French Cuisine Can Kill You Page 11

  "Do you recognize this, Ms. McBride?"

  "Oh, yes, this is my Ginette Mathiot, my cook book. I forgot it in the kitchen yesterday. Thank you." Amanda was about to take her book back, but Mr. Ferment stopped her.

  "Oh, no, no, no. Not so fast, mademoiselle. You can't have it back. This is a piece of evidence for the investigation."

  Amanda froze, puzzled. The police officer frowned, staring at her with a stern look, holding the book on the table with a firm hand. Mr. Ferment looked much less pleasant than the day before.

  "A piece of evidence?" said Amanda with a soft voice, "but, I don't understand, I—"

  "Ms. McBride, you just recognized this book. Is this the one you used for your recipe?"

  "Yes, but—"

  "Oh. So, you admit it. Hmm... Show me the page of the recipe." Mr. Ferment removed the book from the sealed bag.

  "Uh... If I well remember, it was on page 141," said Amanda while turning the pages nervously. "Yes, here it is."

  "Perfect," said Ferment, "read it."

  "What?"

  "You heard me. Read it."

  "I'm confused, Mr. Ferment, why should I read it? How will it help the—"

  Mr. Ferment leaned on the table, adopting an odd and unsteady position, one hand on the table, and another on his hip. He was talking to Amanda, only two inches away from her face. "Please, don't make me repeat myself, Ms. McBride," whispered the police officer. "Just proceed."

  Amanda was confused. It seemed quite a peculiar way to lead an interrogation. Were they all conducted this way in France? "All right," said Amanda, "'Norman Apple Pie for six servings. For the sugar crust pastry: one egg, two-hundred grams of white flour, one hundred grams of sugar, one hundred grams of butter, one pinch of salt. For the—"

  "Stop there," said Ferment, "read the last part."

  "Uh... Put in the oven and bake for 40 minutes?'" asked Amanda. She wasn't sure where all this was going. Mr. Ferment banged his fists on the table loudly. The table moved. Amanda jumped.

  "Exactly. For 40 minutes!"

  She stayed silent for a few seconds, wondering if the officer had all his mental faculties. Or maybe she had lost hers? "Uh... Is there a problem with the 40 minutes?'" she asked tentatively.

  Suddenly, Mr. Ferment straightened his back and gave her a broad smile. "How was it?" he asked proudly.

  Amanda was bewildered. "How was... what?"

  "This! Did I do well? Were you scared?" The police officer was waiting for Amanda's answer eagerly.

  "Uh... Sure, you were quite... threatening..."

  "Ah, great! I knew I could nail it."

  "Mr. Ferment, I'm quite lost right now and I would appreciate if you could give me an explanation. What exactly is going on?"

  "I wanted to impress you, like in these American detective movies, you know, when the suspect is in the interrogation room. I've always dreamed of doing this. I love those crime series we see on TV. So, I figured, as you're American, this was my moment, my opportunity to try it."

  Amanda couldn’t believe her ears. Was he kidding? "I'm not American, sir, I'm Canadian. So, I'm not suspected or accused of anything? All this was just... a game?"

  "Yes! I'm in the village drama club. I just needed a bit of practice." The man put his hands on his hips, quite content. Then he frowned. "But if I were to accuse you of something, I would arrest you for your bad hairdo. Oh, by the way, your shirt is inside out."

  It's not that Amanda didn't feel like jumping over the table to strangle the police officer to death, but as she was accused of nothing, she figured it was better not to commit any real crime in a police station.

  Mr. Ferment offered her a cup of coffee and gave her back the Ginette Mathiot cookbook.

  "I can have it back? It's not a real piece of evidence?"

  "Of course not, it was just a prop. Fun, right?"

  Fun? Damned French humor!

  Amanda gave him a tight smile. "So, what happens now? What have you discovered about the murder?" she asked.

  "Well, we know for sure that Martin Plouque was poisoned when he ate your apple pie. But it wasn't because of the pie. The other workers ate your pie, and they're all fine. We didn't find anything in the kitchen that would be grounds to incriminate you, and a lot of workers saw you sleeping on the cliff the whole afternoon. So, you're officially removed from the suspects list. The investigation must continue though, but I'm afraid that it will have to be without me."

  Amanda felt relieved, that was probably good news... "Why? And who's taking on the investigation then?"

  "I'm retiring and will leave with my wife in two days for Hawaii. We will stay there for a few months. You know, that is where they filmed Hawaii Five 0? I'm a great fan of this series." The police officer started to sing the theme song of the old series. Very off-key. Amanda wondered if she was still dreaming or, rather, having a nightmare.

  "Anyway, the Judiciary Police Services in Paris have to name a new officer. I was the only one here, and as their services over there are already overwhelmed with many cases more important than this one, I'm afraid this file isn't their priority at the moment. The thing is, until the new officer is assigned, the investigation is suspended. Which means that the renovations at the castle must be delayed."

  Great. Some more good news. "And how long will it take before the new officer is assigned?"

  "Hmm... About six months? At best."

  "You must be kidding me!"

  "Nope. You know, this is Fr—"

  "French administration. Yes, I know! Is there anything I can do about it?"

  "I'm sorry, I understand how upsetting it is, but I'm afraid there's really nothing you can do about it. The only thing you can do is wait."

  If there was one thing that Amanda hated, it was exactly that, to stay still and do nothing. "Mr. Ferment, I travelled all the way from Victoria to Orvilly just for this castle. I need this work to be started now so that I can open my inn in a few months. I can't wait that long!"

  "An inn? Oh, that's a great business idea... But no. Nothing you can do about it, little mademoiselle. Sorry."

  Amanda paced in the interrogation room, mumbling, holding her cooking bible tight against her chest. The 'little' mademoiselle was not going to stay in a small hotel room for six months with her dog and her cat, she was not going to wait for the French administration to assign a new Judiciary Officer, and she was certainly not going to wait patiently to see what happened. Amanda wanted her French dream to come true, and for this to happen, she had no other choice but to find the killer herself. "Is Antoine Verroyer still accused of committing this murder?"

  "Yes. He's the only solid suspect we have. And for him, it means staying in jail until this case is solved, unfortunately."

  "This French administration is absolutely insane! I'm convinced that this young man has been wrongly accused of this crime. Fine. I'll find the killer myself."

  Mr. Ferment looked amused. "Ho, ho, ho! You can't play the private investigator like this, Ms. McBride. It's not as easy as you think."

  After what she had seen? Amanda was willing to try. "Please, give me all the information you have about this case," said Amanda.

  Mr. Ferment quickly grasped a file on his desktop. "I'm afraid I can't do that, Ms. McBride. This is confidential information."

  "I won’t give up, Mr. Ferment.” Amanda got closer. “Was Martin Plouque in any sort of personal or professional trouble?"

  The officer closed his eyes and crossed his hands over the file on his desk. "I can't tell you that either."

  Amanda leaned over the desk. "What was in the piece of pie that killed Martin Plouque?"

  The police officer remained silent as a stone.

  "Come on! You have to give me something," implored Amanda, "I'm not going to wait six months, doing nothing. Please, Mr. Ferment."

  "All right, all right... Listen, if you help me practice my tough interrogation skills now, I'll give you a few clues that might be helpful."

  "Mr.
Ferment, you're retiring in two days, why do you need to practice your 'tough interviewer skills?'"

  "Oh, that's not for work. It's for the drama club. I'll be auditioning for a play this fall, just after my return from Hawaii. I have to pretend to be a tough American detective so I need to practice. And as you're American..."

  Amanda closed her eyes and sighed. "Canadian, Mr. Ferment, I'm Canadian. Fine, I'll do it. But give me some information from your file, now."

  "All right. I'll give you two clues, but you'll have to do the rest of the job yourself. I'll start with this one: Martin Plouque was poisoned with a deadly cocktail of pesticides that was spread on the slice of pie he ate. These pesticides all came from canisters we found in Antoine Verroyer's truck, which is why we arrested him. He's our only suspect so far."

  "But there were more than twenty people on the property that day. Anyone could've taken these canisters and spread the pesticides on the slice of pie."

  "I know. But we have no trace of handprints other than Verroyer's on these canisters."

  "And what about Antoine Verroyer's motive to kill Martin Plouque? Did he have any reason to kill him?"

  "That's another problem. Many people in the village had issues with Martin and hated the guy. So there’s any number of people who wanted him dead. I know that he had seriously bullied Antoine Verroyer when they were in the same secondary school. So far, that's our motive. Revenge because of past bullying."

  "All right. So, what's the second clue?" asked Amanda.

  "A name: Gisèle Poisson."

  Gisèle Poisson? Who the hell was Gisèle Poisson? Amanda didn't know, but she knew someone who might.

  Chapter 32

  L iliane was stirring her spoon in a lovely pink teacup with a green handle. She had chosen 'Chat in The Morning,' a white tea with a mix of spices and fruits, while Amanda had ordered a large café latte, no sugar. The women had added a few chocolate cookies to their order. A visit to The Secrets, the tea and coffee shop on Brigadier Street, wouldn't be proper without little treats. Two ladies sitting at another table, a few feet away from them, were talking with the owner, placing their order.

  "I'm surprised you're asking me who Gisèle Poisson is. You have probably met her already," said Liliane. "She's Mr. Perrier's assistant."

  "Oh, yes, I've met her,” answered Amanda, “but she never introduced herself. Why would she be of interest?"

  "I'm not sure exactly why, but she's Martin Plouque's sister-in-law... Well, she was."

  "Ah, interesting... What else can you tell me about her?"

  "That she's the worst gossip in town. I don't understand why Mr. Perrier keeps her. With the important affairs he deals with in his business, she's probably the worst assistant a notary could have to keep his files confidential. I guess it must be hard to find someone with the proper training in a small village like ours. But her tongue has caused many disasters in the past. Not only does she spread rumours she shouldn't, but she also adds lies to them. She likes to make things look bigger than they are, reveling in the dramas she creates."

  "Hmm... I see. Did you know Martin Plouque?"

  "Oh, yes! If you needed a guy to play bad tricks on people, you just had to go and find him. He's been involved in many scams and sordid stories, and unfortunately, he started them early in his life. I remember his poor mother always looking for him, scared each time her phone rang, because it was usually someone calling to tell her about some new offence he might have committed. When he was young, she had to pick him up regularly at the principal's office, and as he got older, at the police station. Nothing could stop Martin from doing the wrong thing. There are people who are born like this, I guess... His mother was a sweet woman who never deserved an ungrateful son like him."

  "What kind of bad things did he do?"

  "Everything. Breaking into people's places, stealing, entering into bad deals, bullying and blackmailing people... Pretty much anything to cause trouble and make money fast. He also had a bad temper, so people were easily intimidated by him."

  Amanda glanced at the other customers who were digging their forks into two giant pieces of strawberry cake. She sighed. "I miss cooking... I can't possibly stay at the Little Norman for six months. Although I'm staying in the biggest room, it's still not big enough for me and my pets."

  "Oh, how's Bronx, by the way?"

  "He's... consistent. The other day, he escaped through the window. I ran outside in a panic to look for him, and found him in the arms of an old lady in the bakery, eating choux buns."

  Liliane laughed. "Ah! That cat is quite something. And he seems to enjoy torturing you. Why is that?"

  "He’s never accepted d'Artagnan. He's jealous of him and makes me pay for it."

  Liliane had a malicious smile. "So... You met the baker?"

  "Yes." Amanda looked away.

  "And?"

  "And what?" Amanda blushed.

  "Quite a handsome guy, right?"

  "Yes... But I'm afraid I've made a bad impression at our first encounter."

  "Why is that?"

  "I was in my pajamas, slippers, and old sweater, hair undone, looking like a crazy woman who had just escaped from an asylum."

  Liliane laughed out loud. "Oh! My dear... At least, there's one consolation: he will remember you."

  Amanda smirked and sipped her coffee. "I wish it were not that way..."

  "Don't worry, Amanda, you'll have another chance to give him a second impression, and a good one this time. Come to our monthly community dinner on Saturday evening. He’s usually there and he brings cakes and pastries for everybody. It starts at 7 p.m. at the Village Hall. Make sure you look nice. I'll pretend that I don't know you two have already met, and I'll make the introductions."

  "So, I assume that he's single?"

  "No, he has two wives and ten children... Of course he’s single, you little fool! Oh, by the way, if you can't bring a meal, you'll have to pay five Euros at the door."

  "Me? Not bringing a meal? You must be kidding." Amanda looked at the clock hanging on the wall behind the counter. Ten minutes before noon. She munched her cookie and drank her coffee in one shot. "Ouch, my tongue!"

  "Of course it's hot," said Liliane, "what are you doing?

  "I must catch this Poisson before noon."

  “Very funny,” said Liliane.

  Chapter 33

  “Y

  ou just missed her," said Mr. Perrier, "Mrs. Poisson left for lunch. Is there anything I can help you with, Amanda? Is it related to the castle?"

  "No, I just need to talk to Mrs. Poisson about something else."

  Mr. Perrier frowned, wondering what Amanda would want to discuss with the wicked tongued woman who was Gisèle Poisson. "You might find her at The Old Calvados. She sometimes has lunch there."

  Amanda walked towards the door.

  "Amanda!"

  Amanda stopped and turned around, waiting for the notary to say something. Instead, he just bit his lips. "Hmm... nothing."

  Gisèle Poisson was sitting at a table near the front window of The Old Calvados, dividing her attention between a gossip magazine and the action going on in the marketplace. All this while eating a traditional ham and butter baguette sandwich.

  "May I?" asked Amanda.

  Gisèle Poisson raised her eyes and looked at Amanda over from head to toe as if she were a piece of dirt. "Ah. You're the little American."

  "I'm Canadian. It's not the same. And I'm not so lit—"

  "What do you want?"

  Amanda pulled a chair and sat in front of Gisèle Poisson. The woman squinted.

  "First, let me express my condolences for the loss of your brother-in-law, Martin Plouque."

  "Hmm..."

  "Would you mind if I asked you a few questions, Mrs. Poisson?"

  "Questions? About what?"

  "You see, I'm trying to figure out what happened the day your brother-in-law died."

  The skinny woman pointed her long nose toward Amanda. "Why does it matt
er to you?"

  "Well, it matters a lot to me because, as you know, I'm the new owner of the castle, but I can't have any renovations done there until the case is solved. And most important, an innocent young man is in jail, wrongly accused of this crime. I can't let Antoine Verroyer remain there."

  "I'm afraid I can't help you with that." Gisèle Poisson went back to her reading.

  "Maybe you can. As you might be aware, Mr. Ferment is retiring—"

  "Yes, I know this, of course," said Poisson, keeping her eyes on her magazine, looking offended that Amanda felt the need to mention the obvious.

  Amanda had to find something else to make her talk. She had to feed this Poisson with her preferred food: gossip or something that sounded like it. "Did you know that I want to turn the castle into a fancy inn?"

  "Of course, I know this."

  Of course... there was nothing about this village that this woman didn't already know. Amanda tried something else. "I saw a ghost there."

  Gisèle Poisson dropped her magazine. Her sharp face lit up. "You did?"

  It worked. "Yes. In the kitchen."

  "In the kitchen? What was it doing? Cooking? Was it scary?"

  "Mrs. Poisson, I'll tell you all about this, but first I need to know why Martin died, and who killed him."

  "Fine. What do you want to know?"

  "Was Martin in any kind of trouble?"

  Gisèle Poisson chuckled. "Him? Always. That was the norm for him."

  "All right, hmm... Maybe you know about something that would be helpful? Was he in trouble with anyone specific?"

  Poisson hesitated a few seconds, but the desire to hear more gossip about the castle was too strong for her to resist. "What I'm going to tell you must stay between us. I'm not the kind to gossip, you know... And I don't want to be in any trouble with anybody. I could lose my job."

  "Of course, I understand."

  Gisèle Poisson leaned toward Amanda. "I knew that Martin was up to something. But this time, it was something big. Bigger than the little petty thefts he did."

  "Ah? What was it?"

  "I've never seen him so invested in committing a crime. He kept saying that it was worth it, and that it was the big strike he had waited for all his life."