The 13th Fellow: A Mystery in Provence Read Online Free PDF Page B

professor colleagues had worn out the knees of their trousers from an inordinate amount of obsequiousness and fawning over Cate and Smith, his lips seemed crazy-glued to their rear ends.
    Havilah directed a strained smile in Améline’s direction, but she smirked inwardly. Despite her affectations and self-promotion, Havilah was very sure that the riotous Améline would have undeniably brought a certain cachet to the academic unit. She also had to give her cool points for style. Améline’s blond hair was styled in a fierce, layered, shoulder-length bob. She wore an exquisite, large blue sapphire ring; otherwise she was all in white save for her yellow sandals. Forget Moss Lipow eyewear. Améline had sunglasses with her own initials, AF, in blue-toned crystals to match the ring.
    “Laurent, may I speak with you?” She didn’t want to be rude; but Havilah desperately needed to speak with him privately.
    Améline’s lip turned up slightly. She was glaring up at Havilah with an unmistakable “Oh no you didn’t, heifer” look. Just beneath Améline’s finely crafted demeanor, the hood and the trailer park did a nimble two-step.
    “Of course. And before I forget, your father called for you. And Charles and Lucian.” Laurent winked when he mentioned that last name.
    Lucian was Havilah’s ex-paramour and the Dean of Astor’s Law School. She frowned. She had decided to come to France for a year to get away from Lucian, who wanted a wife but no children. Charles, as in Charles Chastain, was the Astor’s president.
    “Where are you staying, Havilah? Perhaps we can have a drink? I’d really love to speak with you on a number of matters,” Améline pressed.
    Havilah noted Améline’s change of course. Kit had barely been dead twenty-four hours and Améline was already dry-eyed and fast at work on that job offer. It was that alone that made Havilah strike her from her list of murderers.
    “Perhaps some other time? I’m really not in the mood for shop talk.”
    She couldn’t muster diplomacy now. Not now. Not today. Not until I get a handle on this thing. Poor Kit.

IV
    The novelist was visibly taken aback by Havilah’s directness regarding her ulterior job motives. She uprighted herself slowly in the chair, where she looked like a feline in repose, and rose to go. Améline’s Louboutins, impractical for hilly and cobblestoned Provence, clacked loudly on the villa’s terra cotta floors. Once Havilah heard the heavy wood door click to a close, she threw herself down in the chair Améline had vacated. She was exhausted.
    “An irrepressible woman, isn’t she?” Laurent offered genuinely.
    “I don’t know.” She cocked her head sideways. “She is what she is, right? Have the police had a run at her yet?”
    “Briefly. They’ve interrogated us all. You’d think we had all colluded to do Kit in. I’m so sorry about Kit. It’s so horrible. And to think it happened here. It will be all over The Chronicle of Higher Education and The New York Times . He was so much the public intellectual.”
    Havilah launched right in. “Laurent, why was Kit staying at the foundation instead of at a hotel? It’s usually not open to fellows during the summer months.” She placed both hands in her lap, casually studying the clear nail polish on her fingers. She wanted to appear at ease rather than prodding.
    “You sound like those French coppers, Havilah! Kit and Améline were both fellows this year and among those scholars we invited back to participate in the Knowlton Centennial ceremony; we bent the rules and allowed them to stay on if they wished. You were welcomed to stay here as well, per the foundation’s invitation if you recall.” She figured he wanted to add “Miss Thing”, since she had gone all Law and Order on him, but instead he continued, “Of course in the Académie now and not across the street at the dreadful crime scene. The other members of the board and the one remaining invited speaker will be staying