French Cuisine Can Kill You Read online

  Amanda opened doors and drawers, searching for utensils, and found several pie plates in a cupboard.

  "Bingo! Exactly what I need."

  She started to peel the apples. D'Artagnan watched her carefully, hitting his tail on the floor impatiently, hoping for the pie to be ready within seconds.

  "Good,” said Amanda, “in about two hours, we'll have four delicious apple pies."

  The Great Dane grumbled and lay on the floor. Bronx licked the neck of a red wine bottle.

  Two hours later, just as she had planned, Amanda removed four apple pies from the oven. The apple slices, arranged in a circle, were perfectly golden, and the crusty pastry didn’t even crack when she removed the pies from the dishes. She cut them in equal pieces and set them on a tray.

  D’Artagnan stood next to the tray with great interest, wagging his tail. Gimme one! Gimme one! Gimme one!

  “I know what you want, d’Art,” said Amanda, “but you have to wait a few minutes, it’s too hot.”

  What do you mean, ‘wait a few minutes?’ I’ve been waiting for two hours already! Come on, this is torture! The Great Dane circled around the kitchen table. He could very well stand up on his back legs and grab a piece of pie himself, but he knew Amanda wouldn’t appreciate that.

  Finally, ten horrible long minutes later, d’Artagnan got his piece of pie and swallowed it in one second. Then he sat like a good dog and looked at Amanda with large eyes. More! Gimme more!

  “That’s enough for now d’Art. These pieces are not for us.”

  The dog nearly had a heart attack. What do you mean, ‘not for us?!’

  Amanda took a small piece and looked for Bronx. She found him sleeping and snoring in the wooden box, curled around a bottle of wine.

  D’Artagnan frowned. Don’t you dare give it to him!

  “Well, I guess Bronx will have his piece later. Let’s go outside, d’Art.”

  Amanda took the tray outside, closely followed by d'Artagnan. She proudly offered slices to the workers during their lunch break while d’Artagnan watched in horror the pieces progressively disappearing from the platter. The men were delighted to see free desserts coming their way. Their eyes opened wide as the sweet bites of pie melted in their mouths.

  "Yum... Thank you miss Amanda," said a worker, "it tastes wonderful!"

  "Yeah," said another, "for someone who's not from here, you cooked it perfectly, like a real Norman. This apple pie is to die for, better than my mom's! Please, don't tell her that, she'd kill me!"

  The men laughed, Amanda blushed.

  "Well, I'm happy that you enjoy it. Here's more, I’ll just leave it here for you."

  Amanda put the tray on a trestle table.

  "What’s going on here?” Barbon approached with long strides, waving his arms. He looked at the platter. "The break is over. Back to work, guys."

  "Would you like a piece of pie, Mr. Barbon?" asked Amanda.

  "No, thanks. Maybe later." Hands on his hips, shaking his head, the man watched Amanda walk away with d'Artagnan towards the cliff behind the castle.

  “What a grumpy man, this Barbon…” she muttered.

  She sat down and looked at the ocean while the dog ran around smelling the ground. It was a gorgeous and sunny day. The air was a bit chilly, but the sun warmed her skin. She lay on the grass and closed her eyes, reflecting on her life, and how it had changed so quickly within a few weeks. She still couldn't believe it. Three squawking seagulls landed beside her, fighting over a piece of fish. They disrupted the peace on the cliff, but Amanda couldn't care less about the noisy birds. She was living her French dream.

  Chapter 28

  “M

  ademoiselle? Mademoiselle? Please, wake up."

  Someone gently pushed Amanda's shoulder. She opened her eyes and put a hand in front of her face to block the sun. A man was talking to her.

  "Oh, I'm sorry, I fell asleep. What time is it?"

  "Apparently, you've been sleeping for three hours, miss."

  "Three hours? Oh my God! Where's d'Artagnan?"

  "Pardon me?" asked the man, intrigued. "D'Artagnan... The musketeer? As far as I know, he's still stuck in a book." The man laughed, content with his joke.

  "No, I mean my dog."

  "Ah. Just there."

  Amanda turned her head. D'Artagnan was sitting by her side quietly, immobile as a sphynx. I’s about time! You're not going to like this.

  Amanda stood up.

  "I need to ask you a few questions, mademoiselle," said the man. He was in his late sixties, of medium height with grey hair. He wasn't shaved and, oddly, was wearing a colorful Hawaiian shirt under his coat.

  "Questions? About what?"

  "Hmm... You're not going to like this..."

  D'Artagnan squinted. I already said it, man.

  Amanda was confused. "What? Who are you and what are you talking about?"

  The man presented his hand to Amanda. "Oh, yes, my apologies, I forgot to introduce myself. My name is George Ferment, Judicial Police Officer."

  "Judicial Police Officer?"

  "Yes. I have a few questions about the deceased man on your property."

  "A deceased... what?"

  Amanda and the police officer sat in the lounge where Toinette d'Orvilly used to host her guests. They were surrounded by the golden leopards on the old tapestry. Amanda had the unpleasant feeling that they were staring at her.

  "Mademoiselle, I'm sorry to inform you that a man was found dead on your property today, around 3 p.m."

  Amanda was dumbfounded. "Sorry... Could you repeat that, please?"

  "A-man-was-found-dead-on-your-prop—"

  "No, I understood... What man?"

  "A man named Martin Plouque. Do you know him?"

  "No. I barely know any of the people here. Who is he?"

  "He was, shall I say, one of Mr. Barbon's employees, working on the site. So, you're saying that you don't know this man at all? You've never met him?"

  "No, I haven’t."

  "Hmm... It's odd. Maybe you don't know him, still, it appears that he ate your food."

  Amanda's heart skipped a beat. "What?"

  "We strongly suspect that this man has been poisoned. Not sure yet. Did you cook apple pies today?"

  "Yes..." Amanda didn't like where this conversation was going.

  "Well, apparently, this man has been poisoned, and it might have been by your apple pie."

  Amanda's face turned white. "You must be kidding me!"

  "No, I wouldn't, mademoiselle. This is a very serious matter."

  A sudden worry darkened Amanda's face. "Oh my God! Are they all dead?!"

  "Who?"

  "The workers, out there, are they all dead? They all ate my apple pie. I think. Oh my God!"

  "Hmm... it seems that no other worker is dead... not for now, at least." The man smiled slightly.

  "Oh my God! I killed someone?"

  "I didn't say you killed someone. I said that Martin Plouque died, possibly poisoned by something in your apple pie. There's an investigation going on now, and I'm waiting for lab results to confirm that."

  "But what if it's confirmed?"

  "One thing at a time, mademoiselle. You're staying at The Little Norman, right?"

  "Yes."

  "May I drive you back there? This property is now a crime scene and must be evacuated to let our experts investigate the area, and as you're one of the suspects, you'd better stay in the hotel for now."

  Amanda was in shock. She followed the inspector without saying a word. Then she remembered about d'Artagnan and Bronx.

  "Wait, I have to get my dog and my cat."

  "Don't worry, we'll get them for you."

  When they left the grounds, two police cars were parked at the front. Barbon and the workers were gathered and were being questioned by several officers. A policeman put handcuffs on Antoine Verroyer's wrists. The young landscaper looked at Amanda sadly when she walked by him.

  Chapter 29

  A s if
the forces of nature had decided to join in communion with the fatal event, a storm burst out on Orvilly-sur-Mer. Dark, threatening clouds covered the sky and strong winds blew and whistled, provoking a symphony of banging shutters in the little village.

  "I just became the owner of the castle, and someone got killed there. That's horrible." Amanda shook her head in disbelief, holding a little glass of Calvados that she had barely sipped, offered by Régine and Paul who sat in front of her in the hotel's dining room.

  The couple was all ears, gulping their third glass of Calva. They had opened their best and oldest bottle of the famous local apple brandy that they kept preciously in the cabinet that dominated the dining room. The massive piece of furniture was a typical Norman buffet, an antique that had been in Régine's family for several generations. It smelled of wood and old cellar, and creaked loudly each time a door was opened. No burglar could make off with their cherished bottles of Calva without being heard. Régine and Paul had saved this one for a special occasion. They figured this was one.

  "I'm not a killer! I don't know what happened. I just cooked the apple pies. I don't want to spend the rest of my life in a French jail, this wasn't the French dream I had in mind."

  "Of course not, poor little thing," said Régine, holding Amanda's hand to comfort her. The woman refilled her glass. "Have a sip, it will help."

  Amanda, who wasn't used to drinking strong alcohol, swallowed a generous gulp of Calvados and grimaced.

  "You shouldn’t worry, Amanda,” said Paul. "George Ferment didn't say you were guilty, but that you’re only a suspect while the investigation is going on. That's different."

  "And this poor Antoine Verroyer who got arrested,” pursued Amanda, "I don't believe for one second that he did this."

  "Me neither," said Régine. "He's a good and respectable young man. I know his family. Very nice and polite people. Too bad for him, he had just started his landscaping business."

  Flashes of lightening flickered light through the windows. Titi got scared and rushed straight to his cushion under the Norman buffet to hide and shake. D'Artagnan, sitting in the middle of the dining room, wasn't impressed. Yeah. That's what I thought...

  The bell at the front door signaled a customer’s arrival. A tall man in a grey trench coat that dripped water on the floor generously, stopped in the entrance. He closed his black umbrella, put it in the umbrella holder, and removed his coat. The man's spotless white shirt, perfectly tailored black suit, and expensive leather shoes gave him a classic and elegant ‘French Couture’ look. He walked toward the reception desk with a very straight posture, carrying a little suitcase in his left hand.

  Paul stood up and walked to the reception area to welcome him. "Good afternoon, sir, a room for one or for two?"

  "Just for me."

  "How many nights will you stay?"

  "Three nights for now, but I might stay longer, I'm not sure yet... Can I confirm this later?"

  "Of course, no problem, sir. Please fill in this form." Paul handed a pen to the man, but he took out a pen from an inside pocket of his suit instead.

  "Can I pay with cash?"

  "Sure, if you're willing to pay for the three nights upfront. Just as a guarantee, you know."

  "I understand." The man slid his right hand under his vest to reach his wallet and gave five bills of one hundred Euros each to Paul, who couldn't help but notice that the wallet had a thick bundle of these.

  Paul grabbed a key from the board behind him and gave it to the man. "Room 3, first floor, on your left, sir. Breakfast is served between 6 a.m. and 10 a.m. For lunch and dinner, please tell us ahead of time if you want to eat in the dining room. As this is the slow season, we only set the tables when requested. You can also order a tray and we'll bring it to you upstairs. If you prefer to eat out, there's a good bistro down the street, in front of City Hall, by the fountain, The Old Calvados. You can't miss it. Well, have a good stay, Mister..." Paul looked for the client's name on the form, "Mister Durant."

  The man didn't say a thing and went up the narrow stairs, ducking his head to avoid hitting the low ceiling.

  Amanda's eyes followed the man as he was went up the stairs. Thunder rumbled, getting louder. A lightning bolt flashed hard and the walls trembled with the thunder that followed.

  Chapter 30

  I t was dark. Amanda could barely see around her. She was running in the castle from one room to another, following a woman who kept running away and hiding as if she were playing 'catch me if you can.' She could only see the bottom of her white dress. The rooms were rolling by faster and faster, like an old carousel increasing its speed. Amanda's head was spinning.

  "Stop!" yelled Amanda.

  The carousel of rooms stopped. Amanda stood in the ballroom. It wasn't dark anymore; it was bright, very bright. The light dimmed slowly until Amanda clearly saw the whole room. It looked bigger than she remembered. Rays of sunshine passing through the four high windows gave the room the ambience of a summer afternoon. Surprisingly, the room was in excellent condition. The tapestry wasn't worn out and the deep brown of the fabric brought warmth to the room. The golden embroidery and the luster of the satin fabric added a majestic elegance to the space, and the magnificent chandeliers looked brand new. The reflection of the sun on their crystals produced magical sparks of light.

  Then, an overwhelming yet wonderful scent spread throughout the room. It smelled delicious and sweet like cakes, pastries, cookies, chocolate, caramel, candies...

  Amanda heard voices. The volume rose slowly. What sounded like one person at the beginning increased quickly as if people in an invisible crowd were talking. There was a funny thing about the way they spoke. It was French, but not exactly the French language that Amanda knew. They had an odd accent, pronounced words differently, and some words were unknown to her. They sounded like they were having a good time, with lively conversations and laughter.

  And then, like a picture revealing itself, people appeared slowly. Fascinated, Amanda discovered a room full of men and women dressed in clothing from the mid-nineteenth century. Was this a costume party? It was definitely a party. The guests were eating delicacies and drinking champagne from flutes. In a corner of the room, three musicians were playing classical music. Strangely enough, nobody seemed to notice Amanda, as if she were invisible.

  Two servants arrived on her right, pushing a cart with extreme care, on top of which sat a large, five-layer cake tower. The layers were round and white, decorated with tiny pink and red roses made of buttercream, placed on the circumference. Larger, white roses decorated the base of the cake. The number 25, made of pink marzipan, sat on top of the cake.

  Guests were in awe and stopped talking to admire the piece of culinary art. Positive exclamations rose in the room, then it went suddenly quiet. The crowd parted to let a young and elegant woman pass through. She walked slowly toward the cake, dazzled by it. She wore a long and beautiful white dress. Amanda recognized the bottom of this dress. This woman was the one she had been running after. She was the woman whose portrait dominated the entrance of the castle. She was Mélie d'Orvilly.

  Just before Mélie reached the cake, she stopped in front of Amanda and stared at her. She wasn't smiling anymore and had a tight expression on her face.

  The young woman handed Amanda a teacup, exactly like the one that she had found in a bedroom of the castle. Now she could read the golden initials clearly: M.D.O. Amanda took the teacup. It was filled with tea, and little white flowers were floating on the top. It smelled odd.

  "Amanda, if you don't wake up, you're going to lose us. Amanda, wake up now!" shouted Mélie d'Orvilly.

  Amanda woke up. "Lose who?" she shouted.

  Surprised by this brutal awakening, Bronx fell off the windowsill. What the heck, woman?

  Amanda put her thoughts together. She had had an odd dream, there was a woman in the castle, with a white dress, a murd— "Oh my God! Now I remember. I killed someone!"

  D'Artagnan was posted by
the bed, happy to see that his friend had finally woken up. No, you haven't killed anybody, you silly. You are suspected of having killed someone. With an apple pie. Which was delicious, by the way. Please, make it again.

  Amanda stood up. The room heaved. Then, she remembered the glasses of Calvados she had consumed with Régine and Paul the night before. "Oh, my... Why do people drink?"

  As she walked slowly to the bathroom, leaning on the wall, the room phone on the nightstand rang. Amanda put her hands on her ears, moaning. She picked up the phone.

  "Good morning Amanda," said Régine. "Sorry to wake you up, I'm pretty sure you aren’t feeling at your best right now, but Mr. Ferment, the police officer, just called. He said that he would like to see you as soon as possible at the police station."

  Amanda moaned again. A hangover, a murder, and an interrogation at the police station. Could things get worse? Yes. Being sent to prison for murder.

  "All right. I'll get ready and will go to the police station shortly. Thanks, Régine."

  "Oh, Amanda?"

  "Yes?"

  "I have here waiting for you a big glass of water and a painkiller for your headache."

  "Régine, could you please do me a favor?"

  "Sure, what?"

  "Please, avoid using the word 'killer.' Thank you."

  "Oops. Sorry."

  Chapter 31

  A manda waited in a little room, at a table, with an empty chair facing her on the other side. She could see her reflection in the two-way mirror in front of her, and was horrified to notice how awful she looked after her unfortunate 'alcoholic' evening. She couldn't figure out what she had tried to do with her hair, her skin looked dull—but the horrible neon lighting in the room could've been responsible for that—and she realized that she had put her shirt on inside out. She had the perfect look for a murderer sitting in an interrogation room. This didn't look good.

  Mr. Ferment arrived in the room, slammed the door behind him, and dropped something on the table in a sealed plastic bag with a red label on it.