The Red Brick Cellars: A Tolosa Mystery by R.W. Wallace Read Free Book Online Page B

or the market,” she said. “I don’t want to own that house with you any longer.” Maxime knew how much—or rather how little—she earned, but Catherine couldn’t decide if he simply didn’t appreciate the financial situation she was in or if he was consciously playing dumb in an attempt to punish her.
    Max looked at her until she met his gaze. “You loved that house so much.” He was making puppy eyes at her.
    She had loved the house. She still did. But it contained one ex-husband she wanted to avoid at all costs, and it was way too expensive for her lousy pay-check. She had held out until the divorce was finalized and now it was time to get a move on.
    “It’s a lovely house,” she conceded. “But we have to sell. We already agreed we would sell when we started the divorce.” She took a tiny bite of the brownie and closed her eyes to enjoy the dark chocolate and crunchy bits of walnuts. She wished she was a French kid still in school. With dinner being so late—seven at the earliest—they all had a snack at around four in the afternoon. Goûter , meaning tasting, they called it. Sometimes Catherine thought it just might be even better than tea. Maybe.
    Maxime didn’t say anything, only watched her eat. Catherine took her time enjoying her tea and cake, but when the last crumb was gone, she glared at Max. “Are you going to put the house up for sale or do I have to take care of it?”
    Real sadness made its way into his expression: a sign that he’d started to take her seriously. “Fine,” he said while he turned his empty cup on its saucer. “I’ll put it up for sale. But you let me know if you change your mind, all right? It’s going to take awhile.”
    “Thank you,” Catherine said with a forced smile. “And don’t worry, I won’t change my mind.”
     

 
    Seven
    Glasses clinked as Louis sat the meter of pastis down on the table. The “meter” was a meter-long plastic holder with ten glasses, all filled with the anise-tasting drink. Louis chose Chez Tonton, one of many popular bars on place Saint Pierre, as the setting of his plot to foil Audrey’s plans for him.
    Mouad, Louis’s best friend since they’d started playing soccer together when they were ten, looked down the long line of glasses and sighed. “Which one of these did you imagine me drinking?”
    “This one,” Louis said and went back to the bar to bring a glass of apple juice for his friend. As if he’d forget that the man was a Muslim and didn’t drink alcohol.
    “ Merci ,” Mouad said, raising the glass in salute.
    Louis picked up a jug of water and mixed the first glass in the line of pastis. The transparent golden liquid turned yellow and opaque; the ice-cube clinked hollowly against the glass. He brought it to his friend’s glass and drank it bottoms-up. The burning sensation of the alcohol mixed with the refreshing taste of anise and cold water in his throat. The anise also brought back strong memories of nights out with friends when he was a student. He relaxed a little as he pulled his chair up against the front wall of the bar and let himself fall into it.
    Students occupied most of the tables around them. Their neighboring table was shared between three young men in their twenties working on a meter of pastis of their own and two brunettes who couldn’t possibly be out of high school yet, giggling over something on their phones. A few cars drove below the canopy of plane trees just outside the bar, but place Saint Pierre was all about drinking tonight, as always. Raucous laughter drifted across the square from one of the other bars and two dogs barked at each other for the right to pee on a bush lining the street.
    Mouad eyed the nine full glasses and sipped his juice. “You’re getting drunk all alone tonight?” The streetlights from the center of the square reflected in his dark-brown eyes. His nose was as big as Louis’s, perched above thin lips, currently pinched together into a severe