The Vine Witch by Smith Luanne G

Author:Smith, Luanne G.
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2019-09-30T16:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER NINETEEN

Jean-Paul stood in his kitchen, bewildered by the sudden warren of cupboards and drawers surrounding him. He’d lived in the château for three years yet had never cooked or prepared a meal. Not even a late-night snack. Madam, he realized, had taken care of his every need. Sometimes before he even knew he needed it. And now he could strangle himself with his own ignorance when what he needed to know was where to find a box of allumettes.

He had no idea where Madame had gone. One minute she was rummaging through the storage room in the cellar, upset over Elena’s arrest, and the next she was grabbing her umbrella and storming out the front door, mumbling about charlatans and madmen. She’d said not to worry, to take care of the place while she was gone. Or was it when she was gone? At any rate, she hadn’t returned. And now he couldn’t find a damn thing, just when Elena was counting on him.

He banged his head against the cupboard, one thunk followed by another. How could he lose Elena now? He’d only just found her.

He straightened, gave his suit vest a good tug, and forced himself to think logically. He was a trained attorney, for God’s sake. He ought to be able to reason out a witch’s kitchen. Matches would be on a shelf near the stove in any normal setup, but as he thought about it now he couldn’t recall Madame actually striking a match. Ever. He turned on a hunch and opened the drawer beside the icebox where the odd bits of twine and broken paraffin candles awaited their usefulness. Miraculously he found the elusive allumettes buried beneath a tin of leftover anise candies. He slipped the box in his trouser pocket, buttoned his suit coat, and donned his gray homburg. He’d just tugged the hat snug on his head when a loud and persistent knocking banged against the front door.

He debated ignoring whoever it was, but they would see him in the courtyard. And he couldn’t delay any longer. The prison was twelve miles away, and the first court hearing was in the afternoon. If he wanted to have a proper visit with Elena first, he needed to leave within the next few minutes. After a glance at his pocket watch, he opened the front door just as a fist prepared to pound out another round of insistent knocking. The fist might as well have hit him straight between the eyes.

“Well, are you going to invite us in or just stand there lollygagging all afternoon?”

Marion Martel stood on the threshold dressed in an ecru skirt and jacket ensemble and wide-brimmed hat—a little showy with the white plume and two hydrangeas cocked on the side, but subdued enough for daytime wear, at least for a woman as wealthy as the widow of Monsieur Philippe Martel.

Jean-Paul kissed his mother on both cheeks. “What are you doing here?”

“That’s a fine hello.” She pushed past him and plucked off her linen gloves one finger at a time as she took in the château’s modest salon.

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