Fiona Silk Mysteries 2-Book Bundle. Mary Jane Maffini
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very sorry,” I said to the two people at the table. “Case of mistaken identity.”
Anabel Huffington-Chabot turned and frowned. So did her companion. In fact, he dropped her well-manicured hand as if it were a live grenade. What was he doing there? And more to the point, what was he doing with her?
Words almost failed me.
“Please, excuse us. So many people, so easy to get confused with all the crowds. We found Harriet Crowder’s wallet, and I thought I recognized her bag. Can I leave it with you to give to her? No? I suppose not. Sorry.”
“But Miz Silk. That’s...”
“Come on, Josey. Let’s go.”
“I think we should...”
“I apologize for interrupting your meeting,” I added. I backed hastily down the narrow aisle, pulling Josey with me.
Outside Belle Rive, I took a deep breath.
“Jeez, Miz Silk. Did you just see what I did?”
I nodded.
“I don’t know why you dragged me away.”
“Oh yes you do.”
“Harriet’s not here. I don’t know where she went. But what kind of a meeting was that anyway?”
“A private one,” I said. “It wasn’t appropriate to interrupt.”
“Well, what kind of business do you think it was?”
“It doesn’t matter. She’s a businesswoman, and he’s an investor.”
“It seemed pretty weird to me.”
I didn’t want to get into a long discussion with Josey over the fact that Jean-Claude Lamontagne had had his tongue hanging out over Anabel Huffington-Chabot. If we hadn’t shown up, he might have smothered in that engineered cleavage. I hoped Josey had missed the hand-holding part. “Sometimes it’s better to let it go. You’ve heard the expression ‘discretion is the better part of valour’?”
“That Anabel was wearing really high heels. Maybe she was the person who locked you in the toilet stall.”
“But why would she?”
“Maybe she knows how you feel about Jean-Claude.” Josey goggled at me.
I said, “You were distracted and didn’t get a good look at whoever it was. And I just heard the heels. I can’t imagine the owner of a place like the Domaine Wallingford would lock someone in the ladies’ room. Bad publicity if it got out.”
The thin shoulders slumped. “I don’t like her much. You think Miz Lamontagne is going to be upset?”
“Upset?”
“Sure, you didn’t notice that his lordship was holding his colleague’s hand at that important meeting? And staring down the front of her top.”
I hesitated. “We won’t mention it to Hélène. Maybe we just misinterpreted it.”
Josey scowled. “Maybe.”
“Let’s go hunt for Harriet.”
An hour later, after cruising through every street and parking lot in the village of St. Aubaine, we’d still had no luck. We picked up Tolstoy and made tracks for Hélène’s.
Hélène may be my closest neighbour on our winding semirural road, but there’s not much in common between the two houses. Her six thousand square foot two-storey custom-built stone home sits on top of a completely man-made hill at the end of a long, winding driveway. Paved, naturally. Each giant blue spruce perfectly placed on the manicured lawns had been delivered by truck and planted by certified forestry types.
My cottage, on the other hand, is the same ramshackle dwelling that my great-aunt Kit inherited from her parents. Well, okay, it was winterized sometime in the early sixties, when Aunt Kit moved in permanently, and she did have a proper bathroom installed. But aside from that, it’s not much different. Many of my trees have been there for nearly a hundred years. I’m a lot happier with my glimpse of the Gatineau River than I would be with any landscaper’s dream.
Some things money can’t buy.
I was damp and sweaty by the time we’d trekked the quarter mile to the Lamontagne’s, but I held my back straight and my head high as Josey rang the doorbell. Even the damned chimes sounded pricey. Hélène’s Mercedes was parked in front of the house, but as expected, there was no sign of Jean-Claude’s silver Porsche Carrera.
“Fiona! Josée! Tolstoy! I am glad you could all make it.”
I adore the woman, even if she is married to my nemesis. I don’t understand it, but I don’t hold it against her. After all, hadn’t I spent many long years with Phil? I didn’t understand that either. Some decisions are beyond comprehension. An unfathomable swamp of pheromones, desperation and the desire to wear a long white dress just once.
But friendship trumps all that.
She’d obviously been at the pool. She looked stylish in a white eyelet beach cover-up that contrasted nicely with her tan and her burgundy hair. The Gucci sunglasses were a smart touch, as were the bejewelled flip-flops. I’d picked my own sunglasses at the local Giant Tiger. My swimsuit had long ago lost its sproing.
“Come on in for a swim,” she said as I followed her.
I wasn’t sure how much I would be able to relax, knowing more than I should about Jean-Claude’s activities.
Hélène walked ahead through the long marble foyer and the newly renovated designer kitchen, which Josey claimed had cost Jean-Claude close to a hundred thousand dollars. We followed her through the screened porch to the glittering custom swimming pool, surrounded by acres of manicured property. It’s magazine quality, but except for the company, I would just as soon be taking a dip on the rocky shore of the Gatineau on my own property. However, Josey loved the pool, and it suited her new status as an EA.
Hélène headed for the sparkling new stainless steel patio bar. “Why don’t you get changed, and I’ll mix us some sangria. And the Shirley Temple version for you, Josée.”
Sometimes it’s pointless to argue. Sangria was a great idea.
By the time I managed to get into my suit, Josey had already been in the pool. So had Tolstoy. Hélène had worked some magic with drinks. Everyone was in a good mood, and Tolstoy had found himself a shady spot on the cool slate patio.
“Josée has offered to help me with the organizing for the community logistics connected with En feu! Hot Stuff!” Hélène said. “That is very kind of her.”
“Oh, indeed,” I said. I wondered if any of those logistics would put Josey within swooning distance of Rafaël. “Very public-spirited.”
Josey beamed.
“I can use all the help I can get,” Hélène said, shaking her artful burgundy mane.
“Mmm,” I said.
“So many things to do,” she said.
“I suppose,” I said.
“Volunteers make for a strong community,” she added.
“For sure.”
“Sangria?” she said, giving the carafe a playful swirl.
“Absolutely. I love sangria.”
“Me too,” Josey said.
I raised an eyebrow.
“Without the whatever,” Josey said.
I wasn’t sure what sangria without the whatever would consist of, but I was grateful that Hélène had made her the Shirley Temple version. Josey was still clean and sober, unlike the rest of her relatives. And me, of course.
“Ah