French Cuisine Can Kill You Page 17

  A white page fell from the notebook. Amanda picked it up. It was a drawing, the type that you discover once you connect dots. Someone had started it, but there were just a few lines on the paper, not enough to see the final picture. Amanda took her pen and started connecting the remaining dots. Her cell phone rang. It was Kate. She answered with one hand, and kept connecting the dots with the other. Then, finally, the full picture appeared.

  “Of course! Of course!” exclaimed Amanda.

  “Of course, what?” asked Kate. “Your voice sounds weird. Do you have a cold?”

  “Kate, I think I found it!”

  “Found what?”

  “The monkey!”

  “Which monkey?”

  “You know, the monkey mentioned by the stranger I met at the castle the other night.”

  “Oh yes, that monkey. So, where was it?”

  “Hidden in the notebook. And what does a monkey love?

  “Uh… bananas?”

  “Exactly, Kate, bananas. But most importantly, now the question is: how much is a banana worth?"

  “Uh… What?”

  Chapter 46

  T he first thing Amanda did on Tuesday morning was to pay an unexpected visit to Mr. Perrier in his office.

  Titillated and intrigued by Amanda's request to talk to Mr. Perrier immediately, Gisèle Poisson tried to pry information out of her, without success.

  "This is a very personal matter and it's urgent. It's all I can say, Mrs. Poisson," answered Amanda to put off the nosy assistant.

  Mr. Perrier had just arrived in his office. He was drinking his morning coffee, reading through his emails. He invited Amanda in, and as soon as the door was closed, Gisèle Poisson leaned and glued her ear to it. The door reopened. The assistant staggered and blushed at being caught red-handed. She walked back to her desk quickly.

  "No listening to my conversations, Gisèle. Please, prepare the files for this morning's appointments and bring them to me later. Thank you." The notary closed the door.

  Amanda left Mr. Perrier’s office fifteen minutes later, walking hastily to the front door, forgetting to say goodbye to the assistant.

  Gisèle Poisson felt more bothered by the fact that she knew nothing about what happened in the meeting, than being ignored by Amanda. If the biggest gossip in the village couldn't feed on the latest news, she couldn't spread rumors. What a shame.

  Then Amanda walked to Bellevue House, rode the elevator to the third floor, and knocked on the door of room 347. Louis Lamour opened the door, very surprised to see Amanda unannounced.

  "They let you in downstairs? Without even bringing me pastries?"

  "Forget about the pastries for now, Louis,” said Amanda. “I’ll offer you apple turnovers for life if you'd be willing to do something for me."

  The man's face lit up. "Name it!"

  "Can you forget about your ethics as a journalist for one day?" she asked.

  Louis frowned and looked dubious.

  "Remember, I just said the words 'apple turnovers for life,'" insisted Amanda.

  The man imagined a pile of white boxes filled with his favorite pastries. He gave up on his principles easily.

  "OK, fine. What do I have to do?"

  "Can I come in for a few minutes? All this must stay between us."

  Louis let Amanda in. When she left his room half an hour later, she crossed the path of Mrs. Parmentier in the corridor. Amanda stopped the woman before she even opened her mouth.

  "No, Mrs. Parmentier, I'm not here to steal from you or anybody else. In fact, let me tell you something: you're the most unpleasant elderly lady I've ever met. You're rude, inconsiderate, and you don't even notice that everybody hates you. To put it simply: you're well-known, but not in a good way. If I were you, I'd change my attitude because the senior years that you have left might feel very lonely if you don't. Have a good day, Mrs. Parmentier."

  And Amanda walked back to the elevator, leaving the woman standing still in the corridor, speechless. Mouth open, flabbergasted, Germaine Parmentier watched the rude Canadian walk away.

  Another lady passed by Amanda and winked at her. "Kudos for shutting her trap good!" she whispered. Amanda smiled proudly.

  She was on her way to close some more traps, and it was time.

  Chapter 47

  La Gazette d’Orvilly-sur-Mer

  Wednesday, May 2, 2018

  The Castle d’Orvilly Without an Heiress!

  What Will The Old Estate Become?

  By Louis Lamour

  Breaking news on this Tuesday evening as we are working on our next edition of The Gazette, forcing us to publish this last-minute article: Mr. Jean Perrier, notary of Orvilly-Sur-Mer, has just informed us that a mistake was made when putting together the family-tree of Mrs. Toinette d'Orvilly, which revealed that the Canadian Amanda McBride is not related to the family, and therefore, is not the heiress of the deceased woman's castle.

  The Mayor, Charles Desplanques—who was informed by Mr. Perrier himself of this sudden turn of events—expressed his astonishment when we spoke with him on the phone, as well as his concern regarding the castle’s future, falling now subject to a fateful deadline to be declared public property by the government.

  Before Ms. McBride was appointed as the heiress of the Domaine d’Orvilly, the old castle was already at risk of being taken from Orvillians by the State to become public property, and thus facing the risk of being destroyed. An alternative solution had been voted for by our citizens last year during a stormy meeting at The Village Hall to keep the castle in the hands of its fellow citizens, with a submission filed to the French National Lottery to turn the castle into a casino, a decision that some villagers had disapproved of vehemently at that time.

  We tried to reach Ms. McBride to get her reaction on this breaking news as this debate is about to reopen, but without success.

  The Mayor has called for an urgent meeting: all Orvillians are invited to gather at The Village Hall, this Friday, May 4, 2018, at 4 p.m. to discuss the future of our famous heritage building.

  Will the old castle remain our property and be turned into a casino as it was supposed to be before Ms. McBride was discovered as the heiress, or will it be under the control of the State, with an uncertain future?

  The villagers who gathered around the bar counter at The Old Calvados couldn't resist debating about the breaking news while the owner, Roger Poutou, was reading out loud the Gazette article to his customers.

  A short and bulky man with a thick moustache, wearing a beret, was gulping down one glass of red wine after another, talking and pointing a finger in the air like a 'know-it-all.' "I tell you it's going to be pretty interesting on Friday! I bet you that the mayor and Barbon will push us to vote for the casino project again. Personally, I've had enough of this old castle and the silly stories about it. We need this location to build other things, something useful, like a supermarket, but not a damn casino! Stupid people who want to lose their money in gambling can drive to Paris or even to Monaco if they want, I couldn't care less."

  Gérald Gustin, the owner of the local grocery store, turned red. "Well, excuse me sir, but you're just saying that you don't care about my business! I'd go bankrupt if they opened a supermarket there. It'd ruin my business in no time. And I don't think that our villagers want an ugly supermarket in Orvilly. They want the good local products that I sell in my store. I'm sure they'd rather give me their money instead of a big store chain. And the castle is on an amazing location. Really, this is what you want? To build an ugly supermarket there, just by the ocean, while we could turn this castle into a museum and make money?"

  Someone laughed. "Nobody makes money from a museum, you fool," said a man. "And by the way, sometimes you sell rotten apples, Gérald."

  Gustin gave a cold look to the man. "This is not true! How dare you?"

  "OK, OK, calm down people, please," said Roger, "you know what I think? I think that the French National Lottery could very well refuse the casino projec
t... for now."

  An old woman who was knitting at a table a few feet away from the counter, and drinking a cider from the bottle pointed a needle at the group of men.

  "You're worse than women gossiping, you old farts! I hope that the castle will be saved because it's our history, our identity. If we lose the castle, we lose our tourists too, and you can say goodbye to all our businesses! I agree that turning the place into a museum wouldn't make it financially lucrative, but I hate the casino project. Always been against it. It would be the end of our beautiful village. It's too bad that this Canadian woman isn't the heiress. After all, she had the best project of all. I've heard that she wanted to turn the castle into a fancy hotel or something. The only hotel we have in the village is The Little Norman, and during summer, it gets full so fast that Régine and Paul have to turn away guests! So, tourists don’t stay here, they go and spend their money elsewhere. And who cares about the ghosts stories? They're good. They attract the tourists. But you fools don't get that. You'd better think about all this before the meeting at the Village Hall on Friday because when the moment comes to vote, we'll all have the fate of Orvilly-Sur-Mer in our hands. Remember that."

  Sitting in a far back corner, hiding her face in the collar of her raincoat, Amanda was eating a quiche and a salad, delighted to hear that the breaking news had re-ignited the fire about the castle’s fate.

  Little did The Old Calvados customers know, this was not the only breaking news they were about to hear...

  Chapter 48

  O rvilly-sur-Mer’s Village Hall had never been so full. There was no empty space, and people could barely move, standing tightly beside each other like canned sardines.

  The mayor was on the stage, waiting for Gérald Gustin to fix an issue with the microphone. The tension was high and the conversations going on created a hubbub that increased in volume by the second. Finally, the microphone was working. Gérald handed it to Charles Desplanques.

  "Fellow Orvillians, I need your attention, please," said the mayor, waving his hands in a downward motion. The volume lowered progressively to total silence. One could’ve heard a pin drop.

  "As you all know," continued Desplanques, "unexpected news has forced us to call this urgent meeting. The future of our castle is in jeopardy again, but I believe its fate is in our hands. I want to make sure that we all make the right decision to keep the castle under our control, and make use of it in a way that benefits our community. We have a tight deadline before the estate becomes public property. Therefore, the members of the city council and myself have decided to go ahead with the casino project, an option that had been discussed last year."

  Comments roared from the crowd and half of the people in the room booed.

  "You don’t have the right to make this decision! We have the right to vote!" yelled someone in the crowd. "This casino project is bad! It's going to benefit just a small number of people, but it'll be the end of our quiet village for sure. We don't want gamblers here. That only brings trouble!"

  Some people applauded, others whistled in approval, and some booed again.

  "I know that it's impossible to make everybody happy with this casino project," answered the mayor. "But it's the only solution that makes sense, and the timing is crucial. We keep the castle and it brings money into our community. Everybody wins."

  "This is our history and heritage, mayor," yelled the knitter from the bistro. "How can you make such a revolting decision? If there's no castle, but an ugly casino instead, there's no Orvilly-sur-Mer anymore. We'll become a village like any other around here. The tourists we had coming every summer will stop visiting, and it'll be the end of our economy. And I strongly doubt that we'll ever see a cent from this casino's profits, am I right, people? This is what you tell us now, but it's all lies! Nothing has ever been clear about the profits part!"

  "I'm with our mayor on this," said someone else, "what do you want to do with a falling down ruin and stupid ghost stories that only fascinate grungy teenagers looking for a thrill? I find all of you very selfish. You want to keep this castle, but I bet that none of you would donate money or move their little finger to save it! The mayor is right. Let's build a casino, our community needs the business!"

  All the villagers started arguing, forgetting about the mayor on the stage. The heat rose in the Hall and the atmosphere became dangerous. People were yelling at each other, some were about to fight, showing threatening fists.

  Charles Desplanques yelled into his microphone, asking the villagers to calm down, but the crowd was so loud that nobody could hear him.

  Amanda stepped onto the stage and took the microphone from the mayor's hands. He looked surprised to see her there.

  "What are you doing here?" he asked.

  Amanda ignored him and turned to the crowd. "People, please, listen to me!" yelled Amanda. "The future of the castle is safe and it will bring in money. But not with a casino."

  The crowd went silent when they heard the Canadian accent. Hundreds of puzzled eyes stared at Amanda.

  "What are you still doing here?" yelled someone. "This is none of your business anymore. Let us discuss this among ourselves, little Canadian."

  Some people in the assembly laughed.

  "In fact," pursued Amanda, "it's absolutely my business. I'm the one who came up with the story you read in the Gazette, announcing that I'm not Toinette d'Orvilly’s heiress. I had to tell a lie so that the whole village would come to this special meeting."

  Louis Lamour was in the assembly, smiling like a little boy proud of his prank.

  Protests rose in the Hall. Desplanques was perplexed.

  "What... What are you talking about?" he asked Amanda. "And where is Jean Perrier? This is not what I've been told by our notary, earlier this week."

  Jean Perrier stood quietly on the side of the stage, but didn’t say anything.

  "What the heck is this? We don't need lies!" yelled someone. "We need a solution!"

  "This is exactly what I'm about to provide," answered Amanda. "But I'm not the only one telling a big lie, here. The truth is, the mayor himself has been lying to you for a while now."

  "Don't you dare call me a liar!" Desplanques frowned and straightened up, sending a threatening look at Amanda.

  Despite her petite 5'3'' frame, the 'little' Canadian didn't feel intimidated and didn't move an inch. Holding the microphone firmly in one hand, she pointed an accusing finger at the mayor with the other. "This man here has been lying to you because his plan was to make big profits with the casino project. And you're right, you'd probably receive peanuts for your community. Him pushing for the casino was definitely not an altruistic act, am I right, Mr. Desplanques? And this is why Martin Plouque died."

  "You're crazy! Nobody understands what you're talking about,” protested the man. “Everybody here knows that my priority as a proud mayor of Orvilly-sur-Mer is to ensure that my village and my citizens are well taken care of. And I've been doing this successfully for over twenty years. And Martin Plouque was a bum anyway, a petty criminal. We all knew things would go very wrong for him at some point."

  "Yeah, that's true," yelled someone, "for the moment, the only liar in this room is you, Ms. McBride!"

  Some people applauded.

  "I want to hear more about this," said Régine who stood beside her husband Paul, near the entrance. "I think we should listen to Amanda before dismissing what she has to say. So, what's this all about, Amanda?"

  "Martin Plouque was killed because he knew too much," said Amanda.

  Some people laughed.

  "Yeah, he knew too much and did too much! No big news here!" said someone "Like the mayor said, Martin knew what was coming to him."

  "He knew too much about the casino project,” replied Amanda. “Especially the fact that the mayor was guaranteed to receive a kickback of a million Euros if it was approved," said Amanda.

  This last piece of information left the villagers mute.

  "What the heck is this story?"
asked someone.

  "We need proof!" yelled Barbon who was at the other end of the Hall, standing there with his employees.

  "Not only do I have proof, Mr. Barbon," answered Amanda, "but I know that you were part of this deal too!"

  This upsetting revelation threw another bomb into the crowd. An old lady turned to a man beside her.

  "What is going on?" she asked, "is this a new play?"

  "No, Ma'am," answered the man, "but it's becoming very interesting entertainment, for sure."

  "You're making serious accusations here, Ms. McBride," said Barbon. "If I were you, I'd be very careful about what I say next."

  "You don't scare me either, Mr. Barbon," replied Amanda. "But I'm not done yet. Mrs. Delphine Montel too was part of this deadly plot against Martin Plouque. But not so much for the money. For another reason. A very personal one. Am I right, Mrs. Montel?"

  All heads turned to the architect who was standing in the middle of the crowd, looking at Amanda coldly.

  "You can say whatever you want, nobody believes you," said the woman. "All this is silly. Why would I want to kill Martin Plouque?"

  "Because you think that he was responsible for your son's death a few years ago. Desplanques and Barbon convinced you to put money in the casino project. You agreed to do it, but not only for the financial investment. In exchange, you wanted Martin Plouque dead."

  Delphine Montel's face became as white as a sheet. She didn't say a word, staring at Amanda. The room was silent. People were waiting for the architect to deny the accusations. But instead, the woman smiled. With a big smile. A big scary smile.

  "Wow... I've never seen this woman smile before," whispered a man beside her. "And frankly, I prefer it when she doesn't."

  "Martin Plouque was a bloody fool who cared about nothing and nobody," said Montel. "He took advantage of every single person in this Hall. But what he did to my son was unforgivable. Getting rid of him was the best thing to do. I wish it had been done sooner. I have no regrets."