86 Avenue du Goulet (A Samantha Jamison Mystery Volume 3) (6 page)

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.