86 Avenue du Goulet (A Samantha Jamison Mystery Volume 3) (4 page)

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.