In the Shadows (The Outsiders Book 1) (4 page)

That evening, watching his grandmother and her friends, Dave wished he were somewhere else. He did his best
to appear happy and at ease, and even whispered to Simone, “You look lovely.” She wore a strapless red satin dress that displayed her perfect skin and sensuous figure. A sheer red scarf covered her neck. She smiled and wrapped her arm through Dave’s. “I missed you today. Why didn’t you come by the café?”

“My grandmother kept me captive. I had planned to stop in, but she was excited about this party
and put me to work shopping. I suspect she has this need to out-do Jeannette’s, which is no small feat.”

Simone laughed softly. “For such good friends, they have a bit of a rivalry
.”

Throughout the evening Fabienne was in a splendid mood, which pleased Dave. And yet
, seeing the intimate group of friends laugh and talk so easily while he remained mostly quiet and on the periphery left him with a feeling that perhaps he did not belong there.

The day after
the dinner party, Dave got up early to work for a couple of hours on his book and left for the post office on the main street. He stepped up to the counter and bought a stamp for the postcard he’d bought yesterday. His mother often complained that he didn’t call or write to them enough and, thinking about it, he couldn’t remember the last time he’d sent his parents a real letter. Leaving the post office, as he dropped the change into his pocket, his fingers brushed against the necklace he’d recovered from the floor in the general store. 

He crossed the street and headed toward Chateau de Reynier near the
far end of the village, not far from Café Charbonneau
.
The hotel was situated on a leveled-off section of the slope midway between the bottom tier and the next tier. It could be reached by walking up the winding driveway from the main street to the hotel’s parking lot or by climbing halfway up a steep staircase that connected the two tiers, and then exiting onto a path, the staircase being the shorter of the two.

Dave strolled past
several shops and cars parked along the roadway on his way to the staircase. As he reached the bakery
,
a scraggly terrier darted in front of him. He swerved to avoid it, stumbling backwards, and crashed into something. Disconcerted and embarrassed, he realized he’d careened into a woman coming out of the bakery. Following her gaze, he saw an empty coffee cup and a baguette on the ground near her feet, soaking up the now puddled coffee.

“Oh, no, I’m sorry,” Dave said. He bent down and picked up the soggy bread and empty coffee cup, straightened back up, and looked at the dark-haired woman. “Are you all right?”

She nodded. Her hair was pulled back in a ponytail at the nape of her neck, making her look different than he remembered. But her eyes were unmistakable. It was the woman from the general store. His eyes locked onto hers and he again felt awestruck. Smiling at her and taking advantage of his unexpected good fortune, he said, “Why don’t we go inside? I’ll buy you another coffee and baguette.”

“Oh, that’s not necessary, really. Actually, I should be going.” She took a step backward.
Although they both spoke in French, he was more than ever sure she was not French.

“Of course it’s necessary.” Still holding the ruined items in one hand, he held the door open for her with his other hand. “I owe you that much. Besides, I wouldn’t mind a cup of coffee myself. You’ll join me at one of the outside tables, won’t you?”

“No. I really shouldn’t,” she whispered.

“Please. It’ll make me feel better about being such a big oaf.”

She smiled and glanced down at her feet. “I’m not sure you’re the oaf. I seem to be a magnet for accidents lately.”

“Maybe we both are.”

She looked up at his face and gave a tentative smile. “Well, I suppose it would be all right. To drink coffee with you, I mean.”

“Good. By the way, I’m Dave Martin.”

She didn’t respond.

He frowned slightly, then said, “Do you have a name?”

“Oh, sorry. I’m Maur—” She blushed, then continued. “I’m Maurelle Dupre.”

They went inside, where he disposed of the ruined bread and empty cup, and ordered two coffees and another baguette.
He handed her the bread and carried the coffees outside to an umbrella-shaded table. After he set down the coffees, he pulled out a chair for her and they sat down.

They sat quietly for a few minutes, sipping hot coffee and enjoying the sunshine.
Sunlight caught on one of her diamond earrings, reminding Dave of the necklace. He reached into his shirt pocket. “I have something I think is yours.”

Her eyes lit up
when she saw it. “Oh, it is,” she said, accepting the chain. “Thank you. I thought it was lost forever. Where did you—” Her face flushed again. “The general store,” she finished.

“The clasp was broken, but the locket didn’t come off,” he explained. “I fixed it.”

“That was very kind. Thank you.”

“Glad I could help.” He smiled and watched her put the necklace around her neck, prepared to get up and help with the clasp if she needed it. She didn’t. “What brings you to Reynier? You don’t live around here, do you?”

“No. I’m on holiday.”

He
was about to ask her more, but she was watching something down the road. He turned to see what it was.

Halfway between the bakery and the post office, a gendarme vehicle was parked
in front of a shop on the ‘no parking’ side of the street. Two gendarmes exited and stood in the street, looking around. If Dave remembered right, the nearest Gendarmerie was in Belvidere, the small market town three-and-a-half miles from Reynier. Dave waited to see where they were going. Perhaps there’d been a robbery. That would certainly give the locals something to talk about. When the gendarmes started walking toward the bakery terrace, Dave turned back to the woman. She had disappeared—again. He scowled. The gendarmes had stopped, and looked as if they weren’t sure where to go. Dave approached them. “Bonjour, Messieurs. What brings you to Reynier?”

The red-haired man eyed him suspiciously. “Who are you?”

“Dave Martin.” He extended his hand. “I’m a cop from the U.S. Here on an extended visit with family.”

The gendarme smiled
. “I’m Jacques Roland. This is Henri Du Bois.”

“Is there a problem in our little village?”

“No. We stopped to buy coffees on our way back from Clairmont.”

“Ah,” Dave said. “Where is
that? I don’t think I’ve been there.”

“Not far from here. A few kilometres,” Du Bois said. “Where do you
recommend for coffee?”

“I have a coffee waiting for me over at the bakery’s terrace. Would you care to join me? I’d like to buy your coffees, if that’s okay.”

The gendarmes looked surprised, but shrugged and nodded. They followed him to the bakery and sat down at Dave’s table while he went inside to buy their coffees. Dave returned a couple of minutes later with the beverages. “So, where are you headed now?”

“To Belvidere,” Roland said.

“Ah, back to the Gendarmerie.”

“Not right away. Officer to officer, we have reports of pickpockets and bag-snatchers in the area. We’re investigating.”

“What’s being stolen?” 

Roland said, “Wallets, handbags, watches, and jewelry.”

The older officer nudged him, then said, “Thank you for the coffee, Monsieur. We must be on our way.”

They got up to leave, but stopped when Dave said, “Any description of the pickpocket? Doesn’t hurt to have another
officer on the lookout, right?”

Du Bois, the younger officer, looked at the older one, then said, “A man and a woman
in their mid-twenties, dark hair, nondescript.”

“That makes it tough,” Dave said.

They nodded, then shook hands once more and left.

Dave
walked along the main street again, stopping now and then to gaze up at the hillside. The woman, Maurelle, may have gone into the caves or into a shop or into the hotel. While he was debating whether to climb up the stairs or stay down on the main street and check out some of the shops, he passed by one of the openings between the buildings on the river side and caught of glimpse of her. He ducked through the opening and followed the long path down to the river. Trees on the other side of the river blocked his view temporarily, and then he saw her again. She was heading toward the church. Unfortunately, to get to her, he had to cross the bridge which was in the opposite direction. By the time he crossed the river, she was out of sight. The tree branches began to sway and he looked up at the sky. Clouds were moving over the village.

He checked out the church and found it empty, then
made quick stops at each of the shops on that side of the river. No one had seen her. Lastly, he entered the only restaurant around. “Bonjour,” he said to the patron.

The man nodded,
eyeing Dave suspiciously. “Can I get you something?”

Dave scanned the dreary room.
Café Charbonneau, while not chic or fancy, made this place look like a dump. The walls were a dingy gray, and the tables were scratched and chipped. No wonder they only had one customer. Not wanting to appear rude, Dave ordered a coffee to go. While he waited, he said, “Have either of you seen a young woman around here, long, dark hair? I don’t think she’s local.”

“Haven’t seen her,” the patron said.

The customer shook his head.

Dave left the restaurant and
walked briskly along the residential streets. Fifteen minutes later and without any clues, he trudged back across the bridge, intending to go to the hotel and then the bed-and-breakfast inn. But with rather ominous dark gray clouds gathering overhead, darkening the sky and making it seem much later than it actually was, he expected rain was imminent. Just then, thunder cracked loudly overhead. As he arrived at the main street, a great flash of lightning lit up the sky. He raced toward the center of town as cold rain began pounding him.

Coming upon the shorter linking staircase near the bridge, Dave decided the hotel
and inn would have to wait. He dashed up the stairs and along the gently sloping road back to his grandmother’s house.

Dave closed the
door quickly to keep the rain out. Drenched and shaking from the cold, he went straight to the bathroom, towel-dried his head, grabbed another towel, and then took the stairs two at a time to his bedroom, where he peeled off the clothing sticking to him, toweled himself dry, and changed into fresh clothes. Downstairs, he threw his soaked clothes into the dryer and proceeded to the kitchen to help his grandmother prepare lunch. While he worked, he thought about the stranger, Maurelle: beautiful, elusive, and quite possibly a criminal.

They ate lunch in near silence, on Dave’s part at least. Fabienne alternated quiet munching with bursts of gossip to which he grunted and said “really?” automatically, his mind elsewhere. When they had finished, he carried his dirty dishes to the counter and
left the kitchen. Rain still pounded against the roof. He picked up his laptop from the coffee table and sat down on his preferred chair in the living room. Fabienne didn’t own a computer, which meant no internet. Without suffering much angst over the obvious piracy, Dave logged onto a neighbor’s unprotected wireless internet and began searching for news about crimes in the area. After twenty minutes or so of browsing the internet and finding nothing of interest—not even the pickpocket reports—he returned to the kitchen for a cup of coffee.

Fabienne glanced at him, but said nothing. As she hung up a dishtowel, strands of coarse white hair strayed from her chignon, and her bifocals slipped down on the bridge of her nose. She picked up a stray saucer, put it away, and closed the cupboard door sharply.

Dave opened his mouth to speak, but hesitated when she breezed past him into the living room. Frowning, he followed her, sat down in his chair across from where she sat on the sofa, and waited for her to say something.

“You were
very quiet during lunch,” she said finally, laying her reddened hands in her lap. “Did you have a fight with Simone?”

“No. Why?”

“Nothing happened between you two?”

He shrugged.

“You don’t seem yourself. Are you sure nothing’s wrong?”

He looked at his computer lying on the coffee table in between them, closed and hibernating. Leaning forward, he said, “Have you heard about any problems in Belvidere or the surrounding area? Burglaries, pickpockets, vagrants?”

“No. I don’t think so. Why?”

“You know I’m supposed to leave with Simone the day after tomorrow, right?”

She nodded.

“I need to check something out, first.”

“What does that mean? Are you cancelling the trip?”

“No. I haven’t said anything to Simone yet, but I might need to postpone it a few days. Something’s come up.”

Fabienne was silent for several moments, and then she said, “What is it? Something to do with your book?”

He took a deep breath
before saying, “I met someone here who puzzles me. I need to find out more.”

“I don’t understand.”

“It’s probably nothing. But you know me. I can’t ignore a mystery.”

She
pouted and frowned, then looked as if a light bulb had been switched on inside her brain. “It’s that woman, isn’t it? The stranger everyone is talking about.” She wagged her hand at him. “Even if she isn’t what people think, you would be a fool to get involved.” 

“What have you heard about her?” he asked.

“She’s a gypsy. That’s what most people think.”

He leaned back. Gypsies used to be a problem in this part of the
valley. The police had even dismantled some gypsy camps because of similar problems. Okay, he supposed it wasn’t impossible they were moving back into this area. And yet the gendarmes had told him about pickpockets and bag-snatchers, but said nothing of gypsies. “I bumped into the woman in the general store yesterday. There was a minor commotion. I didn’t see it, but when I went over to find out what the noise was, she was there.”

“You let me hear about it from Jeannette instead of telling me yourself.” She folded her arms together. “She always knows everything before I do.”

“I didn’t think it was a big deal.”

Fabienne pouted again for a moment, but then, in a sudden turnabout,
she shrugged and waved her hand. “Well, go on.” 

“There’s nothing to tell, really.”

“Then I don’t understand. Why do you need to find out more?”

“I saw her a second time.”

“You did? And what happened?” She leaned forward.

“You haven’t heard yet?”
Dave said.

She shook her head.

“The woman was walking out of the bakery this morning. I bumped into her and caused her to drop her baguette and spill her coffee. I replaced the ruined purchases, of course, and we sat for a few minutes. She seemed, I don’t know, almost afraid.”

“Afraid of what?”

He shrugged.

“I may be an old busybody,” she said, “but I know trouble when I see it. And this woman is trouble. Everyone thinks so. Why put yourself in the middle of it?”

“Look, I’m not saying you’re wrong. All I was trying to say is that I want to find out what’s she about. If you know something, please tell me. It’ll save me time and maybe I won’t have to postpone the trip after all.”

“I don’t know anything,” she said. “But you’ll tell me, before anyone else, if you find out something, right?”

He shrugged. She huffed at him, got up, and left the room. Dave sat alone for a few minutes, then followed her into the kitchen.

Fabienne was sitting with her back towards the doorway. He approached her, but stopped abruptly when he overheard her talking on the telephone about his accident outside the bakery.

He turned on his heels and walked out, slamming the front door. The sun had emerged from behind the rain clouds revealing sparkling beads of water on the leaves and flowers, reminders of the preceding rain.

CONTINUING WITH THE
plan that had got dampened by the rain, Dave headed straight for the village’s hotel. At Chateau de Reynier, he opened the heavy carved door and crossed the room to the reception desk on the far right. After waiting several minutes, Dave called out, “Bonjour
.”
 

A tall man peered around the corner
and upon seeing Dave waiting, hurried forward. Simone had mentioned last week or maybe the week before that someone new had bought the hotel, and Dave guessed that this was the new owner. He had wavy hawk-brown hair, a curved nose that resembled an eagle’s beak, and yellowish-brown eyes behind thick glasses.

“
Welcome to
Chateau de Reynier
.
How may I help you, Monsieur?”

“I haven’t been inside this place since I was a young boy. Obviously it’s been remodeled.
I’m impressed. It’s a beautiful transformation. The chandelier and grand piano really give it a luxurious feel.”

“We try,” the man said, shrugging.

“Are you the proprietor, then?”

“Yes, with my wife. I am Jean-Pierre Wickliff.” They shook hands, and Wickliff glanced over at a woman who seemed to have appeared out of nowhere. She was no more than five-foot-
four or five, slender, with a round face and straight fawn-colored hair draping past her shoulders. She, like her husband, was well dressed in a business suit. “Ah, this is my wife Camille,” Jean-Pierre said.

“Bonjour,” Dave said. He introduced himself,
adding, “I’d love to stay here sometime, but I’m visiting my grandmother and she would be offended if I didn’t stay with her. You know how that is.”

Jean-Pierre nodded. “I do indeed understand, Monsieur Martin. For one thing, I know your grandmother
. I’ve heard about you, of course. Fabienne is proud to have her grandson visiting.”

“Yeah, she
does love to talk.”

“So, Monsieur Martin, what brings you to Chateau de Reynier
?”

“Actually, I’m looking for someone. She’s visiting the area and may be staying here. Her name is Maurelle Dupre.” 

“Sorry, Monsieur. She is not a guest here.”

Camille looked up and exchanged a knowing look with Jean-Pierre, giving Dave the distinct impression that gossip had already been
sowed and was spreading like weeds in a rose garden.

As he exited the hotel, Dave swore under his breath. He stood out front trying to decide where to go next. He glanced straight ahead at the partial view of the river
, and then to his right he caught sight of Simone and her mother, Coralie, standing on the staircase that linked the levels, watching him.