Читать книгу Meg Harris Mysteries 5-Book Bundle - R.J. Harlick - Страница 58

Next morning, I awoke to the kind of pounding headache I hadn’t felt in two years. I cursed myself for finishing the remaining half bottle of wine and vowed never again. I trudged into the kitchen to make a pot of extra strong coffee. Without thinking, I reached into the cupboard for the cognac to add the final touch to my tried-and-true hangover remedy. When I saw the empty shelf, I swore again for slipping back so readily into the old alcoholic groove.

Outside, another winter storm raged. I sat slumped over my coffee watching the last of the visible stalks in my flower garden disappear under a growing snowdrift. A steady flight of chickadees, for the moment free of tormenting jays, ferried seeds from the feeder to neighbouring trees.

I thought about Yves, so like his sister in appearance, yet so unlike in character that it was as if they hadn’t grown up in the same family. It was this polished manner that appealed to me. I’d forgotten what it was like to be involved with a worldly, sophisticated man, who knew how to treat a woman.

I was wondering if it would be too forward of me to use a visit to Yvette as an excuse to see her brother when the phone suddenly rang.

“Bonjour, Marguerite,” flowed the voice of Yves through the static I’d come to associate with the Gagnon phone line.

I sat up, smoothed my uncombed hair and said in my best high school French, “Bonjour. C’est une vrai bonne journée.”

“Oui, it is indeed a good day, especially when I hear your smiling voice.”

Thankful he couldn’t see my blushing face, I quickly changed the topic. “How is Yvette? Would it be possible for me to visit her today?”

“I know she would very much like to see you, but unfortunately, I am driving her to the doctor in Somerset for a check-up. Perhaps you are able to come tomorrow?”

“Love to,” I replied, hoping he would be there also.

“I believe you had another young woman helping you with the marathon trails.”

I stiffened. “You mean Chantal?” Had she trapped Yves too?

“Oui, Chantal Bergeron. She is the daughter of a business associate.”

I breathed more easily. “I didn’t know Yvette knew her. She never let on.”

“Non, they never met before. In fact, I myself didn’t know she was working here until her father phoned me this morning.”

“Why are you asking?”

“I hope you can assist me. Her father is worried. It is five days since he expected her to return to her home in Montreal, but she did not return, nor has she contacted him. His daughter is not, how you say, reliable. He was not concerned until her friend telephoned last night. This friend and Chantal had tickets for a rock concert, but Chantal did not come. Her father asked me to find out if she is still in this area.”

Remembering who had the nerve to assign her to my team in the first place, I said, “Call Eric Odjik, the organizer. He should know.”

“But wasn’t she one of the persons helping you clear the trails?”

The image of Chantal’s contorted face screeching a French insult jumped to mind. “She was. However, last time I saw her was on the trail. Eric said he saw her later at the Forgotten Bay Fishing Camp.”

“You are certain?”

“Yes… No, wait a minute. Eric said something about Pierre finding her. Try him. Or even John-Joe.” From the way she’d been pawing both of them, I could see her deciding that unzipping either guy’s pants, or even both of them, would be more fun than any rock concert.

“Pierre? John-Joe? How do I contact these men?”

“Eric should know where to find them.”

“I do not mean to disturb your good morning with such a trivial concern. Unfortunately, she is like too many young Québécoise, in a hurry to leave the protection of her father’s house. Probably I will find her with one of these young men. When I do, I think it will be necessary to invent a story for her father, non?”