Katherine and Gracey turned and headed back up the hill. On impulse, she ducked into the café, where the only occupants were the owner and a farmer in a shabby jacket, who was making an espresso last and telling a story that he illustrated with chopping motions. The café owner looked bored but laughed obediently now and then, all the time swiping a wet rag back and forth over the already clean counter.
Katherine picked up her café crème from the counter and sat by the window. There were no fresh-baked pastries, désolé, but the owner brought her a small plate of chocolate biscuits, compliments of the season, she thought he said. Her short time painting in the church had reminded her it was time to make career plans for the new year. She would visit the gallery in Vézelay that had given her a show last summer to see if they might be willing to look at new paintings. After all, they had sold a couple, so she was not a complete bust. She would read papers from other Burgundy towns of some size and make a list of galleries to call on. Once Michael knew definitely about the tour, she would organize the household so she could come to a couple of venues midway through Michael’s absence.
Briefly, she wondered about Eric, the charismatic leader of the Crazy Leopards, the lead guitarist of one of the most enduring bands, hardly an adult when they met and possessed of a huge ego and a mean streak. Michael’s enemy for so long, now, supposedly, a friend again. How would she feel seeing him? If she had gray hair, so did he, and he might be married or at least settled down with someone. Maybe she’d search for him online as a way to prepare. It was only that she’d slept with him once, after Michael had proposed but before they were married. That, she told herself, was a bad case of pre-wedding jitters, fueled by too many tequilas, never repeated, never even wanted again. But still, a problem?
More realistic to worry about who’d take care of the dogs, she chided herself. Jeannette most likely. The girl was the only young person in town, poor thing. No wonder she was hanging around the bus stop with her age mates in the pouring rain, showing off by recounting her version of the murder in the museum. Katherine could picture the scene as she walked toward the group of teenagers, Jeannette’s exaggerated response when she realized M. Sabine heard her tale, and the girls dislodging the man who had been sitting quietly in the bus shelter. Something tugged at her about the picture. Yes, that was it. The stranger in the bus shelter was the butcher’s brother. So, they may both have heard the teenagers talking about Mme Sabine’s death.
But what of it? Jeannette hadn’t been harassed. There was no obvious connection between the girl and Pippa. Somewhere in all that she had seen and heard, Katherine was sure there was some clue as to why Pippa was so cruelly targeted, if only she could see it clearly.
Katherine warmed her hands on the coffee cup and looked out the window without seeing the bare trees and the tufts of brown grass alongside the pavement. There must be something. There was the captain’s exclamation when he saw the trash truck in the alley. The fact that the trash made it to the street through a side door into the yard of the vacant house must have been the trigger for his outburst, but it hardly explained anything. The police must have asked Jeannette if there was anything incriminating in the trash can like the missing clothing or the wig. She had said she put the remnants of the ladies’ party in the can Tuesday afternoon and hadn’t been able to clean the murder room since then. The body was discovered Thursday.
That meant that anything thrown into the trash later on Tuesday would have been there until it was picked up a few days later. The police would have searched Thursday after the body was found. Katherine had a feeling she was close to understanding something important, but it was frustrating.
The café owner flicked on the lights. Her watch said it was not yet five o’clock but Katherine realized the winter solstice, the shortest day of the year, was only a few days ago. She put on her coat and roused the dog, who had fallen asleep under the table. Time to get home so Michael wouldn’t fret. As she opened the door, a figure materialized.
“Jeannette, bonjour. Are you just getting home?”
The girl shook her hair free of a stocking cap. “Oui. Papa sent me here to see if they have a baguette.” She poked her head in and repeated the request to the man behind the bar, but he shook his head. “It is my fault. I forgot to get one in Avallon after school.” She looked unhappy.
“Those brothers of yours are growing so fast. They need all the food they can get.” Katherine smiled. She admitted only to herself that she worried about them, living the unorganized life their father seemed to provide. “Tell you what. I have an extra loaf I got yesterday. Walk up with me and I’ll give it to you, along with a little Brillat-Savarin to make it special.”
Jeannette fell in beside her and Gracey, and Katherine was reminded of the summer days, so recently, when Jeannette would appear out of nowhere to link arms and accompany her on walks. Time passes so fast when they become teenagers, she thought.
“Jeannette, I think the police have someone in mind as a suspect and I bet the case will be solved soon. I’m trying to make sense of the bits and pieces I know about, like why the mannequin wound up in the Serein, and why the wig disappeared.”
“I too have the puzzles,” the girl said from behind the turned-up collar of her coat.
“Like what? I thought Pippa Hathaway and I were the only ones who kept poking at the mystery.”
“Poking?”
They had reached Katherine’s gate. Gracey, let off her leash once they were inside the garden, shambled up to the kitchen door. Lights shone from inside and the delicious smell of wood smoke perfumed the air.
But Jeannette stopped and pulled the cloth away from her mouth. “Katherine, can you tell me who was the man in the church sitting with the butcher?”
“His half brother, is what I heard. Mme Lacrois told me he lives in Beaune. Why do you ask?”
“He lives in Beaune? But that can’t be. He works in Avallon.”
Katherine opened the door and gestured for Jeannette to come in.
“That you, Kay?” Michael called. “You get a break from cooking tonight. I got something wonderful in Noyers.”
“That’s a first,” Katherine said, laughing and unwrapping her scarf as she eased around the dog. She turned, expecting Jeannette to be right behind her, but the girl had stopped at the doorway. Michael was saying something, but Katherine turned back to Jeannette. “What were you asking?”
“Rien, nothing. I can talk with you tomorrow.”
Michael’s voice was louder now. “Kay, wait ’til you see what J.B. emailed me.”
“In a minute,” Katherine called out, and to Jeannette, who was backing toward the kitchen door, “Wait, the bread.”
“Merci, Katherine,” Jeannette said, taking the loaf and the slab of paper-wrapped cheese with a hasty kiss, closing the door behind her.
“Who was that?” Michael said, coming to stand in the kitchen doorway.
“Jeannette. I gave her the extra bread I had. They ran out at home and of course the café didn’t have any.”
“Watch out or you’ll be feeding the whole family one of these days.” He kissed her cheek to take the sting out of his words.
Katherine was about to say she had no intention of getting involved further with Jean’s family when it hit her. “Hold it,” she said, and spun back to the kitchen door, darting out into the cold night air. “Jeannette, I need to ask you something.” She hurried down the slate steps to find Jeannette at the open gate, looking up at her.
“Say again what you said. About M. Sabine’s brother.” A gust of wind struck the back of her neck and she shivered.
“He doesn’t live in Beaune. He can’t.” Jeannette shrugged. “He’s a garbageman. No one would drive from there to Avallon to work at the poubelle. It makes no sense.”
“How do you know this? Please, it’s important.” Katherine’s teeth had begun to chatter, either from the cold or from something like fear.
“I saw him at the museum. He took the trash away.”
“I don’t understand.”
Jeannette shifted her weight from one foot to the other, tucked the bread under her arm, and pulled her collar higher against the wind that was gusting more now. “He come—came—through the side gate and takes the cans.”
“Is there more than one trash can? I didn’t realize that.”
“No, only one from the museum and one from next door.”
“Next door? Are you sure?”
The girl shrugged and hunched her shoulders against the cold.
“Did you tell the gendarmes about the man? This is important, chérie.”
“I told them someone picks up the trash, yes, but I did not know it was this one.”
“Okay, let me ask this. Has he been back this week?”
With a shift of weight from one leg to the other, Jeannette signaled her impatience. “I do not know. I do not see them most days, you know.”
“What was he wearing?” Katherine saw that Jeannette was torn, wanting to get away from the interrogation, but curious too. “Please, tell me that and then you’d better get home.”
Jeannette squeezed her eyes closed and said, “Nothing special. The vest, you know, the bright one they all wear? Maybe a cap, but it was quick. I am not usually there when they come and I did not hear the truck beyond the wall. It is too high to see. But he came again, not on the regular day. I saw him the day you found Mme Sabine.”
“Still with the vest?”
“Mais oui, yes, otherwise I would not have known who he was.”
“And where was he that day?”
“At the corner of the alley and the street, that is the only reason I saw him. You sent me to the patisserie up the street for madeleines, remember?”
“Was he lugging a trash can?”
“Non.” Jeannette looked at Katherine as though doubting her sanity. Katherine gritted her teeth and tried to stay calm. “They can’t carry the cans far, only to put them on the truck that waits in the alley.” She made a move to go through the gate.
“And did you see the truck?”
“No, it must have been on the next alley and he was behind in his work, you know?”
“Thank you, Jeannette, this was important and a big help. Go home and don’t mention this to anyone, all right? I’ll explain later. Now, go.” She made a shooing gesture that was somewhat jerky because she was now shivering, and ran back up the steps as the gate clanged behind the teenager.
“Michael,” she said, trotting into the living room. “Listen, I know who killed Mme Sabine.”