The Provence Puzzle: An Inspector Damiot Mystery(36)

“There are several things, Monsieur, that I have decided I must tell you.” She uncorked the bottle as she talked. “Even though you’re not investigating the Courville monster or those murders…”

“I swear, Madame, I have no official reason for involving myself in either matter.”

“You don’t think they’re one and the same?” Now she was filling the glasses. “Those two unfortunate girls were killed by the monster.”

“I have no opinion as to that. I’ve been asking questions because, like all detectives, I have a larger curiosity than most. Eh bien! What is this you’ve decided to tell me?” Accepting one of the glasses from her. “Merci, Madame.”

“First of all, there is something I think you should know about Lisette Jarlaud…”

“First of all! Shall we sit down?”

“Of course…” She sank onto the yellow wool blanket. “I hope you’re finding this bed comfortable?”

“In every way.” He sat beside her, aware of her perfume again. Fresh and subtle, unlike the heavy scents worn by his wife and his mistress…

She raised her glass, the Calvados glowing amber in the firelight. “To your complete recovery, Monsieur! From that surgery…”

“I’ll happily drink to that possibility.” He touched his glass to hers. As they drank, he noticed that her robe, in this light, seemed to have a tawny golden sheen like the pelt of an animal. “You were saying—about the Jarlaud girl?”

“May not be important, but… I haven’t told this to anyone! Of course, the local police never questioned me. Lisette Jarlaud came here one morning, not long before her death.”

“Oh?”

“Two weeks before she died. Only Claude knew about it. He was alone in the kitchen when she knocked on the door, and came upstairs to tell me that Lisette wished to see me. I went down and found her sitting on the kitchen steps. I suppose Claude overheard what was said. I’ve never discussed it with him.” She sipped the Calvados slowly as she talked. “Lisette wanted to know if I might have work for her. Told me that she was unhappy at the H?tel Courville—had to make a change—but I wanted no part of her. I’d been aware of her reputation since shortly after my husband and I arrived here. So I explained, as kindly as possible, that I already had two women who worked for me whenever maids were required. I never saw her again but I’ve wondered, since her death, why she wanted to leave the H?tel Courville…”

“She offered you no explanation?”

“None. I’ve thought about it many times. Could she have been threatened by someone? Perhaps one of the guests at the hotel…”

“They would surely have followed her here!”

“Perhaps she knew they couldn’t afford our prices. Also, with only six rooms, our guests are somewhat more conspicuous.”

“But if anyone had threatened her—even someone on the hotel staff—she could have left Courville and found a job in Marseille!”

“With two small children? Surely she wouldn’t leave them with her parents.”

“I suppose not…”

“Ever since Lisette’s death, I’ve felt that I should tell someone about her coming here. It didn’t occur to me at first, because I thought I knew who had murdered her. I thought he would be caught right away, but it’s been several weeks.”

“And who did you think had killed her?”

“Perhaps I shouldn’t say!” She swallowed more of the brandy. “Now that I’m talking to you, I’m not so certain.”

“Why did you suspect this particular person?”

“Because I saw them together one morning, months ago, as I was parking in the square to do some errands. I first noticed him coming from the pharmacie, walking toward his truck parked near the fountain. I was about to speak when I realized that he hadn’t seen me because his eyes were on someone else. Lisette Jarlaud had apparently been waiting for him, hidden between his truck and another car, but when he reached her they began to quarrel…”

“Who was this man?”

“Must I tell you?”

“Only if you wish.”

“He has lived in Courville only a few years. A strange and lonely man. Not at all a friendly person…”

“Marc Sibilat?”

“I’ve said too much!”

“You think Sibilat killed the Jarlaud girl?”

“I wondered about that right after her death, but I’m not so certain any more. And I know nothing about that other girl who died. I’ve no reason to suspect Marc, except I did see him arguing with Lisette that morning in the square. And he is, well, rather strange…”

“In what way?”

She shrugged. “I have an uncomfortable feeling whenever I’m with him—in his shop or when he delivers flowers here—a suspicion that because of his mother he hates all women.” She frowned as she faced him. “If that were true—could he be the murderer?”

Now it was Damiot’s turn to shrug. “Perhaps he dislikes everyone. Men and women! There are people like that. Any man can be a murderer, or, for that matter, any woman. And every human being, in his own way, is strange—has his or her peculiarities—psychopathic or otherwise. Some of my strangest suspects have proved to be completely innocent.”