I sat in front of my screen and going over my notes while they were still fresh in my mind. I usually preferred writing down what was said and what was seen as soon as possible along with my reactions.

My last interview with Forniet felt genuine enough, but past experiences have taught me to believe and trust up to a certain extent, and let my intuition and the facts guide me the rest of the way.

What was my intuition telling me? There was a lot of minutia being thrown around, some true and some not. My problem was deciding what was worth paying attention to.

Dominique Forniet’s story was unexpected, throwing me off. It changed the whole picture regarding her behavior and what the others reported. What they thought they saw was not that at all, but something completely different. She was a novelist! When I looked at the facts from this new perspective, the whole picture changed.

On the other hand, I figured Madame Sorrell had a lot of explaining to do regarding her husband, Henri and Forniet’s grandmother. Why would she deliberately mislead me in that direction? What would be her motive?

Possibilities: To confuse the facts, thus making it harder for me to follow a trail that might lead me where I want to go? Why? Perhaps it was to sidetrack me, to give cover to someone or something, and make my task more difficult.

Could her husband, Henri, have lied to her? That would mean she had been deceived, as well. And if she was, what would be the fallout if she acted on those lies?

As far as Toussout was concerned, how did he overhear what was said unless he was outside at the time, closely watching Forniet’s house. And if that was true, why was he outside at that time of night?

Another thought struck me. What if he was in Curat’s garden on the night in question and that is how he overheard the conversation in the dark?

That presented another question, which took me one step further.

If he was in Curat’s garden, could that have been when Madame Toussout heard that scraping noise? When she snuck out that night, could she have thought her husband was sleeping? Did they sleep in the same room? If not, then it was possible.

Far-fetched ideas? Sorry, it’s how I think.

I closed my laptop. I needed more. I didn’t have enough information to form an opinion yet. So what was my next stop? A trusty source whose opinion I valued.

I sat there. Was I way off-base and wasting my time on nothing but gossip and jealousy?

No …I wasn’t going there, at least not yet.

Chapter 64

Angles, Anything At All

“Martine, how do you suppose all those rumors got started in the first place? I mean they’ve obviously been circulating for decades.”

We were strolling through the St. Agulf market, our baskets on our arms, shopping for our dinners. While we walked, I had explained all that I had learned about the three neighbors and especially the house of red light’s surprising exposé.

“Rumors and gossip have a life of their own,” Martine replied. “I cannot believe what you have uncovered so far. Although I have known them for many years, I am not that intimate with the rest of the neighbors and their personal lives. I find all this fascinating and surprising.”

“No more surprised than I. What I can’t understand is how all this is tied to the burials. Am I veering off onto a futile path that leads nowhere? But then, on the other hand, it seems to be leading to something very interesting.”

Martine stopped walking. “But what would that be?”

“Why was everyone so indifferent and cold in the beginning? Now, they are friendlier. What chord have I hit to make them more willing to talk to me? I can think of only one thing.”

Martine stood there waiting. “What would that be?”

“I think that unintentionally someone started revealing things about the past that the others caught wind of and are now trying to do damage control to contain it. The question is what are they trying to contain and why?”

“Why did they bring up the past when you were only interested in what happened with the burials?” she asked.

“Exactly my point! I think they are all tied together in some way, but no one wants to explain the true history of it. Someone said something to start them talking.”

Who was it? And what had they said?

Martine thought about it. “The one thing they have in common is they built their houses around the same time.”

“When?” I asked.

“About the same time as Curat, around 1954.”

“Hmm.” Nothing rang a bell or blatantly stood out in my mind. So I felt it was time to reconnect with a certain party who might be able to add something more. The only problem with that was, like last the time, I was a little unsure of his personal agenda.

Yeah, I know what you’re thinking. Give the guy the benefit of the doubt. I’ve done that ten times over and look where it got me: a strong sense of don’t trust someone who is just as cagey as yourself.

“Martine, I think I’ve got to regroup and figure out who has the most to gain and who has the most to lose on this.”

She smiled. “I will try to visit the neighbors and find out what I can.”

“I can always use an extra set of eyes and ears. What one person sees and hears, another interprets differently.”

Who was telling me the truth and who wasn’t?

Chapter 65

Strictly Business…For Now

I wasn’t sure what to make of this ‘meet’ he had suggested. I wanted to keep a clear head and couldn’t if it got obscured in rhetoric, if you know what I mean. A woman has her boundaries, especially me.

Okay, so mine shifted occasionally. …Okay, a lot.

We were grabbing a bite in Les Issambres at an outdoor café across from the water. The coastal traffic traveled in between as people strolled by on the sidewalks.

Clay jumped up to get my chair, smiling. He seemed glad to see me.

Something was up.

“Sorry I’m late, Clay. My crew can get out of hand.”

He laughed, and then scooted around to his side of our little table and sat opposite me. “I’ve got some interesting information for you, Sam. I think it might help.”

I smiled. “I’m listening.”

He smiled back. “Seems like old times, the two of us.”

I gave him a look. “Don’t get comfortable with that.”

“I wouldn’t think of it.”

Who was he kidding?

“Okay, go on,” I said.

“I spoke to Jean and he mentioned a few tidbits.”

“Such as?”

“When Curat bought his property and built his house, there were rumors that he had two sets of blueprints.”

“Whatever for?”

“No one ever found out, but it does sound intriguing.”

“I’ll say! What else have you got?”

“All the other properties were bought and houses built within six months of Curat’s.”

“I know. Nothing sinister, but the timing’s noteworthy.”

“I agree,” Clay said. “But I’m still thinking there’s more to it than that. Someone is sending a message to the others, and now you, because of what?”

“I don’t know. They were all friends, but the dispute over that brooch ended years ago.”

Or did it?

Clay leaned forward. “I’m flying out for a few days, checking on something. Jean’s piloting.”

What was the rush? Why the plane?

“Where are you going?”

“Those companies that were vacated in St. Raphaël.”

“Obviously Martha mentioned what they found, right?”

“Yeah, that one of the companies dated back to the fifties. The other company has left a blind trail.”

I figured he’d latch onto their information and relaxed.

Well, almost.

“Do you think you can trace the key figures?”

“If they’re still alive, I’m not sure, but with Jean as interpreter we should be able to come up with something. Maybe even find out what the company dealt in back then.”

I didn’t want him to know it, but I was going to miss him.

“Hey,” he said kindly, grabbing my hand in his. “I’ll be back in a few days.”

I averted my gaze not wanting to appear bothered by his leaving, if only for a few days. “I’ll be just fine.”

“Please, while I’m gone, try to stay out of trouble.”

My eyes snapped back to his. I laughed. “Of course!”

Now, what makes him think I could possibly do that?

Chapter 66

Staying Out Of Trouble…Well, Trying To

“I can’t wait to see this Eze place!” said Martha, as I made a left up the curvy, narrow road from the city of Nice.

I probably needed my head examined taking them for lunch at the Château Eza, four hundred metres above the Mediterranean, but I didn’t want them missing such a unique experience in the medieval Eze Village and dining at the hotel at the top with its spectacular view.

Hazel piped up from the back. “According to the brochure, this town is a thousand years old. You have to walk by foot the cobblestoned narrow streets to get to the hotel where we’re having lunch.”

“Plus, there’s tons of stores,” offered Betty excitedly.

“I’m ready,” chimed in Martha. “I hit that ATM machine yesterday and I’m loaded with euros.”

I felt an involuntary pulling on my left eye, a spasm.

Crystal nudged me and winked. “Sounds like fun.”

I tried massaging the nervous twitch. “I can’t wait.”

Now, I’m not going to distract you with an exciting account of the medieval musicians in costume playing along the way, or the ancient chapel with the painted murals, or the first dozen stores that were enticing even to jaded me, or the spectacular views that kept popping up when we’d turn a corner. I won’t even describe the delicious lunch—made especially pleasant because it was uneventful except for our taste buds.

No, I’ll continue to where it took an unexpected turn.

We were heading back to the car. Crystal and I had hung back a little, downing our bottled water instead of trying to keep up with the Three Musketeers who led the way. It was impossible anyway. They flitted in and out of the stores on our walk to my car, all downhill, thankfully.

I couldn’t believe their energy. The heat had intensified and I longed for a nap and shade. I had already decided to take the A8 home rather than the scenic coastal route. I didn’t think I could handle the longer ride back and was seriously considering taking B12 shots when I returned to the States, too.

But the three of them had energy that never seemed to flag. Crystal and I were already carrying excess packages to make room for them to buy more. I glanced at my watch, with high hopes of transcendentally moving the hands forward quicker. It didn’t work.

“Want to switch loads?” Crystal asked.

I was somewhat relieved to see that she was out of breath too. So it wasn’t just me.

“What?”

“The packages? Could we switch? Yours look a lot lighter. My right arm has gone numb.”

We did the exchange thing and that’s when I spotted them: Monsieur Toussout and Madame Sorrell.

I dumped all my packages back in Crystal’s arms. “Hold these a second, will you?”

What were Toussout and Sorrell doing together? Here?

Chapter 67

Accidentally On Purpose

I left a cursing, “Hey, wait!” Crystal behind. Unable to balance the packages, she quickly dropped to a bench.

I was solely focused on finding out what the two of them were doing together. In the past, I’ve spotted the oddest pairings of people in the strangest of circumstances. I was sort of surprised, but then, I really wasn’t.

I was more curious than anything. Even though the cobblestoned walkway was crowded, I couldn’t get near enough to hear a thing and didn’t dare edge any closer.

And that was when the unexpected happened.

I sucked in my breath at who materialized. “Uh-oh.”

Walking out of the store entrance that Madame Sorrell and Monsieur Toussout were huddled against, emerged the trio from Trouble Town: Martha, Betty and Hazel. Martha was looking behind her at Betty, who was obviously talking to her, and knocked smack into Toussout.

“What the blazes?” Martha said, whipping around.

I hesitated for a second, figuring, why not? With those three distracting them, I edged in closer, certain that Sorrell and Tousout had no clue I was even there.

“Well, of all people to run into,” Martha greeted. She looked all around at the crowd. “Monsieur Toussout, where is your wife? I didn’t notice her in the shop.”

Speechless, Toussout was visibly uncomfortable.

Martha plowed on, turning to Madame Sorrell. “Isn’t this place something else? You come here a lot?”

Sorrell turned, eyeing Toussout for a verbal out. “I…”

He cleared his throat. “No, my wife is at home, ill.”

Betty moved in. “Oh, my! Nothing serious, I hope?”

“No, no. It is merely a bad headache.”

Hazel piped up. “Well, I’m glad you were able to keep each other company. Awful far to travel just to shop though, don’t you think?”

Madame Sorrell finally spoke up. “I was looking for a specific piece of jewelry and since Madame Toussout couldn’t make it, Monsieur Toussout was kind enough to volunteer to accompany me.”

Martha gave them an exaggerated wink. “Heck, we sure don’t care. You know what they say. When in France…”

Gasping, Madame Sorrell’s face colored, and then her purse slipped from her hands, its contents spilling onto the cobblestone. Everyone quickly dropped to the ground to help pick up the scattered contents and within seconds, everything was back in Madame Sorrell’s possession.

…Well, almost everything.

Martha turned in my direction and smiled slyly. ‘Sticky Fingers Louie’ had palmed something into her pocket.

But what was it?

Chapter 68

Say Cheese!

Completely rattled, Madame Sorrell hastily departed with Monsieur Toussout trailing and whispering to her.

I rushed over to where the three were still standing and nudged Martha. “Okay, what did you lift?”

Martha smiled slyly and fished around inside her pocket, then pulled her hand and opened it for all of us to see.

“Well, holy mackerel!” said a shocked Martha, looking down at her own hand. “What’s this? Why, it’s a passport!”

Hazel stood there shaking her head. “Oh, you’re not fooling anybody with that act. That’s why you lifted it in the first place, right?”

Ignoring her, Martha flipped it open. Inside was a woman’s picture attached. It read, Jacqueline Forniet.

“It can’t be, can it?” Betty asked.

I stood there, my mind trying to process it. What a twist!

“What is Madame Sorrell’s picture doing on the passport of the romance novelist, Jacqueline Sandoval, who is actually Jacqueline Forniet, who also happens to be the one and only Mademoiselle Dominique Forniet’s deceased grandmother?”

Martha turned to me. “I guess she’s not dead, is she?”

I nudged her again. “Good call, Einstein.”

Betty grabbed it from Martha’s hands. “It’s current and doesn’t look tampered with, but then again, I’m no expert.”

I thought about what we were looking at.

“Do you realize how this changes things?”

Martha smiled. “Yeah. It means that staid, old widow is one hot momma.”

Hazel laughed. “Yes. She’s also someone who has a lot of explaining to do, like what she was really doing here with that man.”

I stared at the photo, trying to see some kind of family resemblance. I didn’t. That was strange. Then again, some people just didn’t look like some of their relatives. Still…

Martha was jostling me. “…Hey, where did you just go? Didn’t you hear what I just said to you?”

I shook my head. “No, I’m sorry, I didn’t. Repeat.”

She looked exasperated. “Old people have a rep for wandering minds, not thirty-somethings, like you.

I looked her in the eye. “Maybe I caught it from you.”

“The only thing I expect you to catch is my brilliance.”

Hazel rolled her eyes. “Oh, brother.”

Betty handed back the passport. “Now what?”

I tried to think out loud. “I don’t know. I have to be careful how I handle this. There must have been a good reason for them not wanting to reveal that they are related.”

“It sure would be interesting to find out,” Martha said.

“Another unexpected string,” I added. “But…”

But what, nothing. Why the pretense?

Chapter 69

And Bringing Up The Rear

There was a lot of commotion going on, so we all turned. Crystal had resorted to dragging all the shopping bags across the open plaza, huffing and puffing, not pleased at having missed whatever it was we’d been up to.

Apologetically, we rushed over to help.

“How could you desert me? I missed all the action.”

We quickly filled her in on what happened, each of us giving our various opinions and theories.

Crystal was annoyed. “I missed the climax of the day.”

I chuckled. “Trust me, I’m sure there’s more to come.”

“Especially if Sam is involved,” Martha said.

Betty came to my defense. “What are you insinuating?”

“I’m not insinuating, I’m intimating.”

No one spoke for a second, trying to figure that one out.

Hazel tsked. “Oh, you and your two-dollar words. They both mean the same thing. Your logic is incoherent.”

Martha shrugged. “Not in my dictionary. You see, there is a slight nuance involved. I merely suggested…”

Crystal held up her hands to stop their bickering. She turned to me. “What in hell are they talking about?”

“I have no idea. The three wordsmiths are always at it. Obviously, too much bookstore time.”

Hazel cleared her throat loudly. “Let’s ditch the mumbo jumbo and get straight to the caper at hand. What’s next?”

Betty smiled. “That cut right to it, Hazel. Kudos.”

Hazel nodded, appreciatively. “Compliment accepted.”

Martha elbowed in. “Oh, cut the cra…”

Betty shushed her. “Now, Martha we’re all ladies here.”

“Speak for yourself,” she said. “I’m an independent.”

I shook my head, wondering when I would ever get a word in edgewise. I took a stab at it. “Come on, you guys. We obviously have our work cut out for us.”

Martha turned to me. “What do you mean …we?”

Oh, that was payback. Her sarcastic comeback proved it. I conceded the point. “I guess I’ll need all your help.”

“Well, it’s about time you admitted you need us,” Martha said. “We’ve been ready from the get go.”

I thought of Clay checking out what else Jean had to offer. It was midweek. I’d see him in a few days. “First, I want to check with Clay to see what he found out.”

Martha winked. “Fine with us. We’ll research Monsieur Tissout and this novelist and see what the three of us can dig up.” She then turned to Crystal. “And you?”

Crystal nodded. “I’m having a drink tonight with that Harley guy I met at the dealership regarding the house of red light. I should have an answer by this weekend.”

I smiled. “Perfect. Let’s all have pasta in Les Issambres Saturday night and compare notes.”

Martha smiled at me. “Why Saturday night? Got Friday night reserved for date night?”

My face reddened. “Hey, it’s only pizza.”

She laughed and winked. “What’s for dessert?”

Chapter 70

Serving Up More Than Food

We had been arguing the point about confronting Madame Sorrell with this new information concerning her background for some twenty minutes and still had not come to any conclusion. Why wasn’t I surprised? Clay had a more aggressive and riskier way of doing things, whereas I was more methodical and had a conservative streak, although, now and then, I’ve been known to think outside the box.

Especially with him.

I was frustrated. “Why would I want to take the risk of losing the element of surprise when the time is right if I confront Sorrell with this information now? What’s the purpose?”

Clay considered my point. “But isn’t it worth taking that chance just to see how she reacts? She might be caught off guard enough to start tripping on her own story.”

“Yeah, and maybe she might clam up and throw me out and where would that leave me?”

Up the creek with a crew that was driving me crazy!

Clay smiled. “About where you are now, without a clue as to why she went to all that trouble to conceal her identity. Why, I bet even her dead husband didn’t know.”

You know, Clay had a point.

“Maybe I should throw it all out there and see where it lands.”

Clay laughed. “Just get out of the way of the fallout if it doesn’t go well.”

“What else did you learn?”

“That besides Jean, Martine’s husband, this Monsieur Toussout also has a pilot’s license.”

“So, what’s so interesting about that?”

“Not much, but don’t you want to know when he received his license?”

“Okay, I’ll bite. When?”

“1940.”

I sat upright, now at full attention. “Am I thinking what you’re suggesting?”

He smiled. “Great minds think alike, don’t they?”

Another common thread! “World War II!”

Clay nodded. “The French Air Force taught him.”

“How would Jean know?”

“They were in the same flight class!”

Ah, the plot thickens. “So they knew each other in the Air Force?”

“Yes, and guess who else?”

I laughed at the obvious. “Curat and Toussout, too!”

“I love it when you get that look,” he said.

My face reddened. “…What look?” Alert! Incoming!

“When everything starts to click in place. Why don’t you ever get that look with me? We fit together so nicely.”

I looked away, trying not to smile. I lost the battle and finally turned back to him. “I’m not there yet, Clay.”

What a liar!

He took my hand and looked intently into my eyes. “Let me help you get there.”

Breathe in.

Breathe out.

“For now, I’m traveling light.”

Chapter 71

Word Play & Discourse

I carefully made my way up the hilly climb up the back gardens to Martine’s house. It was a drinks invite with just the four of us: Martine, Jean, Clay and myself. A murder mystery in English had the ladies glued to the TV, so I was safe for at least two hours.

Crystal’s drink with her Harley friend who worked at the Les Issambres Marie (city hall) to find out about those two companies’ background had been postponed until tonight. So I’d catch up with her in the morning. Walking the path, I questioned if I was on the right one myself, especially where Clay was concerned.

Even with a road map, I’d still get lost with that guy.

He was totally unpredictable, a liability that was starting to grow on me. I hated to admit it, but he had taught me a lot in the past. Now, whether I would put any of that into play was another story.

I shouldn’t get upset, but in the presence of Martine and Jean, with Clay thrown into the mix, I would be. Still, it would be interesting to see where the conversation might take us, or, perhaps, where I would take the conversation.

Martine came out of her kitchen just as I arrived. Clay and Jean were sitting on the terrace and stood up when they saw me.

“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.

“That’s for now, but what’s next?” he asked.

“I don’t know. What do you think is going on?”

“I’m not sure.”

“What do you suggest I do now?”

He turned back toward the bed, smiling.

“Uh-uh,” I said. “That was a momentary relapse.”

“As you already know, I’m real good about quickies.”

I laughed. “Besides the ladies should be back shortly.”

“Hey, A guy can at least try, can’t he?”

“Seriously, Clay, what is your take on this?”

“If it were me, I’d want to find this cat lady.”

“Me, too, but it’s probably a long shot and a dead end.”

He smiled. “Has that ever stopped you before?”

I returned his smile. “Yeah, maybe I’ll get lucky.”

“You did today, so keep the streak going.”

I laughed, trying to swat him. “Why, you pompous…”

“Please, don’t embarrass me with your lavish praise.”

“I was thinking more on the lines of a conceited…”

He leaned over to kiss me. “Shut up and enjoy it.”

So I did, and then stood up, grabbed his hand, and led him back to mess up that perfectly made bed.

Like I’ve always said, it all comes down to timing.

Chapter 78

Kitty, Kitty Bang, Bang

It was driving me nuts. For two nights running, I sat on my terrace, coming up empty-handed, but always finding the usual missing food plate in the morning. No matter how I tried peering out at different hours, I always seemed to miss her feeding those stray cats and fell asleep.

However, I got lucky when I decided to actually sit out in the garden itself until she finally showed up.

After swatting and scratching my skin raw, so much for repellent, I heard a car approach. I silently waited behind an evergreen until I knew she was on the other side of the gate and heard the dish being shoved under the iron gate.

I leaped out of my hiding spot and called out to her. In a crouched position, she froze on the spot. As I’d been told, she was covered from head to toe with a scarf and baggy clothes. I could barely make out her features in the dusky light of early evening.

Her age? It was hard to tell in that dim light. I couldn’t see her eyes because of her sunglasses. Why would she wear sunglasses at night? It was the same for her color of her hair, which was camouflaged by her scarf. What was she hiding? I figured if I got any closer, she’d take off. So I spoke quickly.

“Parlez-vous Anglais?” ‘Do you speak English?’

She didn’t move. “…A little,” she finally whispered.

“I am renting this maison, and my friend, Martine, who lives next door, asked me to find out some information regarding Curat’s property.”

She silently stared at me, hesitating, took a glance back at her awaiting car, then turned back to me and finally nodded. “What do you want to know?”

“I need to ask you questions regarding this garden.”

She nodded. “You mean this green patch of death.”

A shiver hit me. “Yes, it does have that history.”

“What do you want?” she asked.

“You know about the burials?”

“Yes, I know.”

“Hear anything?”

“...Nothing.”

“See anything?”

“…Maybe, yes.”

“Please tell me.”

She looked all around, nervous, and then back at me again. “There is much tragedy here, human as well.”

“I need your help. Martine is afraid because of Sonia.”

“Ah, yes. Beautiful Sonia. A pity, these deaths.”

I needed her to stay on target. “What did you see?”

“The vans, they come and go…” She stopped cold.

Something had zipped by us, twice! Bullets? Like someone had shot a silencer. I don’t think I would have ever recognized that sound, except Martha and the ladies made me take target practice with them at the firing range. Like I’d really need to see another gun after Ocean City! I looked behind me, my eyes searching the shadows, and then I turned back to her, startled.

But I was staring at nobody. Just like that, in a cloud of car fumes, she was gone!

Damn!

Chapter 79

Up The Hill, To Grand-mère’s House I Go

I still hadn’t tackled last night’s incident, but couldn’t miss this last minute opportunity. It was too important. Dominique had tenuously paved the way for a brief visit with Madame Sorrell. I was told to go to her house early the next morning, before she left for Paris.

I was shot at and was worried sick. But I was so excited that finally something exciting was happening and I’ll be able to make up a story to meet my deadline. Were those bullets meant for the cat woman, me, or the both of us? The cat woman must know something important and someone was obviously willing to kill to keep her quiet.

There was so much at stake with Philippe being shot, the alley, target practice at the cat woman, and now me.

Trying to put aside my anxiety about what had happened the night before, I arrived on time, promptly at eight.

Would she explain the reasons for her evasion and misdirection? I was not sure, but I wanted to try and find the reasons behind her deceptive behavior.

What would be even more helpful was how did all the people become entangled in the first place? It was obvious they were all involved through the pets and a timeline, some directly, and perhaps, others indirectly.

I knocked and waited, looking all around and down below. It was amazing what a clear view Madame Sorrell had of Curat’s property, a somewhat partial view of Dominique’s and a fine view of Toussout’s. I looked further to the left toward Martine and Jean’s property. Most of their backyard and outdoor detached kitchen were obscured by the apricot groves that filled the back portion of their property, but I still had a clear view of their attached patio and the back of their house.

Things were probably going according to their plan until the discovery of the animal burials started unraveling the past. Not only were the bones dug up, but apparently old secrets, jealousies and rumors, as well. It was clear Sorrell had watched me go from house to house gathering info.

First I was dished indifference and abruptness. Then I’m greeted like a friend of the family. Why the inconsistency? I had no idea how I would be greeted today, but would take whatever information I could get.

When the door opened, her worn and tired demeanor startled me. Dark circles rimmed her eyes. “Come in.”

After I sat by the window overlooking the houses and sea, she surprised me with her opening salvo. “I guess you deserve some type of explanation, but previously I could not decide to what extent and how much. After all, you are not one of us and might not understand many of the reasons behind the actions that were taken, but time is running out.”

“Why are you so sure I wouldn’t understand?”

“Because I doubt if you ever killed anyone.”

Nope! She had me there.

Chapter 80

Until Death Do Us Part

No, I couldn’t top that one. I couldn’t wait for what was coming. “No, I sure haven’t.”

“I thought not. You are not the type to kill, maybe in your books, but not in the real world.”

“I guess that’s true.”

She leaned back in her chair with a heavy sigh. “I like you, Samantha. From what I have heard, you have a good American sense of humor and a very persistent nature, but I must warn you. That could prove dangerous.”

“Why is that?”

“Perhaps you have too much information.”

I was impatient. Was there a cover-up? “Like what?”

“First, I need to explain something about myself. I had an image I needed to maintain because my husband, Henri, being in politics, was so particular. But now that he is dead, I no longer have to …how do you say, live with his baggage. I have my own life, now. No more pretenses. I am free to say and do what I want, when I want.”

Good. No more pretenses. “Then why the smokescreen? Why did you make all that up about Dominique?”

“I did not know you or trust you then, but Dominique convinced me you can be trusted. I was merely protecting my husband’s reputation.” She laughed bitterly. “It was a bad one at that, too. I must admit he was fun to have around and quite amusing at times over the years until his true nature was revealed.”

Found out what? “Your secret?” I pressed, pushing her.

She laughed again. “Ah, you’re attitude is enviable, Samantha. You are quite straightforward, very American, not like we French.”

“I didn’t have many choices.”

“But they were good choices; strong female friends, your writing, and this handsome American, Clay.”

My face turned scarlet. How did she know about him?

She laughed. “There is talk, plus I am a romance novelist, remember? I observe more than you realize.”

I looked over to her binoculars and smiled. I bet.

“Like you said in your book, Samantha, I now have skin in this game.” She laughed at my reaction. “Yes, I admit I have read your books, too.”

“But what about the burials? What was the point?”

“I think they are merely a sick physical metaphor for buried secrets. Maybe someone is making sure I stay silent about what is and has been going on around here.”

I had to ask. “How could they keep you silent?”

“Someone knows that Henri killed Simone.”

“…What?” Why protect a man who was dead?

Like Martha always said, her next words took the cake.

“Yes, and then I killed Henri.”

Chapter 81

Industrious Intervention

“What?”

“…Simone Curat was my younger sister.”

I was momentarily speechless.

“I know you are more than marginally attracted to this whole affair. You are a mystery novelist, drawn to the intrigue and maybe feel there is a possible cover-up.”

Darned right. “And is there?”

“This whole affair goes back many, many years.”

“I figured that. How did Henri kill your sister?”

“He approached her sexually, and when she rebuffed him, he retaliated.”

“How?”

“She was much younger than him, and mentally fragile. He pounced like a predator, throwing verbal daggers at her, telling her she was a poor mother to little Sophie for allowing her to run free on the property like a wild animal. When Sophie drowned in the pool, apparently his verbal abuse worsened. He openly blamed her for her daughter’s death.”

“And what did Alain, Simone’s husband, do about it?”

“My sister never breathed a word to Alain or to me.”

“Why not?”

“I don’t know for certain, but she was emotionally weak. Maybe she thought Henri was right all along, that she was a terrible mother and became inconsolable, drowning herself in sadness, self-pity and finally alcohol.”

“How did you find out about Henri’s involvement in driving her to such self-destructive behavior?”

“Drunk one night, many years later, he confided how he treated her, saying it served her right for what happened.

“I was outraged by his heartless words. Apparently, his cruelty had no bounds even for the dead. How could I prove what he said was true? He would deny it. He was a powerful politician and businessman by then. So I started that rumor of him seeing a nameless prostitute, to watch him squirm under pressure.”

“But I thought Dominique is your granddaughter?”

“She is. Everyone already assumed her mother was the prostitute Henri was visiting. I pretended to be upset.”

“You mean her mother was your daughter and a prostitute?”

“No, most French mistresses are discreet. My Sabine was not. She was not a prostitute, just not discreet. I gave birth to Sabine when I was young and filled with life and love. Her father was a very handsome man, but not a good man and not reliable. He would not work and would be drunk most of the time. I did not want to marry a man like this. He could not be a father and was a disappointment to me. I raised her to be a good young woman, but at sixteen she left my home and chose a life more in line with her desires.”

“Did anyone know who she was?”

“No. No one knew who she was. Sabine was born before I met Henri. No one had any idea, including Henri. He only knew her reputation as that of a mistress to those who could satisfy her high standard of life.”

“But how did Sabine end up living here, across the street from you?”

“Before I married Henri, I made an agreement with Sabine to build a house for her. We may not have communicated much, but I wanted to be near her if only for the single reason that she was my flesh and blood.

“When Dominique came along quite unexpectedly, many years later, I knew I had made the right decision. I could watch this beautiful little girl grow up, even if it was from afar. I did not like Sabine’s continued lifestyle, but was gratified to have been able to provide a home for my only grandchild.”

“How did you build the house without Henri knowing?”

“I set up a corporation through Philippe’s father, Andre, who was a lawyer. He arranged to funnel the money from my book royalties to build the house anonymously. As long as Sabine and I never spoke, we were able to maintain our individual lives. I had my life with Henri and she had hers. And the corporation handled the rest of the details.”

I smiled. “That corporation was Entreprises du Placard.”

Chapter 82

Electrifying Testimony

Sorrell nodded. “You are now understanding.”

“How did Henri handle all the pressure?” I asked.

“He came running to me, pleading for my help and advice. His political career was falling apart over rumors. I pretended to stand by him for the press, while relishing his anguish. Regrettably, it all eventually died down and he reverted back to his old behavior, berating my poor dead sister’s reputation and everyone around him, including me.”

“What did you finally do?” I asked.

“I decided to ask him for a divorce. One evening he was in his bath and I was drying my hair, working up the courage to demand a divorce, when he started in on his usual abusive rants. I was so upset, I threw down the dryer to the floor, but it bounced off the bathtub and fell in. I could not believe what I was looking at.”

“What did you do?”

“I ran and turned off the electricity to the house and removed the dryer, but it was clearly too late. He was already dead. Hysterical, I berated myself for being so impulsive. I was desperate for a way out.”

“Did you call the authorities?”

“In a panic, I threw the dryer out, and then called them. Considering Henri’s advanced age, bad heart and health history, they ruled it a heart attack.”

“Did you tell the authorities what really happened?”

“No! I couldn’t risk the possible scandal and scrutiny that would follow. I had my granddaughter to think of.”

“What happened to your daughter, her mother, Sabine?”

“Already suicidal and drug addicted, I sent her away to a hospital and paid her bills through Entreprises du Placard.”

“I don’t know if I could have been so efficient.”

“I had no choice. Everything happened so quickly, his death, Sabine being sent away, and my being responsible for Dominique. I couldn’t desert my own granddaughter, so I watched over her closely, without anyone being the wiser.

“Everyone thought Andre was her lover, but he was just checking on her. When Andre passed away, his son, Philippe, took his place to make sure she was provided for. Later, he negotiated her books and contracts.”

“How did Philippe get shot?”

“An accident, and only a flesh wound at that. But after what happened, it is amazing he was not murdered before that.”

Chapter 83

Murder, Alibis & Angles

“Why do you say Philippe could have been murdered?”

“One night, while waiting for Dominique under the rose trellis in her garden, he told her that he saw someone going back and forth to the truck from the Curat’s gardens. He quickly ran over and wrote down the van’s license plates. After investigating, he traced it back to Vichy S.A., but could not establish exactly who was behind that company. Every search he made came to another dead end.

“But worried for Dominique’s safety, Philippe kept investigating the company further, but apparently word must have spread he was asking around where he shouldn’t. Two days later his tires were slashed. A subtle hint, don’t you think? …Maybe his throat next time? No?”

“What happened then?”

“Philippe recently met with Dominique in St. Raphaël.”

I had a feeling that was the night we spotted them together and followed on Crystal’s Harley. “Go on.”

“He had some disturbing news that couldn’t wait.”

“And what was that?”

“Someone found out about Entreprises du Placard and was sending a message to Philippe to back off.”

“How did he know for sure?”

“When he went to pick up the mail at the Entreprises du Placard, he saw a new nameplate next door.”

I already knew what was coming. “Vichy, S.A.!”

She nodded. “You really are as good as your books.”

“That, and being in the right place at the right time.”

“Philippe had already stripped the Placard office, but needed to show Dominique to convince her to be careful.”

“Have you thought to go to the authorities about this?”

“And risk my granddaughter’s safety and reputation?”

I looked over to the binoculars and felt she was holding back. “You’ve seen them and the van, too, haven’t you? Could someone be using Carat’s property to smuggle something in and out?

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 photographers!” 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.

I felt sick. “…They’re all bones!”

We both looked at each other and raced for the door.

“Help! Help!” we screamed, as loud as we could, and then started banging our fists against the immovable door.

“Help! Help!” we yelled again.

Had anyone heard us?

“Hold on, my cell!” I pulled it out and dialed Clay.

He answered on the first ring. “Where are you? We’re hearing yelling, but can’t figure out where you are.”

“We fell through some type of door behind the wall of bougainvillea. It’s latched shut. Get us out …now!”

Chapter 90

Recouping & Regrouping

Once freed, there wasn’t any point in staying in the garden, having caused such a racket. If someone had plans, they nixed them once they heard the shouting. Eventually, we ended up in our conference room, the kitchen.

Martha scanned the group. “Would someone kindly tell me who was the individual that felt they had to scream like that to begin with? Their reason better be good because it ruined a perfectly good surveillance set up.”

Betty’s eyes settled on Hazel, her covert garden partner.

Hazel shifted in her chair uncomfortably. “What?”

Martha gave her a steely look. “What possessed you to scream like that? It killed our stakeout.”

“Something hairy ran across my foot,” she said.

I groaned. “It was probably a stray cat.”

Betty patted Hazel’s arm. “Look on the bright side.”

“And exactly what might that be?” Crystal asked.

“We discovered that door behind the bougainvillea.”

Reluctantly nodding, Martha said, “You’re right.”

“Now what do we do?” Betty asked, frustrated.

“Best wait for daylight to open those crates,” Clay said.

“The element of surprise is gone,” Hazel sighed.

I stood. “True enough, but in the morning we should learn something about those crates. I don’t know about you guys, but I’m dying here. I’ve got more bites on me than someone with a case of the measles. I need insect lotion.”

Clay stood, too. “I’ll be heading back to Martine’s.”

“Take the land route,” Martha advised. “It’s safer.”

Clay winked. “You know I’m all about taking risks.”

Laughing, Crystal said, “Maybe you’ll get lucky.”

As Clay walked out, he smiled, saying, “I already have.”

Everyone turned to me, grinning.

“…What?” I asked.

“Nothing,” Martha said, then chuckled and got up.

Laughing, Betty and Hazel made for the stairs.

Crystal looked at me, but said nothing.

“What?” I asked again, frustrated by their snickering.

“Sam, why are you denying and fighting something that we all know is going on?”

I sat there. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Yes you do,” she said. “May I make a suggestion?”

“And what words of wisdom are you offering?”

“If the music sounds right, dance to it. Don’t overthink it.” And with that, she walked up the stairs.

I smiled. Was I the luckiest individual in the world, or what? I was not only targeted by nefarious individuals, but also surrounded by good friends who really cared about me.

As I scratched my way to my room, I thought about who might be causing all this trouble and possibly distracting me with their lies. At this point, it was a toss up.

Who was calling the shots? Now that pun was intended!

Chapter 91

On The Hunt, But Not For Bear

Sweating, Clay finally finished opening the last one; the crow bar he used, hanging at his side. “I can’t believe this.”

We stood staring at the contents of the wooden crates, which all held the same thing.

“Well, I’ll be,” said Martha.

Betty shook her head. “Who would have guessed?”

I sighed. “I felt positive we’d discovered the answer.”

“Just like Al Capone’s hidden vault,” Hazel said.

We were all looking at nothing. You got it, all those crates held nothing, but rocks.

Crystal looked around, scanning the group. “Well, what did you expect? Obviously, someone saw the potential for finding this room and got rid of the evidence.”

Clay said, “If they were all filled with rocks, why nail them shut? Why not leave them empty?”

“If the crates looked unopened,” I said, “maybe we gave them the gift of time, by waiting until daylight.”

Martha went to kick her foot in anger, but stopped herself mid-kick. “Well, what have we got here?”

We all looked down at what she was staring at.

I stared at the bones laid out in piles that the two of us stood on the night before. Odd, the way they were laying there, but other than that, I didn’t get it. “What?”

Betty and Hazel were looking at them with interest, too.

What was up? “Want to let us all in on it?”

Martha laughed. “That’s it!”

Clay asked, “What’s it?”

“Don’t you see? These are all animal bones!”

“We pretty much figured that out already,” Crystal said.

“No, you guys don’t get it. These bones are squirrel, fox, rabbit and raccoon bones. I’d know them anywhere.”

I looked closer. “Are you sure? How do you know?”

“Momma used to make rabbit and squirrel stew and Henry, the taxidermist in town paid us kids for the fur and carcasses of dead animals to reconstruct and stuff them.”

Betty laughed. “Why, I remember watching him work.”

Hazel joined in. “He sure was a character, wasn’t he?”

Crystal and I looked over at Clay for some kind of verification of what the three of them had just said.

“Hey, don’t look at me, I only shoot people,” he said.

Crystal was curious. “Why are a bunch of bones here?”

Then it hit me. “Wait a minute! I think I’ve got it.”

“Well, we’re all waiting, detective,” said Martha.

I gave here a withering look. “Very funny.” Then I turned to the group. “I bet bones like these were buried in the gardens, not dogs or cats, but these kinds of animals.”

Clay gave me the strangest look. “Whatever for?”

“The small missing pets? Who’d know the difference?”

Chapter 92

So, Now What?

“Okay, then where are the pets?” Clay asked.

“Obviously, they were taken, but not before their collars were removed and placed in the burial sites,” I said.

He wasn’t buying it. “Why?”

I stood there thinking, and then walked outside to the gardens. Everyone followed me in silence, waiting.

I turned to face them. “I know this sounds crazy, but hear me out. What if there were valuable items buried in these gardens all these years and someone knew this, but was biding their time until Curat died. On the other hand, someone else is warning everyone that something is going on and it should be stopped before all the stash is gone.”

“Why be so cloak and dagger about it?” Hazel asked.

I bit my lip. “They don’t want their identity revealed?”

“Where do you get these crazy ideas?” Crystal asked.

Clay laughed. “The whole thing sounds unlikely.”

“Come on guys,” I said. “Think outside the box.”

“We’re trying,” Martha said, “but it isn’t taking shape.”

“What made you think in this direction?” Clay asked.

“Remember I stumbled on that open grave, finding Sneaker’s collar and those bones, and then I fainted?”

“Yes. What about it?” Betty asked.

“I bet someone wanted me to see the last burial, putting in a phony Sneaker’s tag to send a message directly to me. I misunderstood and took it as a threat and not a clue.”

“For what purpose?” Martha asked.

“Because, like in my books, they were hoping I’d eventually piece it together and expose the truth.”

“I have to admit,” Hazel said. “This whole thing does sound like something from one of your mysteries.”

“Exactly!” I said. “But this time, I’m being led in two different directions. One way by the culprit, and the other way by the person trying to help.”

With her hands on her hips, Martha said, “Do you actually expect us to believe this crazy story, or are you sidetracking us to give you time to figure this out solo?”

My face reddened. “Why, you know I’m not good at stretching the truth. I deal with the facts as I see them.”

“You’re like a bloodhound when you know you’re on to something, and like to keep it close to the vest,” Clay said.

Betty joined in, too. “Remember that time when that laptop was stolen?”

“And that break in?” Martha said.

Hazel chuckled. “She thinks we’re clueless.”

“She doesn’t know we’re on to her,” laughed Crystal.

“The buried bones could also have been a diversionary tactic to throw us all off what’s really going on,” Clay said.

Okay, big deal. So, maybe I was stalling. …A little.

“…Maybe,” I reluctantly admitted.

My theories definitely needed some fine-tuning.

Chapter 93

Forniet’s Faux Pas

A day later Dominique called, arranging a lunch. I accepted, wondering what was up her intricately woven, literary sleeve. After the garden incident, she had to be up to something. I knew when I was being had.

…Okay, sometimes. …Okay, never.

My curiosity nudged, I accepted, but now it felt like a possible setup by her and her ever-surprising grand-mère.

“Oh, Samantha. I am so glad you could make it.”

“Me too,” I said, sipping my wine.

We were sitting in her garden, eating salads, but after an hour of small talk, she was still playing it straight, so I started doubting my initial reaction about this whole lunch offer. Maybe this was legit and I wasn’t being played.

“I have interesting news,” she finally announced.

“What news?”

“The authorities agreed the shot was an accident.”

I sat there taking that in. “So that means…”

“Exactly! I am no longer, under a cloud of suspicion.”

“It must be a relief to you.”

“Everyone thought us lovers. Naturally, I was suspect.”

After Philippe explained, I thought she wasn’t one.

“But I can see your mind still thinks in that direction doesn’t it, Samantha, since that is my genre?”

“That doesn’t change the fact he was shot in the head.”

“True, but in the end, he pulled the trigger, not me.”

“That, Dominique, was already established.”

“…Samantha, you don’t understand.”

I needed to find out how he got shot in the first place.

“Do you know what I think? I agree with the rumors; you two were really having an affair, but you shot him to make it look like a botched suicide. My question is why?”

She pounded the table, spilling her wine. “No! Believe me, it wasn’t that way at all. It was a horrible accident!” Flushed, her hand flew to her mouth. “Oh, my!”

“So you were more involved then you let on?”

She finally sighed, her shoulders slumping. “…Yes.”

“Why are you being so evasive?”

“…It was only meant to be a game.”

Now, that threw me. “What do you mean, a game?”

“I was writing a romance involving Russian roulette.”

“And Philippe was your guinea pig?”

“No! No! I gave him a gun with blanks to reenact the scene for me to write down. Then, I don’t understand how, but a live bullet must have been left in the chamber.”

It sounded somewhat credible. “Did you explain to the authorities the unusual circumstances?”

“What? Tell them that when it happened that I ran out to talk to the cat lady to ask her what she might have seen and why she was hiding? No! Discretion was imperative!”

Whoa! Talk to who?

Chapter 94

Felines & Femme Fatales

What were a few more bites if it meant pressuring a possible witness for answers? I had my doubts about this actually happening after watching the gardens from my upper terrace, bathed in insect repellant rubbed on every surface imaginable, and still coming up with zip.

The cat lady, where was she? I hadn’t said anything to the others because I wasn’t sure where it would lead me. Besides, they would think I was crazy to have believed Dominique in the first place. I mentally waffled back and forth. The more I thought about it, the more ridiculous it the whole thing sounded, but still, you never knew.

I mean, after all, Dominique had her own agenda, including her grandmother. My only hope was cornering the cat lady once more to figure out if she played any role in this mystery, and if so, to what extent. So I sat patiently there just in case.

After Dominique’s first slip, she refused to elaborate, saying her grandmother’s safety was more important. Why?

Was the cat lady another suspect?

Then again, maybe that wasn’t the case at all, but another maneuver by Dominique and Madame Sorrell to distract me from the obvious, which was what?

It always came down to who was playing with my brain. Sometimes I fell for it, and other times I didn’t. This time however, like once before, I didn’t have a strong feeling either way, which sort of disturbed me. Was I losing that fact-finding intuition I had relied upon in the past?

Now, suppose this cat lady knew what is going on. What would be the consequences of that? I needed to talk to her. I needed to find her.

So after days of futile efforts in trying to catch that cat lady, it looked like she had disappeared. I tried not to think of the upshot of that. Maybe she didn’t dodge a bullet after all. I tried to shake that thought off, but it just hung out there, heavily overshadowing my excuses of why she still might be alive.

As I have always said before, dissecting this intricate web was not easy. In the meantime, I had homework to do. I needed a story for my book. I’d gotten myself into such a complicated mess of a manuscript that I needed to unravel it so I can send it off to my publisher. I couldn’t come up with a fictional solution myself because it was so complex, it might be easier to find out the ‘real’ explanation instead.

I was determined to figure this out.

Chapter 95

Sticking With Whose Agenda?

I sat in that remote spot I favored in the garden under the magnolia tree overlooking the water to think, my laptop at the ready. I looked up at the yachts and sailboats skimming the Mediterranean, but not really seeing them. What was the mental block that wouldn’t let me think beyond what everyone had told me? What was out there I wasn’t picking up on?

“Ah, Madame Samantha, I am glad you are enjoying the gardens,” said Luc. “After all that has taken place with the burials and that storage room with the crates, I am surprised this matter still lingers and is not solved.”

I jerked my head in his direction. “Oh, Luc!”

Could Luc possibly be my mysterious facilitator?

I thought of what he symbolized in my mind, hard working, loyal with a history of knowing everyone. No, too obvious. This was different. But I was still curious about his perspective.

“Luc, what do you think about what is going on?”

He sat down next to me looking out at the sea. “There is much history to this property; some good, some very sad. It is hard to make people forget past grievances, especially where the heart is concerned, and especially where the facts are concerned.”

“I’ve taken all that into consideration, Luc, but it still doesn’t get me any closer to the truth.”

“And whose truth are you looking for?”

“Are you trying to tell me that all this might not be so straightforward as I had hoped?”

“Exactly!”

“So, there are many truths out there, but they don’t necessarily meet the same standards.”

“Oui. Now, excuse me. I must do my work.” He got up, but then he hesitated. “…Remember, do not judge people too harshly until you have lived their lives and felt their pain. …You never know, a life might depend on it.”

I sat there watching him walk away toward another part of the garden. Of all the people to offer advice, his was the most disturbing.

I still needed to know one more thing. “Luc, wait!”

He turned and came back. I motioned for him to sit.

“Why didn’t you mention the storage room before?”

“It was of no importance. It is merely a storage room.”

“When was the last time you were in there?”

“Many, many years ago.”

“So you don’t use it that often?”

“No, it is of no use to me.” He pointed to the small shed by the cactus up the hill. “Most tools are kept up there.”

“Why don’t you use the one down here in the wall?”

He looked me and sighed. “Too many memories. That was where I hid the gun that was supposed to kill Sabine.”

Chapter 96

Jumping To Conclusions

I sat there stunned. “But I thought she fell accidentally.”

“She did,” said Luc.

“How could that be? Can you please explain?”

“I used to sleep over the garage back then. Curat flew out on business often and felt it would be safer if someone stayed on the property to watch over Sabine after Sophie died. I agreed to stay. It was very difficult watching her day in and day out dragging herself through her pain.”

“And it wasn’t your place to talk to Curat or to Sabine.”

“No. I was a simple gardener who loved her from afar.”

What was this? “You loved her?”

“Yes, but I knew my place and remained silent.”

“Did Sabine know of this?”

“No!”

“Did anyone else know this?”

“No!”

“What about that night she died? What happened?”

“I was asleep in my bed and thought I heard footsteps on the roof overhead.”

“Was it her?”

“Yes. She was drunk again and unsteady on her feet. I approached slowly so I would not startle her. My breath caught when I saw Curat’s gun in her hand. She must have sensed my presence because she spun around waving the gun in the air, laughing and crying at the same time.”

“What was going through your mind?”

“I had to disarm her and try to talk her out of doing something that would never bring Sophie back. She would not listen to me. I tried to distract her with stories of little Sophie, while slowly edging closer and closer to her.”

“How did she react?”

“Not well. When I reached out to grab the gun, she pulled away from me and fell to her death.”

By this time, his tears fell. I didn’t know what to say. What could I possibly say under those circumstances?

“I would have given my life to save hers.”

“What about the gun?”

“In a rush, I threw it in the storeroom, then when Alain was at her funeral, I secretly returned it to his study.”

“So Curat had no idea about her attempted suicide?”

He shook his head. “Why put him through more pain?”

“So you are the only one who knows this? Could anyone else have seen what happened?”

“…No”

I didn’t believe him. Too many of the neighbors had the opportunity to take advantage of the situation and exploit it and twist the facts. The question was for what purpose, an opportunity for blackmail, or a gentleman’s agreement?

What was the ultimate prize for silence?

I needed to rattle more cages.

Chapter 97

Locking & Unlocking Secrets

I knocked on the door, but wasn’t expecting much. I mean, after all, their inconsistent behavior always threw me. Plus, they didn’t seem to fit into any type of formulaic mold, you know, a slot you pegged them for; a strange couple I couldn’t quite get a handle on.

The door swung open and Madame Toussout looked out unwelcomingly. “I don’t think this is a good time.”

“Why not?” I asked.

“I have said all there is to say. Now go.”

The door slammed in my face.

Determined not to get discouraged, I marched up the hill to Madame Sorrell’s. The gate was closed, and so I waited after ringing the intercom at her gate, and then heard, “You have done enough damage. Leave us alone.”

I hesitated. What was going on? Then I swung around and headed over to Dominique’s. I knew at least she would see me, regardless of what had happened.

I was wrong. No one came to the door, or responded to the intercom at her gate. I had a sneaking suspicion that something had transpired that changed the whole dynamics of the situation.

Angry and frustrated, I headed back to Curat’s villa, trying to figure out why I had been shut out. Nothing came to mind.

I slammed the foyer door as I entered. Well, I tried to slam it. With all the weight of the glass and iron, I wouldn’t exactly say that was accurate. Let’s say I made an attempt at it, and it finally whispered to a close. But nevertheless, my intention remained the same. I was upset.

Who did these people think they were? Like in the past, who was fooling who? I have to tell you, I felt like spitting nails from sheer frustration.

Forty minutes later, I was still stewing as I reached over to eat one of Clay’s French Twinkies.

He watched in fascination, while I wolfed it down.

“If I’d known you were this hungry, I’d have brought reinforcements.”

“It’s nerves.” I explained, licking my fingers.

“Okay, spill,” he ordered, draping an arm around me.

I leaned into him. “If you were confronted with an impossible task, knew your instincts were spot on, but still held out hopes you might be wrong, what would you do?”

“Wow, that was a mouthful!”

“So?”

He wrapped his arms around me tightly.

I forgot to mention, we were testing my king bed again.

“Samantha, sometimes you overthink situations.”

“What is that supposed to mean?”

“You need to catch the one who holds the key. Think abstractly. Who had ties and access to them all?”

Chapter 98

Goodbye, But Hold On A Minute

I was disheartened. It was our last weekend and Friday night. We were all going over to Martine’s for drinks one last time and I still hadn’t dug up anything, but a history of grievances, past deaths, obscure petty differences, gossip and hearsay, and still minus the final whodunit.

Since the ladies were with us, we decided to take the street route. It was a beautiful evening with a slight breeze in the air, while the moon guided our way. Martine, as usual, had set up a feast waiting for us when we arrived.

I chose a strategic seat to keep one eye out for Curat’s gardens, just in case I spotted something. Of course, I only had a partial view of the upper gardens because of the hedge and the house blocking the rest, but at least I might hear something. But with my noisy crew, it was unlikely.

I knew it was wishful thinking, but I still clung to the slim chance something might materialize before we left on Sunday.

Jean entertained everyone with one story after another, while mildly flirting with the ladies. They ate it up, just hearing his French accent and the occasional French word, accidentally on purpose slipped in for good measure. They were enthralled with the Riviera and reluctant to leave, too.

Crystal was just as enamored with Jean because he owned a Harley himself. When she heard that, she was all over the guy, asking about his road trips and what equipment he had on his bike.

Meanwhile, Clay and Martine were in deep discussions about French wine versus American, with verbal jabs coming and going about who had the best grapes.

Me? I was enjoying watching everyone having a good time, but still stewing over the lack of finality on this one. My eyes drifted to Curat’s house, and then over to his garage deck that bordered Martine’s hedge. My breath caught when I realized I had a clear view of that roofline.

Now, why didn’t I ever notice that before?

Knowing Martine was decades younger that Jean, he was the one I’d ask. So when Jean paused to refill my wine glass, I dove in. “Jean, do you remember when Sabine fell from that roof?” I asked, pointing over to Curat’s garage.

Conversation came to a standstill. You could have heard the clichéd pin drop, as all eyes traveled from me to Jean.

He took a slow sip of wine. “…I could tell you I was away on business, but I wasn’t. I was right here at home.”

I could tell by the way he looked at me he already knew what was coming next.

“Did you hear exactly what was said that night?”

“…No, not really.”

I smiled. “But you did see something, didn’t you?”

Chapter 99

A Discourse And Demonstration

Chairs were dragged closer to the table, while Jean poured more wine, the food forgotten. Everyone was glued to the topic at hand between the two of us, especially Martine, whose expression said it was news to her, as well.

“Why didn’t you ever tell what you saw?” she asked.

“Because, cheri, it might be misinterpreted.”

“I think you should explain, now,” she said firmly.

“I will not only explain, I will show all of you. Come.”

Among whispers, we all walked over, via the street, to Curat’s villa, and then one by one climbed the spiral staircase after Jean unlocked the padlock.

He had a key? How symbolic!

When the last one made it up, Jean said, “According to Luc, Sam, you already know what happened when he tried to stop Sabine from killing herself with Curat’s gun.”

I nodded. “Yes, I do.”

“There was one other detail that Luc left out.”

“And what was that?” I asked, somewhat taken back.

“There was another woman who stood next to Luc.”

“Who?” I asked, caught by surprise.

Jean paused. “…Partially in shadow, at first I thought it was Sorrell, but remembered she was in Paris. The only other person that came to mind was Madame Tousout.”

“Why do you say that?”

“Dominique’s mother, Sabine, had gone to Paris, too.”

“What happened next?”

“This other woman said something, pointing to Simone, who turned, as well as Luc. I thought I saw a gun in Simone’s hand, and later found out from Luc, it was.”

Clay, just as intrigued, asked. “What happened then?”

“Knowing of Simone’s roof visits, Luc told me Toussout finally had to confess. Madame Toussout saw Sophie going beyond her barrier when she passed their gate, but said nothing. Feeling guilty, she came over the next day to warn Simone, but by then, Sophie had already drowned. Sobbing, Toussout said it was her fault that Sophie died.”

“He had to make a choice, didn’t he?” Martha asked.

Jean nodded. “One grieving woman or the other.”

“Luc was going to stop Toussout from jumping, but changed his mind, and lunged for Simone, instead.”

“Because he loved her, right?” I asked.

Jean looked startled. “Yes, but he wasn’t fast enough.”

Betty asked. “What happened to Toussout?”

“She fainted, and then had a nervous breakdown.”

“Did anyone ever tell Curat the truth?”

“No. Luc took care of everything, including hiding the gun and bringing Toussout back home in a mental stupor.”

There was one more thing. “What was with the burials?”

“That I know nothing about, but I always…”

I spotted a small light up the hill. “Hey, the cat lady!”

Chapter 100

A Close Shave

In a flash, Martha raced down that stairwell and up the hill at a fast clip. For a woman in her seventies, she sure could move. Clay was on her heels. We all scrambled after them. I heard yelling up ahead as bodies were tackled with dirt flying everywhere. When we arrived, Clay held her upper torso and Martha had her by the legs flat out.

All we heard were muffled moans as Clay pressed her face into the ground. There was no way for her to escape. We all formed a ring around the disheveled and rumbled, clothed cat lady.

Martha yelled, “What the hell? Who the heck is this?”

Clay looked over to her. “What?”

“I heard rumors of some European women not shaving, but this is the hairiest woman I have ever come across.”

Clay quickly flipped her over, shocked at who it was.

I stepped forward for a better look. “…Luc?”

Martine looked ready to faint. “…Oh my God!”

Hazel choked out, “Why, you’re not the cat lady!”

Luc actually laughed. “That is correct.”

At that point, I was pretty sure Martha wanted to smack him right there on the spot. “Why you crazy bast…”

“Martha,” I yelled. “We got the message you’re upset.”

“You’re damn right! All this time we thought he…”

Shaking his head, Jean finished. “…Could be trusted.”

When they brought Luc to his feet, he said, “And to think, this was the last hole to empty.”

“You can say that again,” said Martha, pointing to a dug up portion of the garden. On the edge of it was a sack.

I stooped down and opened it. “It’s jewels!”

I picked up a piece and turned to Luc, the scam finally clicking in my mind. “All those robberies we read about. You were stealing valuables from other neighboring houses and burying them here in these gardens, weren’t you?”

“How very clever of you, Madame.”

“And all your talk about closing doors and shutting windows was merely talk. As a gardener, you had total trust and access to all these houses and many more, I bet.”

Martha smacked him. “You’re a real piece of work!”

Luc smiled. “It was a very lucrative affair.”

Martine stepped in. “Sorrell’s brooch!”

“Ah, Madame, it was so easy to switch it for a fake.”

Betty said, “You merely walked in and out of open doors freely because you knew when people were home.”

He smiled once more. “Correct.”

“How could you do it, Luc? We trusted you,” said Jean.

“Ah, trust is fleeting when all these riches of the Riviera tempt you and you are very poor,” said Luc, laughing.

Gripping Luc, Clay said, “I still don’t understand…”

A shocked Crystal pointed. “Hey, another cat lady!”

Chapter 101

Here We Go Again!

Crystal took off, yelling back to us. “This one’s mine!”

Hazel pumped her fist and high-tailed it right after her.

Martine asked. “Where did she come from?”

“It looks like she was hiding behind those bushes all this time, listening to the whole thing and decided to make her getaway,” Betty said, just as surprised by her appearance.

In minutes, we all heard scuffling and some cursing, but then, out of the darkness came our two victorious hunters, pulling along a scuffed-up second woman. Everyone’s eyes went from this new woman to Luc, and then back to her.

They were dressed exactly the same.

“Looks like we got ourselves two cat ladies,” I said

“Why it’s the Bobbsey Twins!” said a laughing Martha.

Betty chuckled. “Hazel, remember those books?”

Hazel turned to her. “You know, I think we still have some in the antique section of the bookstore, right, Clay?”

Clay grinned. “Why, I believe that’s correct!”

“We did have fun, didn’t we, mon cheri?” laughed Luc.

Everyone turned to the woman, and then back to him.

He winked. “Ladies and gentlemen, may I introduce you to Danielle, my wife.”

Out of the corner of my eye I caught movement.

“Why you little weasel!” yelled Martha, getting ready to kick him. “If I had my gun, I’d use it!”

I interceded, wedging in between. “He’s not worth it.”

“You can say that again, but I’m mighty tempted.”

Jean snickered, “Another woman with spirit!”

Martine leaned into him, “Ah, don’t forget your wife!”

“Yes, cheri, and I am a lucky old fool to have you.”

The women sighed as he kissed her tenderly on the lips.

Martha spoke first. “Okay, let’s get this show on the road. We need some facts here.”

I looked at Luc. “It looks like your wife was in on this. I’m thinking she was your lookout if the coast was clear, checking out the properties. Once in the evening to set out the dishes and once after dark to retrieve them, correct?”

He nodded. “That way we could hit multiple properties in the area when she called my mobile to let me know.”

For the first time Danielle spoke. “You fool! We should have stopped when this Samantha showed up. But no, you were too greedy!” She made a lunge at him. “Idiot!”

Hazel gripped her tighter. “Whoa there, sister!”

“Don’t make me hurt you again,” warned Crystal.

Danielle hissed, “You and your tattoos, so tough!”

Crystal laughed. “I’m willing to give it another go.”

I finally laughed myself. This was definitely another one for the books. There was just one thing, and I knew it bothered Clay, too. It was about the original mystery still yet unsolved.

What was the reasoning behind the burials?

Chapter 102

And Finally, The Finale

It was Saturday night. We were all leaving on Sunday. Talk about cutting it down to the wire! Once again, we were all back at Martine and Jean’s with a few additions: Dominique, Madame Sorrell, and the Toussouts had joined us. Initially, there was some uneasiness, but that was quickly dispelled when Martha and my self-appointed ensemble had them all laughing at my misadventures.

I surprised everyone with my first question. “Monsieur Toussout, did your wife like the brooch that Madame Sorrell bought for her in Eze?”

There was silence, and then Madame Sorrell finally laughed, saying, “I see you are very clever.”

Monsieur Toussout laughed, too. “How did you know?”

I pulled out of my pocket a receipt and handed it over to Sorrell along with her passport. “Besides your passport, you dropped this.”

She grinned. “I thought I had lost both. That brooch was a very expensive duplicate that I had made to make amends to Madame Toussout, a little late, but nevertheless, a long overdue apology.”

Madame Toussout reached across the table and patted Sorrell’s hand. “Yes, all is forgiven between us.”

I hated to break up the wonderful karma that was going on, but I really needed to know about those burials. Surely, someone knew something and I thought I knew who it was.

“Dominique, why don’t you explain about the bones?”

There was an audible gasp from the group.

“Samantha, you do not disappoint! I was going to save that for the surprise of the evening, but I now have some explaining to do, as well as my grand-mère.”

Madame Sorrell nodded. “She is right.”

“We need the truth this time,” I said.

Sorrell nodded. “I agree. It is time I …how do you say, Sam, …give the beans, so to speak.”

“You mean spill the beans.”

“Oui. Spill the beans,” she said, laughing.

No one said anything, wondering what was next.

Sorrell explained about Sabine, Henri, their problems, and finally finished with the hairdryer accident. Everyone was shocked at finding out what actually happened.

Clay cut in. “But what does this have to do with the burials? That seemed like a simple accident.”

Madame Sorrell smiled, knowingly. “I’m afraid not.”

“Someone heard what happened,” I announced.

She looked at me sharply. “How did you know?”

“It all ties together now, especially after Luc and Danielle admitted they were part of a larger crime ring.”

Clay was on the same wavelength. “Luc was working in your garden, overheard what happened, and cashed in.”

“Plus, you saw someone digging at night,” I said.

Sorrell nodded. “I was not sure, until I looked out with my binoculars and figured it must be Luc.”

“How much did Luc know?” Betty asked.

“He saw me throw away the dryer and heard me call my granddaughter explaining what had happened.”

We all turned to Dominique.

“And where did you come into play?” Crystal asked her.

“Luc threatened to kill her Persian cat and my Fifi!”

“And you thought up the plan of missing pets and burials and kept them all safe without anyone guessing what was going on,” added Clay. “It must have driven Luc crazy wondering who was burying the bones exactly where he had the stolen goods buried.”

Dominique laughed. “No, I don’t think he enjoyed that.”

“What about the stone-filled crates?” Martha asked.

“They are mine,” said Monsieur Toussout, cutting in.

“You used your geological maps to find those rare rocks, right?” I offered.

Toussout nodded. “Curat used it as a wine cellar years ago because it maintained an even temperature. Since the lock was long ago broken, I used it to store my rare mineral and rock collection in the crates.”

“Were they valuable?” Martha asked.

He laughed. “Only to me and maybe a few other collectors. My wife found it objectionable keeping them in the house, so I secretly kept them there.”

So, that explained the noise Madame Toussout heard in the wall that night. He must have been lugging crates.

Crystal didn’t get it. “So how did the bones get there?”

Dominique quickly added, “There was no lock on that door and we needed a place to store all those bones. We just thought those were dusty old empty crates.”

“By the way,” Hazel asked Sorrell and Dominique, “Where did you get all those bones from? I know ladies such as yourselves couldn’t rustle up that many.”

Sorrell chuckled. “Why Martine’s cook, Claudine, of course! Her husband hunts. She makes the most exotic French stews, adding wine, spices and much garlic!”

Martha and I quickly exchanged uncertain glances.

Maybe chicken wasn’t all that we ate that night.

Martha nodded to me, smiling. Involuntarily, I shuddered, but forced myself to return to the subject at hand and Sorrell. “So, every time they dug out their stash, Dominique buried bones.”

I still wondered about one more thing. “Why would Luc go to Jean with the bones, drawing attention to the holes to begin with when he was trying to keep the whole thing a secret?”

“He had no choice,” Sorrell replied. “Before the property was liquidated, sold, and the proceeds given to a charity as Curat wished, I made a request to have some specific small roses of Madame Curat’s to remember her by. After all, I was her sister. How could the they refuse?”

I laughed. “So Luc had to be completely shocked when he discovered the bones buried underneath where his former stash was taken out.”

Sorrell smiled at me. “Jean was standing graveside, overseeing the project, so there could be no doubt what was buried underneath the roses, or what it stood for.”

“My grand-mère,” added Dominique, “acted so shocked when she was told a short time later by Jean about her cat to make it convincing for Luc.”

Sorrell nodded. “Yes. We were trying to draw attention to everyone else exactly what was going on without us getting harmed because Luc threatened another accident would happen if either of us went to the authorities.”

“What do you mean another accident?” Clay asked, but then our eyes connected and it suddenly hit him. “He replaced Dominique’s blanks with real bullets, didn’t he?”

“It was a good thing Philippe was a lousy shot,” I added.

Dominique turned to me. “Ah, Samantha, besides you, Clay is brilliant, too. I can see why you love this man.”

Speechless, my face turned scarlet. “…I”

Clay turned to face me, smiling slyly. “Love, huh?”

I remained silent. Did I?

Just then, Dominique whistled and everyone’s pets came running out onto the patio. It was utter chaos with everyone laughing and crying at the same time.

I turned to Clay amid all the bedlam, saying “How about a nice, quiet getaway for some privacy to talk about us.”

“Did you know I have a Harley?”

“You do? Why, I just love Harleys.”

“So I’ve heard,” said Clay, laughing.

“From whom?” I asked somewhat surprised, but then laughed myself, remembering that was another story and another book.

“Cone on. Let’s tour,” coaxed Clay. It will be exciting.”

“No sir! No more excitement for me.”

Clay gave me a look. “Since when are you afraid of taking chances?”

“All I know is I want someplace safe this time.”

“Don’t worry. I know just the place.”

“And where might that be?”

“How does New Hampshire sound?”

I shrugged, and then nodded. “Sounds harmless to me.”

Now, what were the odds I’d regret those words?

About the Author

Peggy has three sons, lives with her husband & miniature Schnauzer & spends time between Bucks County, PA and South Florida

Also by the Author:

The Puzzle (Vol. 1)

Without Any Warning (Vol. 2)