Old Bones

Jules’ slack-jawed blink of amazement was so transparently sincere that for a moment Gideon thought he might have it wrong, but he realized that what he was seeing was simply Jules’ astonishment that anyone had even caught on to the fact that the murder had occurred. And it had been a clever thing; for that much Gideon gave him credit, if you could call it credit. It had been sheer luck, nothing else, that had uncovered it.

Jules shut his mouth so hard his puppy's teeth clicked. “I'm not going to sit here and take this—this abuse— from someone who—who wasn't even invited ...'

'But why?” Sophie said. “Why kill Alain after so many years?'

Gideon answered. “Because Alain was going to admit who he really was. That's what the council was going to be about. Jules was the only one who knew, and he couldn't let it happen. Right, Jules?” He hoped he sounded confident; the further he went, the deeper into guesswork he got. Peculiar, the situations he found himself in.

'No! Wrong!” Jules was shouting now; the martinis were starting to show in his eyes, his speech. His bow- shaped baby's mouth had curled into a pout. “It was to tell us he was selling this place to a hotel!'

'Selling his house to a hotel is ‘a matter of singular family importance'?'

'How do I know what the old fart meant?” Jules spread his arms, beseeching the others. “He told me what it was about!'

'Yes, I know he did. You were the only one who knew.'

He lowered his arms. “That's right,” he said suspiciously.

'That's what started me wondering why you were lying about it, and the answer wasn't too hard to come up with.” Gideon was beginning to tire, wishing that Joly would come, or that Jules would just give up and admit it.

He didn't. “You're lying!” he shouted.

'No, Jules,” Gideon said, and would up for what he hoped was the knockout punch. “He wasn't selling Rochebonne to a hotel chain. If he were, there wouldn't be much sense in enlarging the kitchen garden, would there?” He held his breath. He was up to his elbows in speculative inference here. It was conceivable that a deal with the chain was contingent on a bigger garden going in, or that they were paying for it, or a dozen other possibilities.

But no, he'd guessed right. Jules’ forehead was suddenly glossy with sweat. The area under his eyes and around his mouth seemed to sink and turn a shiny gray.

'I,” he said with a wretched, sodden try at dignity, “am leaving now.” When he stood up crumbs rolled from his lap.

'No,” John said pleasantly, “you're not. You're staying right there.'

Jules spun angrily on him. “You can't—'

'I sure can. Consider it a citizen's arrest.'

'You—you're not even a citizen!'

'All the same,” John said, his arms folded easily on his chest, “if I were you I'd just sit back down and wait till Joly gets here.'

'Joly is already here,” said the familiar crisp voice from the doorway. He strode into the room and stood stiffly in front of Jules. “Monsieur du Rocher, please consider yourself under the provisions of the garde a vue from this moment. You will be detained—'

Jules looked wildly at Mathilde. “Maman—'

She stared blazingly at him. “You killed Alain,” she said in a voice like cracking ice. “Your own father.'

This time Gideon was part of the stunned silence too. It took Rene to break it.

'His father?” he said, as wide-eyed as the rest of them. “Do you mean Jules isn't my son?'

Had it not been for the sorry circumstances, Gideon might almost have thought it was said with relief.

[Back to Table of Contents]

TWENTY-TWO

* * * *

'WANT some more coffee?” Julie asked.

'Sure,” Gideon said, starting to rise.

'I'll make it.” She jumped up and headed for the kitchen.

'I thought you were going to be keeping me less contented.'

'I figure almost getting yourself killed entitles you to one day of being spoiled. Tomorrow things change, pal.'

They were having a late breakfast in the living room. Gideon leaned back, hands behind his neck, and stretched out his legs, wallowing in the satisfaction of being back home, back with Julie. Through the big window he could look down the hill and see the Coho ferry from Victoria just rounding Ediz Hook and easing its way through the morning fog into Port Angeles Harbor. In the kitchen Julie made domestic noises and whistled happily.

'I'm a lucky man,” he told her.

'You better believe it,” she called back. “What's the bagel situation in there?'