Birds of a Feather: 3: Fly the Nest (Bennett Sisters Mysteries Book 16) by Lise McClendon (websites to read books for free .TXT) 📗

set all the arguments aside. Isabelle closed her eyes and said a small prayer for her cousin. Sabine must have been afraid, all alone, and very, very cold.

She turned back to her task at hand, coaxing Pauline. “I will bring you up some tea and quelque chose à manger. You must eat.” She listened again but there was nothing from inside the room. Maybe she’d gone to sleep. “You are okay, Pauline? Je reviens vite.”

Downstairs the three policemen were gathered in the front hall. Evans stood at the drawing room door while the chef, Audette, and the maid, Gini, cowered by the dining room. Tears streamed down Gini’s face, and Audette didn’t look far behind. Both of them stood hunched into themselves, trembling.

Isabelle paused on the bottom step, took a breath, and stepped down. “What is it? Are you finished with the rubbish?”

The Detective Inspector turned from his colleagues. “Ah, madam. Yes, we are done there. However your staff here has something to say to you.”

Isabelle raised an eyebrow at the chef. “Oui? En français?”

“English, please,” Evans said.

Audette swallowed hard and took a step forward. “We did not throw out the oysters, madame. I am very sorry.”

“No? What happened to them?”

The chef glanced back at the maid, then faced Isabelle with a brave, resigned expression. “We, both of us— we ate them.”

Chapter Four

The four of them, Elise, Conor, Merle, and Pascal, were seated in a semi-circle in front of the fire at the King’s Hearth. The flames were appropriately blazing, making them scoot their wing chairs back a bit. Their supper in the Inn’s dining room had been simple and quick, leading them to linger with another glass of wine by the fire.

Conor’s phone pinged. “My sister,” he said, reading the message.

“Some news?” Elise asked.

“Has someone been arrested?” Pascal asked.

“But it was an oyster,” Merle said. “An accident.”

Conor looked up at them. “Apparently not. The oysters were not thrown out at all but were eaten by the kitchen staff. They didn’t want such luxuries to go to waste.”

“All of them? There had to be dozens,” Pascal said.

“They were going to be thrown out anyway,” Elise said. “But then—”

“They weren’t bad,” Merle added.

“Are they ill?” Pascal asked. “The chef and the maid?”

“No. They’re fine,” Conor said, slipping his phone back in his jacket pocket. “My sister says the police were quite put out. They were hoping for a quick one. Now it might be a murder investigation.”

“Might?” Pascal scoffed. “How long will it take for the autopsy?”

Conor shrugged. “Someone put that oyster shell by the body. Someone wanted us all to believe she died by a tainted oyster.”

“She was so excited about her réveillon,” Elise mused.

“Could it be a message?” Merle said, leaning forward, elbows on her knees. “Someone who resented her coming in and planning that dinner?”

Conor squirmed. “Like my mother?”

“No! No, I mean—” Merle bit her lip and looked away.

“She was angry about the land, I’ll give you that,” Conor said. “And Sabine just showing up, out of the blue. They weren’t great friends. But Mum’s a physician. She wouldn’t harm anyone. She had options with the land. She was dealing with it.”

“I didn’t mean—” Merle stammered. “Sorry.”

“I’m sure you’re right,” Pascal reassured Conor. “She isn’t the devious type.”

“Of course she isn’t,” Elise said. Conor glanced at her with a worried look. She squeezed his arm. “Don’t worry about your mother. Sabine had plenty of nasty interactions with people at the house. She seemed to cultivate them.”

“And what of our general?” Pascal asked. “He seems like the obvious culprit.”

“I wish he’d bring back my hire car,” Conor said. “Have the police seen it? I wonder if they’re even looking.”

“I gave them my mobile,” Pascal said, pulling out his phone. “Nothing yet.”

“Have the police searched their rooms?” Merle asked.

Conor texted his sister, Aubrey, with that question. She replied that she didn’t think so, that the inspector and his friends were gone and planned to come back in the morning.

Merle looked pointedly at Pascal. “What? We go look for ourselves?” he asked.

“You said we should wait for the police,” Merle replied.

He shrugged, noncommittal.

Conor was listening. “I am curious about this general or whoever he is.”

“Casino magnate,” Merle answered.

“It seems strange, doesn’t it,” Elise said, finger on her chin, “that a wealthy man like him, someone worth millions, would let himself be dragged into the Welsh countryside over a long winter holiday with a bunch of strangers and spend his nights in a cramped chauffeur’s quarters.” She glanced at them. “I don’t get it.”

“With that sort of money he could be drinking champagne in luxury at the Ritz or George Cinq,” Pascal added.

“Exactly,” Elise continued. “Why was he here? He wasn’t enjoying himself, always scowling at us.”

“He seemed to take his marching orders from Sabine,” Conor added.

“But why? Was it just his love for her? Could it be that simple?”

Merle scoffed: “Love? Please. Didn’t you say they had a huge fight and called each other all sorts of names?”

“And yet,” Pascal said, “he led the search for her.” He squinted, thinking. “Which direction did he go when you men went out to search?”

Conor frowned. “Um, I think he went down by the pond.”

“And the hedges,” Merle added.

Elise’s eyes widened as they all made the connection. Gabriel may have been responsible, may have known where her body lay hidden in the hedges, and pointed the other searchers away from it.

“I may not be able to sleep,” Merle declared.

Pascal stood up. “Let’s go have a quick look, shall we?”

Chapter Five

The outside stairs that led up the side of the carriage house to the rooms above were weathered and old, the blue paint peeling on the treads. The railing was wrought iron and wobbly. Elise waited until Pascal and Merle were all the way at the top before venturing farther than the bottom step. “Too much weight,” she whispered to Conor behind her.

The night was very dark, with snow clouds low on the hillside, spitting flakes at intervals. The roads were