In the Shadows (The Outsiders Book 1) (11 page)

She opened the door and peered inside. She dared not switch on the light but luckily the moon outside was full, casting enough light through the sheer window curtains to let her see around the tiny room.

Carefully, she moved toward the chair in the corner of the room where she had left her duffel bag. In the darkness, she stubbed her sandaled toe on the edge of the bed’s walnut footboard and almost cried out in immediate pain, but caught herself in time. When she reached the chair, the bag wasn’t there. She scrambled frantically about, searching every inch of the room and the wardrobe and even under the bed, though she knew logically it wouldn’t fit. It was gone. She dashed out of her room and into Dave’s room, rummaged through his wardrobe, and emerged five minutes later empty-handed.

She stood in the hallway, debating whether to search Fabienne’s room. But when the grandfather clock downstairs chimed, her heart jumped, sending her
instead flying down the stairs and out the front door. She didn’t bother closing the door behind her.

She didn’t look back.
Maurelle ran blindly through the shadowy streets, past the café, past the general store, past the post office, without a destination in mind. All she knew for sure was that she couldn’t stay another minute in Reynier. She was an outsider here—everywhere. And without her money and belongings, she had nothing. She had earlier considered dumping the duffel bag, knowing that she could replace most of the contents. But she would have taken her bumbag which contained her pendant and the guidebook she was going to use to plan where she’d go next. She would have taken her identification documents—just in case. Most of all, she would have taken her cash, which could have bought her the basics for survival and maybe could have allowed her to rent a shabby flat in some remote place where no one would care whether she fit in or not.

Dave closed his
eyes as if that would shut out his thoughts. He reopened them when his grandmother sighed. Fabienne was sitting in the chair across from him, and her wrinkled face and drooping body made him regret all over again dragging her into his problem. “Why don’t we call it a night?” he said gently. “We aren’t going to resolve anything now. I’m too damned tired and confused.”

Fabienne yawned and nodded. She stood slowly
and picked up her bifocals from the dining table. Strands of her white hair fell loose from her chignon and strayed into her face like bees fluttering around a flower, making her use her hand to swat them away.

Dave thought of his grandmother’s beloved roses that she grew in her
garden; she too was a delicate rose, only she had wilted a little tonight because of stress and lack of sleep. If he hadn’t been so focused on her appearing too well to have cancer, he might have noticed sooner how much she’d aged and how vulnerable she now was. Even five years ago, she’d been more energetic. He thought back to the day she, Connie, and he had walked the three-and-a-half miles to Belvidere on market day, stopping periodically to rest. They had shopped for hours, eaten lunch, and walked back home again. Fabienne had been tired, but not much more so than he and Connie. Now, Fabienne got tired simply walking through town on those big shopping days.

That thought made him walk over to her and wrap his arms around her. Feeling closer to her than he had since his arrival here, he whispered, “Thank you, Grand-mère. I’m sorry to burden you with my problems. I didn’t
—” 

He wanted to say more, but he choked up. He hadn’t felt this way since his break-up with his wife, and he wondered how much he had been holding back.

“You can talk to me anytime,” Fabienne said. She patted him on the shoulder, leaned back, and looked him in the eyes. “I’m sorry I’m such a busy-body. I gave you a hard time about that girl, and you were only trying to help her. You couldn’t have known what she was hiding.”

Dave opened his mouth to say something, but she held up her hand, shushing him.

“I know you, dear boy. I know that you beat yourself up because you let down your guard and trusted. But you shouldn’t worry. You still have your instincts intact. Your problem is that you also have a good heart and a desire to believe the best about people, even though you’ve seen more than your share of bad people through your police work. That’s part of what made you a good detective.”

He wanted to believe what she was saying, but he’d always prided himself on his instincts, his objectivity and his bulldog attitude toward finding the truth, until . . .
. He shook his head. He wasn’t sure anymore that he possessed any of those qualities.

“But I have a lifetime of experience,” Fabienne continued. “I don’t have all the answers you need but I will listen. I may give you advice, if I can. Do with it what you will.”

Dave smiled, kissed her cheek, and hugged her again, stroking her hair.

“Grand-mère, I’m sorry I’ve been mean and difficult lately. Here I am a guest in your home, and I’ve been behaving like a spoiled little boy.”

“It’s nothing,” she said, shrugging hers shoulders. She wagged her hand at him as she moved toward the living room. “I was wrong too.”

Dave grinned. “I wish I could say that makes my behavior acceptable, but I can’t really do that. I’ve been a stubborn fool.”

Fabienne stopped and spun around to face him. “Well, I can’t imagine where you get that from,” she said.

Dave chuckled. He followed her into the living room and bumped right into her when she stopped abruptly.

“Did you leave the door open?”
she asked.

Following her gaze, he saw the wide
-open door.

“No, it wasn’t me.
” He switched on the lights and searched the main level of the house. Finding nothing, he said, “Wait here. I’ll look upstairs.” Before he left, he looked at his grandmother’s ghostly white face. “Don’t worry,” he added, patting her hand reassuringly. He dashed up the stairs, switching on every light and searching the second floor, room by room. When he was done, he ran back down the stairs and headed toward the back door.

“Where are you going?” Fabienne called.

“She’s not here. You should go on up to bed. I’m going to get something out of the cellar.”

A few minutes later, he arrived at the tiny cave in the back portion of the house, a cave similar to the ones many residents had in their houses. As with most of these, it was used for storage. He flipped on the lights and pulled out the duffel bag that he’d hidden earlier, leaving the sleeping bag. When he re-entered the main house, he locked the doors so Maurelle couldn’t sneak back in.

“Is that hers?”

“I thought you were going to bed. Everything is fine. Maurelle must have come back to get this
, but she’s gone now.”

“Are you going after her?”

“I’m going to bed,” he said.

Relief
spread across Fabienne’s face. She kissed his cheek before climbing the stairs to her room.

Dave
picked up Maurelle’s sneakers which he found near the front closet and put them in the duffel bag. Afterwards, he switched off the lights and climbed upstairs, closing his bedroom door behind him. He put the bag down on his bed and sat down. Taking a deep breath, he unzipped the bag and began unpacking it, laying her clothing in neat stacks on his bedspread.

After her clothes
, shoes, and handbag, he found a fanny-pack with her necklace tucked inside, along with some coins. Digging deeper in the duffel bag, he found a cloth toiletry bag with deodorant, shampoo, make-up, perfume, and dental floss. Loose in the duffel bag were maps, a guidebook, two magazines, and three paperback romance novels. He set those items on the floor near his feet. Next, he found two small purple flashlights and he shook his head, smiling. The kind of flashlights he would expect her to have. His hand hit the bottom of the bag, but something wasn’t right. He glanced at the outside of the bag and then the inside. It had a fake bottom.

He ripped it apart and found some loose items: a
n expensive looking man’s watch and a small box containing what appeared to be childhood trinkets. Beside those were a zippered bag and a wallet.

His jaw tightened involuntarily as he studied the driver’s license inside the wallet: Maura Barrington, 11 Willoughby
Crescent, London, England; Date of Birth: March 5, 1986. Well, at least she hadn’t lied about her age or where she was from, but that didn’t make him feel better.

Thumbing
through the wallet, he found two credit cards in her name and five- hundred-and-thirty Euros, roughly equivalent to seven-hundred-twenty-five U.S. dollars. Tucked into a side pocket, he found three wallet-size photos that appeared to be childhood photos of Maurelle, and two more photos of a man and a woman. Her parents?

He set down the wallet on the bed and picked up the small zippered bag, running his hand over the soft worn-leather. Slowly, he unzipped it and pulled the sides apart to get a good look at the contents. Cash. Lots of cash. He picked up the thick straps and counted. Nine altogether. Automatically, he examined the front and back bills in the first strap. They were English pounds. His years of training had taught him how to spot counterfeit bills and these looked real. Thumbing through each strap, he verified that each consisted of
£20 notes. He counted the first strap: one hundred notes totaling two thousand pounds. Assuming each strap was the same, which it appeared based on the thickness and weight of them, he was staring at eighteen-thousand pounds, equal to roughly twenty-seven-thousand U.S. dollars.

So much money
. It looked as though she was prepared and hadn’t simply left in a panic. Had she planned it all? But then why simply come to France and hide in a cave? It made little sense.

Simone sat on
her sofa with the dog lying halfway over her lap, continuously using its nose to demand she pet him. No matter how many times she pushed him away, he kept coming back for more. The disgusting matted hair on the animal was in dire need of scrubbing and combing, but she wasn’t about to do it. After she got rid of him, she would need to fumigate her home too.

“Maman, please, can’t you keep the dog?” Simone asked.

“No. Serge is allergic to dogs. Besides, I thought you were giving it to Dave.”

“I tried. He doesn’t want him.”

“Why can’t you keep him? He’d be good company for you.”

“
You know I don’t like animals. I should never have adopted him. Giving this mutt to Dave backfired terribly. I think now he’s angry with me.”

Coralie said, “Give him a day or two. He’ll get over it.”

“I don’t know. He left Fabienne’s this evening with that woman. He left me standing there gaping like a . . . a . . . I don’t know what. It was humiliating. And she’s much prettier than I remember from the other time I saw her.” Simone looked toward the door, wishing Dave would come to his senses and ring the downstairs bell to let her know he was waiting at the bottom of the stairs to be let in. Instead, he was probably gazing into that damn woman’s eyes and listening to her every word as if she was the only person in the world.

“Do you love him?” her mother asked.

Simone looked down at the dog. “Love? I don’t know. I’m tired of being alone. You have Serge. I have no one. I’m not desperate enough to be one of Jonas Lefevre’s mistresses.”

“
Do not say such things. Do you hear? You will find someone. What about Zacharie Gardinier over in Belvidere? He would be a good catch. I’m sure he is interested. He was eager to talk with you when we saw him in that restaurant. Do you remember? It was about a month ago. I don’t know the name of the restaurant.”

“Zacharie is all right, I suppose.
I was hoping for someone more . . . sophisticated.”

“Then don’t give up on Dave. Not yet. But don’t forget you’re thirty-five and still single.”

Simone groaned inwardly and wanted to scream. Did her mother—and grandmother, for that matter—have to keep reminding her of that? Maybe it was time to move back to Paris. She might have been lonely in Paris, but at least there she wasn’t treated like a visitor, a newcomer. Shouldn’t the fact that her mother grew up in Reynier have made Simone immediately part of the community? Even buying Fabienne’s café and running it hadn’t made her many friends.

“Maman, you’re forgetting that I was married once.”

“I’m only trying to help you, dear. Maybe you should try another approach with Dave. Make him see you as wife material. I remember Fabienne told me that his marriage broke up because he wanted children and his wife didn’t.”

Simone’s mouth flew open and snapped shut again. “I’m not that desperate!”

“You could practice with the dog. Show Dave that you can be loving and nurturing.”

Simone grimaced and didn’t answer.
At that immediate moment, she thought, being alone wasn’t that bad. At least she didn’t have to do what other people demanded. The dog sat up and looked into her eyes. He leaned in and licked her face, making her smile in spite of herself. At least somebody cared about her feelings. Maybe with a good bath, he could stick around.

After a night
in the woods southeast of Reynier, Maurelle realized she was in a far worse position than she had thought. Not only was she without money and without maps, she was also without decent shoes. Her feet, clad in flimsy and painful sandals, were blistered and raw.

She had hitchhiked before, without any incidents or problems. But her recent experience
s had taught her to expect the worst, especially when she couldn’t even trust herself. Last night, when Dave had asked her to grab her shoes and walk with him, she could have been practical, chosen her gym shoes and been comfortable. She could have gone upstairs, changed out of her skirt, and into jeans. But she hadn’t. She wanted to look pretty and feminine—for him.

She closed her eyes. It was useless to dwell on things she couldn’t change.

Her best chance for finding a ride would be to head to the main road, away from the isolated country lanes like the one on which Dave had found her. Of course, more traffic meant greater risk of being caught by law enforcement. And that meant being sent back to England. But what other choice did she have?

Maurelle turned toward the main road
in hopes of catching a ride. She stopped at a creek along the way and scrubbed her face with the cold water. It was well after sunrise when she finally reached the road. All she wanted was to get a ride. The chance to also get a bit of rest filled her with anticipation and a spurt of renewed energy as she breezed along the rough pavement. Of course, nothing was ever easy and this was no exception, as most of the traffic was heading in the other direction. Even the few cars going in the right direction shot straight past her. She continued walking until she reached the edge of Belvidere.

With feet aching horribly, Maurelle sat
down on a grassy mound alongside the road to rest, her legs stretched out in front of her. She closed her eyes, soaking in the sunshine, wishing she could catch up on sleep, even if only for a few minutes. Her eyes popped open at the sound of a vehicle approaching and slowing down. It was a loud vehicle, which told her without looking that it wasn’t one of the cars Dave had borrowed.

Slowly, she turned her head and
glanced over her shoulder. A green pick-up truck had stopped on the side of the road near her. She leapt up and rushed to the vehicle.

A
rather handsome man with black hair rolled down the passenger window. He regarded her quizzically. “Bonjour, Mademoiselle. Perhaps we met before, no? You look familiar?”

Her heart thudded and she felt sick. Did he recognize her from the news? “I—I don’t think so.”

He studied her, making her want to run in the opposite direction. Suddenly his face split into a wide grin. “I know. Dave Martin introduced us outside the bistro the other night. Where are you headed? And why are you out here alone? Did you and Dave have a fight?”

As panic coursed through her, she struggled to maintain composure. Thinking fast, she said, “I remember. You’re a friend of Dave’s, yes? Anyway, I was on my way to Vendome. I hiked
here, planning to take the train from Belvidere to Vendome. But someone snatched my handbag. I really should have been more attentive, especially since I had heard about similar problems in the area recently.”

“That’s awful. Did you report it?”

She nodded, hoping that he wouldn’t ask for details.

“Well
now, come. Get in.” The man reached over to the passenger door and opened it. “I’m on my way to Vendome to pick up supplies for a remodeling project I’m working on for a customer. Your company is more than welcome.”

She
climbed into the truck. He would probably tell Dave about this as soon as he had the chance. She sighed. The damage was already done.

“I’m Paul. Paul Lepage,” the man said. “
I apologize. I don’t remember your name.”

“Maurelle.” She looked away, out of the window, trying to dissuade him from further conversation.

“After I run my errands,” Paul said, “I can pick you up and drive you back to Reynier. Maybe we could have lunch together.”

She continued to gaze out the window, pretending she was interested in the scenery as she deliberated on how to respond. She was hungry, but she didn’t dare stick around. “That’s kind of you. But I have a busy day planned.”

“Well, you’re going to need a ride back, aren’t you? And if you and Dave aren’t together anymore, you can stay at my place.”

“Thank you,” Maurelle said, “but I’m meeting someone.” She hesitated, glancing back at Paul. He had a friendly manner, though his piercing green eyes made her feel as if he was undressing her. “I’ll get a ride back to Reynier, I’m sure.”

To her relief, he nodded and returned his attention to the road. But moments later, he resumed the conversation.

“Are you meeting Dave? Does that mean you are still together? That you’re still staying with him and Fabienne, I
mean.”

She
merely shrugged, not trusting herself to speak.

Although the rest of the drive was quiet and seemingly peaceful, Maurelle k
ept her body braced for action—as though he might grab her and force her to return to Reynier, or worse. She would jump out of the moving vehicle, if necessary.

As they entered Vendome, she kept a lookout for recognizable sights
that she hoped would help her get her bearings. When they’d passed the hospital where Fabienne had received her medical tests yesterday, she relaxed a bit. From the hospital, lovely red-brick sidewalks lined the street and colorful gardens of red, pink, yellow, and white flowers brightened the roadside leading up to the river which they were about to cross. The short bridge resembled a drawbridge over a castle moat. She immediately recognized the castle-like entrance to the old town center—the old gate house of St. George, an ivy-covered building composed of two large crenellated and machicolated towers connected by a pavilion that topped the archway through which the road tunneled. After Fabienne’s tests, they had also passed through that gate, ate at a lovely outdoor café near Parc Ronsard, and strolled in the lush park along the riverfront.

The truck passed through the gate and drove past centuries-old tall and narrow buildings, which now housed restaurants,
cafés, shops, and offices.

“
Where should I drop you off?” Paul asked while they were stopped at the first traffic light.

She hesitated
until she recalled reading that the town’s greatest monument was the old abbey-church of the Trinity, which seemed like a good ‘meeting place’. “Oh, the Eglise de la Trinite, if that’s not too much trouble,” she said.

“No problem. We’re actually close. It’s right near the town square, Place Saint-Martin.” He pointed to the left, and Maurelle could see the spires of the massive
gray stone abbey in the distance. A few turns later, he pulled up.

“Thank you, Monsieur Lepage. I am grateful.” She smiled sweetly, and pulled the door handle to get out.

“You’re most welcome, Maurelle. I’ll give you my mobile number. Call me if you need a ride—or anything. I would love to take you out to lunch or dinner. And you are welcome to stay at my home for as long as you like.” He pulled out a piece of paper from a notebook on the floor of his truck and jotted down the number.

He handed the paper to her. “I hope you’ll call. Oh, and by the way, it’s illegal to hitchhike in France. I don’t want you to get into trouble.”

She nodded, smiled, and tucked the piece of paper into her blouse pocket more to humor him than anything else. Even if she had coins for making a phone call, which she did not, she wouldn’t be calling him or anyone else. Silently, she climbed down from the truck and shut the door behind her.

After Paul drove away, she w
alked toward the main road again, hoping to find another ride soon. Traffic was extremely heavy here, which gave her hope but also increased her risk because a local Gendarmerie was located here.

As she
strolled along the red-bricked sidewalk near the abbey, smells emanated from nearby restaurants and cafés, making her stomach growl. She tried to ignore them. She turned onto St. Martin Square and continued to the minor road, which she knew would eventually lead her back to the main road.

By the time she finally reached the main highway, she chastised herself for not asking Paul to let her out at Parc Ronsard, which would have saved her time and energy, both of which were in short supply. Although the brief rest in the car had helped her feet temporarily, they now ached even worse than before. On top of that, the bright sunlight
and intense heat was unrelenting.

A
car slowed down behind her, making her step into the dirt beside the road and turn around. Holding her breath, she watched the brown Peugeot pull up closer and stop. The driver rolled down his window. “Bonjour, Mademoiselle. Do you need a ride?”

Maurelle nodded.

“Where are you going?” he asked. His eyes were sharp and assessing.

“South. As far as Spain eventually,” she blurted without thinking
. She bit her tongue, wondering if maybe she should have given a closer destination.

“I can take you part of the way.”

She hesitated, studying him carefully. He was attractive in a distinguished sort of way and reminded her of one of her former college professors. He wore what appeared to be a dark blue Armani suit with a pale gray shirt and tie. His hair was dark brown streaked with gray, his mustache neatly trimmed. She couldn’t see his eye color behind his dark sunglasses. Overall, he looked polished, refined. Safe?

“Guess I should introduce myself. Pierre Auberge here,” he said. “I’m on a business trip for my company. Only going as far as Limoges
, but I can at least get you a little closer to your destination.”

Maurelle
vacillated. She wanted the ride, but she felt uneasy. Auberge looked respectable, and she’d accepted rides from strangers before. She had even gone home with Dave who, although she’d bumped into him a few times, had also been a stranger. Of course, that hadn’t gone particularly well, she reminded herself. Taking a step backward, she twisted her foot slightly and the strap of her left sandal scraped over one of her blisters. She bit her lip to keep from crying out in pain.

“
Merci, Monsieur.
”
She hoped she was making a wise decision as she slipped into the car, sat down in the front passenger seat, and smoothed her wrinkled skirt.

Dave awoke bleary-eyed
and disoriented. As he glanced around his bedroom, he saw Maurelle’s bag lying on the floor, her belongings stuffed inside haphazardly, her clothes spilling out. The previous night came flooding back, and he didn’t want to get up and face a new day. After a few minutes, however, his mind refusing to be controlled or focus on anything except Maurelle, neither could he handle lying in bed doing nothing.

Groaning, h
e sat up on the edge of the bed, rubbed his face, feeling the stubble of beard growth. As he stretched, he realized he’d fallen asleep in his clothes, which were now so badly wrinkled from his tossing and turning that he wasn’t sure they would ever be wearable again. Finally, he stood up, opened his wardrobe, and pulled out a pair of dark gray dress slacks and a light gray shirt. As he dressed, he, transferred his wallet, coins, and keys to the clean pants. Reaching into the last pocket, his fingers brushed up against his plastic comb. Suddenly he saw in his mind Maurelle sitting on the rock, combing her hair.

He rubbed his
eyes to try to stop the vision, but the memories wouldn’t stop. He saw Maurelle sitting in the grass next to the pond stripped bare and vulnerable, saw her sitting at the outdoor café in Vendome laughing and talking with him and his grandmother, saw her across from him in the bistro with her face glowing in the soft light. God, he wished he could rewind the clock and erase last night.

He combed his
unruly hair as best he could, picked up his dirty clothes, and walked downstairs. The smell of fresh-brewed coffee lured him to the kitchen, but he resisted the urge and made a pit stop in the bathroom and shaved first.

Ten minutes later, he
entered the kitchen and poured himself a cup of steaming coffee. Fabienne padded into the room in her slippers. She scooted back another chair and sat down, but he didn’t acknowledge her. He wanted to be alone in his misery.

“What are you going to do now, David? About the woman, I mean.”
He shrugged. She rose and walked over to the oven. Grabbing an oven mitt, she opened the door, the smell of fresh croissants filling the room.

The
aroma lifted his spirits, reminding him briefly of summers spent here helping his grandmother knead bread dough and cookie dough. Neither bread nor cookies ever lasted a full day because Dave and his grandfather would always polish them off within hours. He watched her as she reached in, pulled out the golden pastry tray, and set it on the stove top.

As if sensing his attention, she pulled off her oven mitt, tossed it on the counter, and turned to face him. “Do you think she’ll come back?” 

“Damned if I know.” He looked away. He really didn’t like admitting, even to himself, that he was not in control of the situation.