Chapter 16
1380 Words
Chapter 162005“My Sabrina worked for her two years. I tell you, Desrosiers was a devil,” Jean-François said to his friend at the bar of Chez Papa. The friend nodded and drank his beer.
“You saw how my girl has to wear a splint on her hand? That old shrew set rat traps out, trying to hurt her!”
“Maybe the house had rats?”
“No! And the trap that got Sabrina was in a bucket, who sets a trap in a bucket? I’m telling you, it gave that harpy pleasure to hurt her. She knew Sabrina really needed that job. It’s not easy for immigrants to find decent work, you know that. Too many of our women end up having to clean for the capitalists!”
“Well, the old lady’s out of the picture anyway,” said the friend, with a sideways look at Jean-François. “So you gonna marry Sabrina now?”
“Pft. Sabrina and I, we are soul-mates. Documents from the state or the church, these do not matter to us. This is something you do not understand.”
“Oh, I think I do. I know, I know, hardly anyone gets married anymore. But all I’m saying, Jean-François, is that chicks like it when you ask them to get married. I don’t care how political they are. Socialists, communists, doesn’t matter. They can be anarchists to the marrow—they still like it.”
“You only say that because your mother is more religious than the Virgin Mary.”
“No, Jean-François, not at all. I say it because it’s true.”
“And you speak from your long experience of asking women to marry you? You are single, you crétin!”
The friend smirked and drank his beer.
“Another?” asked Nico, coming to their end of the bar.
“He’s already drunk,” said Jean-François, pointing at his friend. “Spouting more nonsense than you can believe.”
Nico drifted away back to the other end, where a good-looking Dutch woman was flirting with him.
Jean-François’s face darkened. “I love Sabrina more than life itself,” he said. “Why do you think I work so hard for the cause? It’s because I want a better life for my girl. This is love, yes?”
“Well, no, not in my book. But eh,” said the friend, shrugging and giving another sideways look. Jean-François loved to argue politics and always had, and could use it to justify anything he wanted to do or not do. “Anyway, Desrosiers crapped out from a heart attack, that’s what I heard. So who’s Sabrina going to for work now? A bad job is a whole lot better than no job.”
“Ah, no,” said Nico from down the bar, having heard that last remark. “What I heard was poison. Not heart attack after all.”
Jean-François did not look surprised. “Well, poison is a woman’s weapon. I can tell you right now that no man with any balls is going to poison someone, especially a weak old woman.” He thought for a moment. “Not that she didn’t deserve it.”
Molly was just coming out of Pâtisserie Bujold with a bit of powdered sugar on her upper lip when far down the street she saw a woman in a chic trench coat, walking with a bit of a limp. That’s got to be Adèle, she thought, and hurried along, grateful that in a village where people walked almost everywhere it was possible to run into someone you were looking for. Molly’s legs were not long but Adèle was walking slowly, almost meditatively, and Molly had no trouble catching up with her.
“Oh my,” Molly said, out of breath. “I saw you—”
“Salut,” said Adèle, amused at Molly’s gasping for breath. “Are you training for some sort of event?”
“Yes. The fifty-yard dash while holding a bag of almond croissants,” she said.
Adèle smiled, but Molly stopped, her eyes wide. “Okay, I know that was not the best joke on earth. It was not even funny. But I think it may be the first joke I ever made in French, without thinking about it. I mean, the words just came out the way English words do. Or used to, I find I can’t really speak English all that well anymore, but that’s a different thing.”
Adèle applauded lightly and said, “Félicitations! My English is not the best and I agree that jokes are the most difficult. Which is quite a shame, since jokes—I mean, you know, laughing together, humor—that is the joy in life, isn’t it?”
“It is,” Molly agreed. They walked part of a block in silence, Molly trying to figure out a way to ask Adèle about the guests at her aunt’s birthday party without seeming like a terrific busybody. Even though she admitted to herself that’s exactly what she was.
“So Adèle, I know we’ve really barely met, and it’s sort of a delicate subject to talk about, but I heard the news about your aunt.”
Adèle looked at Molly in surprise. “What?” she said, confused.
“I know, it does seem like there’s an underground or even magical communication system in Castillac where people instantly find out the news about everyone else. I’m not a part of it, myself, really—but I have a friend…anyway, I’m sure your family is shocked. I know I was,” she added, disingenuously. She felt quite proud at having thought of poison before hearing about it, but she couldn’t exactly tell Adèle that.
Adèle stopped. “I’m sorry. I don’t understand you. I…I mean, I understand the words you’re saying, but not the meaning?”
“Shall I speak in English then?”
“I don’t think that would improve matters,” said Adèle. She started walking again. “Oh, look, I adore this little boutique. The woman who owns it has impeccable taste, don’t you think? Look at those hats!” she said, pointing at the display in the window.
Molly wasn’t sure whether she had been brushed off or hadn’t been making sense. Both equally possible. In that moment Adèle seemed like the answer to everything—she would have history and details about everyone at the party. But how to get her to talk?
Molly made agreeable noises about the hats without paying them any attention. Then she pulled out her phone to check the time. “Oh look, it’s after five. Wait, let me think…it’s after seventeen. Is that right?”
Adèle smiled. She liked this woman who tried so hard to take on everything about French life—look at her with her market basket, her scarf, and now using the 24-hour clock. The sweatpants not so much, but Adèle was willing to give her a pass this once.
“Would you like to go somewhere for a kir?” Molly asked.
“Bon,” said Adèle with a nod, and steered Molly down a street she hadn’t seen before, and into a small bar with no sign outside.
“Sort of mysterious,” said Molly. “Interesting.” Which meant, What the hell kind of place is this?
The place was dark with purple lighting. The tables, the bar, even the napkins were black. It felt rebellious and young and to Molly’s mind did not fit with the well-dressed, mature Adèle. Clearly she needed to get to know her better.
“So here’s a typical American’s question,” she said as they waited for their drinks. “But I don’t mean it to be rude. What kind of work do you do?”
“Ah yes,” said Adèle, motioning to the bartender.
“Wait, no—let me guess. Is it anything to do with fashion?”
Adèle laughed, “Not even a tiny bit. Why in the world would you guess that?”
Molly shrugged. “You’re always so well put together. Your clothes are really, really nice.”
“That’s habit more than anything else. It was important to my mother, when I was growing up, that my appearance was…that it had a certain polish. Which is a bit odd, actually, because she doesn’t care a fig about clothes or her own looks. As you might have noticed!” she added, laughing.
Molly laughed too, a little nervously because how early in a friendship can you have a good laugh over how dowdy the other person’s mother is? Back in America, she would have had a feel for it, but here in Castillac, she wasn’t so sure. “Well, whatever the reason, every time I see you, I adore your outfit.”
God, do I sound like the most ridiculous suck-up?
“I am confused about what you said earlier,” said Adèle. She smoothed her wool skirt with both hands. “You mentioned something about getting the news of my aunt. What do you mean? You were the one who discovered her, after all.”
“Oh, I mean the new news,” said Molly, wondering how Adèle had not heard of the poisoning. Had Dufort not even told the family yet? Or did the family not talk to each other? “Um, no one has said anything about…?” Molly sent a pleading look to the bartender to hurry up with the kirs, but she was leaning on her elbows in deep conversation with a man with six ear piercings. “Okay, well, this is awkward. But I heard that your aunt was poisoned.”
Adèle sat very still. Her eyes widened and she looked away from Molly. Molly saw that she was breathing rapidly and her nostrils flared.
It certainly looked like Adèle was surprised, but the main feeling Molly sensed in her new friend was fear.
- Writer
