I tell her to stay in hiding a little longer. I don’t understand any more than her how Clothilde’s uncle found out that my body had been found in his niece’s grave, but the man clearly didn’t want to talk to the police and he’s very talkative with my mother.
Let’s see how much more he’ll tell her.
“You all right, Clothilde?” I ask as I return to the two elderly people talking next to my grave, leaving Evian and Doubira in their dubious hiding place under the cypress tree.
Clothilde is still standing right in front of her uncle, watching his every move and expression. If she were alive, she’d have made everyone very uncomfortable with how close she was standing but since the living can’t see her, I don’t see a reason to tell her to move. Also, if she were alive, she wouldn’t be able to stand on thin air over my grave.
She seems to have calmed down somewhat from her first surprise at her uncle’s suspicious behavior. But she’s not calm enough to move farther away—there’s even an ideally situated tomb right next to my mom, with a perfect spot to perch on.
“What does he know?” Clothilde says. “Why wouldn’t he talk to the police?” Her eyes leave her uncle to meet mine. “What the hell is going on?”
“I don’t know, Clothilde.” I offer her a kind smile. “But we’re going to find out. Evian and Doubira are in the bushes, hearing everything thanks to your uncle having no control of the volume of his voice.”
Clothilde sniffs. “He was already going deaf thirty years ago and categorically refused to get a hearing aid.”
My mother has been standing stock still, staring at Klein for a few moments, her mouth opening and closing several times. The woman has been through a lot, both with my disappearance thirty years ago and with my funeral—yet I am proud to see her back is straight and she’s far from being at risk of fainting.
“Who was this niece of yours?” she finally asks. “The police told me my son’s remains were found while exhuming another body, but they would not tell me the name of this other person, or the cemetery where he was buried.”
“My niece’s name was Clothilde Humbert,” Klein says. There’s emotion in his voice and I can tell Clothilde hears it too from the deepening of her frown. “She died in 1988, mere weeks before your son went missing.”
“How do you know the date of my son’s disappearance?” My mother’s guard is up, which means Klein has now managed to make everyone, ghosts included, suspicious of his behavior. “Only the year of his passing was mentioned during the service.”
“I may not be a computer genius,” Klein says genially, “but I am capable of doing a Google search. There were several articles on his disappearance in 1988, available in the newspaper archives.”
My mother cocks her head. “The police told you the name of the person they found in your niece’s grave? I only got the information that my son was dead.”
Klein sighs. “The police are not my only source of information, unfortunately.” For the first time, the man looks around the cemetery, checking if they are still alone.
Evian slips behind the cypress, but Klein doesn’t notice. He does see the cemetery workers waiting not-so-patiently to do their jobs.
“The people who took such a keen interest in my niece’s passing thirty years ago seem to have resurfaced,” Klein says, his voice close to a normal volume, meaning I’m not certain if Evian will be able to hear. “They don’t have the same faces but they’re still the same.”
Clothilde and I exchange another look. What is he talking about?
Klein puts a hand on my mother’s elbow. “Would you mind sharing a cup of coffee with me, Madame? I haven’t been home in almost a month and a man of my age should not be on the run. I do not have the strength. They will come for me if they see me talking to the police but may be more lenient toward two old people reminiscing about old times.”
They will come for him? Clothilde’s uncle is either losing his marbles or something has been going on while we investigated my past that we knew nothing about. Why didn’t he contact the police?
My mother doesn’t seem to know quite what to make of the man, either, but in the end her inherent politeness wins out. “There’s a charming café in the village center, about a hundred meters from the church. Will that do?”
The relieved sigh escaping Klein makes me worry if there’s any air left in the old man. “That sounds perfect, Madame. Shall we?”
He offers his arm to my mother and she takes it. Together, they slowly make their way toward the church and in the direction of the village where my mother grew up.
Clothilde hovers next to her uncle, her frown as deep as ever.
I decide to join Evian and Doubira, to make sure they’ll follow the pair. Whatever Klein has to say to my mother, I also want to hear it.
“We’re following them, right?” Doubira whispers to Evian as I reach them. They’re standing very close behind the lone tree, in order to stay out of sight in case Klein or my mother should turn around.
“Yes,” Evian replies but she doesn’t move from her hiding place. In fact, her eyes aren’t even on the old couple moving away, but on something to the north of my grave.
The cemetery workers.
Now the mourners are gone, the workers approach the grave. There’s a small tractor off to one side, hidden from the mourners’ sight by a bush, and one of the men goes straight to it. A couple of others approach, spades in hand. Their job will be the fine grain after the tractor does the larger part of the lifting and shoveling.
But two of the workers, two dark-haired men who might be in their thirties—difficult to tell from here—hang back. Their clothing isn’t the same as the others’ and I only now realize they were staying at the back of the group, talking with the actual cemetery workers during the funeral, with body language that didn’t say they knew each other well.
One of the men stays put, squats down to redo his laces.
The other casually strolls after my mother and Clothilde’s uncle.
I’ll be damned. He is being followed.
Evian curses under her breath. “They saw us when we hid up here,” she whispers. “We’re going to have to lose them.”
“What about Madame Villemur and Monsieur Klein?” Doubira asks.
“How many cafés can a village this size have? We’ll catch up to them when we can. First, we have to lose our tail, then circumvent theirs.”
“Right.” Doubira nods several times, his expression incredulous. “This is not a day I would expect to end up needing good running shoes.”
Evian glances down at his sneakers. “You do have running shoes.”
“Well, yes.” Doubira flashes his brilliant smile for the first time in weeks. I’m happy to see its return. “Always prepared.”
“Well, then. Let’s pretend we don’t care about that meeting, shall we?” Evian takes off toward the parking lot at a brisk pace.
Doubira scrambles after her, his smile still in place.