In the Shadows (The Outsiders Book 1) (20 page)

Fabienne said, “I do remember that we used to go boating, the four of us, in the river. We would swim and lay on the beach and soak in the sun. My favorite pastime on those sunny outings was gazing across the river, taking in the view of the village, watching the small cascades gush out of the cliffs through the terraced gardens and arched garden walls.”

“Oh,” Jeannette said excitedly, “and I love
d to go to the town square in the centre of the village and wade through the stream that meandered right through the middle.”

She
stopped and Fabienne asked, “What’s wrong?”

“Well, I guess the man-made things in town weren’t quite as drab as I first remembered,” Jeannette said, smiling.

“I told you that our brains don’t work as well as they used to, didn’t I?” Fabienne said, laughing.

“Your village sounds delightful,” Maurelle said. “I can’t wait to see it.” For the first time in months, she was actually looking forward to something instead of looking behind her
.

“We should be there in another hour, I think,” Fabienne said, “though I would rather you slowed down a bit. If it takes longer, I won’t mind.”

Maurelle glanced over at Fabienne who was nervously twisting her hands in her lap, and she let up her foot from the gas pedal, slowing down enough to allow the older woman to relax, but not enough to impede traffic. Drops of rain had begun to splatter the windshield, and though the drops were intermittent, she herself was getting nervous.

Maurelle was reasonably comfortable driving on the wrong side of the road now, and was getting used to driving through a winding gorge. She didn’t mind driving in heavy rain either. But the dreadfully real possibility of combining all three was jangling her nerves.

An hour later, while searching for signs that would tell her where to turn off the main road to get to Saint-Julien, a deafening thunder crash startled all three women, causing Jeannette to scream, and nearly making Maurelle swerve off the slippery road. Maurelle gritted her teeth and grasped the steering wheel as she craned her neck, trying desperately to see through the increased torrential downpour.
Just what we need
.
Why can’t anything ever be easy?

She wiped away beads of perspiration
forming on her forehead. After another fifteen minutes, she saw a signpost that listed Saint-Julien-du-Tarn, which meant they were at least on the right track and nearing the town.

“We’re getting close,” she said.

“Oh, thank God,” Fabienne said, clasping her hands together. “I have never been so frightened.” She leaned forward toward Maurelle, and added, “It wasn’t because of you, dear. You did a wonderful job. We—Jeannette and I—were frightened because we were reminded of something, a horrible experience we shared years ago.”

“What happened?” As Maurelle listened, she set the windshield wipers to a slower setting
. The rain had reduced its intensity from fire-hydrant gushing to fountain spraying.

“It was sixty-three years ago,” Fabienne said. “It’s silly that we should be scared of a bad storm after all this time, really.”

Jeannette picked up the story from there. “We grew up in Candes-St.-Martin in the Indre-Loire region. You knew that we grew up together, didn’t you? That was before we moved to Paris.”

“Yes, Fabienne told me,” Maurelle said, thinking how wonderful it was that these women had maintained their friendship throughout their long lives. She, herself, had good friends when she was in school, but they’d all gone their separate ways.

“Well, there was a horrible storm on our way to school one day,” Jeannette said. “My older brother was driving us in our family truck. The road was slippery like today, the visibility terrible. Anyway, he lost control of the truck and slid off the road, crashing into a tree. After that, neither of us have had any desire to drive.”

“Oh, I’m so sorry. Was anyone hurt in the crash?”

“My brother died. Fabienne was in a coma for two weeks because of a bad concussion,” Jeannette said. “I only suffered bruises and a broken arm.”

“
How terrible. I’m really sorry. I should have found a place to stop and wait for the storm to pass.”

“No, no,” Jeannette said. “We made it through fine. Anyway, we are looking forward to getting to Saint-Julien. You did the right thing, continuing through the storm. Don’t feel bad.”

Fabienne said, “That’s right. Actually, you are a much better driver than my Claude ever was. If he had been driving through this storm, Jeannette and I would have huddled on the floor so we couldn’t see what he was doing. Charles would have split his side howling with laughter at us.”

Jeannette broke out laughing and Fabienne joined
in.

Maurelle was glad to hear the women laughing again. She doubted that she was a better driver than Claude had been, since she didn’t
have a great deal of experience considering that she mostly used public transportation in London. She figured they were only being nice, but it made her feel better anyway. And at least the three women were getting along now.

When Dave returned
to his hotel room, he pulled out his phone and dialed his grandmother’s phone number. Still no answer. He missed Maurelle and really wanted to talk to her, not only to let her know what was happening, but also to ask her some more questions about the Raybourne family.

He tried calling several more times throughout the evening while he watched television and scoured the internet for anything new. When he still couldn’t reach them, he called Jeannette’s and Coralie’s phone numbers.

No answer there either. Seeing no other option, he dialed Simone’s number.

As the rain
began to abate, daylight returned, providing frequent glimpses of sheer cliff walls bordering the roadway on her right, glistening with moisture, and faint misty shadows of more distant cliffs and mountainsides, once again dividing Maurelle’s attention between her driving and the awe inspiring scenery.

“Oh look,” Fabienne
blurted in excitement, pointing ahead. “We’re coming to the first tunnel. That means we’re close to Saint-Julien.”

Jeannette tapped Maurelle on the shoulder. “Dear, you’ll need to turn on the headlights. I don’t like the darkness. These tunnels are close together, one after another and they’re pitch-black.”

Maurelle switched on the headlights and was happy to have been warned. Jeanette was indeed correct. These tunnels were very narrow, curvy and long, carved through the mountain’s core, without any electric lighting. Driving without lights would have been really spooky, not to mention more than a bit dangerous. A few minutes later, after they exited the final tunnel, Fabienne had her made a sharp right turn onto a narrow road posted to be the turn-off leading to Saint-Julien.

Ten minutes later, after they drove through the final tunnel, they made a
nother sharp turn to the right and followed the narrow road going into Saint-Julien.

“Oh, there it is,” Fabienne said, clapping her hands together as they approached the
village.

Maurelle smiled. Everything looked
fresh and beautiful after the cleansing rain. The clouds had floated away, leaving a clear view of mid-evening sun and a faint breeze delivering the pleasing scent of summer freshness. They drove into the tiny village, which looked, at least to Maurelle, like a smaller version of Reynier. The hill behind it, however, was far more vertical, which meant the houses and businesses butted right up against a straight rock wall. On the opposite side of town was another shorter jagged vertical wall that dropped down to a roiling river below.

Fabienne said, “It’s been a long time.”

“It certainly has,” Jeannette said. “Too long. How could we have thought it drab?”

“We won’t have electricity or water at the house, but tomorrow we can buy propane for the stove, bottled water for drinking, and oil lanterns or candles for light.”

Maurelle popped in. “Shouldn’t we stop at the general store then and pick up something for tonight, if not for lighting, at least snacks and drinks?” 

“No. It’s too late, past seven already. The shops close early here. Tomorrow we’ll buy what we need. I’m too tired, anyway, to go shopping. I
just want to rest.”

Worried, Jeannette said,
“Dear me, we should have brought things with us.”

“
I know, but we didn’t have time,” Fabienne said. She clicked her tongue, apparently annoyed at Jeannette who leaned back against the seat, pouting. “Maurelle, you should follow the main road. It’ll go up an incline at the town edge. That’s where you’ll find my little house.”

Maurelle nodded. As she drove, the road turned and angled up, becoming narrower and almost hidden under a tunnel of tree branches, making her worry that she would run right into
the rock wall. Her fears quickly vanished when the road ended in front of a lonely stone cottage, half-hidden amid overgrown bushes and situated directly in front of the rock wall.

“Oh, Fabienne whispered, tears streaking down her face. “I can almost see Claude standing by the door, waiting for us.”

Maurelle stopped the car and they all climbed out. As Fabienne and Maurelle walked across the weed-filled yard, with Jeannette right on their heels, Maurelle put her arm around Fabienne’s shoulder. The older woman instinctively pulled away slightly, but then looked up and gave a small smile.

Spears of light pierced the overgrown canopy in places, providing spotty illumination
and allowing the three to find the front door, which was painted light chocolate to match the shutters covering the windows on the outside. Some of the paint had peeled off the door and shutters, revealing a dwelling in severe need of care.

“I hope you remembered the keys,” Jeannette said, between huffs of breath as she trudged
up the path to the door. “Wouldn’t that be our luck if you left them back in Reynier?”

“Well, I’m forgetful but I’m not that senile
yet,” Fabienne snapped. When they reached the front door, Fabienne dug through her handbag, looking for the keys. “Well, I know I put them in here,” she mumbled.

“Ha,” Jeannette said, “not senile, she says.”

A second later, Fabienne yanked out the keys and waved them in the air defiantly.

Her hands trembled as she tried to stick the key in the lock, and Maurelle sensed that strong emotion rather than feebleness was to blame for Fabienne’s clumsiness.

The key eventually entered the lock but did not want to turn.

Several tries later, with much key jiggling and grunting, Fabienne was able to get the lock to work
, and she pushed the door open. It was too dark to see much inside.

Jeannette said, “Help me open the shutters. We need as much light in here as we can get.”

After they pulled open the outside shutters and secured them, the three women entered the house. In the foyer, they stopped and gasped. The sharp contrast of outside light shafts splaying higgledy-piggledy around the foyer and living room gave the house an eerie feel. Maurelle eased forward and ran a fingertip along the top of a bookshelf. A decade worth of dust blanketed everything. She gazed up to the ceiling and shivered, following the thick cobwebs that dangled from it like stalactites. Mouse droppings littered the dusty wooden floorboards and furnishings. For a moment, she was back in her lonely cave with only its resident mouse for companionship. On second thought, the cave was decidedly cleaner and preferable.

“Well, I think we should get to work,” Fabienne said. “We should have brooms and mops and such in the closet.”

“I’ll bring in our things from the car,” Maurelle said.

“That’s a good idea, dear girl.”

Jeannette glared at Fabienne “I thought you were tired. You said you wanted to rest.”

“N’importe. I’ve got a surge of energy. How could I not, now that we’re here?”

An hour later
, as the sun was setting, the three women sat in the living room admiring the transformation. Fabienne had found a few candles salted away in a cabinet, behind stale half eaten soda crackers, so there was at least going to be minimal lighting available. Surprising everyone when Jeanette tried the faucet, there was actually running water. Maurelle decided her earlier comparison to her cave may have been hasty after all. “You know,” Jeannette said, “this is like coming home. Thank you for letting me come with you, Fabienne. And you, too, Maurelle.” 

In the soft flickering candlelight, Maurelle studied the two older women. Jeannette closed her eyes for a few minutes, her lips curved up in a smile.
Fabienne sat next to her on the couch, her hands folded in her lap, still clutching her dust rag, a faraway look in her eyes, the same kind of look Maurelle had seen in her own grandmother’s eyes years ago, when she, her mother, and grandparents had visited her grandmother’s childhood home. Maurelle felt a satisfaction knowing that she’d inadvertently made this emotional journey for Fabienne and Jeannette possible, and yet she still couldn’t shake her worries, couldn’t forget that this was no mere pleasure trip.

Jeannette sprang up from the couch, screaming, and
causing Fabienne to jump up, too, and clutch her chest.

“What’s wrong?” Fabienne shrieked.

“A mouse!”

Fabienne looked a
cross the coffee table at Maurelle and burst out laughing. “Well, I think we have acquired a pet. Better leave some bread crumbs out on the kitchen floor for the poor thing.”

Jeannette glared at Fabienne as though she thought she was out of her mind, but Fabienne smiled and sat back down, folding her hands in her lap.

“Oh, thank God
you’re home!” Dave said when Simone answered her phone. “Where is everyone? I’ve been trying to reach Grand-mère for two days.”

She didn’t say anything
. Dave wondered if he’d gotten a wrong number. “Simone?”

“Yes,” she said. “Where are you?”

“I’m on a business trip. Didn’t Grand-mère tell you? Where is everyone?”

She was silent again, making Dave want to scream at her. Instead, he clenched his jaw and waited. Rain pelted against his hotel window and people walking down the hall past his room were laughing. On the other end of the phone, though, the silence was deafening. Finally, Dave said, “What the hell is going on, Simone? I’ve spent the past two hours calling people—my grandmother, Jeannette, Coralie. No one answered their phones. Where did everyone go?”

“You left me without saying a word. We had a date. I bought us tickets to the theatre. You didn’t bother to cancel or to even say goodbye.”

“Huh? What are you talking about?”

“I dressed up for our date and waited for you to arrive to take me out. Do you have any idea how embarrassing it was to be stood up? And I wasted all that money on tickets that we didn’t use.”

“Simone, I’m sorry. Something came up unexpectedly. I should have had the decency to call and cancel
, but with everything I had to do to get ready for my trip, I completely forgot about our date. As for saying goodbye—well, there wasn’t time.”

“You can cut the act, Dave,” Simone said, with a bitter edge to her voice. “I know that you’re trying to help Maurelle—or should I say Maura Barrington—get away with murder.”

“What?” He felt as though she had slapped him across the face, and he nearly fell off his chair. He recovered quickly. “Okay, first of all, I’m not helping anyone get away with murder. I am trying to find out exactly what happened. That’s what I do. I guess you were right about one thing—I am still a detective deep down.”

“Of course you are,
Cheri,” she said, cooing at him. It was something that he used to find attractive about her. Now it seemed phony. What bothered him, too, was her desperation and insecurity. She didn’t need to be that way. While her physical attractiveness and sophistication were superficial, created and honed for and by her modeling career, yet not enough to keep him interested, they were certainly enough for some men.

“And how do you know about Maurelle?” he asked, his stomach churning suddenly. “What happened?”
He heard her sigh this time, and braced himself for the worst.

“I only found out after the gendarmes arrived. I didn’t call them. I wouldn’t betray you. You must believe me.”

“Then how did they find out she was in Reynier?”

“Someone called them. It wasn’t me. But, well . . . I guess it was sort of on my behalf.”

“What the hell did you do?”

“It wasn’t me. I swear. It was Paul. I tried to stop him. M
aman and Grand-mère tried, too.”

“Oh, Christ,” Dave said. “Why would he do that? And what do you mean it was sort of on your behalf?”

She was silent again.

“Simone, please tell me. What happened?”

“Paul was upset that you stood me up, and he knew it had something to do with Maurelle. We all did. He came to me and told me he’d put together some clues—my God, she was hiding in a cave! He also told me she was hitchhiking last week and he gave her a ride. He didn’t know who she really was or what kind of trouble she was in, but he figured that if he called the gendarmes, she would run away. Anyway, he thought that he was doing me a favor because with her out of the picture, and you available again, you might return to me. He meant her no harm, really, and he was only looking out for me. You know how protective he is.”

Dave bent forward and closed his eyes.
“Paul’s created a huge mess.”

“He knows that now, and he’s sorry about it.”

“Where is Maurelle?”

“I don’t know where she is. That’s the truth. The gendarmes don’t know either, if that makes you feel better.”

“Where is my grandmother?” he asked as calmly as he could.

“I . . . well, I was told that she and my grandmother were going with mother to Brigitte’s.” She paused. “The Belvidere gendarmes notified the Vendome and Orleans gendarme
s
,
but they only found my mother. No one seems to know the whereabouts of the others.”

Dave
didn’t say anything as he tried to comprehend what she’d told him. Finally, he said, “So you’re telling me that Maurelle and two elderly women are what—hitchhiking, hiding in caves, walking through the woods—what?”

“
They took mother’s car
.
The gendarmes are looking for the car and for all three women. I think they’re calling our grandmothers hostages. You see, Maman either had to tell them that she and Grand-mère and Fabienne were all aiding a fugitive, or simply say she didn’t know what had happened.”

“What?”

“I—I’m supposed to notify the gendarmes if I hear from you, Dave.”

“What’s that supposed to mean? Are they going to arrest me too?”