The Molly Sutton Mystery Series, books 1-3

Chapter 40

Chapter 40Everyone cheered when Molly and Lawrence came through the door at Chez Papa. The fireplace was going for the first time that fall, a new waitress was passing around plates of free hors d’oeuvres, and the restaurant was filling up with villagers in a festive mood now that the nightmare was over. Dufort was talking to someone just inside the door and Molly edged up next to him.

“Molly!” he exclaimed when he saw her. He grabbed her by the shoulders and kissed her hard on each cheek. “We never could have done it without you! In fact you did so much, I think I should put you on the payroll!” He was beaming at her and she felt a blush creep up that she sternly ordered to go away. She was impressed that Dufort showed no irritation at having a civilian—and an American at that—take all the glory.

“I’m just sorry I didn’t realize it sooner,” she said. “Not that it would have made any difference to Amy.”

Dufort pressed his lips together and nodded. “Well, Vincent is locked up now, in our small jail for the moment. He’ll be transported to a larger facility in a day or two.” Dufort got serious, and then he leaned close to Molly’s ear and said, “You know, he’s sort of pathetic. He has admitted to the crime and he’s offering no defense. He’s just sitting there, stoic but beaten down, like he’s ready to take whatever punishment is coming his way.”

The noise of the party was getting loud and Molly just shrugged. She found it interesting that the chief gendarme was able to find any empathy at all for the man he had wanted so fervently to capture. She couldn’t say she felt the same way. The fewer murderous sociopaths around, the better, was her line of thinking. And of course Dufort would agree, even if he was unable to see the man as a monster.

Molly wanted to ask if Vincent was responsible for the other abductions—Valérie Boutillier and Elizabeth Martin. But the middle of an increasingly raucous party didn’t seem like the right place.

Marie-Claire Lévy appeared from the back room and came up to Dufort with a rather shy expression. He smiled at her and slipped his arm around her waist. Molly tried to keep her surprise out of her expression; she’d thought he was single, but now…?

Thérèse Perrault came over to kiss Molly on both cheeks and thank her. The young woman’s eyes sparkled and she laughed and lifted her glass to toast Molly, which Molly thought was very generous of her. The other officer hadn’t come to Chez Papa—he had always seemed a little chilly, that one.

Just then they were hit with a draft of cold air and Lapin appeared in the doorway. He had not been seen since his night in jail, and he looked hesitant and unsure of himself.

“Lapin!” cried Alphonse, “come in and have a glass!”

Molly crossed her arms over her chest and sighed.

“La bombe!” said Lapin, spying her. But then he looked away, uncomfortable.

Perhaps something good came out of being a semi-suspect, thought Molly, daring to drop her arms.

Nico was passing a tray of drinks. He turned to go back to the bar and then changed his mind and spoke up. “You left with Amy,” he said to Lapin, his voice low and unusually serious for Nico. “So what happened? How did Vincent get hold of her?”

Lapin hung his head. Molly noticed tufts of hair growing out of his ears and for some reason that made her feel pity for him.

“I put her in his taxi,” he said softly.

“And why did you not tell me that, when I asked you?” said Dufort.

“Why did you lie?” Perrault added, accusingly.

“Because…” Lapin started, but then bit his lip. He looked up at the ceiling, and then passed his hand over his face. “Look, he’s my age. We were in the village school together, though not friends. Vincent didn’t have any friends.” Lapin paused and mopped his forehead with a handkerchief. “And then, you know, after school I started my antiquities business.”

“Junk dealer,” said Nico in a low voice.

“One of my first jobs,” continued Lapin, “was at the Cloutier farm. Vincent’s family. His father had passed earlier but they called me when his mother died. I was very pleased, my business was just starting, you understand, so I was grateful…”

All of them—Molly, Dufort, Perrault, and Nico—leaned in to hear what Lapin was saying over the din of the party. “I didn’t have an easy time of it after my mother died. Far from it. But when I saw the Cloutier farm….” Lapin wiped his brow and looked up at the ceiling. “He was living in filth. No running water, no heat. I’m telling you, the smell of garbage and excrement inside the house made my eyes water. I guess his mother had lost her mind at some point. Vincent told me he was not allowed to throw anything away. This was of course years ago and I have had many jobs since, and have witnessed the insides of houses that strangers had never seen—in short, I have seen plenty of ugliness, I will tell you. But nothing has approached the squalor and degradation of the Cloutier farm. Not even close.

“I did what I could to help him, got the place cleaned up and sold so he could make a fresh start in his own place. But you know, you don’t outgrow damage like that.”

“So…” said Perrault. “You felt sorry for him? But what about Amy? You’re not sorry for her?”

“I will never get over that I was the one who put her in his taxi,” said Lapin. “And yes, I am also not ashamed to say I felt sorry for him. Sadly, it was too late to save the girl anyway, by the time I heard she was missing.” And then Lapin moved through the crowd, shouting out to a friend, leaving the others looking at each other with wonder.

“I see,” said Dufort to Molly. “I had been wondering why Vincent had gone after you but not Lapin. I thought perhaps it was simply because you are female. But possibly the fact that Lapin had been kind to him when his mother died—that may have saved Lapin’s life.”

“Wow,” said Molly, for once speechless.

Dufort said, his voice like steel, “Vincent denies any wrongdoing with Valérie or Elizabeth. But I will tell you right now, if I find any evidence that he is lying? He will not see the light of day outside prison ever again.”

Molly didn’t leave La Baraque for a week after the party at Chez Papa. She needed to cook for herself, keep getting to know the nooks and crannies of her house, root around in the garden, and figure out how to get the fire in the woodstove to stay lit. Lawrence came over for lunch one day, and she talked to Mme Sabourin over the wall as they were doing the last bit of garden clean-up for the season, but other than that, she wallowed happily in solitude, listening to the blues as loud as ever.

The high emotion of the previous weeks left her feeling depleted at first, even though she was secretly a bit giddy at having not only found Amy but solved her murder. But the events had another effect, an unexpected one: she wasn’t sure she was ready after all to shut the door on romance quite so firmly.

That’s not saying she had anyone in mind, at least anyone she would admit to. But the Bennetts had made a serious impression on her. In the midst of the worst grief imaginable, they had had each other to hang onto. And Molly was sure that if they were asked whether making their family had been a good idea, even knowing about the terrible thing that happened—that they would without reservation say that they were glad. That they were happy and grateful to have had Amy, to have known Amy, even though the loss of her was unbearable.

Molly was washing dishes and turning all this over in her mind when she heard a banging on her front door. She went to answer it and the orange cat sidled under her feet, causing her to trip and fall on her knees. “Va t’en you horrid creature!” she shouted. She had fallen on a rug so was unhurt, and scrambled up to answer the door.

“Hello, Molls! I bet you could use me for a little clean-up around the place, while you attend to more important matters!” Constance came bouncing in the house, wearing her trademark high-top sneakers. Molly noticed her hair was matted in the back. The two women waved to Thomas as he turned his motorcycle around and took off.

“All right then,” said Molly, halfway amused. “Come on in, I’m afraid there’s plenty to do.”

THE END