French Weddings Can Kill You Read online

  “No, it’s not. And I’m afraid what they read in the media only worsens the situation. It adds fuel to the fire. Some articles even point toward Flora Guardian and Paul Dumont as the killers.”

  “Good they stay in their rooms, then. Although they don’t have much choice, I guess,” said Liliane. “Do you know how Élodie’s parents are doing?”

  “I haven’t had the time to check on them, but I asked Anita to make sure they have all they need. We’ll have to question them too, though.”

  “Do we have to?” asked Liliane, feeling uneasy. “Poor people. Should we really do this to them?”

  “We don’t have much choice. They might know something that could be helpful. By the way, I’ve asked Fred to search online to find information about Élodie Faber. He told me he would give me a report tomorrow.”

  “Good idea. He’s perfect for the task. And as he can’t do any guided tours for now, he might as well be doing this.”

  “Uh oh!” said a waiter who had come to pick up two plates and was about to walk back to the dining room. He stopped at the doorframe.

  Two men were standing in the dining room, yelling at each other.

  Amanda rushed to them. “Please, stop this right away! What is this about?” she asked.

  “This guy has been weird from the start!” answered one of the men. “I’ve been observing him for a while and I don’t like the way he looks at people, especially at me.” The man frowned while pointing an accusing finger to the other guest.

  “You’re completely insane!” replied the other man. “I look at people the way I look at people, that’s all. There’s nothing wrong about it and it doesn’t make me a murderer, you idiot!”

  The first man was about to hit the second one, but Amanda, despite her small stature, didn’t hesitate one second to grab the man’s arm before it hit the other guest’s face.

  “That’s enough. Please, behave like mature and respectful adults. If you can’t, you’ll have to stay in your rooms.”

  The dining room became silent. All eyes were on the men. They finally sat, mumbling, giving each other unfriendly sideways looks.

  Amanda walked back to the kitchen, rolling her eyes. Liliane stood by the doorframe, holding her plate of cheesy omelet, shaking her head with dismay.

  “If we don’t find who the killer is, I’m afraid there will be another murder soon,” said Liliane.

  Chapter 36

  A long piece of fresh baguette with a golden crust cut lengthwise, generously buttered and garnished with a thick slice of ham and a piece of Camembert. This was what d’Artagnan had been staring at for half an hour, salivating. The dog whined, pretending to be famished as if he had not eaten for a century. At least.

  “D’Art, for the last time, you’re not getting my sandwich. So, stop whining and staring at it,” said Fred.

  D’Art exhaled in disappointment and laid on the floor, grumbling. Damn. This is torture!

  The young man typed on his laptop keyboard, seated on an armchair in the castle’s little library, searching for information about Élodie Faber. So far, Fred had been reading pages and pages of irrelevant articles regarding the actress’s murder, but had learned a lot about fashion when you’re a woman in your mid-twenties, how to choose your makeup when you’re a strawberry blonde, and insights about the next blockbuster movie Élodie Faber was supposed to star in. Used to dealing with more substantial material, the history geek was bored to death, but kept taking notes scrupulously, as Amanda had requested.

  Meanwhile, Bronx was exploring books on the bookshelves, shoving some off on purpose. The cat hoped to unlock the door to the secret room. This little trip to Wilbert’s world had intrigued him, and he thought the place would make a perfect hideout. He had to find the secret way in.

  “Ah, maybe we finally got something interesting here,” said Fred, looking closer at the screen, moving his left hand that was still holding the sandwich.

  D’Artagnan straightened his head. His eyes followed the sandwich as it moved, wishing Fred’s lunch would fall and end up in his mouth.

  “Hmm, hmm…” said Fred, planting his teeth into the bread.

  D’Artagnan’s eyes brightened up and grew wider. Gimme some, gimme some, gimme some… Maybe the mantra would bring him luck?

  “Ha!... Hmm, hmm… Wait a minute…” Fred squinted. “I’ve seen this woman before…” Fred looked up at the ceiling, wondering where he had seen this face, chewing his sandwich, taunting the Great Dane who both eyes on it.

  Is it a good time to grab it? wondered the dog. No, too risky. Amanda would ground him for this. The hard task was to get Fred to give him a piece of it willingly.

  Then a loud thump distracted their attention. Bronx had knocked a pile of books on the floor. Fred put his sandwich on the plate and walked over to the cat.

  “Hey, you mister,” said Fred. “No playing with the books! You will damage them.” He picked up the books.

  Bronx lashed his tail in frustration and meowed in protest. What are you doing, you idiot? You’re sabotaging my work! I’m looking for something!

  Fred put the last book back on the bookshelf and reached towards Bronx to pick him up. The cat extended his claws threateningly. No, no, no, no! Leave me alone or I’ll make you a new face!

  Fred kept Bronx at arm’s length, but the cat kept gyrating and screeching. One of his paws hit a book and, suddenly, the whole bookshelf rotated and made a quick 180-degree turn, taking away Fred and Bronx who disappeared behind it, leaving d’Artagnan alone in the little library.

  The dog walked to the bookshelf, searched and sniffed around, trying to figure out how this could have happened again. Then, scents of ham and cheese tickled his nostrils. He remembered about Fred’s sandwich left on the plate. He looked at it with just one question in mind: should he?

  After a fraction of a second of reflection, d’Artagnan walked to the plate. Oh, well. Wilbert will bring them back at some point. They’re fine… Me, on the other hand, I’m starving.

  And the Great Dane opened his big mouth, grabbed the ham and Camembert sandwich and ate it with no guilt whatsoever.

  The dog wagged his tail. My mantra worked!

  Chapter 37

  “I ’m sure she did it!” Isabelle sucked up on the cigarette filter nervously and blew out smoke as she spoke.

  “Who?” asked Anita.

  “That crazy woman in room 13! See, her room number, 13, it’s probably a sign. You know, the short, curly red hair woman in her fifties, with a suitcase covered with Paul Dumont’s pictures?”

  “I didn’t notice her,” answered Anita.

  “Really? She’s one of these crazy fans who follow their idols everywhere and collect every single thing about them. Super creepy.”

  The housekeepers were taking an after-lunch break at the back of the castle, sitting on the grass, close to the edge of the cliff. The water in the Channel was rough, hitting rocks and splashing water on gulls.

  Isabelle had barely finished her cigarette when she picked up another from her pack.

  “You shouldn’t smoke that much,” said Anita. “But I guess you already know this.”

  “I don’t smoke that many cigarettes usually. But this situation makes me so nervous. There’s a killer among us, we can’t leave the castle, and we don’t know when this damned Judicial Police Officer will arrive. That’s just insane. How can you remain so calm?”

  Anita shrugged. “I adapt to any situation easily.”

  Isabelle rolled the flint wheel of her lighter several times, but the wind worked against her. Her shaking hands didn’t help either.

  “Give it,” said Anita. She took the lighter, cupped it with her hand to shield it from the wind, and rolled her thumb over the flint wheel quickly. The lighter finally lit up. Isabelle leaned toward Anita and put the tip of her cigarette into the flame. She noticed her colleague’s pendant, swinging around her neck. The sun reflected off of two golden letters: T.B.

  “Oh, nice pendant
,” said Isabelle. “T. B., what does it mean? Are these initials?”

  Anita looked flustered as if taken off-guard. She hid the pendant in her blouse. “Oh, yes, just initials. It belonged to my grandmother.”

  “Ah,” merely said Isabelle. “Do you have any family in the area?”

  “No. I grew up in Paris.”

  “So why did you move here?”

  “The cost of living in Paris made it impossible for me to stay there with the modest salary I earned.”

  “So how do you like Orvilly-sur-Mer, so far?” asked Isabelle.

  “It’s fine. Not sure I’ll stay, though. A tad too quiet for me. Well, if you ignore what is going on right now.” Anita had kept the lighter in her hands and played with it, switching it on and off.

  “I like quiet,” said Isabelle. “I grew up in the country and wouldn’t be able to live in big cities. I don’t know how people can do it, and I understand even less why they enjoy it.”

  “I miss it. I like the fast pace in big cities. The museums, the cafes and the restaurants… There are so many interesting things to do. No offence, but here besides the grass, the cows, and the gray weather, there’s really not much to do.”

  Isabelle disagreed, but there was no point in debating this with Anita now.

  A flock of seagulls landed beside them and squawked.

  “Can I have my lighter back?” asked Isabelle.

  “What?” asked Anita.

  Isabelle pointed at the lighter in Anita’s hands. “My lighter,” she said.

  “Oh, yes, sorry.” Anita gave it back to her. “Come on. It’s time to go back to work.”

  The housekeepers walked back to the castle. Anita put a hand on top of her head, fearing that the wind gusts would take her wig away.

  Chapter 38

  Suite 16: Interview of Paul Dumont

  “I was sleeping, like everybody else,” answered Paul Dumont to the obvious question any investigator must ask all suspects: what were you doing that night?

  The actor stood by the bar in his suite, pouring himself another glass of whisky.

  “Then, what happened?” asked Amanda. She was sitting on the red Victorian couch that faced the bar, Liliane on her right, taking notes.

  “I heard Élodie’s mother yelling. It woke me up. I ran to Élodie’s suite. First, I saw Mrs. Faber standing and shouting, her husband behind her. They were staring at something on the floor. Mr. Faber wouldn’t move. He just stood there with his mouth open. And then… I saw her.”

  “Élodie, you mean?” asked Amanda.

  “Yes, Élodie.” The man took a deep breath and Amanda waited a few seconds before pursuing the questioning.

  “I’m sincerely sorry for your loss, Mr. Dumont. Any detail that might’ve caught your attention could be helpful. What do you remember about the room?”

  “Well, for several seconds or minutes—I don’t know how long it lasted exactly, I was in shock and completely spaced out—I stood there too, doing nothing. It was surreal. I saw Élodie on the floor, but it was more like… an image. The whole scene registered really slowly.”

  “So, what did you see?”

  The man sat on the edge of his bed, looking down, holding his glass. “Élodie was lying on the floor, close to her bed. She wore her wedding dress, but she was barefoot. And her…” Paul Dumont paused and sighed. “Her wedding veil was wrapped around her neck. This is when I realized she had been strangled and that she was… dead.” Paul had a quick gulp of whisky, then he kept staring at his glass.

  “I understand it must’ve been very difficult to see her this way,” said Amanda. “What else do you remember?”

  The actor lifted his head and made an eye contact with the women for the first time since they had arrived in the room.

  “Well, this creepy thing. Her face! I mean, it was horrible. What kind of sicko does that? First, someone kills her, then they make her face up like a clown? That’s…” Anger rose in him. He shook his head and drank again.

  “Yes, it’s disturbing,” said Amanda. “And what else do you remember?”

  Paul Dumont stood up and walked to the window, staring blankly.

  “Nothing. Just that. Then I heard people running and coming into the room. The housekeepers arrived, I think. Then…” He sighed. “Then all the guests staying in the castle rushed to the door to watch us as if it were a show. Disgusting.”

  “Yes. I agree. Do you remember any other details? What about the suite? Did you notice anything that seemed odd to you?”

  “No. Not that I can recall. Élodie was untidy. Wherever she lived or stayed for a while, she always left her room messy. She was used to having a maid clean up after her since she was a kid, anyway. So, she didn’t care.”

  “I see. Did you notice anything missing in the room though?”

  The actor pinched his lips. “It’s really hard to say. I don’t think so, but I’m not sure of that.”

  “All right. Here comes another unpleasant question, I’m afraid. I guess you have read the headlines and articles published online about Élodie’s murder?”

  Paul Dumont walked to the bar to get a third glass of whisky. “Unfortunately, yes. I’ve read them. I’ve also seen the pictures and the videos of Élodie, and of me and Flora too.” He put back the bottle of whisky on the counter.

  “This is a very delicate question, Mr. Dumont, I’m sorry but I have to ask this: did you know Élodie was seeing Richard Barquet, the public relations specialist?”

  The man reacted with a bitter laugh. He smirked. “Of course, I knew. I’m not stupid.”

  Amanda and Liliane, disconcerted, glanced at each other.

  “And even so, you were going to marry her?” asked Amanda.

  “Ms. McBride, obviously you don’t know anything about the movie business and famous people. So, let me explain you this: everything that happens in the world of show business always spreads like the plague. Everyone promises to keep secrets, but nobody does. Sometimes, they even sell your secrets to magazines. It can be very lucrative. But, of course, it’s always a secret… Sometimes it helps our careers though, and sometimes it doesn’t.”

  “I see. Did you know Richard Barquet was staying in the castle? Élodie had booked a room for him as a last-minute guest.”

  Paul Dumont seemed genuinely surprised by the news, and he disliked it. He laughed bitterly. “Ah, this, you see, I didn’t know.”

  “Let’s talk about this video with you and Flora Gua—”

  The actor exploded. “Don’t tell me about this damned video! By the way, have you found the asshole who filmed it? It’s easy. Just check everybody’s cell phones!”

  “I understand why you’re angry, Mr. Dumont, but I don’t have the authority to do that.”

  Paul Dumont paced the floor, running his hand through his hair nervously.

  “You’d have to admit, with the articles, the pictures and the videos out there, one can doubt you loved Élodie,” said Amanda.

  “That is nobody’s business!” yelled the actor, moving his arms nervously, showing he had had enough.

  “Did you know Élodie wanted to break her contract with Flora Guardian to sign with Richard Barquet?”

  “She never told me that, but I knew she would do it at some point. But doing that the day before our wedding and inviting Barquet here! The nerve of that little b—” He stopped before the insult left his mouth. He kept pacing the room. Amanda waited a few seconds before asking her next and last question.

  “Mr. Dumont, is it possible that your wedding with Élodie Faber was more a publicity stunt than a love story? Pardon my frankness, but with all the media attention out there, it seems a dead bride presents more advantages for rebooting your career than a bride who’s still alive. And although you knew about Richard Barquet and Élodie, maybe your resentment about their affair made you jealous?”

  If Paul Dumont had had cannonballs instead of eyes, Amanda would’ve been killed instantly.

  “How dare you?�
� he said. “Now, you’re insinuating I killed Élodie to get more publicity? That’s insulting and ludicrous. If you want to find someone jealous and resentful enough to kill Élodie, go talk to Flora Guardian!”

  Chapter 39

  Room 5: Interview of Flora Guardian

  “D id he love her? Honestly, I doubt it,” said Flora Guardian. She smirked. “Let’s say Paul always had a broad definition of ‘love’ for women. Especially young ones.”

  “I see,” answered Amanda.

  Liliane forgot to keep her poker face during the interview and pursed her lips in disapproval.

  “If I may,” continued Amanda, “you sound bitter about this, Mrs. Guardian. Why is that?”

  Flora wore a white pencil skirt and a blue silk blouse. She sat on a chair by the desk in her room; her legs crossed, her back straight.

  “Well, Paul and I have known each other for a long while. We met in our twenties, in the same acting class. He has always been a handsome and attractive man. So, women fell and still fall for him like bees to honey. Unfortunately, I was stupid enough to be one of them.”

  “Do you mean you had a love relationship with Paul in the past?” asked Amanda.

  “Yes. Before he was famous. When being a movie star was just a dream for him.”

  “Was your relationship serious?”

  Flora chuckled bitterly. “I thought it was. Obviously, for him it wasn’t.”

  Liliane pinched her lips, keeping her comment for herself. She had met a few Don Juans like Paul Dumont in her life. Although she liked the actor and his movies, her opinion of him was worsening.

  “And yet, you remained friends all these years,” noted Amanda.

  Flora sighed. “Unfortunately. Probably one of the biggest mistakes of my life. The first one being falling in love with him, and the second one quitting acting because I was devastated after our relationship ended. I wasn’t as solid then as I’m now.” She looked at the floor.