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Despite my attempt to ignore the neighbours’ comments, I felt unsettled. If I confronted them and protested my innocence, they would probably think I did have something to hide. Camellia and Peter had annoyed me with their assumptions, but Danny and Felix told me to ignore them. Too much time to think was driving me mad, and I could not get my aunt out of my mind. Thinking of her convinced me she was still out there in Paris. Doing nothing about my worries would haunt me forever, so I searched for more information. Scanning my phone, I noticed a new blog post had arrived from the Pages of Other Worlds Blog. Photos of a bicycle and a slim woman wearing a polka-dot circle skirt from the fifties featured in the blog.

Pages of Other Worlds Blog

Behind the Scenes of Paris

Bonjour mes amis!

I’m adding splashes of colour to my life as I search for Bella behind the scenes of Paris. I cannot move quickly but am adept at sitting in the shadows. Having bought a coffee and a croissant at the boulangerie opposite Chez la Mère Sylvie, I sat on a bench beneath a tree. I had a good view of the second floor.

Nothing happened, so I studied the ancient apartment window adorned with red shutters that matched with the red canopy of the bistro. Wooden chairs with red leather backs waited for guests on the cobbled pavement. A vintage black bicycle like the one in Bella’s autobiography rested against the wall of the bistro and then I noticed a slender woman with an elegant pixie style haircut. I knew Bella instantly.

Bella searched in her leather satchel. I took a seat at one of the tables; drops of rain rested on my hair as I pretended to glance at the menu. Her black and white polka-dot skirt floated behind her when she disappeared through the door. Playful raindrops danced on the cobbled street, and I sat in the shadows and waited.

Bella emerged from the blue door. She removed the folder from the basket and said, ‘Oh, my goodness. Come with me, mes petites amies.’ Her English accent attacked the words. She kissed the thin folder with the tenderness of a mother kissing her child. She let out a shallow breath and said, ‘I hope he loves you this time.’ With those words, she ran back into the apartment. I worried someone would take the folder.

Shadows welcomed me as I removed the file, and the rubber band wound around the file nipped me when I removed it.

On removing the title page, I peered at the opening lines.

So, my aunt found the manuscript. Did she read it, or was she reading it now? This post had suddenly appeared in my inbox, whereas I had searched for the other blogs. Staring at the garden I turned over my doubts, wondering if Aunt Ada was attempting to contact me. Then scrolling through the Pages of Other Worlds Blog in search of more information, I realised I had signed up for a series of blog posts about her adventures when I clicked on a pop-up box for investigation updates. Come what may, I had to go to Paris. I visited some travel agents’ websites, hoping to find some deals.

I heard loud barking outside and hobbled to the back door. ‘Here, girl. Bronte, come here.’ Her barking continued as she ran towards me. I stroked behind her ears. ‘There, there. What is it?’

She nudged the palm of my hand with her nose, so I followed her very slowly. Once at the bottom of the garden she weaved her way through the meadow towards the potting shed.

‘Ouch! Wait, Bronte.’

She scratched the doors of the potting shed, pausing to let out a yelp.

‘Are you looking for Ada?’ I asked. I tried the door, but it was locked.

I hobbled back towards the cottage to look for keys and caught sight of Felix through the hedge. He was struggling to carry something heavy, so I paused to take a closer look. A cool breeze moved my hair, attaching a couple of strands to the brambles in the hedge. Felix dragged something across the lawn covered in the purple velvet cover I’d seen Amelia wear. Slowly he moved backwards towards the meadow at the bottom of the garden. Mouth dry and hands shaking, I heard a shovel moving earth while he sobbed. An army of butterflies took flight in my stomach. Peter and Camellia’s suspicions about Felix flooded my head. No, it couldn’t be.

Bronte fixed her eyes fixed on the hedge, then her growl became a whimper. She refused to budge from the spot, but I managed to tempt her inside with one of her favourite treats.

Instantly, I swiped call on the number for the police. The phone rang and rang and then presented a never-ending menu of options and this time I could not decide which option to choose. I needed to talk to someone. What if I was making assumptions and got the whole thing wrong? Danny warned me about Nora and Camellia, and I was struggling to process my thoughts after the fall. Thinking of my last call, I considered a lack of evidence. And Danny had warned me that Camellia and Peter were known for calling the police? Perhaps I could just ask Felix what he was doing.

But there was something heavy inside the purple garment. What had Bronte sensed? Bronte’s paws clipped on the tiled floor in the kitchen, and I knew she had escaped outside again, but a beep distracted me. Another blog arrived on my phone. I switched on the speaker of my phone and remained in the caller queue, then read the blog.

Pages of Other Worlds Blog

Opening Lines

Today, I peered at the opening lines of Bella’s manuscript and snapped a photograph. Here they are:

The cork popped from the bottle of red wine. Glug, glug, glug. A splash of wine dripped on the floor.

‘I’m dead,’ I whispered to the darkness. My heart flapped its wings, but something got caught and feathers drifted to the ground. My blood stained the black and white kitchen tiles I’d just scrubbed. Paris had forced me to wear the cloak of love, and I repeated ‘I love Paris in the springtime’ like a clockwork doll. ‘I loved Paris in the springtime, but not you,’ I whispered.

He dialled the police but did not call an ambulance. He poured another glass of red wine and toasted my health.

‘I won’t rest,’ I murmured in his ear until he shivered. The wine glass shattered on the kitchen floor. I wouldn’t clean it up ever again. A white feather drifted onto the tiles. I watched the police arrive…

So, dear reader, I’ve stolen the opening lines of the latest Bella Mystery for you.

Adieu for now

Ada

The blog post made me shiver. When I passed the mirror in the lounge my wide eyes stared back at me. She stole the lines of an author’s manuscript. Had she written these blog posts as a cry for help? Dark circles had formed beneath my eyes. And then the incident next door replayed in my mind. Did I want to report Felix or my aunt’s disappearance? Bronte barked again and went to the back garden. Still beside the hedge, she whimpered. I led her back inside and she jumped next to me on the sofa then rested her head on my lap. Something was seriously wrong!

Electronic music continued to play on my phone speaker and the woman said, ‘Your call is important to us. Please hold and we will connect you as soon as we can.’ A nerve started to twitch in my face as I contemplated what I would say.

The doorbell rang four times. ‘For goodness’s sake,’ I complained. Bronte jumped off the sofa and ran towards the hall. She sniffed under the door. A key fumbled in the lock. Standing against the coats hanging on the row of hooks in the corridor, my stomach lunged when I saw Felix’s silhouette. Oh, my goodness, what if he had seen me?

I heard a key in the lock again and the front door opened. ‘I’ve been ringing the doorbell for ages and was worried you were OK.’ There was concern in Felix’s eyes.

‘Please stop walking into my house,’ I shouted as I tried to suppress the anxiety doing somersaults in my stomach. ‘I don’t like it when you just burst into my house at will. And I …’ I was going to say I had the police on the phone, but he looked upset. It was not a great idea to launch straight into what I had seen him doing.

‘You didn’t answer the door and I rang the bell four times.’

Tension made my neck stiff. ‘Give me the keys.’

Tufts of Felix’s hair had escaped from his perfectly coiffed style, but his eyes were red. ‘Here, take them. My apologies, Maisie. I’m tired and haven’t slept.’ He was on the verge of crying.

‘Are you alright, Felix? You look upset.’ I led him into the kitchen, near to the patio doors, away from my mobile phone. What was I doing? I always screamed at TV characters who invited trouble into their homes. Was this man a hypnotherapist?

‘It’s Max,’ he croaked.

I didn’t know who Max was but felt I should. I waited. ‘Max is dead.’ He announced each word slowly, rubbing his forehead, but there was no sign of the raised eyebrow.

I took a large gulp of water and imagined the pool of blood in the opening lines my aunt had presented. ‘I’m sorry. How did he die?’ I whispered, noticing he’d picked up the of the bottle of wine on the kitchen worktop. I scanned him quickly for signs of blood, wondering if Max was his lover.

‘Amelia killed him with rat poison. She isn’t even sorry for what’s she’s done. Max has been with me for fourteen years. What will I say to Jemima?’ He breathed out, moved his perfect face closer to me and ran his fingers through his hair, until every strand was back in place. His shaking hand knocked over the block of knives and the bottle of red wine toppled over.

Bronte sniffed the puddle of wine then moved closer to Felix, placing her paw on his knee.

I didn’t breathe for an age and my chest tightened. ‘Should we call the police?’ The words had been stuck in my throat, but I removed the phone as it was still connected and I was now fifth in line.

‘Goodness, no. She didn’t mean to kill him. I’ve buried him in the garden now so there’s nothing more we can do. A chap in Mills Arts and Crafts will make a stone sculpture of him. You’d like that, wouldn’t you, Bronte?’

I sat at the kitchen table and took a large gulp of water. I pressed pause on the trailer sequence of a cheap murder mystery whizzing through my mind, but the potential murder suspect distracted me with his watery eyes, making me want to hug him. Finally, a sensible question occurred to me. ‘Can you just bury him in the garden without a proper investigation?’

‘Yes. I think so,’ he rubbed his eyes then stretched. ‘Bronte will miss him the most. He’s the father of her puppies. I wish I’d taken one now when Jemima begged me.’

My head was spinning. He mentioned puppies. Max is the father of puppies. ‘Is Max a dog?’ I blurted this out.

‘Yes. He was like a member of the family. Did you hear Bronte earlier? She knows he’s gone.’

Questions circled in my mind. ‘Why did Amelia give him rat poison?’

‘She saw a rat in the garden the other night and screamed. She put the poison down without using a bait box. Poor old Max would eat anything. I took him to the vet, and he confirmed the cause was poisoning. I wanted to bring him home, bury him near to Bronte. It nearly broke my heart.’ He placed his hand on his heart then took another piece of kitchen roll.

I disconnected the phone. ‘Oh, Felix.’ I had the urge to hold him in my arms and squeeze away the pain. ‘I’m so sorry for your loss.’ I remained serious but considered how my thoughts had been leaping around in chaos. ‘Would you like another glass of wine?’ I needed to control that overactive imagination and that meant reassessing concerns about Aunt Ada, and I wanted to cling to the hope she was in Paris.

‘Yes. That would be lovely.’ He sat down at the kitchen table.

I unscrewed the top and poured it into two crystal-cut wine glasses. Holding up my glass, I said, ‘To Max.’

Felix clinked his glass against mine.

Aware I was alone with a tearful Felix, I babbled on about my plans for the house and talked about my new job to stop myself confessing my hunch my aunt was alive in France. I also dismissed the possibility of telling him the neighbours suspected us both of murder or kidnapping. Just running the thoughts through my head warned me I would sound ridiculous.

Felix watched my hands when I talked, and I felt the warmth of his stare on my face. ‘You could be your aunt’s daughter,’ he said. ‘We spent many an evening like this one. I miss her!’

I yearned to tell him she might still be alive, but I really didn’t trust my judgements. I’d made so many assumptions about Felix. I’d almost reported him to the police. The wine soothed my senses and made me relax, and we moved to the living room. The pain had eased in my legs, but they felt wobbly. Felix held out his arm to escort me. I started to giggle.

‘What is so funny?’ asked Felix, scratching his head.

‘I thought you were a murderer,’ I mumbled, before falling into his arms.

He held me up and then helped me to sit on the sofa. I heard my words escaping but I concentrated hard to keep quiet about my investigations into my aunt’s disappearance. I held my finger over my lips and said, ‘Sssh.’

Felix sat next to me. ‘You thought I was a murderer.’

‘I heard screams a couple of nights ago. You mentioned murder. Then I saw you carrying something which was…’ My belly ached with laughter.

The more he raised his eyebrow, the more I giggled.

‘But, but, but…’ Now, Felix was shaking with hysterical laughter.

I watched his eyebrow shoot up and tried to smooth it down. ‘Get down, boy,’ I said.

‘Hello, hello,’ shouted Danny through the open window.

With my hand still on Felix’s face, I glanced over at the window.

Danny cupped his hands above his forehead and peered inside but stopped smiling when our eyes met. When he held up his hand and shrugged, it looked like a surrender.

I waved at Danny, but he’d disappeared.

Bronte settled beside Felix who rested his head on the sofa and closed his eyes.

I called Danny on my phone.

‘Hello.’ He sounded distant. ‘It’s OK if you have to cancel.’

‘No. Tomato pasta will be ready in an hour’s time.’

‘Good,’ he mumbled. ‘I don’t want to disturb anything.’

‘See you then.’ I disconnected the phone without giving him time to respond.

The tomato sauce simmered on the stove, and I found a large pot for the pasta. I set up cutlery and placemats for two people out on the patio and wondered if I should add a setting for Felix. I cut a single rose that was heavy with petals, put it in a tiny vase and put it in the centre. Everything needed time to cook, so I settled myself at the kitchen table to catch up on my emails. Felix’s snores in the living room became louder. I stood up to wake him but sat down again when I noticed a message from the Pages of Other Worlds Blog.

Pages of Other Worlds Blog

Rue de Trois Frères

Dear Friends,

At two o’clock, I followed her down Rue de Trois Frères to a corner to where a curved white wall was covered in graffiti. It was difficult to keep up with Bella’s bicycle, but I listened out for the click of the chain and was grateful when she slowed down. Of course, I resigned myself to losing her but then I saw a large wooden gate open. Her vintage bike rested against the building.

I drifted inside the courtyard where colourful pots of geraniums waited in clusters and a gnarled magnolia tree took centre stage. The apartment building was red brick and white plaster frames surrounded large sash windows. A man’s voice escaped from an open window and Bella peered down into the garden as if searching for an answer.

Bella shouted. ‘Ce n’est pas possible, Monsieur. Non, non, non.’

I hid behind a magnolia tree.

Heels pounded on the stone the steps, Bella slammed the door and thrust the manuscript into the basket at the front of her bicycle. ‘Au revoir.’ She lifted her head up towards the window and shouted, ‘Au revoir.’ Her words ricocheted in the courtyard while she ripped up a couple of pages.

Wandering over to the door, I studied the name plates and saw only one man’s name. The apartment must belong to a Monsieur Duvall. What should I do next? Leave comments on my blog.

Yours,

Ada

I scrolled down the post and clicked on the comment box. I wrote, ‘Come home, Aunt Ada.’ Then I searched for direct flights to Paris, rather than booking with a travel company.

Felix walked into the kitchen. ‘Smells good,’ he said.

I looked away when his eyes connected with mine.

‘You know, you really have a natural beauty. I’d love to paint you one day.’

A blush seemed to begin at my toes and work its way up to my face. ‘Paint me?’ I laughed, pointing to a tin of emulsion. ‘What colour would you like to paint me?’

His mouth turned up in a gentle smile, but he did not say anything. Stretching his arms above his head, he walked over to the table I set in the garden earlier. ‘Jemima’s coming tomorrow, so I’ll have to be up early. I’ll leave you alone because I can tell you’re expecting company.’

‘OK. No problem. Danny’ll be here soon.’ I tried not to frown as I puzzled over who Jemima was.

‘Jemima is my daughter. I think you two will hit it off.’

‘How lovely!’ I wanted to ask more questions.

Bronte followed Felix to the door. ‘It’s been great. I haven’t laughed so much in ages.’

Though I had felt so comfortable with Felix, I worried he would mock the theory that my aunt might still be alive. ‘Sorry I thought you were a murderer.’

‘Well, it’s a first for me and I won’t forget it in a hurry.’ His brown eyes remained fixed on mine. ‘You remind me so much of Ada. Anyway, I must leave you to your romantic dinner. Goodnight.’

‘Oh, it’s just a pasta dish with Danny and not…’

The door slammed and Felix left.

I reopened the blog post and wrote: Who is Duvall? Where is Bella and the script? I waited for a response and could not breathe when the phone beeped, but it was an email from the solicitor to confirm that French police investigations had been closed.

*

Danny wore tailored shorts and a new T-shirt and now I worried he had made too much of an effort for the meal. A zesty lemon smell that reminded me of antiseptic wipes followed him into the room. He handed me some bottles of chilled homemade lemonade. ‘I thought you may want to steer clear of wine.’

‘Great idea, I’ll get two glasses.’ There were two glasses with lemon motifs in the drinks cabinet. Ada had always used these as a special treat when I was really small, and I needed to do something to take the edge off the romantic table I had set up in the garden.

‘Perfect. Here are two straws.’ The straws were bright yellow. I added ice and slices of lemon to the glasses then pushed in the straws.

Danny nodded with approval and then pointed to the table with the rose in the centre. ‘Were you expecting someone else - like Felix Laine - by any chance?’ An infectious grin stretched across his face.

I laughed. ‘Felix came to tell me about Max.’

‘Is he OK? He’s such a lovely dog.’

‘He’s dead. Amelia killed him with rat poison.’

He stopped eating the pasta and sauce dripped on his T-shirt. ‘What?’

‘Amelia didn’t mean to kill Max.’

‘Why were you both laughing hysterically?’

I coughed. ‘Because I thought they’d murdered someone in the garden. They talked about Max and I thought, he was a…’

He chuckled. ‘You thought Max was a man they’d murdered in the garden?’

I pointed at the telephone number of the police station on my mobile phone. I attempted to explain more but my words were stifled by my giggles. Regaining my composure, I said, ‘I’ve been reading the Bella Mystery series at night …’

‘I hear the mysteries are pretty good. I don’t read novels.’

‘Have you heard the author of the mysteries has gone missing?’ I asked, hoping my aunt might have talked to him about it and given him a nugget of information.

‘Yes, but I haven’t been following it. I’m ashamed to admit I don’t even know what Bella Caron looks like?’

I showed him a photo I had saved on my phone.

He glanced and shook his head. ‘She looks as if she stepped out of another era. I’m afraid I’m more interested in travel articles. I’m not interested in stories and prefer factual stuff.’

‘My aunt blogged about her.’

‘Did she? Right. I did try to read your aunt’s blog when she set it up but it’s not my sort of thing. Sorry. I do miss her though.’

‘I miss her and …’ A sigh escaped. ‘Sometimes I feel as if she’s still here.’ It felt like the right time to say it.

‘I felt the same way when my gran died. It’s difficult to let them go. Even now, I’m sure my gran is in the house sometimes. Memory is powerful and the mind remembers how it used to be.’

‘That’s true. It’s difficult to be in the cottage without her and I expect her to appear in the kitchen, demanding a cuppa.’ He was right. I ached for her presence and could not forget.

‘The pasta was delicious - such a fresh sauce.’ He pushed away his plate and sipped the lemonade.

Having washed up together, we remained in the garden until ten o’clock. We chatted about our families and visits to Heatherbridge when we were children. We’d never managed to see each other because Danny’s parents had visited his grandmother out of the holiday seasons.

‘What did your parents do during the holiday season?’ I asked, expecting him to say they were scaling Mount Everest or running from Land’s End to John O’Groats.

‘They own a five-star hotel in a French ski resort. I grew up in a luxury hotel. We had a suite of rooms. I got to use the private ski slope with the best ski instructors. In the summer I would walk along the mountain tracks with the mountaineers. It was a lonely life even though all the staff cared for me. But it gave me the love of the outdoors.’

‘Didn’t you want to go into the same line of work?’

‘I did. My website is my shopfront rather than the glamorous hotel. I only ever recommend destinations I have tried out myself. I also blog about travel. My gran had left me the cottage and the location is perfect for me. I have an office surrounded by this scenery and finally have roots in one place. All I need is my laptop and Wi-Fi. I prefer my own company most of the time.’

‘Do you get lonely?’

‘No. I’m always busy with work, running and voluntary work.’ He stopped. ‘And I have lovely neighbours. I’m pleased you have moved in next door. Your aunt always said we’d be great friends.’ He wiped the tiny beads of sweat from his forehead as he spoke. ‘Shall we have a nightcap?’ he suggested. ‘She loved her whisky.’

‘I don’t drink whisky and haven’t seen any in the house.’

‘I think there’s a stash in the potting shed,’ he whispered, pointing towards the bottom of the garden.

‘Why did she keep whisky in the potting shed?’

‘It was used as the bar for her garden parties.’

‘Really! I can’t find the key to the potting shed. Any ideas?’

‘No. I do remember she was always looking for it. Maybe it’s in the freezer. It was there one time.’

‘Thanks for the tip. How often did she have the parties?’

‘Oh, I haven’t been here long, so only went to a couple of parties, but my grandmother spoke of them. I think there was more to your aunt than she let on.’ There was a warmth in his eyes, and I was sure there was something else he wanted to say but stopped himself.

‘Did the author in the photo ever attend one of her parties? Were the guests always locals?’

‘My gran never mentioned anyone new, and I’m sure she would have recognised the author. You’re asking a lot of questions. Is something wrong?’

A calmness surrounded him and reassured me. I contemplated telling Danny about my suspicions, but the Felix incident had knocked my sleuthing confidence. I had to do more digging and Camellia and Nora were probably my best option.