Blackbird Fly by Lise McClendon

Author:Lise McClendon
Language: eng
Format: mobi, epub
Tags: french kiss, family and relationships, travel france, family mystery, contemporary, suspense, legal thriller, family drama, travel fiction, france, womens fiction, travel adventure, romance, peter mayle, family fiction, romantic suspense, contemporary adult, family suspense book, contemporary american fiction, womens suspense, womens travel fiction, french women, france novels, family children, womens commercial fiction, womens travel, literary suspense, womens fiction with romantic elements, travel europe, womens lit, womens mystery, womens lives, travel abroad, provence, thriller, mystery, family romance relationships love, family who have passed away, womens
Publisher: Lise McClendon
Published: 2011-05-30T19:07:20.732116+00:00

He pulled the Citroën into the tiny garage two blocks away from Albert’s, a space he rented from an old lady. They walked back toward rue de Poitiers. Back to reality, she thought, feeling the strange lightness of the morning at the winery and laughter with Pascal.

At the corner the gendarme lounged against a wall, smoking. He straightened at the sight of them but held his ground. His uniform was always perfectly pressed. Merle wondered if he lived with his mother, or who was the woman who took such care. Did the vain bastard press it himself?

Pascal nodded to him, as if they were acquaintances. She simply stared at him, turning back as they walked toward the house, to stare over her shoulder. Just to give a good dose of what he gave her. He fumed, clenching his jaw, then crushed his cigarette on the sidewalk.

The front door was unlocked. Pascal told her that was a very bad idea, leaving the door open like that. “You must tell Tristan to always lock the door.”

Fernand had made progress. The water heater, sitting out in the bathroom like a fat friend who won’t leave, was hooked up and filling the water. The floor was torn up for drains to connect with ‘big smelly,’ the fragrant drain, and three intakes poked through the back wall for the toilet, kitchen sink, and bathroom sink. Luc was busy outside chipping away a last hole for the shower line.

There was a note from Tristan saying he was practicing until six. The tournament was Saturday and he hoped to compete even though he was a beginner. On the roof Pascal began to pound.

Merle grabbed her notebook and escaped. The gendarme had disappeared from the corner. At the post office she waited her turn at the internet kiosk, slipping her smart card into the slot. She checked her email, wrote cursory notes to her sisters and parents, read one from Annie wanting details, gave them all Albert’s phone number and said the house repairs went well. Then she did a search for information about the making of French wine. There was a long, juicy site sponsored by the Bordeaux Wine Office that she printed out.

The line behind her grew longer, techno-savvy seniors and tourists. Ignoring them she entered ‘Justine LaBelle + Bordeaux’ into the search engine. Nothing but hospitals in Quebec. She went to a French white pages site. This time she got three matches. Scribbling down the numbers she checked her time. One minute left. She entered ‘Monastères + Dordogne’ in hopes of finding Sister Evangeline’s convent, in case she was a nun. One hit, a Carmelite convent fifty miles away. Then the old woman behind her began to smack her cane on the marble floor.

Back at the house a large truck was unloading at the curb. The beds were here, with bedding, and the dining chairs with rush seats. She ferried the chairs in and grabbed Luc to carry her mattress upstairs. She had decided on a soft yellow the color of sunrise for the bedroom.

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