The Red Brick Cellars: A Tolosa Mystery (20 page)

“We don’t need to name them. The families will recognize the descriptions if we say they were all last seen between the Capitole and the Garonne around the time of their birthday.” Catherine tapped her fingers on the table-top. “Actually, I was thinking…”
But no, that would be too reckless
. She shook her head.

“What?” Louis asked. Fluffy whined when the scratching stopped, but was ignored.

Catherine shook her head. “It’s not a good idea. It’s just…” She tried to judge his expression. She didn’t know him all that well, so couldn’t tell if he would hold her back when she went too far or push her off the edge if she got too close. She might as well air her idea. “It’s my birthday pretty soon. I was wondering if anything would happen if I walked around close to the Capitole at night.”

Louis shot out of his chair. “You will do no such thing!”
Okay, he is the protective sort
. “We know nothing about this guy, and so far, nobody has managed to put up enough of a fight for it to even be heard by neighbors. All those people disappeared as if into thin air.”

“Calm down.” Exasperation at his protectiveness seeped into her voice. “It was a stupid idea born out of frustration. Besides, how many people do you think have celebrated their birthdays in the city center over the last three decades? There’s another logic behind those disappearances that we haven’t figured out yet.”

Louis kept his eyes on her, but gave a curt nod and sat down again. “I don’t want you walking around the city center alone.”

Catherine’s anger blazed. “It is not your place to tell me what I can and cannot do. If I decide to get dead drunk and walk around naked on the Capitole screaming for the killer to come get me, there’s nothing you can do about that.”

Louis raised an eyebrow and cracked a smile at her. She was angry and indignant and he laughed at her? Though she
might
have gone a bit far with her example.

“Besides,” she added to have the last, and reasonable, word in the argument, “I have pepper spray in my purse. I’m not some damsel in distress.”

“So I see.” His smile faded away. “So you’ll write the article, but leave out the names? Will you submit that picture of Geraldine Hérault’s body?”

Catherine took a few calming breaths. “Yes. I’ll detail all our findings and ask people both to take care and to contact me if they have any clues. I’ll even add a picture of Alima; maybe someone spotted her that night.”

“Excellent.” Louis eyed the kitchenette behind her. Nothing was cooking today. The last time he was here might have been a success, but she was not about to get into the habit of cooking whenever someone came over.

Catherine got to her feet. “I should probably start working. Lots of writing to do, and I need to have it approved by my boss.”

Taking the hint, Louis nodded and got up. “I’ll leave, then.” Catherine walked him to the door, but before she could close it behind him, he turned back. “I was thinking…” He cleared his throat, then looked at Catherine, but didn’t quite meet her gaze. He seemed to be addressing her chin. “I would like to invite you out for dinner. To thank you for the delicious meal you prepared? And to mark the success of our working together on this case.”

It was Catherine’s turn to raise an eyebrow. Was he blushing? That was so sweet. But also very awkward. They had worked well together, but she was worried he might be interested in their relationship taking on a more private nature. That was
not
in Catherine’s plans. She had only just gotten divorced, had no money, and her main focus was her career now that it was finally taking off. Besides, the man was a politician. If there was one thing she’d learned from the gossip newspapers, it was that female journalists were not allowed to keep on working if they were associated with an important political figure. Look at Valérie Trierweiler, the President’s girlfriend, or Audrey Pulvar, who had to give up her position as anchor-woman when her boyfriend approached a government position.

Louis was a confident man—he should be able to shoulder a polite turn-down.

“I really need to work if we want that article to appear in tomorrow’s newspaper,” Catherine said to Louis. He shifted his gaze so he looked her in the eyes. “
Je vais faire la passe.
” I’ll pass.

Louis’s eyes widened, then he flashed an enormous smile at her. “You’re full of surprises!”

An odd reaction to a refused date.

His eyes shone with merriment. Any trace of a blush was long gone. “I didn’t know you were that pressed for money,” he said with mock concern.

How did he know she was broke? She had been able to keep the secret from even her closest friends and colleagues in the hopes that the house would be sold soon enough for her to get back on her feet. Now this man spent a few hours with her, ate her food, figured out her secret, and then made fun of her poverty? He might have most of the charm of his late father, but his upbringing had some serious flaws.

Catherine felt the flush covering most of her face. Hoping the relative darkness of the hallway would hide it from Louis was probably optimistic. She used anger to fight down the shame. “My finances are none of your business, Monsieur Saint-Blancat. Please consider our cooperation for this article terminated. Now get lost.”

She slammed the door in his face.

Twenty-Four

Louis fingered his phone, pointedly not looking at his mother standing next to him in front of La Cave au Cassoulet. She had guilted him into coming to the restaurant, and in a moment of weakness, Louis said yes. A whole night with ten of the deputy mayors; if they were all as convinced as the new mayor that Louis would go into politics, it promised to be a fun night.

He opened the folder with recent texts from Catherine on his phone. Still no answer.

Once he’d gotten over the shock of being ejected so rudely from her house, he’d sent her a message to explain why he’d laughed. He’d made so many mistakes in English himself during his ten years in the States, he had assumed she would also laugh when she realized what she’d said. Instead of saying she’d pass on the dinner invitation—
je vais faire l’impasse
—she had said she would go ply her trade as a prostitute,
je vais faire la passe.
They sounded similar so it was an easy mistake to make. But he’d not gotten the opportunity to explain because she’d gone straight into a wild rage and thrown him out. He must have hit a sore spot with the mention of money, but Louis was mystified at how she could be short on money if they’d had the funds to buy a house in the city center.

After much thought on how to formulate it, he’d sent an explanation and apology to Catherine by text. He’d had one reply; a short, “Apology accepted. I hope you’ll be able to do as much tomorrow.”

He’d asked her what she meant by that, but there was no reply.

“Marie-Pierre,” Louis’s mother said, “how nice of you to come tonight.” She did
la bise
with the towering deputy mayor.

“
Bonsoir
, Michelle,” Marie-Pierre replied. “How are you holding up? Are you sure you’re up to eating with all of us tonight?” The two women stood close, arms entwined. They had known each other for a long time.

Louis’s mother brushed away her friend’s concern. “I’m much better here than alone at home. I see you’re the only one on time as usual?”

Marie-Pierre laughed. “Give them fifteen minutes. It wouldn’t do to show up before the
quart d’heure Toulousain
is up.” The Toulouse fifteen minutes, also used in most other regions in France, each with their own name on it, was the rule that nothing ever started on time since everyone was at least fifteen minutes late.

Turning to Louis, Marie-Pierre shook his hand. “It’s good to see you again, Louis.” Her voice clashed with her physique; though her body was almost masculine in build, her voice was soft and high-pitched. “Are you back in Toulouse for good, then? Have you found a job yet?”

Louis shook his head. “No, I haven’t gotten that far yet. But I’ve been thinking about sending my resume to Airbus or some of the sub-contractors to see what might come of it.”

“I’m sure they’d be delighted to have you,” Marie-Pierre said. She looked him up and down. “If you’re not too busy these days, perhaps you would like to help out for the good of the city?”

There they went again, supposing he’d want a political career. Hadn’t he just said he wanted to work in aeronautics? As politely as possible, Louis replied, “I’m really not that interested in politics. You should ask Audrey.”

At this, Louis’s mother gave him a sharp look from behind Marie-Pierre’s back. It was the look she used to reprimand him in public when he was growing up. If they were in a public place and she didn’t want everybody to witness her putting him down, she’d give him that look and Louis could be sure there’d be a more lengthy explanation when they got home—unless he amended his ways immediately. She could reprimand him all she wanted, he was
not
going into politics.

Marie-Pierre threw back her head and laughed. “Your father would turn around in his grave if he heard you say that. But don’t worry, I won’t tell him. Actually”—she put a big hand on Louis’s shoulder—“I would like to recruit you to check on some elderly citizens from time to time.”

Louis was disconcerted by her casual reference to his father’s death and noticed his mother putting a hand to her heart, but was also relieved he’d misunderstood what she wanted. He smiled weakly. “You want me to visit old people?”

“Exactly!” Marie-Pierre threw her hands out to the side to include everybody present in her victory. “I work on making sure the elderly of Toulouse are never alone for long periods of time when it’s very warm like right now.” She folded her arms and fixed Louis with a serious gaze. In the background, Louis’s mother greeted two new arrivals, leaving Louis to fend for himself. “I’m sure you remember the summer of 2003 when so many of our elderly citizens died from dehydration. This happened mostly because as we age our bodies don’t tell us as much any longer, so they didn’t know they needed water. But also because there was nobody to check on them. Too many of our senior citizens are all alone, Louis. I work on making sure everybody has someone to check on them every couple of days, at least.” Expression now serious and morose, she added, “This also means that if someone does die, it won’t be weeks before the firemen have to break down the door when the neighbors complain about the smell of a rotting body.”

Louis shivered. What a delightful subject for conversation just before dinner. He did remember that summer and the awful discoveries made all over France during a particularly long and terrible heat-wave. What Marie-Pierre was doing was great. Perhaps he should help her work on her pitch, though.

“What do you say, Louis?” the big woman asked. “Can I count on you for a couple of visits a week until autumn arrives?”

“Sure,” Louis replied. He hoped he wouldn’t need to report any dead seniors.

The remaining deputy mayors arrived just as the setting sun illuminated the tops of the surrounding buildings, enhanced the red of the bricks, and reflected off windows to create small islands of bright light on the pavement around them. One of the more popular destinations for night-time revelries, groups of students and couples crowded the narrow, meandering street.

Louis’s mother led the group down the restaurant’s narrow staircase to the cellar. Most of the old houses in the city center had these cellars, and several were transformed into restaurants. La Cave au Cassoulet consisted of two joint cellars with vaulted roofs made of red bricks. Mortar from the ceiling frequently found its way down on the tables, not that anybody cared.

Their table was the first on the right with aperitifs and snacks at the ready. Louis found himself seated between his mother and Marie-Pierre across from Bernard Gallego, the deputy mayor in charge of urban development. This would be the guy who’d decided to buy Catherine’s house from under the feet of some overenthusiastic buyer. He had apparently also appointed himself as the night’s toastmaster.

Bernard lifted his glass, then cleared his throat to get everyone’s attention. When he was satisfied all eyes were on him, he said in overly pompous tones, “I would like to propose a toast in memory of dear Pierre who is no longer with us. He will be missed dearly, and we deputy mayors will have trouble filling his shoes even if there are twenty-six of us.” He raised his glass, then took a sip.

Louis did the same. They were drinking white wine with blackcurrant liqueur. Kir was the perfect drink at the end of a warm day.

Bernard raised his glass again. “I believe we should also make another toast, a more optimistic one this time.” He looked at Louis. “We will miss Pierre greatly, but at least he left us an excellent replacement. Louis is a man grown now, and I’m sure he’ll be a great asset to Toulouse in the future.”

Louis kept his glass raised like everybody else, but only because he didn’t want to embarrass his mother by making a scene. Or maybe he should embarrass her. It was her fault he was here in the first place.

As Bernard finished his toast, everybody cheered and drank to Louis’s health. Louis downed the rest of his glass, then asked a passing waiter if he could have a glass of pastis.

“You know, Bernard,” Louis said, forcing a half-smile, “I have no plans of going into politics.”

Bernard roared with laughter, as did everybody else who’d heard Louis’s remark. Titters made their way down to the end of the table as it was repeated to those too far away. “You’re just like your father,” Bernard said when he’d regained his breath. “Knowing exactly what to say to get everybody to laugh their heads off.”

Louis thought politicians all wanted the top seat for themselves. Why try to recruit another competitor?

The waiter arrived with Louis’s pastis and took everyone’s orders. Normally, Louis wouldn’t eat cassoulet in the summer, but it had been years since the last time he’d tasted the mix of beans, sausage, duck, and pork breast. It was all fat and all good. Most of the deputy mayors followed suit. After all, it was the specialty of the restaurant.