(17/40) Provence-To Die For by Bain Donald

Author:Bain, Donald [Bain, Donald]
Language: eng
Format: mobi
Tags: Women Detectives, Detective and Mystery Stories, Provence (France), Mystery & Detective, Jessica (Fictitious Character), Women Novelists, Horror, France, Fiction, Women Detectives - France - Provence, Mystery Fiction, Women Sleuths, Artists, Women Mystery Fiction Writer-Detectives, General, Radio and Television Novels, Maine, Fletcher
ISBN: 9780451205667
Publisher: Signet
Published: 2002-04-02T07:00:00+00:00

Chapter Nine

It was barely daylight when I steered the bicycle out of the garage and leaned it against the tree. My feline friend was also up early and came to greet me, pushing her head and side against my calf, leaving a smear of gray fur on my navy sweatpants. I gave her a scratch behind the ears and prodded her back toward the barn. I’d dressed in layers and needed all of them against the chill that froze my breath in little clouds. I hadn’t been able to reach the baker, Mme Roulandet, yesterday; M. Telloir and I, along with the newest addition to his household, had arrived home after she’d closed for the day. When I’d tried to call again this morning, there was no answer. Either she was late getting in, or was ignoring the ringing while she fired up the huge ovens in preparation for her first customers.

I needed a ride into Avignon. M. Telloir would be occupied training his new dog, a disheveled terrier with a cocoa-colored coat, who took every opportunity to lie down on the ground, back legs splayed, looking more like a miniature shag rug than a valuable hunter of “black diamonds.” Mallory had fallen in love instantly, and M. Telloir had promised to bring “Magie”, with him this morning for a test run behind the house. I thought it would be “magic” indeed if the dog proved to be a good truffle hunter, but kept my opinion to myself. We were to benefit from any truffles the dog turned up on Martine’s property. Of course, based on all the little mounds of earth I’d seen on my last walk, there might not be any truffles left to find.

Since M. Telloir wasn’t available, Marcel was my second choice as chauffeur—that is, if Mme Roulandet was able to raise him. Otherwise I’d have to put the trip off until Monday. Captain LeClerq hadn’t returned our passports yet. If he was on duty, it was the perfect excuse to inquire about them and also to ask how the case was going. Too, if Claire was still in custody, I could check off another name on my list of people to interview. But even if I struck out at the police station, I had other stops on my itinerary. I planned a visit to Bertrand’s restaurant to speak with his staff, and to call at the Melissande to see Guy and get Mme Poutine’s address. Then there was the real estate office on the paper the chef had been clutching when he died. I pedaled down the driveway, mentally ticking off the errands I could accomplish with a ride into Avignon. Where was Héllas? I wondered. It was the restaurant where Daniel said he was having lunch when someone drove a knife into Emil Bertrand.

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