The Ghost Who Fed Them Bones (14 page)

A horrible realisation taunts me and I consider for a second suppressing it but Alice gets there anyway.

“Paul, you could put it in Papa’s drawer somewhere, either in their bedroom, or in his desk, or in the glove compartment of his car. His car would be the easiest.”

“How would I get into his car?”

“He never locks it. He is terrified of locking himself out of cars since he did that in Lyons many years ago and it took them two days to get the necessary authority to open it up for him again. So he leaves the car open in the garage which doesn’t have a lock.”

“So you think I should sneak into your garage and plant it in his car?”

“Wel I can’t, can I?”

(What a pain. Have to, I suppose).

“OK. Wil you come with me, to show me the way and to act as lookout for me?”

“Of course I wil .”

(Now is as good a time as any).

I climb down from the trailer, say goodbye to the stinking coats, leave the barn and get into the car. Alice is already there.

(How do ghosts travel in cars? Beats me. And why are they always ful y dressed, and how do they keep the outlines of their faces and bodies? Must ask Alice, but not now).

I stop the car near the park where I waited for M. Picard to emerge from Mme. de Bel etier’s house earlier and stand around while Alice does a recce.

“There is no-one around,” she confirms.

We walk the short distance to Alice’s house and I feel my way towards the garage, taking Alice’s directions. The garage has old, tired and extremely screechy double doors. I stop and listen. Silence. I step inside and immediately bump into the car. I go to the passenger side and open the front passenger door. The car light goes on. I should have closed the garage doors but they make such a noise. I slip the map quickly into the glove compartment, close the door, and return to the entrance.

“It is done,” Alice confirms. “Now let’s get out of here before the police arrive. When you close the doors, hide down the side. OK?”

“Why?”

“Premonition. Do as I say and hide wel . They may shine a flashlight down there.”

I close the doors which shriek the vil age down yet again, and sprint down the side of the garage into the garden and hide in a bush.

Sure enough, as Alice anticipated, a police car pul s up and two gendarmes with torches commence an inspection of the property. They even search down the side of the garage and flick a torch beam in my direction but do not see me.

“Rien. Tout est comme il faut,” declares one of the gendarmes and they get back into their car and pul away.

“You just stay here, Paul, while I make sure that it is safe to return to your car.”

I continue to hide in the bush waiting for Alice, looking up at the windows of her house. Suddenly I see a face in the window. There is no light, just a face. It looks like a woman. I cannot tel whether it is Alice’s mother or not.

Alice joins me. “Everything is clear. You can go.”

“I have just seen a face in the window up there. Is your mother back in the house?”

Alice laughs fondly. “No, that is Grandma – Maman’s maman. She was dancing wildly earlier, she was so pleased with developments. She has been furious for decades at the way Papa treats Maman, and beside herself since he murdered me.”

“How old is she? How did she know that he kil ed you?”

“She is dead, sil y. She died twenty years ago, much to Papa’s delight. He couldn't stand her because she was always on his case. So she knows everything that has happened. Grandpa too. He died two years before she did. She died of a broken heart. They were dancing together tonight, pleased as angels at the commission of a good deed – your good deed, in fact. I think they would like to meet you sometime Not now, it would be too difficult. Perhaps sometime during the week. I wil bring them to the barn. Are you coming tomorrow morning?”

“Of course.”

“Then you had better get some sleep. Does Fiona get up early?”

“How would I know?”

“If she does, can you remind her to put some pressure on her papa to persuade the police to start digging in the woods around Montauban as quickly as possible?”

“I’l do what I can. It may have to wait until lunchtime.”

“OK, Darling, then I’l see you tomorrow.”

She gives me a phantom kiss, this time on the lips.

“Fol ow me,” she orders. “I’l get you back to your car safely.”

* * *

Fiona is waiting up for me, wel everyone is. The party never stops up at the Château.

“Where have you been?” Mike asks.

“I had to go to see someone.”

“We have been looking for you. We were frightened that the police might have arrested you too. We phoned the station but they said that they hadn’t seen you but that there was a strange car near the barn near Inspector John’s house. The strange car turned out to be ours. What were you doing there?”

“I was trying to figure things out.”

“What things?”

“How I could have got involved in the arrest of a mass murderer.”

Mike places his arm round my shoulder. “Paul, do you know something?”

“What?”

“I don’t believe a word that you are saying.”

I shrug. “Suits me.”

“You were up to something else.”

“What else would I be up to?”

“Wel usual y when you are that secretive you are cheating.”

“Cheating?”

“Yes, cheating, Paul.”

“I wasn’t cheating. What would I be cheating at?”

“That is what I am wondering. We’l no doubt find out soon enough.”

We join the others who are playing charades uproariously or desperately, I am not sure which, and do not go to bed until two-thirty in the morning. I say good night to Mike and pretend to retire to my room before fol owing Fiona into hers.

“Did you see Alice?”

“Yes.”

“And?”

“We planted a map of where she is buried in her dad’s car.”

Fiona shakes her head. “That poor man doesn’t stand a chance with you two about.”

“He definitely kil ed Alice. He may wel have kil ed tens of other people according to the police, apparently. That is maybe how it should be. You could see it that I am keeping you safer too, Fiona.”

“And I am very grateful for everything that you do, Paul. Flash us a smile.”

“Bastard!”

“That is no way to talk to a girl who is about to give you a very good time.”

“Again?”

“Again, Paul. Are you bored of me already? Tempus fugit.”

I mock-frown at her. “Oh wel , I’l no doubt survive the ordeal.”

“I have no doubt that you wil .”

I cal ed back to see Alice again this morning, but she wasn’t there. As I drove past the Picards’ house, I saw several police cars parked outside so they are probably ransacking the place in search of clues. Alice is probably there biting her imaginary lips, hoping that they do not overlook the map.

I return to the Château at around 10:30 to be accosted by Mike.

“Paul, what have you been up to?”

His voice rises through the sentence, buoyed by intrigue and curiosity.

“I went into town.”

“What did you do in town?”

“I was looking for somebody.”

“Not to thank them, by any chance, for leaving a pelvic bone in Inspector John’s garden?”

I frown and make a play of searching my memory. “I don’t remember that, but I do have a lot of things on my mind.”

“Everyone is convinced that you rigged the bet. You were down there last night too, weren’t you?”

“I didn’t go into Inspector John’s garden, no.”

“But you were with somebody who did, weren’t you?”

“That I cannot say. We didn’t discuss it.”

“Paul, there is a trick here somewhere, and everyone is most unhappy about it.”

“You mean they are being very stingy about it.”

“That too. We are talking about a big payout.”

“Nobody has to pay me anything.”

“They don’t? That wil be a first.”

“I did it as a joke.”

“Putting a woman’s pelvis in Inspector John’s garden?”

“No, placing the bet on the most unlikely thing I could think of. Where exactly would I get a pelvic bone from, Mike? Tel me that.”

“Someone in the medical faculty at the university.”

“Who?”

“I dunno, but you must know somebody.”

“Is the university missing a pelvic bone?”

“Haven’t asked.”

“Wel , let’s go and visit my unhappy debtors, shal we?”

They are al sitting round the table in the garden drinking teas and coffees.

“Aha,” Joe shouts loudly as I appear.,“if it isn’t Sneaky Pete.”

“No, you rob him to pay me,” I flash back.

“So what are you cal ed?” Richard asks.

“Paul. Just Paul.”

“Is that ‘just’ as in ‘only’, or ‘just’ as in ‘justice’ – I think not,” Joe comments.

They are very sore about losing their bet.

“Is there any coffee?” I ask.

Fiona pushes me over a cup and saucer. “Here you are, Paul. Do you want any eau de vie in it to shore you up?”

“That’s OK, Fiona,” I reply. “I don’t need alcohol to handle the riff-raff.” I turn to Joe and Richard whom I hardly know so couldn’t care a stuff about. “Having problems paying your gambling debts, are you?”

“You cheated,” they both reply together.

“That’s the problem with pelvic bones,” I comment. “Two-a-penny around here. You should have thought of that before you placed your bet.”

“Are you going to enforce your debt?” John Jr. inquires casual y.

“I’m getting tempted,” I reply. “I hate being accused of cheating before lunchtime, especial y by a couple of boneheads.”

The ‘boneheads’ are managing to look both aggrieved and uncomfortable.

“Did you plant that bone in Inspector John’s garden?” John Jr. continues.

“No.”

“You promise?”

“Yes.”

“Can you prove it?” Joe throws in.

“Are you stupid?” I hurl back.

“No,” Joe snarls defensively, “I’m not that stupid.”

“Can you prove it?” I chime back.

“Yes – by not paying you.”

“Then don’t pay me,” I reply. “Just apologise for being rude, and wrong. Grovel a bit and I wil let you off.”

Grovel ing apparently doesn’t appeal to them, so both Joe and Richard stand up sharply, throw their napkins down as a chal enge, and stalk off.

“Riff-raff gone,” I observe, “and now for a nice peaceful coffee.”

“Did you know that it would be a pelvic bone next?” Peter pushes.

“No.” I smile. “But I did have an inside track. You could cal it insider trading.”

“How?” asks Sarah.

I pause for about thirty seconds and pick up an empty coffee cup next to me. I show everyone the inside of the cup.

“There you are,” I say deadpan. “It wil be a shoulder blade next.”

“Very funny,” this from Sarah.

“You can’t read coffee grinds, then?”

“No, and neither can you.”

“I got the pelvic bone right.”

“Yes,” Sarah says, “and everyone is trying to work out how. We reckon that either you or a friend planted it.”

I shrug. “Perhaps they did. Perhaps Alice Picard left it herself. Dropped it by mistake.”

John Jr. grimaces. “That real y is gross, Paul.”

“Easily done when you are fal ing to pieces.” I love to have the last word.

* * *

At lunch I find myself sitting next to the Earl of Affligem himself. I have learnt from Fiona that the seating plan around the Earl and Countess is no accident, whatever may happen along the rest of the table. I have been summonsed.

“Paul,” the Earl greets me as if I were his favourite son. “Come and sit by me. There is something I want to say to you.

Do you mind?”

“Not in the least.”

The Earl chuckles. “I haven’t said it yet.”

However, for the first course, the Earl says nothing at al to anyone. He simply radiates his beneficence around the table in the direction of whoever happens to be speaking. It is halfway through the duck that he strikes.

“I heard about the unpleasant incident this morning.”

“Oh that.”

“You are quite right, Paul. They are complete riff-raff. I had to send them away.”

I raise my eyebrows.

(Real y? For me?).

The Earl goes cloudy serious, leaning close to me to share an earnest confidence. “There are two rules at the gaming table: pay your debts and never accuse anyone of cheating unless you can prove it.” He makes an emphatic gesture with a nod of his head.

I laugh. “I thought you were going to say ‘no women’.”

“Oh, good God, no, there is nothing wrong with having women at the gaming table. It adds considerably to the fun, in fact. They not only look prettier than the men, they bluff better too. God built cunning into a woman’s soul. Most of the best card players I know are women. I am careful to place very smal bets when they are about. My ancestors would never forgive me if I lost al our castles through misplaced bets. One of my ancestors nearly did that two hundred and fifty years ago, but he chal enged the other man to an honour duel, kil ed him, and somehow al the debts disappeared. I think he learnt that trick from the kings of France. If he hadn’t been so ruthless, I would probably have been brought up on some God-forsaken Gloucester housing estate and be sel ing doughnuts naked on the beach right now.”

“I think you may be a bit old for that, Constance,” the Countess reminds him.

“True, true. You see, Paul, in my head I am as young as you are. Have you ever sold doughnuts naked on a beach?”

“Not even after the heaviest of nights out,” I reply.

“I think you should,” the Earl opines. “Would you take a bet?”

“It is possible.”

“The bet has nothing to do with sel ing doughnuts naked on the beach, you’l be glad to hear. It is to do with our postman, a most unpleasant so-and-so who bears us a constant grudge.”

“For what?”

“For being British and for having a long driveway with an electronic gate at the bottom that is sometimes closed. We have managed to trap him five or six times in the last thirty years, and he hasn’t forgiven us. He marks a high proportion of our mail ‘return to sender – address not known’, as if anyone could miss a château in a smal rural vil age.”