The Stone Boy by Sophie Loubière Read Free Book Online Page B

crush a family of spiders nestled in the rock garden.
    “Madame Elsa?”
    The housekeeper stuck her head out the living room window. She sounded concerned, like she was doubting herself.
    “Yes, Isabelle?”
    “Could you come and look, please?”
    Madame Préau straightened up, attached the shears to the belt of her overalls, and went back to the steps. She tapped the heels of her rubber boots against the scraper fixed to the wall, and as nothing was stuck to the soles, she went inside. Isabelle was still leaning out of the living room window, staring at the stone windowsill.
    “What did you find?”
    “The stones. It’s strange.”
    Isabelle rolled the gravel a few centimeters with her brush. A stain appeared on a stone. Madame Préau raised her eyebrows.
    “Looks like dried blood.”
    The gravel was also covered in the same red color. Isabelle shook her head, muttering.
    “That’s all we need!”
    Taken aback, Madame Préau stood still for a moment.
    “What should I do, Madame Elsa? Should I put them in the jar, too?”
    Madame Préau took off her neck brace with an irritated gesture.
    “Leave it. I’ll take care of it.”
    She waited until the housekeeper had gone home before she spread the small stones across the kitchen table and looked at them under the magnifying glass, turning them over carefully in her hands. It was not a trick. They were stained with dried blood. How had these stones landed on the living room windowsill? Where could the blood possibly have come from? The stones slid into a jam jar. Madame Préau screwed the lid on tightly, and then looked for a place to store the jar. She decided that the best hiding place was the crisper drawer of the refrigerator. Back in the living room, Madame Préau stood in front of the window: the neighbors’ weeping birch was ten meters across the street, the exact location where the child usually stood. Madame Préau put a hand over her mouth, thinking. Was it possible that the child had thrown the stones? That the blood had come from the cut on his elbow? Up until now she had attributed the presence of small stones and gravel on the windowsills to passing trucks. Could there be another explanation? Had the boy already thrown stones into her garden? By not aiming too high, somehow, you could reach the living room window without the chestnut leaves getting in the way.
    The tree’s mottled foliage trembled in the breeze. A strand of gray hair tickled Madame Préau’s nose. She brushed it away, pulling the little black notebook out of the pocket of her overalls and jotting down the date and time at which the stones had been discovered. She also wrote two questions:
     
Why would the child have thrown the blood-covered stones against my window?
Is there a connection to the noise heard in the middle of the night last night?
     
    She went to her room to find a pair of binoculars to take a look in the neighbors’ garden. It was empty. There didn’t seem to be any movement in the house. Only the barking of dogs in the street repeated like an echo distorted by the wind. Madame Préau sat on her bed. It was a Monday. It was almost noon. She would have to wait until Sunday to see the child behind the concrete wall. She had a week to think about what to believe.

17
     
    It rained for six days. Madame Préau only went out to go to medical appointments, neglecting her shopping and the return of her books to the library. She made do with meals based on canned food accompanied by thawed frozen bread. Wednesday’s session with Dr. Mamnoue was devoted to the reappearance of her ex-daughter-in-law in Martin’s life. She associated unpleasant memories with Audrette and was relieved to
offload
the more cumbersome ones. On Thursday, Martin had to cancel their dinner; in the four days since he returned from Corsica, the waiting room at his office hadn’t emptied before half past eight. He was skipping meals, abusing vitamin bars and caffeinated fizzy drinks. A real Samaritan.