In the Shadows (The Outsiders Book 1) (5 page)

Dave walked to
the stairs where Simone and her mother stood waiting for him. There was a rundown bed-and-breakfast inn he still needed to check out at the outside edge of the village. He sighed. That would have to wait. He greeted Coralie with kisses on both cheeks as was expected, and then did the same with Simone. “You look lovely,” he whispered in her ear.

“Come walk with me,” Simone said, placing her hand on Dave’s arm. “I’m on my way back to the café. I had to make a quick trip to see Maman and she was going to come with me. I guess she changed her mind.” Coralie excused herself
after exchanging an undecipherable look with Simone.

Dave and Simone made their way to
Café Charbonneau in silence. As they entered the café, he nodded at Isabelle Lambert, Simone’s employee who was chatting with two old men sitting at a table.

“
Sit here at the counter,” Simone said. “I’ll be with you in a minute.”

She stepped around
the counter, brought out a self-serve basket of fresh croissants, and placed it in front of him. She then left to wait on another customer. Although Dave wasn’t hungry, he took a croissant and slid the basket to the center of the counter. He broke the warm croissant in half and bit into it. Damn. He didn’t need this problem with Simone.

A few minutes later
Simone set down a steaming cup of espresso in front of Dave. She leaned forward with her elbows on the countertop and her chin propped on her hands. Her silky blonde head tilted to one side as she seemed to study him.

Dave took a long sip of the black liquid.
He thought she looked beautiful in her flowing skirt and white blouse.

“It’s all right
, you know,” she said. “Do what you need to do. Get it out of your system.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Dave said. “What is it exactly you want me to get out of my system?”

“You aren’t the only person around here who has seen her. We’ve all seen her off and on for a week. She’s pretty, to be sure, but she’s not your type.”

He r
aised his eyebrows, but didn’t answer.

“I know you. It’s in your blood to hunt for answers, to investigate, to solve mysteries. You may no longer be a detective, but you can’t resist. I understand you better than you realize. You aren’t really interested in the dark-haired woman, only the situation.”

He cocked his head to one side. “So you’re a psychoanalyst now. What other secret identities are you hiding?”

She pouted. “You mock me,” she said, shrugging. “But I know what I know.”

“Maybe you should be the crime story writer,” Dave said, “since you think you have all the answers.”

“She’s a gypsy. That’s what some of the locals think, and I agree.”

He grimaced. “I’ve actually heard that theory already. You’ll have to come up with something better.”

She shrugged again. “You’ll see that there’s nothing mysterious. I can wait.” She bit her lip, then leaned in and added,
“But don’t let her trick you.”

“I’ll keep that in mind.”

She nodded, then glanced away towards her customers, giving Dave the impression she was returning to her hostess duties. “I don’t want to hurt you, Simone. I care about you. You do remember that I’m going back to Chicago, don’t you?” 

She nodded, but he didn’t believe
her.

THE CONTRAST BETWEEN
the chateau and the bed-and-breakfast inn was stark. Dave grimaced at the peeling wallpaper, the mildew-splotched ceiling, and the spider-webbed furniture.

A man Dave vaguely
recalled from his childhood appeared from a back room. “May I help you?”

“Well, actually, I’m looking for someone. A woman who may be staying here. Her name is Maurelle Dupre.”

“Oh. The inn closed down six months ago. I’m the new owner. I’m going to remodel the building and turn it into a single family home.”

Dave nodded. “
Best of luck with the renovation. Sorry for bothering you. I didn’t know.” The new owner thanked him as Dave saw himself out.

Outside, he stood irresolute, debating what to do next. He’d
already checked the Reynier hotels in person. He’d looked up all the hotels in Belvidere online and called those, without success. His grandmother and Simone had told him that locals were talking about the woman and that no one knew her, which made it unlikely she was a houseguest around here. He’d seen her in Reynier two days in a row and, according to Simone, other people had seen her around here for a week.

Back in Chicago it was common to see vagrants living on the streets, in cardboard boxes, or abandoned buildings. If this woman was a pickpocket, she might also be a vagrant. As he
gazed up the hill, he remembered someone—he couldn’t recall who—had told him that the older brother of one of his childhood friends had become a vagrant and was living in the caves and bumming food off the locals. Bruno—Bruno Houdan. If Bruno could live in the caves . . . .

Dave rushed up the nearby stairs to the second tier and back to his grandmother’s house, where he found a flashlight in a kitchen drawer. He grabbed it, went back to the chateau area, and found the cave entrance behind the hotel. He hadn’t been inside the cave system in years, but he had once known it well.

The caves had a long history of use—they had been mined for stone, used to house families, grow mushrooms, and store wine. They had even been used to hide members of the French Résistance during World War II. Because of that, electric lighting had long ago been installed throughout the main chambers, and if one knew where the switches were located along the walls, they could travel through most of the tunnels, or alleyways as the locals called them, in dim light. It was only in the lesser tunnels and unused caves that one had to rely on flashlights. If Dave remembered right, some tunnels led directly to the back doors of homes, others led to unused caves, and some dead-ended.

H
e explored each tunnel on the first level. As expected, some had access to chambers or tunnels on the next level. He climbed stairways, or in some places ladders, to get to those chambers and tunnels. Some tunnels weren’t as easy to navigate as they had been when he was a kid, some because of the narrowness or low ceilings and some because of the increased bat population. For those, he would have to gain entrance from the outside. He finally decided to go out for a while and look around. He needed sunlight and fresh air. Later, he could come back inside, if necessary, and climb up to the next level.

For the rest of the day, Dave scoured the hillside the way he used to do when he was a kid. In those days, he would scavenge
for treasures and artifacts, and his endeavors had usually produced fossils, animal bones, or collectible Neolithic polishing stones which the locals called polissoirs. But today, in the early evening, he came away empty-handed, frustrated, and with the suspicion that the sight of the gendarmes had sent the woman running from the area for good.

The next morning
, Dave looked at the clock on his nightstand and groaned. He’d been awake for a while, thinking about his life, his poor choices, his failures. Simone had told him yesterday that he cared more about the mystery, not the person. There was some truth in that. The end of his career as a detective still rankled with him. He still felt the need to prove something. Writing mysteries helped a little, but the bitterness remained. He needed something real—and maybe that was at the heart of his dissatisfaction. And he had failed again this time.

He rolled onto his back and pictured Maurelle, her captivating eyes and shy smile, and then Simone’s words intruded: “Don’t let her trick you.”

But Simone didn’t know what happened in Chicago. No one here did.

He threw off his covers, pulled on a pair of navy trousers and a light blue polo,
then ran a comb through his hair. Normally, he would shower and shave, but screw it. He jerked the door open and trudged down the stairs and into the kitchen. His grandmother was on the phone again. He listened for a minute. She was talking to Jeannette. Of course she was. He glanced at his computer that was sitting on the kitchen table and took a step toward it, but stopped when his grandmother mentioned the mystery woman. Apparently, Jeannette’s daughter, Coralie, had seen her at the general store late yesterday afternoon buying a few grocery items.

Dave squinted one eye, then went into the living room, put on his sneakers, closed the front door behind him, and trudged toward the café. But he didn’t stop there. He continued walking onto a pathway that led past numerous troglodyte homes; he must have missed something—she had to be there.

Half an hour later, while he was resting for a few minutes, he looked upward and spotted the outcropping of rock that hung over this lower level. The outcropping was visible even from the river because it stuck out like a wart on a thumb, but the secret swimming hole on that ledge was hidden between trees and shrubs. As a kid, he’d stumbled upon it and made the mistake of telling his grandparents, who scolded him and said he wasn’t to go back. It was known to be dangerous because the trails leading up to the outcropping from this tier or down to it from a higher tier were steep and, in some spots, slippery, with loose stones and friable rock. That hadn’t bothered him. He’d always been like a mountain goat when it came to navigating the hills, so of course he’d gone back despite his promises.

The rock wall looked more daunting tha
n he remembered. Back when he was a detective, he’d kept in good physical shape. Five years out, and no longer in a fit physical regimen, he couldn’t be sure he could still climb the rock, but by God he was going to try.

Pushing his way between overgrown bushes and getting his arms scratched in the process, Dave found the ragged path and started climbing. Halfway up, he lost his footing and had to grab onto a rock to catch himself. He
stopped a moment, catching his breath, then scrambled upward again, exhilarated at the challenge
.
I’ve really missed this sort of thing, he thought. He felt loose gravel under his right foot, and it was too late. He slipped down a few feet and grazed his hand on the stone wall on the way. He examined the damage. It was bleeding slightly and ached like hell. Finally, on his third try he made it the rest of the way up, and stood on the ledge, looking out over the river valley below. It was still breathtaking. Against a backdrop of fat hedges of flowering Lavender bushes, the river glistened in the sunlight. Alongside the river, on the other side, he could see the church and businesses. Behind those were the houses. In the distance, trees and fields of dark green with squares of light green farms dotted the landscape.

The sound of splashing pulled his attention away from the view and moved toward the little alcove. The bushes, willows, and poplars were taller and fuller than the last time he saw them and took more effort to get through to the deep pond where he and his friends, Jonas and Paul, had occasionally gone skinny-dipping as child
ren. He ran his head through his hair, remembering that even Michel and Bruno Houdan had gone with them once or twice. 

In the alcove, he stopped abruptly at the sight of a naked woman sitting in the grass. Her eyes flew open and
when she spotted him, a soft gasp escaped her, and she froze. Dave looked away, almost losing his footing as he turned. He glanced backwards and watched her. She grabbed her clothing, which was scattered on the grass near her and dressed quickly, casting glances at him every few seconds, like she was afraid he would jump her. Not that he blamed her. He’d known plenty of men who would take full advantage. When she finished, she stood barefoot on the grassy bank, in jeans and a pale green sleeveless blouse, shaking.

He moved toward her, and she backed up. Suddenly, she spun on her heel and tried to run away. Dave, expecting it, clasped onto her arm, preventing her escape. Then he reached around her head with his free hand and touched her chin, turning her head to face him. “I won’t hurt you. Don’t run, please.”

“I—I have to go,” she stammered, squirming and trying to pull free.

“Please don’t be afraid. Remember me? We met before.”

She looked up at his face and nodded, then looked away.

“If you’re in some kind of trouble, I can help.”

She cleared her throat and said shakily, “I’m fine, really. You just startled me.” She smiled, and he released his grip.

Judging by the way she was looking around, he was sure she was going to try to bolt
. He blocked her with his body.

“I looked for you
here in Reynier, but I couldn’t find anyone who knew where you were staying.” He knew his words sounded accusing, but it couldn’t be helped. He kept his expression and tone neutral. “When I was a kid,” he said, continuing to watch her face carefully, “I was fascinated with the caves. I spent hours exploring, sometimes finding artifacts or animal bones. One day, inside one of the caves I found some fossils—carbonized leaves and small animal foot prints. Cool fossils. At least I thought so. I gathered them up and rushed outside, excited about my treasure.” He paused. “I had barely come out of the cave when I came face to face with a wild boar. It was glaring at me, daring me to make a move. And I’ve got to tell you, that animal was the biggest damn pig I’ve ever seen. Had hairy black legs, grotesque haunches, and woolly grayish-black hair. Reminded me of bristles on a shoe-shine brush . . . but I think it was its huge tusks that terrified me most.”