86 Avenue du Goulet (A Samantha Jamison Mystery Volume 3) Read Online Free PDF

hot sun, but as my eyes adjusted in the dim light, I noticed beautiful lace curtains, Impressionist paintings, and plump couches upholstered in worn velvet next to an overstuffed armchair. She lived very well and her lifestyle now might be taken away from her like her cat, Clouseau. How sad.
    “This is so warm and inviting,” I said admiringly.
    She nodded as she leaned on her cane. “Yes, it is.”
    “How long have you lived here?” I asked, cautiously.
    She gazed lovingly around the room. “Over fifty years.”
    I frowned. The impact she faced in losing half her home and her security had me speechless by the enormity of it.
    Then she shook her head, grimacing. “I know. Imagine sharing all this. Ah, French law! I lose full ownership. Half goes to Henri’s children from his first marriage. Currently, I am dealing with Henri’s death, wills, the law, and now Clouseau, and so much more…”
    Why would someone cause this old woman more pain?

 
     
     
    Chapter 15
    Red Light, Red Faced & Seeing Red
     
     
    After learning not much more at Sorrell’s, I decided to knock off the last entry on my list of interviews. As I slowly approached the small walk-in gate, I noticed it wasn’t locked, so I entered the side yard entrance and walked right up to the door. Forniet’s driveway was down the hill behind the house facing southwest. This entrance was directly opposite my driveway and gate, so it was much easier to access.
    I rang the doorbell. Maybe I’d get lucky and she wouldn’t be home. Although I didn’t think I wanted to come back later after dark when her notorious red light was beaming brightly. My reputation for trouble was bad enough, but the ‘after dark’ misinterpretation I didn’t need.
    I forced a smile as the front door whipped open.
    “Philippe! I’m not ready yet,” she shouted, petulantly.
    There stood a tall redhead, wearing nothing but a towel, with her long hair flowing down to, well, down to there…
    I’m sure my skin color was that of a red cherry, forgive the pun here , and I was completely at a loss for words.
    “Oh! You’re not Philippe!” she said, looking left and right, then straight at me. “Who are you?” she demanded. “What do you want? I am in a hurry, as you can see!”
    For what? A towel convention? Obviously, a small one!
    “Martine sent me?” I said, hoping to jog her memory.
    In seconds, a light bulb went on. “Yes! Yes! Of course! I remember now.” Abruptly her pitch and impatience escalated. “What a travesty! I am devastated! How could someone have killed my little Fifi! She was such a cute thing! The sweetest poodle you would ever find!”
    Apparently with a set of lungs to match all that barking, I thought, remembering Monsieur Toussout’s remarks about her incessant barking at the slightest provocation.
    “I need to ask you a few questions and won’t be long.”
    She stood with her arms crossed. “Well, hurry up then!”
    I figured I wasn’t being invited inside and dove in. “When all the neighbor’s pets were disappearing, did you notice anything that appeared unusual going on over at Curat’s property?”
    “You are kidding! No? Why would I pay attention to an old man’s property? I have my own problems.”
    …Okay . I took another route. “Have you heard or seen anything out of the ordinary going on lately in the area?”
    “Perhaps. Let me try to remember. I did see a small truck in front of Curat’s gate one evening. I waited for someone and he was late. It was eleven o’clock. I remember exactly, because I looked at the clock, and was furious because he promised to be here by ten, but then that voice… Oh!” She went still and paled.
    I had to keep her talking. “What truck? What voice?”
    “Diesel. Did I say voice? No! I must go. Excusez-moi.”

 
     
     
    Chapter 16
    Signs, Suspicions & Speculations
     
     
    So there I was again, another evening sitting on my terrace, sipping wine, and thinking things over. My open laptop,