The Provence Puzzle: An Inspector Damiot Mystery(58)

Pray God they also meant good weather…

He drowsed until the roar of a motorcycle brought him wide awake.

That would be Claude! Breakfast should arrive in another fifteen minutes.

He got out of bed and, after opening the curtains and inside shutters to see bright sunshine in the garden, hurried into the bath.

When the expected knock sounded he was in bed again, wearing his robe and propped in anticipation against the pillows. “Come in!”

The gar?on entered with a breakfast tray. “Bonjour, M’sieur!”

“Bonjour, Claude. Where’s Fric-Frac?”

“She’s not awake yet.”

He smiled, remembering their late night, as Claude set the tray across his lap.

“La patronne told me to bring you her special confiture of apricots this morning.”

“Madame’s spoiling me!” Noticing a handwritten label as Claude opened the small jar. “I’d like to ask you one or two questions…”

“Certainly, M’sieur!” He stood at attention, smiling and wiping his reddened hands on the long apron wrapped around his thin body.

“Think now!” Filling a cup with black coffee as he talked. “Can you remember the first time you heard about this monster that lurks in the Chateau?”

“Mais certainement! It was soon after they found that first girl’s body.”

“Do you recall who told you?”

“I’m not sure, Monsieur.” He shrugged. “Everybody in the village was talking about it. Saying there have been stories for years about a monster in the castle.”

“But you hadn’t heard such stories before?” Damiot sipped the scalding coffee.

“No, M’sieur. Never…”

“Do you happen to know where the Jarlaud girl lived?”

“In an alley off rue Woodrow Wilson, behind the H?tel Courville. There’s a row of old houses there.”

“I know the ones. Is Madame Bouchard up yet?”

“Mais certainement! La patronne’s the first in the kitchen every morning, and I’m supposed to be the second. Michel is always the last. Of course, I’ve already taken a pot of coffee up to his apartment! He cooks breakfast for Madame and they eat together in the kitchen while they discuss the dinner menu and Madame makes out her shopping lists.”

“Perhaps I’ll see Madame when I get my car. Merci, Claude.”

“Plaisir, M’sieur Inspecteur! We’re busy this morning. Those gentlemen are leaving for Paris…”

Damiot spread preserves on a croissant as the gar?on departed.

He should visit that alley off rue Woodrow Wilson, on the chance there might be something he could learn from the Jarlaud girl’s family.

His forehead ached faintly, but that must be from the Calvados he had drunk last night. There was no pain at the back, where he had struck his head.

He considered for a moment what he had learned at the Chateau.

Everything the Comte had said appeared to be true. Not a single discrepancy had turned up as they talked through the long evening…

He ate the last of the confiture with his spoon and finished a second cup of black coffee, then went into the bath and ran a hot tub.

Bathed and shaved, his forehead no longer throbbing, he had nearly finished dressing when someone knocked on his door. He slipped a tie under his collar and tied it before another knock sounded. “Coming!” As he went to the door he heard coughing outside. Opening it, he saw Bardou, cigarette dangling from his lip, hat in hand, bundled in his gray overcoat with a wool scarf knotted around his throat. “How’s that cold?”

“Still have it, but not so bad as yesterday.”

“Come in! Another five minutes and you wouldn’t have caught me. Eh bien! Any developments?” He closed the door.

“Had another call from Toulon, ten minutes ago. Thought I’d drive over instead of telling you on the phone.”

“Did they learn anything?” Damiot finished dressing as he listened to Bardou’s report.

“First of all!” He coughed again, standing in the center of the room, head turning as his eyes followed Damiot. “They located that woman and child who visited Annie Deffous weekends. It’s the Deffous girl’s child. A boy, two years old. The woman’s a friend who takes care of him in her home. The child’s never lived with his mother, according to the neighbors. In fact, they didn’t know she had one!”

“And the boy’s father?”

“The woman claims she knows nothing about him. His name or, for that matter, whether Deffous was married.”

“If Deffous was twenty when she died and the child is two, she must’ve been eighteen when he was born…”

“My pal’s looking for the registration of birth. He talked with the people where Deffous worked.”

“Yes?”

“They sell hotel equipment. She started there three years ago, as assistant bookkeeper.”

“Hotel equipment? I wonder if through her job she may have met someone from the H?tel Courville? You might check on whoever does purchasing for the hotel. Find out if they do business with this firm in Toulon…”

“I’ll do that today. Recently, when the old woman who was head bookkeeper died, Deffous was promoted and given a raise in salary.”