There's Something About St. Tropez (52 page)

He'd driven into St. Tropez with the two children in the backseat and the three dogs behind them—they had taken the Chihuahua and Pirate along to be groomed as well as the yellow dog.

When they found the beauty parlor Pour les Chiens, the woman in charge took one look at Yellow Dog and shook her head. “He must be full of fleas,” she complained.

“I'd bet on that,” Billy agreed. “Just give him your best flea bath and get rid of 'em all, otherwise we're gonna have a hotel full of 'em.”

Leaving the dogs to their shampoos and grooming, they walked down the street where Billy found a café that served crepes, and Laureen said she was getting quite used to them without maple syrup. After that, they went back to the chic dog boutique where they had previously bought the ruby collar for Tesoro, and where Billy let Bertrand choose a sturdy collar for Yellow Dog and a matching leather lead. A couple of bowls for food and water, a brush for grooming, a plush padded bed with pictures of dogs on it, in case, Billy joked, Yellow Dog thought it was for someone else; a couple of bags of dog food, chew bones, a squeaky toy.

“Pirate and Tesoro are going to be jealous,” Laureen warned, so they chose toys for them too.

After, they picked up the dogs from the beauty parlor. Billy said they smelled like they'd been dunked in women's perfume, so they took them for a long walk on a remote beach. They smelled much better after the wind had
swept the glamour-dog aroma away, though Bertrand was still not sure about the yellow bow stuck on his dog's head. Laureen said it was cute though, so he left it there.

Neither child had mentioned the scene at the table the previous night and Billy breathed a sigh of relief. It must have gone over their heads: all they'd observed was a man talking badly to Belinda.

After that, the children devoured margarita pizza at a tiny open-fronted place on one of the narrow side streets, while Billy drank a Stella and marveled at how much a skinny kid like Bertrand could put away. Perhaps, like his dog, he'd been starving. And where was that mother of his anyway?

“What are you two gonna do now?” he asked as they drove back to the hotel.

“Dunno.” Laureen shifted in the seat. Tesoro, who was on her knee of course, stuck her head out the window, sniffing the warm air.

Billy's arm lay along the open window; he too was enjoying the sun, gentler than the fierce Texan summer heat. Half of his mind was on Belinda, wondering where she was and what she was up to. He hoped she would be safe.

“Maybe sometime soon we can all drive up and visit Belinda,” he suggested.

“Great.” Laureen yawned. It had been a long day and a lot of food. Soon both she and Bertrand nodded off.

Back at the hotel, Billy decided a nap was in order. He hadn't realized how tired he was after a night of little sleep, worrying about Belinda and the husband, and he was glad to see the kids back to their rooms, then hit the sack. He thought he could sleep for about a week.

 

Laureen did not sleep though. She was worrying about Bertrand. She knew he would never be allowed to keep the dog at boarding school. Bertrand
had
to get that reward, but to do so, they must find the stolen paintings. They had told the Wizard of Reynaud they were hidden at Chez La Violette. She knew they just had to be. Didn't they?

Had there been enough space, Laureen would have paced her tiny room, but as it was all she could do was stride three steps forward then three back. She knew she had to do something! Okay, she decided. So she'd get Bertrand and they'd go to Chez La Violette, check it one more time. Even if they had to lift up those creepy white covers on the furniture and peek underneath. She shivered at the thought.

She checked out the window to see what was happening. It was too soon for dinner and all was quiet. A few clouds had climbed into the sky, muting the sunlight. She put on her orange tutu and her cowboy boots, then wondered if she'd done the right thing. Shouldn't she be wearing camouflage, like Bertrand did with his cape? Oh, and this time she would tell him to bring his binoculars so they could spy, see who was really there. Like, maybe a ghost.

She flung a blue beach towel over her shoulders so anyone noticing would think she was off to the beach, then she went and knocked on Bertrand's door.

He opened it and stared sleepily at her. Yellow Dog lingered behind him, eyes bright. Laureen thought he looked like a new dog, but maybe Bertrand was right and the bow was a bit girly.

Pulling it off, she said, “Come on, Bertrand. We have to go back to Chez La Violette and find those paintings.”

She didn't have to explain further. Bertrand understood the urgency of the situation. He looked at her wrapped in the towel, and with her boots on, then he got his cape and his binoculars and his dog.

“Let's go,” he said.

 

76.

 

 

Bertrand led the way along the quiet lane to Chez La Violette. He was wrapped in the camouflage cape, his dog at his heels, binoculars bouncing on his chest, stopping every now and then to peer importantly through them while Laureen waited patiently. He checked the lowering sky. Clouds had banked up on the horizon, blocking the sun. He said to Laureen, plodding flat-footedly along in her boots, wrapped in her beach towel, that he hoped there wasn't going to be another storm.

This time it had been easy to get out of the hotel without being seen. Lev was gone and so were the bodyguards, and everyone else had come in from the beach because the sun had disappeared. The back stairs and the parking lot made for a quick exit and now Yellow Dog was enjoying his walk, running ahead for a few minutes, then doubling quickly back to check that Bertrand was still there.

By the time they reached the kitchen gate at La Violette, the sky was electric blue and a deep silence had fallen. The birds had taken shelter and the rabbits had disappeared into their burrows. Even the crickets had stopped singing.

Bertrand opened the gate and stepped onto the overgrown path. Laureen hovered outside, wishing she hadn't suggested coming here.

“Come on, Little Laureen,” Bertrand encouraged her. Yellow Dog sat at his side, tongue lolling, waiting for whatever was next.

“I don't think I want to do this anymore.”

“But now we're here, we have to,” he said stubbornly. “Anyhow, it was your idea, remember?”

Laureen remembered. Blue lightning lit the already electric blue sky and with a whimper, she ran after Bertrand, past the swans' head fountain to the kitchen entrance.

He fished in the geranium pot for the key and opened the door, then took off his cape and left it on the step, along with Laureen's beach towel.

“You first.” Laureen hung back, but the dog dashed ahead, tail flailing, a growl in his throat.

“What's up, boy?” Bertrand called him back and the dog came and sat obediently at his feet. Outside, lightning flashed and thunder rolled. The dog's eyes rolled too.

“It's okay, Yellow Dog, no need to be scared,” Laureen whispered, though her own heart was pounding and she was whispering so as not to make too much noise and alert the ghost. “What do we do now?” she asked.

Bertrand was already checking the kitchen cupboards, the pantry, even the old piano that stood, lid open, against the wall.

“Nothing in here,” he said. “Let's try the salon.”

Laureen thought of those big scary white shrouded objects. Could the stolen paintings really be hidden under them?

Bertrand read her mind. He said, “We have to lift up the covers and look.”

She and the dog followed him into the salon. Everything was as they had left it except that one of the shutters was open, bringing welcome light into the big stuffy room. Bertrand decided the janitor must have left it open, and with Yellow Dog's inquisitive nose poking at the shrouds, he lifted up cover after cover. “Just furniture,” he said.

Laureen breathed again.

“Next, La Violette's boudoir.” Bertrand's voice was unexpectedly firm, but when he walked through the hall and opened the door, the dog sniffed the air, then hung back.

“Yellow Dog doesn't want to go in,” Laureen objected because neither did she.

Secretly, Bertrand didn't blame the dog; there was something sad and silent about that room. “We
have
to go in,” he said as bravely as he could. He turned to look at her, hanging back with the dog. “Unless you're scared of course,” he added patronizingly.

Stung, Laureen stepped up to the door. Lightning lit the hallway but the boudoir was in darkness. She reached for Bertrand's hand, gripping it tightly as thunder rolled like a hundred railroad trucks directly overhead. Behind them the dog whimpered.

Bertrand pressed the light switch. Nothing happened. He tried again. Same thing. He peered into the darkness. The storm had probably taken out the electricity. He knew he would have to walk all the way through that big dark room and open up the shutters.

The house was silent after the great clap of thunder. Nothing stirred. “Bertrand?” Laureen's voice quivered.

“What?” His voice quivered too.

“Let's just go home.”

“What about the reward?”

Laureen thought for a long minute. “All right,” she agreed.

She took his hand and they walked together into the darkness, negotiating their way past dark clumps of furniture. It took a couple of scary minutes but finally they were at the bank of French doors. Bertrand unlatched the shutters and threw them back, breathing a sigh of relief. He flung open the glass-paneled doors. It was a gray stormy light but at least they could see.

Behind him, he heard Laureen say, “Bertrand?”

He turned to look at her. She was standing with her back to him, gaping at the wall. A large section of the dove gray paneling had been rolled back, revealing a space behind.

“A secret room!” he exclaimed.

“Just like in the movies!”

Bertrand's binoculars bounced on his chest as he rushed forward, all fear forgotten. “Come look, Laureen.
Just look
.”

The two of them stared at the stack of canvases propped against the back of the narrow aperture behind the paneling.

“
We found them, Bertrand
,” Laureen whispered. “
Oh, Bertrand, we found them
.”

“So you did, you little bastards.” A voice came from in back of them. “And now what are we going to do about it?”

Joel Krendler stood there, a silver-topped cane in his hand and a look of complete malevolence on his face.

 

77.

 

 

An hour later, Sunny went out onto her terrace. The storm had passed and now every shrub and tree glistened with diamond droplets like Little Laureen's princess tiara. It was too much to hope for a rainbow because that would mean a pot of gold, and Sunny wasn't sure there would be one at the end of Violette's story.

She could not get Violette off her mind. Here she was, with all the clues: the legend, the ring, the lover, the disappearance. And still no clear idea of what had happened.

Tesoro climbed her leg, whining. Time for a walk. Mac had gone to Cannes earlier to talk to the police about Jasper Lord and make sure he'd really left. Sunny was on her own. Calling Pirate, she slid her still unsun-bronzed feet into flip-flops, put both dogs on their leads and headed downstairs.

Renée waved hello as they walked by. “
Bonsoir, madame
, a perfect time for a walk, after the storm, with everything so fresh,” she said.

Renée was right and Sunny took deep breaths of that newly fresh air as they turned to the right outside the gates and strolled slowly along the lane. It had rained hard but not enough to turn the ruts into mud. She still had to dodge the puddles, though of course Pirate waded right through them, while Tesoro begged to be picked up. Sunny considered buying little booties for both dogs but thought better of it; Mac would never forgive her if he saw his Pirate in booties.

Of course her feet were taking her in the direction of Chez La Violette. Where else would she go when the legendary woman was constantly on her mind?