02_Coyote in Provence (9 page)

Jordan took a quick shower and left for her cottage.

CHAPTER 13

It had been a long day for Elena. She hadn’t had much sleep the night before and to make matters worse, the restaurant had been busier than usual for a mid-week day. Henri was constantly being told how wonderful his new luncheon chef was, and he knew he’d been very lucky to hire her before someone else did.

“Elena, you look tired, and you’ve been working very hard these last few weeks. Why don’t you take an extra day off tomorrow? We can do without you for a couple of days, and when you come back, you’ll feel rejuvenated. And I hear there might be a very good reason that you’re so tired, in addition to working in the restaurant.”  Henri’s eyes sparkled with laughter.

Good grief, are there no secrets in this village? I’ll bet everyone knows exactly when Jordan came to my cottage last night and when he left and they could probably figure out what went on in between. So much for trying to develop female relationships here. Now the village women will be certain that I’m after their husbands.

“Ahh, Henri, I don’t know what you mean, but I could use an extra day off. Thank you so much. I’ll see you in three days.
Bon jour
.”

Two hours later, she heard the Renault coming up the lane and ran out to greet Jordan. He got out of the car, put his arms around her and kissed her deeply. “Elena, I missed you today. I can’t believe it, but I did.  I wish you could be with me every minute until I leave.”

“Well, maybe I can. Henri gave me tomorrow off and then I have my regular two days off. If you’ll have me, I’m yours for the next three days. I can go with you wherever you’re going tomorrow. I don’t know how, but maybe I can help you.”

They walked into her cottage, Jordan’s arm tightly wrapped around her waist. As soon as they got inside he pulled her to him and kissed her again. “Careful, Jordan, if you keep that up the coq au vin will burn, and you’ll be looking at a blackened mess for dinner.”

“Turn the oven down to warm. Dinner can wait. I can’t.”

He led her into the bedroom and sat down on the edge of the bed, pulling her to him. He laid down on it, bringing her with him. She slowly reached down and unzipped his pants, freeing his erect penis and began to slide her hand up and down his shaft as he moaned with pleasure. His hands were shaking with desire as she helped him take her jeans off. He couldn’t hold back and entered her. She came as quickly as he did.

“God, I’m sorry. I’ve been thinking about you all day. I just couldn’t help myself. I promise you I’ll be a better lover next time. Actually, I want to please you as much as I like being pleased. That’s a very new feeling for me. I’ve always enjoyed women, but when I’m with you, I’m on a completely different level. We’ve only known each other a little over two days, and I’m beginning to wonder if I haven’t been really lonely, and all the women, wine, and gourmet meals were just compensating for it. Thank you for giving yourself fully and totally to me.”

“Hush,” she said, gently kissing him. “Believe me when I tell you that you please me as much as I hope I please you.”

She was a joyful, spontaneous lover, unashamed of her body, and eager to please him. Making love with Elena was the easiest, most joyful thing in the world. The thought of leaving her was becoming more difficult with each passing hour. They were both tired and soon fell into a short post-lovemaking nap, waking refreshed and hungry.

“Why don’t you shower and by the time you’re finished, dinner will be on the table. All I need to do is turn the oven up and sauté some vegetables. I’ve already made the salad. I just have to blend the vinaigrette for it. It won’t take long.” She quickly dressed and walked into the kitchen.

“My God, what do I smell?  Whatever it is, it’s fantastic,” Jordan said as he walked into the kitchen few minutes later.

“Well, it could be me, but you’re probably used to that smell by now. It could be the coq au vin, or the garlic I sautéed with the vegetables. Please sit down and start eating. When you’re ready, tell me what happened today.  I’ve been so curious.”

“I found two more paintings, but more importantly, I found out that the name of the chef is Pierre Yount. But I’ve hit a snag. I really thought Pierre was the only person I needed to find. I discovered a Donna Shuster painting in a gallery and showed Pierre’s picture to the owner, but he was quite guarded and very antagonistic. He obviously didn’t want to talk to me, and said that the man in the photograph was definitely not the man who sold him the painting.”

“Wait a minute,” she said. “If that’s true, that means Pierre has an accomplice or that Pierre is the other man’s accomplice. Is that right?”

“Yes. I not only need to find Pierre, but it looks like I also need to find this other man, whoever he is. Elena, excuse me,” he said, pushing back his chair. “I want to get Pierre’s picture from my sling bag and have you look at it. I meant to show you last night, but I got sidetracked. He may have eaten at Henri’s. I’ll be right back.”

When he returned, he opened his bag and took out the photograph. “Do you recognize this man?” he asked.  She glanced at the photograph and immediately looked up at him.

“Yes, He came to Henri’s for lunch, liked my beef bourguignon and asked to meet me, much as you did. I don’t think he ever told me his name even though we talked for a long time.  He even came back the next day. As I remember, he has a tattoo of a chef’s knife on his arm. He told me he lives in California, and was in Provence visiting his family who lives in the Avignon area. He said his parents are aging, and that he tries to come back to France several times a year to see them. I remember he also said that he sends money to help them now that his father can no longer work.”

“Are you certain about this?” he said, sitting down once again and taking a bite of the coq-au-vin. “By the way, this is the best I’ve ever had and I’m a connoisseur of this dish. Even the vegetables are cooked perfectly.”

“I’m glad you like it, but back to Pierre. I remember the conversation vividly. I asked him if he was a chef in California. He said he’d worked in several restaurants, but that one of his customers, a very wealthy female businesswoman, had asked him to be her private chef, and now Pierre travels all over the world with her in her private jet. His employer will only eat meals that Pierre prepares. Does that help?”

“You’ve just saved me hours of work and investigation.  Excuse me.  I need to email Chief Lewis about this. Please, continue to eat. I’ll only be a minute.”  He took two steps and paused, turning back to her. “Don’t eat all of it. I want another serving when I get back.”

He took his phone out of his sling bag and spent several minutes typing an email message. Almost immediately, he felt a vibration coming from it, indicating he had a phone call. He looked at the screen and saw it was Chief Lewis.

“Good morning, Chief.  I know it’s almost lunch time in Southern California, but I thought you’d want to know what I’ve found out. There’s a woman I’ve met, Elena Johnson, and she confirmed that the name of the man I sent you the picture of is Pierre Yount.” Jordan paused. “Yes, yes. I can go there tomorrow.” He was quiet, listening. “Yes, she can come with me. She’s already been a huge help to me and her French is far better than mine. I’ll try and email you when we return.

“By the way, can you have someone check on French law regarding returning these paintings to the United States? I understand that the Laguna Beach gallery’s insurance company paid them for the loss they incurred in the burglary and that any legal action in civil court to recover possession of the stolen paintings would have to be taken by the insurance company that paid the claim.”

He put his hand over the phone and whispered to Elena, “Would you hand me my wine? Thanks.” He paused for a moment, taking a sip of the wine.

Jordan continued, “I remember a couple of cases several years ago when France refused the request of a California insurance company to return stolen paintings which had been sold to gallery owners in France. They felt that the French gallery owners would suffer huge financial losses if they had to give up the paintings because they unknowingly had purchased what turned out to be stolen paintings. I recall the insurance company had no recourse if France didn’t cooperate because our legal authority ends at the American border.

“Lastly, and probably most difficult, is there any way to find out which wealthy entrepreneurs have private chefs? I’m beginning to think we aren’t going to have any luck with the French authorities, but if we could find Pierre Yount in California, and if he had stolen property on him, maybe we could arrest him. Of course, that doesn’t help with the accomplice.

“Oh, and Chief, it’s a well-known fact that very haphazard customs searches are conducted on people who land in private planes, particularly if they’re well-known.  Maybe that’s how Pierre got these paintings smuggled into France. And if that’s so, he may be smuggling other items into other countries and selling them to unsuspecting galleries as well. Just a thought.”

After he ended the call, he turned to Elena. “I’d like you to go with me to Avignon and Aix tomorrow. There are a couple of galleries in both of those towns. I’d also like to get more information on where Pierre’s parents live. Both you and one of the chefs I talked to said that he has family in the area. If we find them, you could tell them that you need to get in touch with him. You could say you’re thinking of moving to California, and Pierre told you that he could help you find work there. Who knows, it might work.”

“Yes. I can do that.”

He grinned at her. “Oh, by the way, I’m spending the night. My suitcase is in the trunk of the car. I checked out of Chateau Pascal. I told you I want to be with you every minute the rest of the time I’m here. This may not help you with those gossipy women from the village, but I don’t give a damn.”

Elena just looked at him as he sat across the table from her. She wondered what would happen if she told him the truth about her past. Would he leave immediately?

Well, there’s no reason to tell him.  He’ll be gone in a few days and I’ll have these memories to sustain me for the rest of my life.

“I’m so glad you’re staying tonight. I was lonesome when you left last night, and I missed you today. I know we only have a short time left and I’m prepared for that, but I’m going to treasure every hour I have with you. Thank you.”

They made plans for the next day. Avignon was a large town for the region, with a population of nearly 100,000 and Jordan was able to locate several art galleries in it. He also mapped out several of the top restaurants.  Even though they could only eat in one or two, they might be able to find something out from chefs who worked in the other restaurants.

Avignon seemed like the logical place to start and then they could travel south to Aix-en-Provence, an even larger town which was the home of a well-known university. They planned on spending as much time as needed in both towns.

They were tired and ready for bed, but sleep came later.  For a long time Jordan laid next to Elena, listening to her soft breathing. He wondered how she would fit into his life if he asked her to come with him to California. For the first time in his life, he wanted to live with a woman. He knew he had his shortcomings and could be overbearing and impatient, but she brought out the best in him. However, she seemed to be carrying a secret. There was some reason why she didn’t want to go back to the United States, and even after spending intimate time with her, she hadn’t told him. He was a man who was used to finding out things, but he certainly hadn’t been successful with her.

What could it be? What could have happened in the United States that would cause her to live the life of a reclusive expat, albeit a very beautiful one?

No answers came to him and he finally fell asleep, dreaming of paintings, food, and perhaps more of Elena in the middle of the night.

CHAPTER 14

In the morning, they dressed leisurely. Jordan wore frayed jeans and a jacket with leather elbow patches. The jacket concealed his gun. He decided to disguise himself with an applied mustache and goatee. For her part, Elena had pulled her hair severely away from her face and held it in place with a simple barrette. She wore no make-up. A cloth hobo bag, black boots, a navy blue sweater, and jeans completed her outfit. Anyone looking at them would assume they were professors from the university at either Avignon or Aix.

They left her cottage about 8:30 a.m. on their way to have coffee and a croissant at Le Zeste, planning on touring the galleries afterwards. The restaurant was crowded, and by the time they finished, the galleries were open. Fortunately, all of them were located nearby.

Although they were able to visit four of the galleries before they closed at noon, they had no luck.  The galleries were larger than the other ones Jordan had visited, and with Avignon being a well-known tourist town, the art they saw was definitely geared more to the tourist trade than to fine art collectors.

“We’re drawing a big zero. Let’s go to a couple of restaurants and see if we can find waiters or chefs who might know Pierre. The Collection Lambert Hotel is nearby. It has a number of art exhibits and supposedly a very fine restaurant. Let’s start there,” Jordan said.

They wandered through several of the exhibits, ending up at the Metropolitan Restaurant. While they were sharing a salad and enjoying a glass of wine, Elena suddenly blurted out, “I don’t think we’re going to find the last two pieces in Avignon. If Pierre and his family are from this area, as we’ve been told, he could easily be recognized, and questions would be raised as to why he was selling American art when he returned home. He’s a chef, not an art dealer. I think we need to start showing the photograph of him to people who work in restaurants, and see if we can locate his family.”

Jordan thoughtfully sipped his wine. “I think you’re absolutely right. If we can find his family, they may be able to help us. Let’s start
. Monsieur
,” he said, waving the waiter over to their table, “Do you know the man in this photograph?”