The Provence Puzzle: An Inspector Damiot Mystery(14)
“And what are the local police doing?”
“I assume they’re waiting for something to develop. They most certainly don’t venture out at night, in their one ancient car, looking for problems. Unless they’re summoned! They’ve warned the villagers they could get into trouble trespassing at the Chateau.”
“People can’t be allowed to take the law into their own hands.”
“Some of the villagers think the monster comes from the castle. Claude told me last week that they think he hides during the day in the cellars and comes out at night.”
“Every old castle should have a monster.” Damiot chuckled. “And a beautiful princess. They seldom do, these days…”
“Monsieur is laughing at me.”
“Not at all.” He finished his Calvados and set the glass down.
“The villagers watch the Chateau from the road, but some have climbed over the gates to get inside the grounds.”
“What happened?”
“One young man saw something moving through the trees.”
Damiot remembered the sound he had heard this morning, behind those locked gates. “He probably glimpsed some animal…”
“I gather he didn’t linger to find out. More recently, several of the villagers claim they actually saw the monster standing in a patch of moonlight. They say it was taller than any man! One moment the monster was there, in the courtyard of Chateau, and the next it had vanished. As though it had sunk through the cobblestones. One other thing! Before the monster appears they say a great bell tolls…”
“I wonder, Madame, would anyone have copies of the newspapers reporting those two murders?”
“We have no local papers, unfortunately, but there are weeklies, published in nearby towns, that some of the staff bring when they come to work. I will ask if there are any old copies. Claude is our squirrel! He saves everything. And he’s fascinated by the idea of a monster…”
“Talking about that monster again, chérie?”
Damiot looked around to see the chef, still in his white uniform, entering the lounge.
“There must be one, Monsieur, because some of the villagers swear they’ve seen him!” The chef laughed, white teeth flashing, his brown eyes dancing with amusement.
“Ah, Michel!” Madame Bouchard motioned for him to join them. “This is our chef de cuisine, Michel Giroud. Monsieur Damiot…”
Damiot put the dog down and got to his feet, extending his hand as the white-aproned chef came toward him. “You’re a first-class chef!”
“Merci, Monsieur.” He shook Damiot’s hand. “It is a pleasure to cook for a man who appreciates food.”
“Your saddle of hare tonight! Never tasted better in Paris…”
“Plaisir, Monsieur.” He turned to Madame Bouchard. “Have you been spreading fresh rumors about the monster?”
“Certainly not! It’s all nonsense.”
Damiot realized, as Giroud talked, that Madame Bouchard’s eyes glowed with affection for the young chef. He had left his toque blanche in the kitchen and his black hair was thick and curly. A real charmer! With his gypsy look and culinary talent he should go far…
“…thought, perhaps,” Giroud was saying, “I would take a drive, now that the rain has stopped. Clear my head of that kitchen.”
“And I’m going up to bed.” She looked toward Damiot. “When we close this early I try to get an extra hour of sleep.”
Giroud turned to Damiot again. “I hope you will have a pleasant stay in Courville, Monsieur.”
“Merci.”
“Will you be late, Michel?” Madame asked, eyes following him toward the foyer, as she returned the needlepoint to her workbag.
“You know I’ve no sense of time, chérie! Bonsoir, Monsieur!”
“Bonsoir…” Damiot remained standing as Giroud went through the dining room. “I think that I too may take a short drive.”
“Yes, Monsieur?” Madame rose, closing the workbag.
“You have made me curious. I’d like another look at that Chateau.”
She walked beside him toward the foyer, the dog dancing ahead.
Damiot hesitated as they reached the corridor. “I would prefer, Madame, that you are the only one, at least for the moment, to know I am with the Police Judiciaire in Paris.”
“I understand, Monsieur. A demain!”
“A demain…” As Damiot went toward his room to get his hat and waterproof, he realized that Madame Bouchard had been smiling.
A smile of amusement? Or complicity?
CHAPTER 6
Damiot drove into the hills, through drifting eddies of white mist, passing several villagers carrying lighted lanterns.
They were walking close together in small groups, and when they heard his motor behind them they moved off the road and stood frozen, like wary animals. Only their heads turned, eyes following his car.
After he passed they would discuss his identity. If there were any among them who had seen him on his trips into the village, they would tell the others. Someone would certainly know he was staying at the Auberge.
Most of them wore cloth caps or berets. Old clothes and heavy work shoes. Muscular types, in their thirties and early forties, with a few teenage youths.