The 13th Fellow: A Mystery in Provence by Tracy Whiting Read Free Book Online

is all quite true. I could not agree with you more, dear. Sometimes you just have to remind me of my cheek. Say around eight tonight? We can slip off while everyone is enjoying digestifs on the third floor terrace. We will still have some daylight.” Laurent was beaming. He clapped his hands and did a happy dance.
    “Eight tonight.” She stood up and extended her hand for an agreement.
    “You will so owe me, Havilah Gaie.”
    “Yes I will, dearest.”
    Laurent pushed her hand away and gave Havilah a hug, the top of his head hit her breasts. Had she not known that Laurent was considerably shorter and strictly dickly, she might have given the breasts to the head bump a second thought. They then did air kisses to each other’s cheeks.
    Havilah hated not coming totally clean with Laurent but it was as much for his own good as it was for hers. If the killer thought Laurent knew anything or was aiding Havilah in her turn as Cleopatra Jones, they might draw a bead on him.
    “Tonight then?” She made one last nervous inquiry to seal the deal.
    “Tonight. Apéros at 6.”

V
    As she closed the door behind her, she walked right into Gasquet.
    “Professor Gaie, I can’t have you taking off by yourself.”
    He was supremely annoyed. She could see it all in his usually opaque face.
    “This place is full of police. I just crossed the road to use the bathroom. I think I can do that safely in the middle of the day.”
    He gave her a look of utter disbelief. She shrugged.
    “I guess hit and run is in the realm of possibility. I did look both ways before crossing the street, if that’s any consolation.” She made an exaggerated gesture of looking right then left as they crossed the road.
    “Can I trouble you for a lift to my hotel? I wouldn’t want to be pushed off into one of the fjords on my way there.” She couldn’t resist nettling the agent.
    They walked towards the car. He had her carry-on on his shoulder. She had left it across the street.
    “We are staying at Les Roches Blanches.” The cool was back, even as he smiled at her.
    “We? You mean ‘ Oui ’?”
    “No, Professor Gaie. I cannot leave you by yourself in a strange hotel.”
    “Why that’s mighty nice of you, Agent Gasquet. But you don’t have to trouble yourself on my account. The hotel is not unfamiliar to me. And thank you for remembering my carry-on bag.”
    “ Pas de problème . The hotel though is unfamiliar to me.” He was the one now doing the nettling.
    “How did you know which hotel I booked?” She sulked inwardly, and thus opted to make small talk.
    “You’re a professional American woman accustomed to certain luxuries. Americans typically overspend on accommodations; there is only one four-star hotel in Cassis, and I am part of the French police.”
    She tilted her head sideways and thought about all of his possibly unintended and intended inferences. High maintenance. Typically American. She wouldn’t have minded the three-star Hotel Mahogany. She decided not to protest, allowing his misperception to stand. It might be to her advantage later.
    They drove off, making a right onto the Routes des Calanques. They passed the crowded beach and tourists having late afternoon refreshments at the cafés and restaurants across the street, zipped up a steep hill and turned left into the car park in front of Les Roches Blanches. It was no more than a five-minute drive from the foundation.
    The imposing building had a stone façade covered in leafy sprawling green vines. The hotel’s name, The White Rocks, suited the place, given the white Cassis stone peaking out from every possible vista. The surrounding grounds were made of cascading, multileveled stone terraces covered with pine trees, potted palms, and flowering gardens. At the hotel’s perimeter, fronting the Bay of Cassis, were steps that led down to beds of large white rocks where the hotel’s clients could sunbathe and then dive directly into the sea just below.
    She rushed out of the