Read The Red Brick Cellars: A Tolosa Mystery Online
Authors: R.W. Wallace
Thirty-five years old. Living at home. Having his mother follow him around everywhere. Should be fun indeed. Louis hid his smile behind his cup.
Forty-One
Catherine stared down on Maxime’s grave. Her shirt was soaked on the shoulder from her mother-in-law’s tears. Some of the mascara stains may have been from her own tears. She didn’t even bother to clean up her face. With as little sleep as she’d been getting over the last week, she looked like a ghost who’d had the brilliant idea of putting on makeup
under
the eyes instead of above them. And in any case, she was too tired to care what anybody thought.
Everybody else had left for Madame Marty’s house, but Catherine wanted some time alone with Maxime.
“I’m so sorry to have brought you into this,” she whispered. Maxime’s name shone new and golden beneath his father’s. “You deserved so much better.”
Marie-Pierre Ezes had been correct in one regard: it did help to talk to the dead. But standing here on a grave was just fine. No need for mummification, thank you very much.
Catherine drew a deep breath. “I’m sorry our marriage didn’t work out, Maxime. I’m pretty sure it was mostly my fault. You deserved to find someone who loved you and was not simply infatuated. And I’m sorry I misinterpreted your offers for help. I never appreciated how noble your intentions were. Your mother told me earlier how frustrated you were about that. Guess we weren’t all that good at communicating, huh?”
Considering communication was her job, how was that for irony? Catherine kept her promise to Louis and had not written a word on what happened in those cellars. The favor he owed her would have to be a big one because that article had cost her a promotion. Arnaud was promoted above her for his work on the Saint-Blancat murder—despite the numerous errors and idiotic extrapolations he’d made. That promotion should have been Catherine’s.
She couldn’t stop rewriting her article in her head. It would have been brilliant and insightful, and would have earned her that promotion. There was also a good chance it would have helped her exorcise some of the demons keeping her up at night. What did she get out of that deal with Louis, anyway? She almost got killed—twice, lost a dear friend, didn’t get the article, and didn’t land the handsome guy. All she got was loneliness and tears.
She missed Maxime deeply now that he was gone. She’d lost her safety net. Despite all she had made him suffer, she had known she could always count on him if she needed anything.
Perhaps she should have accepted Louis’s invitation to dinner after all.
The police looked into how Madame Ezes had gotten her hands on Catherine’s old cellar. The decision to buy the house was made by Bernard Gallego, the deputy mayor in charge of the urban development plan. He was arrested and admitted to being part of Madame Ezes’s plans. As it turned out, his wife had terminal cancer and he was seduced by the idea of being able to visit his deceased wife while working through his grief. Catherine had no sympathy for the man himself, but her heart went out to the woman who was close to dying while her husband went to jail. And it wasn’t clear if she was aware of her husband’s plan to have her mummified in the bowels of the city.
Catherine couldn’t imagine anyone wanting to stay on display like that. The funeral was mostly for the people left behind, and she still had no strong opinion of whether she wanted to be buried or cremated. But to have your body put away in a peaceful place and not played with like it was a puppet seemed much more proper. A person should be confident their body wouldn’t be messed with after their death.
Catherine bent down to give a last kiss to Maxime’s grave, then turned to follow the other mourners.
Forty-Two
As Louis swilled back the last of his hot chocolate, Audrey barged through the front door. “Is this some kind of joke?” she asked Louis, holding up that morning’s newspaper.
Louis sighed. “You should have come twenty minutes earlier, Audrey. I could have had this conversation only once.”
His mother said nothing, only went to do
la bise
with her daughter, then took Louis’s empty cup and brought it to the sink to wash it.
“You’re with the Socialist Party?” his sister insisted. She was standing too close, apparently smarting for a fight.
“Yes.”
“How could you do this to me?” Audrey slammed the newspaper down on the kitchen island. It now held two, neither of which had been read beyond the front page.
“To you?” Louis sat up straight in his chair, but didn’t go so far as to stand up. He didn’t want to tower over his sister and give the impression he was threatening her.
“This undermines my campaign so much there might not be a point in even trying.”
Louis looked to his mother for support, but she was busy washing his cup. “If you hinged your entire campaign on me,” he reasoned with his sister, “it’s not really your campaign, is it?”
Audrey’s brown eyes narrowed at him and she flexed her jaw. “Of course it’s my campaign. I’ve been working for this for years. But people will recognize Papa in
you
, so I need you to back me up.”
“You’re not going to get it,” Louis replied. “You’ll have to manage on your own. Which I’m sure you’ll have no trouble with.” She had, after all, been active in the Republican Party for at least fifteen years already. She had lots of responsibilities and was a serious candidate to be at least a deputy mayor if the Republicans won again at the next election.
Audrey jabbed a finger into his shoulder. “You’re a disgrace to this family. If you want to fight me, so be it. But I’ll beat you just like I did when we were kids.”
Bristling at the insult, Louis shoved her hand away. “I’m a head taller than you now and probably twice your weight. You don’t want to fight me now.”
Audrey gave a dry laugh. “I’m not going to physically fight you, idiot. We’re not kids anymore, unless you hadn’t noticed. We’ll fight for Toulouse. And like always, I’m years ahead of you in this game. You don’t stand a chance.”
Louis stood up and walked to lean against the windowsill for some distance from his sister. “I’m not running for mayor, Audrey. I signed up with the Socialist Party. We’re not exactly enemies.”
Audrey shook her head at him. “You really are still a child.” She leaned over and gave their mother a kiss on the cheek, then walked toward the door. “We’re on opposite teams now. And I’ll beat you. Like I always do.”
As she left the house, Louis’s mother set the cup to dry. That thing must be clean enough to be considered sterile by now.
“You could have helped, you know,” Louis said to her.
She waved away the accusation. “It would have made no difference. You’ll need to fight your own battles. I’ll be here in the background when you need me.”
Louis stared out the window at their garden patch dappled with sun shining through the browning leaves of the plane trees lining the street.
He apparently signed up to go to war, but was surprised to discover he looked forward to it.
Thank You!
Thank you for reading
The Red Brick Cellars
! I hope you had as much fun reading it as I had writing it. If you enjoyed the story, please leave a review—you would make my day.
I’ve created some extras for you on my website. If you visit
rwwallace.com
and sign up for my newsletter, you’ll get access to:
·
A map with pins for all the real locations in Toulouse where the story takes place. I’ve added pictures and comments and it will allow you to take a virtual stroll around
la Ville Rose
.
·
A few recipes used in the story. You can have a glass of
diabolo menthe
or tortellini with blue cheese sauce, just like Louis and Catherine.
The newsletter signup will of course also ensure you’re informed of any upcoming books and free stories.
Would you like to know how Louis came by his scarf? I’m currently working on a novella which covers both the acquisition of the scarf and his very first involuntary apparition in the local newspaper. I’ll be
giving it away for free
to my newsletter subscribers, so make sure you sign up (in the sidebar and the footer at
rwwallace.com
) to get the story directly in your mailbox when it’s done!
About the Author
R.W. Wallace grew up in Norway, but has lived almost half her life in Toulouse in South-Western France. Since books were always more enjoyable in English, that is the language she chose for writing. Fascinated with Toulouse and its history, it became the natural setting and inspiration for her stories.
She divides her time between a busy city life in Toulouse and a laidback country setting at the foot of the Pyrenees with her better half and two miniature versions of herself.
The Red Brick Cellars
is her first novel.
You can connect with R.W. Wallace on
- Twitter:
@rwwallaceauthor
,
- Facebook:
www.facebook.com/rwwallaceauthor
- Email:
[email protected]
.
Acknowledgments
I would like to thank Diego, Pål, Heidi, Lena, and Cédric for reading the early versions of this story. A special thanks to Stéphanie who surprised me by reading the whole thing in record time, finding plot holes and coming up with brilliant ideas despite it being written in English.
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