Contemporary Mystery Book Series Set In France

Death In The Pyrenees by Elly Grant

Series Excerpt

I make my way across the room to where the trestle tables laden with food and drinks are positioned. Steven’s widow is standing beside one of the tables. She stands out from the crowd, dressed as she is in Chanel. I don’t know much about fashion but everyone recognises the designers. There is something about a Chanel suit that makes it appropriate for every occasion. It must have cost a fortune and it looks to me as if she’s already spending her inheritance. Everything about her screams money, from her perfectly coiffed hair to her cripplingly high stiletto heels. She is stylishly thin and I cannot help but be reminded of the saying that a woman can’t be too rich or too thin. There is definitely something of the Wallis Simpson about this woman.

She’s sipping red wine from a large glass and her head is cocked towards her ‘cousin’ who is standing facing her. He is tall and lean and he’s dressed in a beautifully tailored suit; his shirt is white and crisply ironed. His high cheekbones and finely chiselled features are very handsome and make him stand out from this gathering. Most of the local people are short of stature and they dress simply, so a man such as this is easily noticed. He leans forward and speaks softly in the widow’s ear and from time to time she touches his arm and smiles at him. To all who observe her, she seems an unlikely grieving widow.

“May I pour you some wine, Officer? You’re not on duty are you?”

The voice startles me and I turn to see a slim, slightly built man proffering a bottle and a glass. He smiles at me and his face reminds me of a snake, with taut skin, thin lips and narrow eyes. His pupils are like cold, steel pinheads. His bald head accentuates this look. It is Kurt.

This Dutchman unnerves me like no other person can. There is something sly and dangerous about him. He smiles with his mouth but not with his eyes, in the same way that SS officers are depicted in films. I’ve known Kurt for four years having first met him at the Mairie when he arrived from Holland. He is another foreign, benefit parasite and he has a serious alcohol problem. Though he passes me in the street most days, this is the first time he has engaged me in conversation.

“Thank you, Kurt,” I reply. “I’m not on duty at the moment so I will have a glass please.”

He places the empty wine glass in my hand and fills it almost to the top with red wine. I prefer there to be some space in the glass to make it easier to hold and to allow the wine to breathe for a moment or two. But instead, I find myself having to sip it immediately to take the level down and make it less likely to spill.

“Did he jump or was he pushed, ha, ha?” he laughs.

What a strange thing to say, I think, particularly as we are at the man’s funeral.

“I’m assuming you are talking about Steven Gold,” I reply coldly then continue. “I guess that’s something for the detective leading the investigation to find out. Why do you think he may have been pushed?”

“No particular reason,” he says, still grinning menacingly. “Just making small talk.”

I say nothing else but stand and sip my wine expecting him to move away, but he does not.

“Perhaps we should talk,” he says.

“About anything in particular or do you just like my company?” I reply cheekily.

He scowls at me before continuing, “I just might have some information of interest to you.”

“Information about what?” I ask. “I believe you were in the apartment block at the time of the man’s death. Do you know something about the incident?”

“Perhaps indirectly,” he says slowly. “I know some things about Rosa that might be important,” he continues.

“Rosa?” I question “What has Rosa got to do with this?”

“I’ll tell you,” he replies, “but not here and not now. Perhaps we can meet in the café at Corsavy tomorrow. Tuesday’s your day off isn’t it? The day that all criminals are safe,” he mocks. He leans forward and whispers in my ear, “Maybe you could buy me breakfast and I’ll tell you what I know,” he offers.

Having just made the arrangement to see Belinda, I won’t be having a day off this week, but I’ve no wish to correct him. He makes my skin crawl. I consider what he’s said for a moment and I’m intrigued. Why would he want to discuss Rosa? She’s his girlfriend after all and they seem very close. I’m curious to hear what he has to say but I’m nervous about meeting him. Do I really want to be seen alone with this horrible man?

Finally, I decide that I’m more curious than repelled by him and I say, “I will meet you tomorrow, but you can buy me breakfast as it is you who wishes to speak to me. We can get together at 9 o’clock.”

“Very well, Madame,” he says, smirking. “You drive a hard bargain, until tomorrow then.”

With that he clicks his heels, gives a small bow then turns and walks across the room to join Rosa. I wonder what that was all about, I think. How strange, how very, very strange.