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FURY MADE MY PALMS sweat and my heart race. That response alone told me the plumber’s new assistant was the thug from the parking garage. Add body bulk and the way his shoulder rolled when he passed a tool to the old man and I could easily see him as one of the vandals I observed from the sycamore tree. I didn’t need to read the desperation in the real plumber’s eyes to know he’d been coerced.
Wiping my brow to cover my reaction, I nodded hello, playing my role.
The thug lit a cigarette the better to peer at me through the smoke. When I passed by, he kicked the metal toolbox shut, probably to watch me flinch, which of course I did.
I hadn’t yet investigated the ancient Roman tower, but as I began to mount the stairs to the short, square structure, Henri shouted for me to stop. Leaving the flower bed he’d been weeding, he rushed to swivel a sign on a pedestal for me to read. In French, English, and German it warned that the tower was unsafe and forbidden.
"Merci," I told the gardener, raising my hands in assent.
I returned to my den but felt too restless to stay. Figuring a walk might help me think, I exited through the side gate into the village. I was plodding uphill at a pretty good angle when I realized I was headed for the Miquon School.
The building had an empty let-down, feel that told me final dismissal had just occurred. Lingering inside the iron fence three boys of about six or seven concentrated on their game of marbles. A stringy-haired girl in a mussed yellow-and-blue uniform waited on the front step, her universe a cherry-red lollipop. I held my breath watching a lanky boy swing across a suspended ladder until he jumped to the ground safely. Walking along the fence, I trailed my hand along the spokes as if I were back in school myself. I didn’t notice the redheaded Robert and his pals until they were right in front of me.
I’d reached the area where the older crowd congregated. Small clumps of teenagers clutching books lounged on the few benches or stood idly talking in the afternoon heat. Robert and his three friends sat close on a tall rock, arms across their chests like self-appointed sentinels. Robert especially seemed to enjoy looking down upon me and the rest of humanity; I’m sure he remembered me from the police station. I shot him a loose salute as I stepped inside the fence, and he and another youth hopped down to circle me like alpha males protecting their turf.
The school building was a sturdy assemblage of joined yellow brick boxes. The girl with the lollipop on the steps swung a little out of my way, but not far enough, and the gang at the gate snickered at my struggle to get around her.
The nearest classroom was stuffed to the gills with posters, papers, and books as a child outgrowing its clothes. The main office lay around a corner and down another hall. A trim receptionist in a zebra-striped dress politely asked me my business, so I used my French to ask for a word with the Headmaster.
"M. Labrouge is in there," she told me with a wave of her arm, then disappeared behind a partition.
I hesitated, wondering what the hell I was going to say to M. Labrouge, when the man’s deep voice ordered me to, "Entree. Entree!"
Miquon’s headmaster was a fit-looking, fiftyish man in rolled up shirtsleeves and half-glasses surrounded by a mess of papers. After I introduced myself and briefly explained my temporary position, he shook my hand and motioned me into a chair.
"English?" he guessed from my name.
"American," I admitted.
The language issued settled, I asked Labrouge if he knew the redheaded boy out by the gate.
"Robert D'Van? I swear I don't know what to do with him lately. What has be done this time?"
"I only know about the paint incident at the chateau, and I got the impression that was the first trouble he caused."
Labrouge relaxed into his chair with a sigh. "I thought so, too, but who knows? Miquon’s done a lot for Robert, and all those ridiculous rumors...It’s possible he did worse things to the chateau. Nothing is proven though."
"How would you have described Robert–before the recent trouble?”
The headmaster rested his arms on the desk and smiled. "I would have said he was a genius with no aptitude for everyday life. Terribly bright. Grades go right off the scale, just don’t ask him to tie his shoe."
The description made me grin, and I thought of Calvique’s remarks regarding Robert's lack of common sense.
Labrouche resumed. "If the police had not caught him, I would never have believed Robert threw the paint. Never. But at his age, the need for acceptance...you know how it is. Robert’s been acting out, getting into mischief. I suppose M. Martin had to press charges?"
I mirrored his regret. "The police made a strong argument for signing the complaint," I said.
"Did they? Oh well. They would."
"How do you think the rumors got started?"
Labrouge tapped a pencil on his desk. "That baffled me from the beginning," he admitted. "We are crowded, certainly. But there’s a small plot of land behind this building where we’ll expand when the economic climate eases up. I have architect's drawings right in this drawer."
My interest was piqued. "Are most people connected with the school aware of these plans?"
"A limited number, I suppose, although several parents and faculty members were involved with the drawings. The plans are no secret."
"What if I told you the rumors about acquiring the chateau property probably weren’t started by someone connected to the school?"
Labrouge beamed. "If only it were true. What makes you say that?"
"I think someone is covering up their own reason for vandalizing the chateau."
Labrouge dropped the pencil. "If you could prove it, I would be most grateful. The reputation of our school...If I can help in any way..."
"Thank you for the offer, but I know someone whose help would be even better."
As we once again shook hands, I inquired, "Oxford?"
The harried headmaster grinned and humbly lowered his chin. "Cambridge," he confessed.
I found Robert sharing a cigarette with his friends on the sidewalk beside the rock.
"Do you have an extra one of those?" I asked, figuring to spare their young bodies a little damage at least. They tried not to look surprised, as Robert fulfilled my request.
After lighting up, I told the redhead. "I think you are the only person who can help me."
His eyes narrowed, but he stood a little taller. "Why should I?"
"Because you'll be helping yourself," I told him. "I think you were set up for your trouble at the chateau, and if you can help me prove it, I might be able to clear your record with the police."
"The police think I did all the damage."
"I don't."
Watching Robert study my face, some of the genius showed through. I let him take his time.
"What can we do?" he finally asked, including his friends like a natural leader. Perhaps Labrouge had maligned Robert's common sense unfairly; at least the kid recognized a break when it was handed to him.
"If you see the man who planted the rumor on you again, I need to know where he lives if he's local, or where he stays if he's from out of town."
"He's from out of town," Robert stated simply.
"Oh? How do you know?"
"His French was poor–not like yours–so we talked together in English."
"Oui. I remember," one of his friends concurred.
I wasn’t surprised Robert withheld that information from the police. They hadn’t been offering him many kindnesses at the time, and they had not specifically asked.
"That’s a huge help, Robert," I told him. "I look forward to helping you in return."
"You just want the man's address?" Robert asked.
"Yes, without giving yourself away, which may not be easy. He's very smart."
"Not as smart as Robert," the buddy on his right boasted. "Nobody's as smart as Robert." Nods of agreement as the redhead flicked his cigarette butt into the gutter.
"If you're so smart, why don't you stop smoking?" I hinted.
"No adult example." Robert laughed.
Actually, they all laughed at my expense, then turned their backs and strolled away.
I smiled after them. This was as good a time as any for me to quit. Better than most; it isn't often you get the answer you asked for. I dropped my final cigarette and crushed it under my heel.
As my gaze lifted from the sidewalk, it rested on a brass plaque mounted into the rock by the gate. On it was engraved:
The mystery and majesty of the Olympian Quest I bequeath to others and go to my rest.
1950