Second Hand Murder - E-book

‘Are you safe?’
Franck’s words hung in the air and seemed to echo around me. Was I safe? I thought I was. But then why would he ask me that? That all too familiar feeling of unease crept up on me again.
Where was Franck? He’d asked the words, but I couldn’t see him. I was in some sort of room, but everything was a blurry, soft yellow. Where was I? Was I safe? I didn’t know! I needed to get to Franck. He’d keep me safe. But where was he?
‘Franck!’
Drenched in cold sweat, I opened my eyes to see the early morning light peeping through the gap between the shutters. The alarm on my smartwatch was angrily buzzing at me, but I could kiss it! Four years, five months, and three days of freedom from that man, and he still haunted my dreams. They’d only got worse after he was released from prison, now five months ago. I’d expected my criminal ex-husband to make good on his death threat, but any threatening thing that had happened in those months could have been explained by my overly suspicious mind playing tricks on me.
I turned to lie on my back and spread out to cool off. The day hadn’t even started, and I was already hot. I should probably open the shutters now and let the air in before it warmed up even more. I’d set my alarm for half past five, so the sun wouldn’t be fully up for another hour. What was I thinking, agreeing to help Céline out with this vide-grenier? I knew second-hand markets started in the middle of the night. Had I lost my mind?
I stretched, still unable to shake the fear generated by my dream, which had been part memory. Franck had asked me whether I was safe so many times. At first, I’d thought it was sweet, that he was being protective. Then I’d started to wonder.
Remember, we’re out this afternoon. Were we? He’d ask me if I’d forgotten again. Now, of course, I knew there was nothing wrong with me. That he’d been messing with my head all that time, and for what? Just so he could feel more in control. Well, I’d taken all control away from him.
Despite the heatwave, I shivered. Prison couldn’t have changed him so much that he would have forgiven me that. But not even my assistant Thibault, who was his nephew, had mentioned him in the past few weeks. Franck was just… there, in the background of my life, quietly threatening to make good on his promise to end my life.
I pressed my palms to my eyes and repeated my mantra. I am a strong woman and I won’t let Franck rule my life any more. It took a few moments for my body and my mind to believe it after the dream I’d had, but when the truth of my mantra had settled in, I slapped my hands to the bed sheets either side of me and jumped out of bed. I was a strong woman. Even early in the morning at five – I checked my watch – fifty! Céline would be here any moment now and I wasn’t even dressed.
Throwing on a light summer dress and hiding my unkempt hair under a scarf, I just had time to enhance my face with some nice lashes before I heard a car pull up. Wedge espadrille sandals in hand, I raced downstairs, where Thibault was already stacking boxes.
‘Beau? Aren’t you supposed to be asleep?’
‘Good morning, boss,’ he said pointedly, his muscles flexing as he lifted another box.
I cocked my head. ‘Can you maybe unbutton that shirt, and I’ll go get my camera?’ Why should pin-ups be just women?
Beau put the box down with a little too much force. Behind his back, Céline came into the room with her phone held high in front of her face. She’d obviously heard my remark.
‘May I remind you once again that I’m your assistant, not your subject?’ Beau grumbled, his voice not used to performing this early. After that one disastrous attempt, I had no intention of ever trying to do a shoot with him again, but I couldn’t help teasing him about it.
‘Aww, so I have to delete my pics?’ Céline asked. ‘They would look better if you’d get… just this one…’ She wrapped her arms around his chest from behind and reached for his top button. Poor Beau, who’d carried a torch for her for years but was thoroughly friend-zoned, could only close his eyes for a moment before his mask slid into place and he made a light-hearted swat at her hand.
‘Get off me! Find someone else to undress.’ He crossed his arms, and Céline and I both enjoyed the view.
‘Or what?’ She rubbed her shoulder against his arm. ‘You’re going back to bed? All nice and snuggly?’
Beau gave her a mock glare but pointed his finger at me. ‘You’re a bad influence. This used to be a sweet, innocent girl. Now look at her.’ He turned her by her shoulders and marched her out the door, picking up one of the boxes on the way.
To me, Céline still looked like a sweet, innocent girl. But they were almost ten years younger than me, and those years seemed to really count. Had I been as sweet and innocent as that ten years ago? I shook my head and slipped on my shoes. Even Céline was getting more flirty. Though she’d broken up with her boyfriend, he must have changed her in some way.
I sighed and went to close one of the boxes that was still open. I was supposed to have closed them all up last night, but I’d got stuck in a nostalgic mood. Most of what was in these boxes had belonged to my great-aunt Géraldine, who’d passed away some months before. My house used to be hers, and she’d signed it over to me on condition of me keeping some of her things for her. She’d said it was for when she’d return, even though she loved the assisted-living facility she’d had to retreat to. Now, it was time to let go of her things, but last night, after a glass of wine or two, I’d almost called the whole thing off.
I winked at the ugly clown candlestick holder in the box, sent Aunt Géraldine a mental kiss, and taped up the box. This morning, the whole lot could go. I’d have my memories with or without this stuff, and perhaps it would help Céline raise some more money for charity. Whistling a popular tune, I picked up the box and brought it out to Céline’s bakery van.
‘You’re in a good mood,’ she commented with a smile. ‘I wouldn’t have taken you for an early riser.’
‘I am a strong woman and I’m not going to let Franck rule my life any more,’ I said without context.
Céline giggled. ‘Good for you.’
But Beau looked up from packing. Ten months ago, he’d knocked on my door, asking for a place to stay. I’d wanted him gone ever since, but now I could see the moment of his leaving was coming – though I wasn’t sure he even realised it himself – I wasn’t prepared for the melancholy that brought me. I’d once called him the spotted one in a family of black sheep. That still rung true. I wasn’t sure what he was doing half the time and whether it was legal or not, but I’d come to think of him as my spotted sheep. My super fluffy, cuddly sheep with a blue bow around his neck.
My blurred gaze focused to show Beau frowning at me. I’d been staring at my sheep – assistant! – without realising it.
‘Are you okay?’
I shook my head. ‘Sorry, still half asleep.’
‘Well, wake up. We’re already behind.’
‘Yes, boss.’ I saluted him, then stuck out my tongue at his back, making Céline grin. He was right, though. Because of my nostalgia last night and my lateness this morning, we still had some packing and stacking to do when we should have been on our way to Villefranche, the city in the valley, a ten-minute drive from our village of Saint-Maurice.
Céline, the only one of us used to getting up early, chatted to us about other vide-greniers she’d been to. She liked collecting everyone’s unwanted things to, as she put it, make sure they were wanted again. With a smile like hers, she could probably convince someone to even want my ugly clown candlestick holder. But I knew some of Aunt Géraldine’s other stuff was actually valuable. I’d marked some antiques and pieces of art that my aunt had once told me were worth something so Céline wouldn’t ask too little for them.
In a crate near the back of the van, I spotted some things from the village hotel I co-owned. My business partner, Jeanette Ta, had overseen the entire renovation and apparently decided these bits of seventies decor were never to grace our hotel again. I couldn’t disagree. There were some mustard yellow and brown ceramic vases, a bulby, beige glass lampshade, and some paintings of Latina women and sad children. Céline would need all her powers of persuasion to shift those.
At twenty minutes past six, we finally shoved the last box into the van, and Céline drove us east into the valley. Seeing the sun rise above the city and over the vineyards around us was a sight I only experienced in winter, when it came at a time I was awake, but this was something else. Not the dark orange tones of winter, but an already bright yellow light lit up our faces and the whole Saône valley before us, all the way to the Alps in the far distance. Though Céline had to don her sunglasses and work the sun visor, I enjoyed every second of the silent beauty before me and was almost sad when we reached our destination.
August in France is the month everybody takes their holiday. Restaurants close – never mind the tourists – offices are empty, and even the strikers take a break. This August was no different, and with the heat added into the mix, anyone who hadn’t left town was staying indoors. The streets of Villefranche were deserted.
‘This is a good location,’ Céline explained while we started unloading. ‘It used to be an old market square before they built the school around it, so it has plenty of shaded spaces.’ She unfolded a chair and put a pack of water bottles on top of it. Our trestle table was set up under an old, wooden structure that provided ample shade for about twenty other sellers. Not everyone was so lucky, though. Some tables were set up around the edge of the square, almost against the brick school wall. Some were still in its shade, but others were already heating up, the owners squinting into the light and wondering how long they’d last.
‘Amateurs.’ Céline winked at me. While other tables were a mess of random objects, she’d laid out a colourful tablecloth and was now arranging her wares in a haphazard, but optically pleasing way. As a photographer, I appreciated her effort, though I’d never seen this quality in her before. The window displays in the bakery were nice but not especially eye-catching.
As if she’d read my mind, Céline sighed. ‘I can’t wait to get my hands on our window. Dad won’t let me touch it. He says the window display is a reflection of the baker, and he doesn’t want it filled with bunnies and squirrels.’
Beau snorted. ‘Does he think you are still eight years old?’
‘Hey, I still like bunnies and squirrels. I just wouldn’t put them in our window display, but try telling him that.’
We were only halfway through unpacking, but early punters were already lining up, some even checking in the van. Céline blocked their way. ‘Sorry, you’ll have to come back later or wait and check out my other wares.’
‘You should have brought Frou-Frou to guard the van,’ I said, knowing the little black Labrador would have been of no use at all.
Céline laughed. ‘She is the girliest of dogs. Loves it when I put little pink bows in her fur.’
‘It’s because you named her Frou-Frou,’ Beau said with disgust.
‘She does her name proud. But she wants to be everyone’s friend, so a guard dog, she is not. Besides, it would be cruel to have her out here in the heat once the day gets going.’
Part of me wanted to ask why it wasn’t cruel for us to be out here, but then, we did make that insane choice ourselves. Henri, the stray cat who lived in my garden and sometimes in my house, hadn’t shown himself in days. While Beau did most of the heavy lifting, Céline and I worked frantically to get everything out as quickly as we could. By the time we had everything set up, I was exhausted and sweating, but Céline had made a good number of sales already.
‘Some of them are collectors and bargain hunters, but most are traders, looking for things to sell on.’
My gaze travelled over all the items still left on and around our table. ‘My ugly clown is gone.’
‘Are you kidding? That was the first thing to go. You may think it’s ugly, but that was a highly collectable piece. Made the deaf children good money,’ she said with a satisfied smile.
Her charity du jour was a nearby school for deaf children. Her trips to flea markets had already supported bread for people in South America, wounded wildlife in the Beaujolais, historical buildings in Villefranche, and women hoping to escape prostitution. Naturally, everyone was always happy to give her whatever she could find in their storage rooms.
Beau handed us both a bottle of water and took the last chair. ‘Do you think we’ll be busy today? With the heat and all?’ he asked, taking a swig from his bottle and pulling his shirt away from his body.
A pleasant voice came from behind the table next to ours. ‘Count on it.’