welcome my intrusion, and, besides, he and I are not exactly buddies.”
A long and brittle silence ensued before Philippe said coldly, “It is not police business, not anymore. My brother, he tells me he was going to the Caribbean for his birthday. His good friend Vieillard had access to a yacht on the southeast coast of the Dominican Republic, near Casa de Campo. So, pardon me, mademoiselle, but does that sound like he intended to end his life?”
Logic compelled her to agree with Philippe Bonheur. People who were about to check out usually did not take a vacation first.
“Remind me of when Jean-Louis’s birthday is,” Abby said.
“July eighteenth.” Philippe glanced at Kat, apparently in an effort to gauge whose side she was on, but Kat remained silent, still staring stone-faced at the ground. An awkward and tense silence ensued.
“You are repairing this place , oui?” Philippe asked, apparently wanting to shift the direction of the conversation. He slid his fingers, with manicured nails, into his pants pocket and drew forth a folded piece of paper. He handed the paper to Abby. “It is not complicated.” His tone warmed slightly. “You help me. I help you.”
Abby opened the folded paper and stared at a check in the amount of ten thousand dollars. She took a quick, sharp breath . Granite countertops! Her heart raced as she pondered the possibilities of what else she could accomplish with that amount of money. Replace the shower-tub combo. Buy a rototiller. Pay the second installment of the property tax bill without having to sell the 1929 Duncan Phyfe dining table and chairs. Hire some help. As her mental list grew, so did Abby’s excitement, but she tried not to show it.
Running her fingers along the crease of the check, Abby thought about how Philippe Bonheur must have written that check before even meeting her. That could mean only that he and Kat had discussed what a money pit the farmette had become. Abby’s cheeks grew hot with humiliation. She’d have a chat with Kat later. For now, she reasoned she would take Philippe’s money as a fair wage for the time she would have to put into the investigation. And she would certainly ask him to take responsibility for Sugar—surely he would want to keep his brother’s dog.
“If I take your money, Mr. Bonheur, I ask only that you not talk about the case with anyone else. If your brother’s death is a homicide, we don’t want the murderer to know we are looking into this, at least not yet.”
A warm smile made its way across Philippe’s face. His eyes crinkled in an expression of joyful relief. “We have a deal?”
Abby nodded. “Seems so.”
“Oh, merci beaucoup. ”
Abby needed to tell him that her investigation would stop if she discovered proof that his brother’s death was not due to foul play. But maybe now was not the time to go over her conditions. The poor man surely needed a bright spot in the darkness he was enduring.
“Look, I’m not making any promises, Mr. Bonheur, but—”
He interrupted, “S’il vous plaît, Philippe. We are friends now, non?”
Abby nodded. Suppose associates might be more correct, but whatever. “My friends call me Abby. I hope you will, too.”
Kat was already in the cruiser when Philippe extended his hand and surprised Abby with a vigorous, firm handshake. “Au revoir, Abby.”
Abby smiled sweetly . Okay, so bring up the dog issue next time.
As Philippe slid into the passenger seat of the black-and-white cruiser, Abby caught a quick glimpse of a honeybee riding in on the back side of his shirtsleeve. Not wanting to race down the driveway after the police car, Abby hesitated briefly. She didn’t like the idea of Philippe swatting away at the poor insect, either, so she sprinted, calling out in her loudest voice, “Roll down the window.” But the cruiser had already passed the mailbox, turned onto Farm Hill Road, and sped away.
Tips for Relocating Bees
• Do not move a hive of bees
A long and brittle silence ensued before Philippe said coldly, “It is not police business, not anymore. My brother, he tells me he was going to the Caribbean for his birthday. His good friend Vieillard had access to a yacht on the southeast coast of the Dominican Republic, near Casa de Campo. So, pardon me, mademoiselle, but does that sound like he intended to end his life?”
Logic compelled her to agree with Philippe Bonheur. People who were about to check out usually did not take a vacation first.
“Remind me of when Jean-Louis’s birthday is,” Abby said.
“July eighteenth.” Philippe glanced at Kat, apparently in an effort to gauge whose side she was on, but Kat remained silent, still staring stone-faced at the ground. An awkward and tense silence ensued.
“You are repairing this place , oui?” Philippe asked, apparently wanting to shift the direction of the conversation. He slid his fingers, with manicured nails, into his pants pocket and drew forth a folded piece of paper. He handed the paper to Abby. “It is not complicated.” His tone warmed slightly. “You help me. I help you.”
Abby opened the folded paper and stared at a check in the amount of ten thousand dollars. She took a quick, sharp breath . Granite countertops! Her heart raced as she pondered the possibilities of what else she could accomplish with that amount of money. Replace the shower-tub combo. Buy a rototiller. Pay the second installment of the property tax bill without having to sell the 1929 Duncan Phyfe dining table and chairs. Hire some help. As her mental list grew, so did Abby’s excitement, but she tried not to show it.
Running her fingers along the crease of the check, Abby thought about how Philippe Bonheur must have written that check before even meeting her. That could mean only that he and Kat had discussed what a money pit the farmette had become. Abby’s cheeks grew hot with humiliation. She’d have a chat with Kat later. For now, she reasoned she would take Philippe’s money as a fair wage for the time she would have to put into the investigation. And she would certainly ask him to take responsibility for Sugar—surely he would want to keep his brother’s dog.
“If I take your money, Mr. Bonheur, I ask only that you not talk about the case with anyone else. If your brother’s death is a homicide, we don’t want the murderer to know we are looking into this, at least not yet.”
A warm smile made its way across Philippe’s face. His eyes crinkled in an expression of joyful relief. “We have a deal?”
Abby nodded. “Seems so.”
“Oh, merci beaucoup. ”
Abby needed to tell him that her investigation would stop if she discovered proof that his brother’s death was not due to foul play. But maybe now was not the time to go over her conditions. The poor man surely needed a bright spot in the darkness he was enduring.
“Look, I’m not making any promises, Mr. Bonheur, but—”
He interrupted, “S’il vous plaît, Philippe. We are friends now, non?”
Abby nodded. Suppose associates might be more correct, but whatever. “My friends call me Abby. I hope you will, too.”
Kat was already in the cruiser when Philippe extended his hand and surprised Abby with a vigorous, firm handshake. “Au revoir, Abby.”
Abby smiled sweetly . Okay, so bring up the dog issue next time.
As Philippe slid into the passenger seat of the black-and-white cruiser, Abby caught a quick glimpse of a honeybee riding in on the back side of his shirtsleeve. Not wanting to race down the driveway after the police car, Abby hesitated briefly. She didn’t like the idea of Philippe swatting away at the poor insect, either, so she sprinted, calling out in her loudest voice, “Roll down the window.” But the cruiser had already passed the mailbox, turned onto Farm Hill Road, and sped away.
Tips for Relocating Bees
• Do not move a hive of bees
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