French Cuisine Can Kill You Page 12

  "Do you know what it was?"

  "He told me that he knew something, crucial information, that made him realize that he could take advantage of some people."

  "You mean that he blackmailed people?"

  Gisèle Poisson looked sideways towards the window. "Yes. Something like that."

  "Who did he blackmail, and why?"

  Gisèle Poisson straightened her back. "I can't answer these questions, Ms. McBride."

  "You can't or... you won't?"

  Poisson sighed as if she were exhausted doing the job all by herself. She crossed her arms over her chest. "Just look into the casino, that's all I'm going to say."

  The casino? There was no casino in Orvilly-Sur-Mer. What was she talking about?

  Amanda stood up.

  "Whoa, wait a minute," said Poisson, holding Amanda's wrist, "the ghost?"

  "Ah, yes, the story about the ghost." Amanda sat back in her chair. Gisèle Poisson was all ears. Well, guessed Amanda, for a gossiper, gossip can't wait...

  Chapter 34

  D 'Artagnan wondered why Amanda had spread all these paper bits on the floor. Was it a game?

  "No d'Art, don't walk on them."

  Why? wondered the dog, it looks like fun to me.

  "So, what did you find out so far?" asked Kate on the phone.

  "Well, I found out that our victim wasn't so much of a victim, but quite a bully and a criminal, and that he blackmailed some people in the community."

  "Interesting. But who did he blackmail and why?"

  "This is what I'm trying to figure out. His sister-in-law told me about a casino."

  "Is there a casino in Orvilly?"

  "No, so I did a little research online, and what I found out is quite interesting." Amanda read to Kate from her laptop. "This is an article from La Gazette d’Orvilly-sur-Mer, dated September 13, 2017:

  Turbulent Meeting about The Casino Project in Orvilly-sur-Mer

  Last Saturday, about three hundred residents attended a much-anticipated meeting at the Village Hall, all eager to hear about the Casino project proposal submitted by the City to the French Lottery Organization.

  Residents were divided in four groups: those opposed to the presence of any casino in the village; those not opposed to the opening of a casino, but disagreeing with the suggested location; those in favor of the opening of a casino at the suggested location; and a fourth group composed of seniors from the retirement home, Bellevue House, who mostly attended the meeting to enjoy the lively conversation, and eat the little canapés and mini-cakes that they declared to be 'much better than the slop they serve at Bellevue House.'

  After exposing the issue related to the Castle of Orvilly—whose heir or heiress hasn't been found to this day, six months after Mrs. Toinette d'Orvilly passed away—Mr. Perrier, the notary in charge of Mrs. D'Orvilly's estate, explained to the audience that the City and its residents had to decide on the future of their historical landmark, in case no heir could be found within six months from today, deadline after which the estate would become public property.

  The Mayor, Mr. Charles Desplanques, presented a proposal to transform the old castle into a casino, for which he received both invective and praise from the audience. Explaining to the residents that an old edifice like the castle would be a costly venture that the City would not be able to afford, the Mayor and the City Council came up with the idea for this project.

  "This is a great opportunity to keep our local heritage while providing an efficient, financially sustainable venue that would attract more tourists all year long, grow the popularity of Orvilly-sur-Mer, and change its image of a small village whose only notoriety rests on the vestiges of World War II,” said Desplanques.

  After he finished, several senior citizens in the crowd threw old carrots and tomatoes that they had kept from their lunch at Bellevue House at the Mayor and the Council members, booing at them.

  After answering a series of questions, the Mayor and the Council members invited the residents to leave specific comments in a box.

  Coffee was served after the meeting, but the trays on the tables were already emptied of their delicacies. An attendee—who wishes to remain anonymous—declared 'the only good thing about this meeting was the canapés and the mini-cakes, and I'm leaving with some in my bag.'

  Orvillians can visit the City Hall website to stay informed about the casino project. Another meeting will likely be held in a few months at the Village Hall if no heir claims the castle will have claimed the inheritance of the d'Orvilly's by then.

  "Well," said Kate, "at least we know one thing now… Some people in town might not have been very happy when the notary found you."

  "Yes, but I still don't understand why this Martin Plouque was killed. What did he have to do with all this? I have to find out who he blackmailed and why." Amanda took a closer look at her laptop screen. "Oh..."

  "What?" asked Kate.

  "There's a picture of the audience, just below the article, and I recognize someone there... This is odd. It's this strange customer who arrived at the hotel a few days ago... just after Martin Plouque was killed."

  "This man is staying in the hotel now?"

  "Yes. In the room just beside mine."

  "That doesn't sound good, Amanda. Be careful."

  Bronx walked over the paper notes on the floor and sat on them. D'Artagnan frowned, wondering why Amanda wasn't paying attention to him. Why is this crazy cat allowed to sit on these papers while I can't even walk on them?

  Bronx smirked. Mind your own business, silly dog.

  "It might be a good thing,” continued Amanda. “Maybe this man knows something?"

  "Yes... and maybe he knows too much,” replied Kate, worried. “If he was doing business with this Martin Plouque, that would explain why he's here."

  "Hmm... One thing is sure: the village isn't that busy at this time of year, so I'd bet that this guy isn't here by pure coincidence... I might be able to find out more about him. I’ll call you back later.” Amanda hung up and dialed another number.

  “La Gazette d’Orvilly-sur-Mer, bonjour?” answered a woman on the phone.

  Chapter 35

  T he rain rattling on the windows like a melancholic melody awoke Amanda who opened her eyes to a grey Saturday morning. It was raining ropes, as Normans say.

  "Again?" said Amanda, "you know what, guys? I think Normandy beats British Columbia for rain, hands down."

  D'Artagnan lay beside Amanda, hiding his nose under the blanket. Agreed. Please, note that this weather makes me feel down. I'm not going out today.

  The bedroom felt cold and damp. Amanda jumped out of her bed, adjusted the thermostat, and ran to the shower.

  After a few minutes, she was ready to leave, prepared to battle the rain with her red rubber boots, a shirt and a sweater underneath her yellow raincoat, and a cloche hat too big for her head. She was standing by the door, playing with d'Artagnan's leash.

  "Come on d'Art! It's just water."

  The dog didn’t move. Uh, uh... As I said, not going out today. You go.

  "Fine," Amanda put back the leash on the dresser, "but the two of you stay quiet. Got it?"

  Bronx answered with a 'meow' that sounded like a scary wry laugh. D'Artagnan gave him a worried sideways look. And for a good reason. Amanda had barely closed the door when the cat jumped on the dog.

  Say your last prayer, 'd'Artie Honey!'

  Amanda walked towards the pink reception desk of Bellevue House, the senior home in Orvilly-sur-Mer, and asked an employee wearing a pink blouse with the name tag 'Sofia,' if she could see Mr. Louis Lamour.

  "Are you a relative or a friend of Mr. Lamour, madam?" asked Sofia.

  "No. I don't know Mr. Lamour, but I'd like to talk with him about an article he wrote in the Gazette d’Orvilly a few months ago."

  "One moment, please. Have a seat. I'll call his room and ask him if he's willing to see you."

  Amanda sat in a large grey armchair facing the reception desk.
The cushions were so soft that she sank low into them.

  "What are you doing here?" asked someone with a dry tone.

  Amanda raised her head. Mrs. Parmentier was standing in front of her, staring at her with a stern look. Amanda forced a smile. "Oh, Mrs. Parmentier, how are you doing?"

  "As I said: what are you doing here?"

  Was she the police of Bellevue House or what? Bad luck for Amanda.

  "Uh... just visiting someone."

  "Visiting someone, hmm? I bet you’re lying. You know nobody here. Are you here to steal from us?"

  "No! Of course not! Why would you think that?"

  "Then what do you want?"

  The woman was worse than a watchdog.

  "Miss?" asked Sofia, "Mr. Lamour asks if you have food with you?"

  "Uh, no... Am I supposed to?"

  The receptionist spoke on the phone.

  "How old are you?" asked the receptionist.

  What? How was this question relevant?

  "Thirty-nine," answered Amanda slowly, hoping this was the right answer.

  "Fine. You can go up. Third floor, room 347, on your left once you exit the elevator."

  Very happy to escape Mrs. Parmentier’s tyranny, Amanda walked over to the elevator quickly, leaving little puddles of water behind her. Mrs. Parmentier didn't take her eyes off her.

  "If you steal or do anything bad," yelled the woman, "I'll report you to management!"

  Amanda felt relieved when the elevator arrived. She stepped into it with a short elderly lady who had been waiting beside her. The doors closed.

  "Don't worry," said the lady, "she tries to boss everybody here. She's a former math teacher. Gosh, I've always hated math teachers!"

  A bell rang and the little lady exited the elevator on the first floor, waving her hand and smiling at Amanda. "Have a good day, sweetheart!"

  The elevator continued up two floors and Amanda arrived on the third floor. She walked down the long corridor. There were many doors on both sides, some of them open. A woman was watching television in suite 335, a man was singing in his wheelchair in suite 340, and a lady was standing by the door frame of suite 346, looking curiously at Amanda.

  She knocked on door 347. Nothing. She knocked again. A caregiver pushing a woman in a wheelchair walked by.

  "You have to knock harder. He's a bit deaf."

  Amanda banged on the door with her fist.

  "Yes, yes, yes! I'm not deaf! Come in!"

  Amanda opened the door. A little man in his eighties, wearing grey pants, a flannel plaid shirt and suspenders was sitting in an armchair, a book on his lap. He removed his glasses, leaned forward and squinted.

  "Who are you?"

  Amanda presented her hand. "Good morning, Mr. Lamour. My name is Amanda McBride."

  "Do I know you?"

  "No, you don't, sir. I'm here to ask you a few questions about an article you wrote a few months ago for the Gazette d'Orvilly. If you don't mind answering them, of course."

  "Do you have food with you?"

  Decidedly, this was obsession.

  "No sir, I'm afraid I don't."

  "Ah. That's disappointing."

  "But if you want, I can come back tomorrow and bring you some pastries?"

  The man's face lit up. "It's a deal! What are your questions?"

  Amanda pulled up a chair and sat in front of the old man. "Well, I want to talk about this meeting that was held at the Village Hall about the casino project. I assume that you were there that day, of course, as you wrote the article?"

  "Of course, what a question! I'm a former journalist, I do my job professionally. If that's your question, I don't see the point of you coming here to ask me this."

  "Oh, no sir, I have more questions."

  "So, shoot because my bridge game is in thirty minutes." Amanda took from her bag the Gazette article that she had printed. She showed the picture to Lamour, pointing her finger at the image of the mysterious customer who was staying at the hotel.

  "Do you know this man?"

  Louis Lamour took the paper and looked closer, squinting and making a face. "Nope. I don't," he looked at Amanda, "am I supposed to know him?"

  "Not necessarily, sir. So, you really have no idea who this man is?"

  "Miss, I might be old, but I still have all my marbles. If I tell you that I don't know this man, I don't know this man."

  "Of course, sir... So, besides the mayor and the council members, were there any other important people in the room that day?"

  "Hmm... most of the people who own businesses in town were there."

  "Would you say they were more in favor of the project or more opposed to it?"

  "Like the rest of the villagers, they were divided."

  "All right... so was there anything unusual that you might have noticed that day?"

  "What do you mean? It was a big meeting, a lot was going on."

  "Did you see anybody acting strange or people making odd comments? Anything that could be relevant. You're a journalist, I'm sure you notice these things very easily, better than most people, right?"

  The man looked at the ceiling. "Hmm... Ah, maybe. The tall unpleasant woman, the architect, she was always with Barbon, the construction guy."

  "You mean Mrs. Montel, the architect?"

  "Yes, that one."

  "And why would this be unusual?"

  "Because these two are like cats and dogs. I'm not saying that they were smiling at each other, laughing together or anything like that, but just the fact that they stood together during the whole meeting, that was unusual."

  "Interesting... And why do they hate each other?"

  "Because two years ago a young guy died on one of Barbon's construction sites. Apparently, Barbon hadn't briefed his guys properly about safety. This is what Montel keeps saying, anyway. Unfortunately, the young guy who died was her son. He was only eighteen. Poor boy. Since then, she has hated Barbon. Very understandable."

  "She didn’t sue Barbon for negligence because of her son's death?"

  "No. After an investigation, it seemed that the responsibility fell on the son himself because all the information and right equipment had been given to the employees working on the site. They never found out what had really happened to this poor boy that day, but for Montel, Barbon is and will always be guilty."

  "I see..."

  The man was getting impatient, tapping his fingers on his thighs. "Any other question? Because I have bridge to get to."

  "No, sir, thank you very much for answering my questions." Amanda shook the man's hand and walked to the door.

  "Hey!" said the man before Amanda opened the door. Amanda turned around.

  "Yes?"

  "I like the ones with apple sauce inside."

  "Pardon me?"

  "The pastries. You told me you would bring me pastries. I like the ones with apple sauce inside."

  Chapter 36

  A nother storm swept over Orvilly-sur-Mer. Strong winds huffed and whistled through the doors and windows. Amanda shivered, feeling a bit uneasy standing alone in the damp kitchen in the castle. She wished d'Artagnan were here, but the dog had refused to accompany her. What if something 'odd' happened again? ‘Ghosts don't exist, ghosts don’t exist,’ she kept repeating in her head.

  She balled up several pages of old newspapers left in a corner and threw them into the fireplace, putting a few logs on the top. Then she took a box of matches from one of the grocery bags on the counter and lit up a big match, hoping that the wood would ignite.

  Flames burned and grew slowly, giving a bit more brightness and warmth to the room. The outmoded light fixture on the ceiling was flickering. Hopefully, the power would keep working until she was done with her cooking.

  She didn't waste a minute. She opened her cookbook and took out ten Camemberts and ten flaky pastry packs from the grocery bags on the floor, and put them on the large table with the rest of the ingredients. She had to make a good impression on the Orvillians who would attend
the community dinner that evening at the Village Hall. She hoped the Camembert puffs she planned to bring would do it. She noticed a paper left on the counter. She took it and read:

  Dear Amanda,

  We couldn’t find the missing key to unlock the door in the kitchen, so we had to break the chain. You can now access the basement.

  Mr. Perrier

  Anxiously, Amanda turned around to look at the door. What if someone came out of that door? No. It was silly. ‘Ghosts don’t exist, ghosts don’t exist… Right?’ She decided to focus on the recipe instead. She opened the drawers and looked for a rolling pin. The door made a rattling noise. She stopped and stared at it. The door stopped moving. It was just the wind, probably.

  Then she went back to inspecting the drawers and found a heavy wooden rolling pin that had obviously flattened a lot of dough in its time. As she unwrapped the flaky pastry, she heard a loud thud coming from behind the door. She was startled and stayed still for a few seconds. Her heart was beating fast. Why the hell had she decided to come here on her own? Maybe the heavy rolling pin would be helpful in case she were attacked, but as heavy as it was, would it still be useful against a ghost?

  Silly thoughts. It was only silly thoughts. She needed these Camembert puffs. So she went back to the pastry and flattened it, working as fast as she could. "Just ten, ten Camembert puffs, quick, quick, quick, Amanda," she told herself as if she were singing a song, accompanied by the rustling of the trees in the wind.

  She chopped the onions and the bacon with a big knife as fast as any chef would. She turned on the gas on the stove, grabbed a frying pan suspended from a hook, threw the pieces of bacon and onions in it, and poured a bit of olive oil all over them. All was going well. Then, a powerful blast pushed at the old window above the sink. It gave away and opened up, letting in the blowing wind and the heavy rain. The shutters swung, hitting the walls outside. Amanda rushed to close them and got soaked instantly. She battled against the blowing gale for a while, pushing hard on the shutters, managed to lock the window, and braced it with an old wooden box left on the floor. She sighed with relief and grabbed a cloth on the counter to dry herself off. She smelled something burning. "Dammit!"