“He has his groceries delivered, I take it?”
“Yes, Johnny used to deliver to him, but there was a problem.” She shook her head. “C’est dommage. I’m sorry to give up on him, but I’m afraid he’s a bad kid.”
“I saw a teenage boy on the grounds this morning—dark hair, tall, thin...?”
She nodded. “Probably Johnny. Causing trouble?”
“I wanted to speak with him about something,” said Cady. “Do you know where I could find him?”
“His family lives on rue Champs. But I wouldn’t go over there, if I were you. It’s a difficult situation; the mother died, the father’s not around much—works a lot and drinks too much. It is not very nice.”
Cady nodded. “Okay, thank you. Is there somewhere in town where I could check my e-mail?”
“At the Hound Dog Café, around the corner. The owner, Hubert, is an Elvis Presley fan.”
“Thanks. Hey, is there a museum in town, or some other source of local information?”
“How do you mean?”
“I would like to find information about the history of Saint-Véran. I’m interested in the old carousel that used to stand on the Château Clement property.”
“The carousel! My grandmother saidhermother remembered riding the château’s carousel during holidays.”
“Really?”
She nodded, warming to the theme. “The château was famous for opening its gates to the entire village for feast days, La Fête du Muguet, the fourteenth of July, that sort of thing.”
Cady knew the fourteenth of July was Bastille Day, but had never heard of the other holiday.
“Why did it stop?”
She pushed out her chin and tilted her head in a “who knows?” gesture. “World War I came along, the Clement family lost their money, and the lady of the manor died. There were rumors about her.”
“What kind of rumors?”
“In a village, there is always gossip, no? I really don’t remember. Itwas all long before my time. I’m sorry, I should help the next customer.”
Only then did Cady realize a woman was waiting behind her, a basket of groceries on her arm.
“Oh, sorry.”
“Je vous souhaite une bonne journée.”The cashier wished her a good day.
Cady returned the sentiment, packed her items in the canvas tote bags Fabrice had given her, and headed back to the car.
Since she hadn’t brought her computer along, she decided she would check out the café and send Olivia a proper e-mail on her next trip to town. Navigating her phone’s tiny keyboard to compose a long message required more patience than Cady could muster.
It was a quick trip back to the château, where Cady parked the Citroën behind the main building. She carried the bags in through the side door, where Lucy greeted her, wagging her tail lazily. There was no sign of Fabrice, so Cady busied herself putting away the groceries and then snooped through the château a little more, nearly getting lost in the dizzying maze of flights and corridors, Lucy’s nails clicking on the wooden floors as she trailed Cady from room to room. Besides empty chambers she found a nursery complete with a few dusty wooden toys, a sunroom with mostly broken panes, a pool table with ruined felt, a bundle of lace and shattered silk that might once have been a fine gown, and more carved rococo fireplaces and lintels.
When she stumbled upon a library that appeared to be in use—a manual typewriter and stacks of papers crowded the desk—Cady decided she had trespassed enough. She could only imagine Fabrice’s reaction if she were to barge in on him in his private study.
So she returned to the kitchen, rolled up her sleeves, and got to work. The kitchen wasn’t as bad as much of the château; still, the stove hadn’t been scrubbed well in a good long while. Finally satisfied, she began to prep the chicken and vegetables for roasting, then cleaned the fireplace of ashes and brought in several armfuls of firewood from the woodshed to build up the fire.
How had Fabrice managed by himself for so long? Had Bad Boy Johnny been helping him? And what had happened between the two of them?
And what rumors had the woman at the grocery store been referring to with regard to Josephine Clement? What had this old château witnessed, over the years?
Finally the popping sound of tires on gravel interrupted her musings and heralded the arrival of the tow truck from Avignon.
