Mystral Murder (Julie O'Hara Mystery Series) (15 page)

“Not Horizons buffet. I couldn’t stand looking out those windows. Let’s go to the Main Dining Room. I’m so glad I took that Dramamine; do you need some?”

“No, I never get seasick. I’ll see you in a few minutes.”

“Okay, bye.”

***

The Main Dining Room was packed with queasy passengers who apparently felt the same way about Horizons. Julie and Joe declined the last remaining seats at a table for ten, and followed a uniformed hostess up to one of the third floor balconies for a private table.

The headwaiter, cleaned and pressed in a pale blue jacket, arrived and handed them the luncheon menus. Julie looked it over and was considering the
blackened grouper, when the thought crossed her mind that if the weather worsened, a grouper might be considering
her
.

“I’ll have the Southwestern Vegetable Soup and Club Sandwich, please.”

“And you, sir?”

“The soup and sandwich sounds good; I’ll have that, too.”

They ordered iced tea and handed over the menus. As soon as the waiter left, Julie leaned forward and launched into an account of her meeting with Michelle Sinclair.  Joe listened intently, and shook his head when she finished telling him about Michelle’s patient, Anne Dunston.

“An elderly woman who had a stroke?
You’d think that Internist would have just admitted to the diagnosis based on the information they had. It sounds like a reasonable mistake.”

“I know,” Julie said. “Howland had a distinguished background that would have carried some weight; the woman’s son might never have sued
him
. He was willing to wreck Michelle’s career so he wouldn’t have a smudge on his.”

“What a bastard.”

The waiter came with a tray, setting it on a stand and removing the shiny, stainless steel cover with a flourish as he set each plate before them.
For heaven’s sake,
Julie thought,
it’s a sandwich and a cup of soup, not Pheasant-Under-Glass.

When the waiter picked up his tray and stand and left, Julie remembered that Joe had intended to talk to his secretary. “Did you get
ahold of Janet?”

“Yes, I did.” He reached into his back pocket and took out a small notebook.

Julie smiled.
He’s like Detective Columbo with that notebook.
She attacked her sandwich with gusto as he flipped through the pages.

“Okay, here it is. She confirmed Dr. Sinclair’s med school graduation and two residencies, one in Bangor and one in Portland…nothing about any lawsuit, though.  And the town you mentioned…she found a town called ‘
Herouville’ on the Canadian border. Janet wasn’t sure if I had said ‘Sinclair’ or ‘Saint Claire’, so she looked for both. Turns out the name ‘Sinclair’ is a shortened version of the French name Saint Claire.

“Ah, let’s see…she found two brothers, both deceased; got information about them from two obituaries and a newspaper article. One brother, apparently, was better off than the other. Robert Sinclair and his wife Cecile owned a lot of property in the town.”

“Cecile?”

“Yep. Must be Michelle’s aunt.”

Joe flipped the page and continued. “Robert died young; his obit said he didn’t have any children. Cecile is deceased now, too; her obit didn’t mention any children, either. The other brother, Marcel de Saint Claire, his wife, Nina, and their daughters, Charlotte and Marceline, lived in a cabin on Cecile Sinclair’s property. According to the local paper, they died in a fire.”

“Obviously ‘Marceline’ survived, Joe. For some reason, Cecile decided to change her name.” Julie pushed aside the last quarter of her club sandwich. “That woman was cruel. I don’t think Michelle knows anything about her immediate family.”

Julie was pondering whether or not to give the information to Michelle, when her eyes came to rest on lone figure at a small table behind one of the balcony’s supporting columns. The woman wore navy slacks and a white blouse, and she had draped a gray cardigan over the back of her chair. It was Lottie Pelletier.

“What was the other daughter’s name?” Julie asked suddenly.

Joe flipped a page back.
“Daughters, Charlotte and Marceline.”

“Charlotte…
Lottie.”

“Lottie?”

Julie leaned forward and lowered her voice. “The single woman who was on the opposite balcony last night. She’s over there, behind the column. She has a large burn scar on her thigh, Joe! I saw it at the pool.
I think ‘Lottie’ is
short for Charlotte.
And ‘Pelletier’ is French, too.  She’s probably divorced or widowed.”

“Michelle’s sister?”

Julie thought for a moment and pictured Lottie quickly excusing herself to follow the officers, including Michelle, from the Windward lounge. She pictured Lottie again in the Windward, standing next to Michelle in front of a photographer. Michelle didn’t see it, but Lottie’s face was suffused with pride. And Lottie knew Adrienne.

“I think not…”

* * * * *

CHAPTER 39

L
ottie Pelletier was happy because Michelle was happy. It was a wonderful feeling, to be near her beautiful daughter on this beautiful ship. And to see her smile! Lottie had waited so
long
to see Marceline smile.

Michelle,
she corrected,
not Marceline.

The unwelcome image of her father, Marcel, intruded. Lottie’s mood darkened almost immediately. How she hated him, even now, forty years later! 

After years of brutalizing her mother, he had turned his attention to Charlotte. She was thirteen when he assaulted her, fourteen when her baby was born. Proud as a bull that had added to the number of his cows, Marcel named his baby “Marceline”.

Sadness welled up within her as Lottie remembered her mother, Nina, who had suffered so much to protect her.

When Charlotte was a small child, Nina had covered her with her own body as Marcel’s blows rained down on the two of them. After the rape, which shook Nina to her core, she had slept with Charlotte and never left her alone again; when the baby came, the three of them slept together. When Marcel, drunk, came charging into their little bedroom, her mother would leap up and distract him, take him from the room and satisfy him.

On the nights when that didn’t work, Charlotte would listen to their battle. Nina would fight Marcel, tooth and nail, and the next morning Charlotte would help her with cold compresses for her bruises and bandages for her cuts. 

The fire had started somehow on one of those nights. Had Nina’s swirling bathrobe come too close to the fireplace? Or had Marcel, drunk, thrown a lantern? Charlotte, clutching her baby, only knew that something terrible had happened. She heard Marcel’s awful bellow first, and then Nina, screaming and aflame, literally blew through the bedroom door, the fire behind her making a great
whoosh
as it swept in.

“
Sortez d’ici!”
Nina screamed. “Get out!”

Charlotte had rushed to the window, shoved it up and dropped Marceline out on the ground. She’d scrambled out behind her, her nightgown catching fire as she went. Charlotte had torn off the burning rag, scooped up Marceline and run naked through the woods to her Aunt Cecile’s house.

Lottie Pelletier took a deep breath as she sat there, deliberately calming herself and reminding herself that she was a strong, fifty-four year old woman on a cruise…and not a burned, terrified slip of a girl stumbling through a forest.

She thought of her Aunt Cecile, about whom she had mixed feelings to this day. She had reluctantly hidden Charlotte and the baby, renamed “Michelle” by mutual agreement.  But as soon as Charlotte’s leg was healed, Cecile had pressed some money in her hand.
“Leave now,”
she had said,
“for the good of your misbegotten child.”

According to the deal she had made with her aunt, Lottie had left the small town of
Herouville, Maine. But she never left the state, settling instead near Portland. She lived frugally, always saving half her income in the hope that someday she would get Michelle back. Periodically she would sneak into Herouville, just to get a glimpse of her little girl as she went from grade school to high school.

For the most part, it had been a hard and unhappy life
. Lottie smiled a little thinking of her husband, Louis, a co-worker, who tried so hard to change that. He had called her “Lottie”. Their marriage lasted only eighteen months, as poor Louis became aware that her burning love for her daughter eclipsed everything else.

Lottie
had attempted to approach Michelle twice, at her graduations from college and medical school, and lost her courage both times. Thinking Michelle had been better off with Cecile, she had never realized how profoundly
sad
her daughter was until she got close to her on those occasions. Michelle never smiled; she had no affect at all, in spite of the celebration swirling all around her. And Cecile was always conspicuously missing, her contemptuous label
“misbegotten child”
saying it all.

Afraid that Michelle would hate her, Lottie had kept her distance until now. A private detective had traced Michelle to Rhodes and, finally, to here, aboard the
Mystral. Lottie was so proud of her! A doctor on a ship! She just had to come.

And Michelle was smiling all the time. Her child was happy…at last.

Lottie Pelletier would do
anything
to protect that happiness.

*
* * * *

CHAPTER 40

J
oe sneaked a glance at Lottie. “Michelle Sinclair’s
mother?”
he whispered. “No way.”

“It’s possible, if she was very young when she had her. It happens to thirteen and fourteen year-olds, you know,” Julie said, keeping her voice low.  “I noticed Lottie Pelletier having her picture taken last night in front of the wall poster of the
Mystral, Joe. The photographer placed her sideways and slightly in front of ‘Officer Sinclair’, who was smiling her professional smile, the same one she wore for each passenger photo. But Lottie was
glowing
in way that makes more sense in this context…it was the love and pride of a parent posing for a family picture.

“Look, Adrienne and Lottie Pelletier were standing together talking at the cocktail party the night Adrienne was killed. Cathy Byrne introduced me to the two of them. What if Adrienne told Lottie that Michelle was not to be trusted, that she was a dangerous doctor? What if she said she was going to have her fired?”

“She’d have to be deranged to kill for that, Merlin.”

“Not in this situation. Michelle Sinclair had a terribly sad, loveless life until she came to work on the
Mystral and met Andrew Collier. If Lottie Pelletier is her mother and she’s
here
, it means she knows that.”

“So what now?”

Julie stood up, placing her napkin on the table. “I’m going to talk to her, Joe.”

“How in the world are you going to do that?”

“I’ll figure that out when I get there.”

Joe knew better than to argue. “Okay. I’ll meet you back at the ranch,” he said, as he scribbled his name on the lunch bill and headed for the elevator.

***

Julie stood a distance behind Lottie.  Softly, she said, “Charlotte de Saint Claire?”

Lottie turned around, a look of complete surprise on her face. And there was Julie, the only other person in that corner of the balcony. 

She blinked and swallowed. “Are you speaking to me?”

“Yes, Charlotte.
I believe I’m speaking to Michelle’s mother, as well. May I sit?”

Lottie was dumbstruck, a look that quickly morphed into a smile of relief. “Yes. Please sit. How did you know?”

“I saw it when you had your picture taken with her. She looks like you, you know. And you looked like a proud parent, posing for a family photo. On the other hand,” Julie said gently, “Michelle’s smile and posture did not change, no matter who she posed with.”

“You’re right, of course.” A look of long-accepted sadness hid like a ghost behind her eyes, even as a tentative smile played on her lips. “Thank you for coming to sit with me. It’s nice to be able to talk about my girl. She’s beautiful, isn’t she?”

“Yes, she is, Lottie.” Julie choked back her feelings. “I’ve gotten to know Michelle. I can tell you that she is as kind and as good as she is beautiful. She’s a very good doctor, too. The Mystral is lucky to have her.”

“Yes,” she said with pride. “I don’t tell anyone she’s my daughter, but I ask them if they’ve met her. I’ve heard nothing but wonderful things about her! It makes me very happy. But I wish she would come back to Maine so I could see her more often.”

Julie sagged with relief. Adrienne had said nothing to this woman! She thought back to Cathy Byrne’s introduction:
“This is Adrienne Paradis and Lottie Pelletier. We were just talking about how much we enjoyed your seminar.”
Lottie had left a moment later; she’d just been mingling at the cocktail party and chatting about the seminar, nothing more.