With its reputation as the most romantic river in the world, the Seine always felt like a surprise to Catherine with its fetid odor and murky olive-green color. She remembered reading that the river flowed into the sea, but as stagnant and listless as it always looked to her, she found it hard to believe that it had enough force. She let Todd lead the way to the table since she knew things like that were important to him. He’d spoken very little on the cab ride over. She would’ve preferred to walk—the weather was hot but it felt good on her skin. Unfortunately, her mother had mentioned it was a nice walk and that was all Todd needed to hear to insist on calling for a taxi.
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Here I am sitting in one of my favorite places in the whole world: Aix-en-Provence. |
The Claire Baskerville Mysteries
I have been wanting to write a mystery centering around a “woman of a certain age” since the day I turned sixty! Claire Baskerville is suddenly widowed and finds herself living in Paris where the dead bodies fall out of the ancient elevator shafts and antiquated wardrobes just enough to keep her and her burgeoning private eye business for the ex-pat community very busy. A tad darker than the other mysteries, this is Paris today and a woman who knows herself and is still open to discovering the world around her. And no, I’m not stopping any time soon. Claire’s adventures have been loosely outlined for another three books past Book 12 AT LEAST. I love this series and don’t see myself stopping writing it any time soon.
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This particular book caught my attention for many reasons... For instance, the characters include a dominating husband, a kidnapper who becomes enamored with the woman he kidnapped... And then there are two older women who, in this book, are reunited with family from America at the same time, and so become totally involved with the murder mystery that evolves... There is plenty of both turmoil in romantic relationships as well as an extraordinary familial come together when an emergency occurs of people mostly who are friends as opposed to family...
I've purposely chosen the video of a street walk, because the majority of the book will be walking those streets...endlessly trying to find the one kidnapped! But it didn't really start out like that...
You see, the daughter, grandson and son-in-law of our main character, who happens to be a PI working in Paris, has come to visit after many years. One of the problems was the timing, since Covid was touring the world and there was fear, especially by Todd, the son-in-law that they may be forced to stay in France as things are studied... On the other hand, it was clear to those who were at the apartment when they got there, that there was considerable tension within the family. One of the issues that had arisen was that Catherine was interested in adopting Robbie, the son of her mother's husband who had died in an accident. Todd opposed this action. Yet, when they first entered the apartment, their son immediately joined Robbie in playing and all things that boys want to do...
Finally after several attempts to smooth out the events, it was suggested that Todd and Catherine plan a dinner out on their own--which should have worked. Except that, even at the table, Todd kept his eyes close to his phone. And in a sudden explosive act, Catherine grabbed the phone out of his hands and read a short note that was clearly personal to Todd from another woman. Let's face it, if you don't think Todd deserved to be put on the defense, then you, too, may just be a chauvinist! My personal opinion, of course... LOL
In any event, Catherine exploded and a loud argument commenced which was watched by those in the restaurant that evening. Until Todd got up and walked out... And Catherine was left there, not know whether to wait, to leave... And, finally, the decision was made for her...
Only to be murdered that evening... and thrown in the Seine!
And Catherine then kidnapped by the same man who claimed that her son was in trouble and he had been sent to bring her quickly to him... The truth was that Cameron was quite safe and at home with his grandmother... What she hadn't been told was that Todd had been murdered during the actions leading to the kidnapping of Catherine... And Catherine was torn as to why Todd was not finding her quickly as days went by...
Since the Parisian police thought that Catherine had killed her husband and escaped with the man who was escorting her off the ship, they weren't really interested in changing their opinions and did little to try to find her... It was up to her mother, who at least had come to know the streets of the area around th dock and soon as gathering as much about the people who were on the cruise that night, and what they had done thereafter. Interestingly a man who
My daughter is tenacious. I prayed that stubborn trait was still there inside her somewhere. I prayed that the girl who’d stood on that stage all those years ago, that unlikely award in her hand and that determined expression on her face, was still alive and roaring somewhere in this city.
Claire Baskerville was over 50 and normally able to arrange her professional activities within her own schedule. But now everything was in emergency mode and the only one Claire felt she could really depend upon was herself. She trudged up and down streets showing pictures, talking to anybody who would listen. Once in a while she had help from Jean-Marc a police officer who had worked on her husband's murder case... Genevie, her close friend and neighbor, who had her son and partner visiting from America that week also, had volunteered to help search, while one friend of Claire's from the police fit in support between her own duties... Still, it was right up to the last minute... as Covid controlled times allowed on the streets or when those now kept inside Paris were allowed to begin leaving... Desperation and fear walked beside Claire, while she knew that others were beginning to feel little hope... Could she find her daughter?! Could she bring Cameron's mother home, as he continued to grieve his father?
“A son and his mother have a special bond,” she said. “Stop. Please.” “And yet you used this love—the love of a mother for her son—to trick me.” He looked at her and he was stricken. “Don’t apologize to me again,” she said. “Don’t embarrass us both. Don’t humiliate your mother who is looking on you right this—” “Stop it!” he shouted and jumped up. “A boy needs his mother! My husband can’t do it! My husband needs me!” “Not anymore, he doesn’t!” The minute he spoke Catherine felt a ripple of ice-cold fear slice into her. Rashid looked at her from across the table with haunted eyes, his shoulders slumped as if trying to make himself smaller. “What did you mean by that?” she asked. He picked up his plate and retreated to the kitchen. Catherine stood up slowly at her place at the table. “Answer me, Rashid!” she screamed. “What do you know? Where is my husband?” When he didn’t answer, Catherine picked up her plate and flung it toward the kitchen. He ran back to the table and stared at her, his hands going up as if in an attempt to calm her. “Look, it was an accident,” he said desperately.
Except…I felt a wave of hopeless longing and defeat shudder through me. Except, I am desperate. I am a desperate mother who is willing to sacrifice anyone and everyone for the chance—no matter how paltry—to try to recover her child. “Chérie? I am at the hospital now,” Geneviève said. “I will call you when I have news.” She hung up before I could uselessly apologize one more time. I looked at my phone intending to call Adele…and I hesitated. I was calling her to tell her what? To stop? To go home? I couldn’t do that. I needed her. Now more than ever. My phone rang and I saw it was Jean-Marc. I answered. “Did you hear?” I asked him. “Yes, chérie. He is in surgery. Where are you?” “I’m about a block from where I was yesterday,” I said looking around. I thought about telling him about the text message but decided to wait until tonight. What was the point of telling him since I was determined to carry on anyway? “They think the assailant was an ex-boyfriend of Noel’s,” I said. “I overheard the detective saying they were going to put security on Geneviève’s apartment—” “Non,” Jean-Marc said. “They have located the ex-boyfriend.” I felt a flinch of annoyance. Clearly the police can move quickly when they’re motivated. “He was in Cyprus at the time,” Jean-Marc said. “Which means no security for Geneviève,” I said feeling a wave of exhaustion. “Unfortunately, not. Listen, I’ve been thinking,” he said. “Abadi might have tried to replace the car he had to abandon.” “What are you suggesting?” “Nothing really. I’m just thinking out loud.” “You think he might have bought another car? So he’ll be ready to get out of Paris when the lockdown lifts?” That made sense. I felt a flare of energy and hope at the thought. Any new idea helped. Jean-Marc must have picked up on the excitement in my voice. “Claire,” he said in a strained voice, “is there any way you can stop?” “What do you mean stop? How can you even ask me that? The lockdown lifts in just a few hours!” “You must see how the warnings are ramping up, non? This was not a beating this time. Bill may not survive!” “You think I don’t know that?” “Claire, listen to me,” Jean-Marc said. “You cannot find Catherine. It is too late! But you can get yourself killed.” Or Adele. He didn’t say it because he didn’t have to. Clearly even without my telling him about the ominous text message, he had figured out that the attack on Bill was connected to what we were doing. What I was doing. “I have to go, Jean-Marc,” I said. I broke the connection and found Adele’s number and as my eyes filled with tears, I pressed the number. “Are you here?” she asked breathlessly. “I’ve already done a full block.” “Adele, You need to stop and go home.” “Why? Have you found her?” “No, but Noel’s husband has been attacked and I’ve been sent another message. It’s too dangerous.” I heard Adele snort and I loved her for it even while my chest filled with terror at the danger I was putting her in. “I’m not quitting,” she said. “Did you want to meet up and grab a bite or just keep going?” I was so overcome with emotion at her bravery and loyalty to me that at first I couldn’t speak. “Keep going,” I said finally.
I walked through the next few hours with Jean-Marc’s ominous words of warning reverberating in my skull. You cannot find Catherine. It is too late. That, combined with the new inclination to look over my shoulder every few seconds made me jumpy and on the verge of panic. But I couldn’t help myself. Without Noel and Bill’s help—and I felt ashamed even thinking those words—I had an impossible area to cover. It had been largely impossible even with their help. How does one measure the limits of impossibility? How can you determine the scope of something to be even more impossible than it already was? As I walked the hot sidewalk I felt like I was going through the motions of walking and knocking on doors because the alternative—either sitting with Geneviève and Noel at the hospital or watching cartoons back at my apartment with the children while I waited for the inevitable bad news to find me—was unthinkable. An elderly woman operating a streetside crêperie told me she thought she remembered seeing someone “different” in the neighborhood. I nearly jumped across the counter when she said that. She even described this newcomer as a Middle Eastern man, good-looking, of medium height, but she had no idea which way he went. And he hadn’t actually visited her crêpe stand. She’d simply noted him as he walked by. Telling me he’s here somewhere is not news. I know he’s here. “How did he walk?” I asked. “Did he stroll? Or walk quickly? Purposefully? Did he look tense?” She gave me a look that said she clearly thought I was insane. But it mattered. A man strolling by enjoying the day was not my man. Somebody who looked like he was just out for an espresso and a newspaper wasn’t someone who was holding a woman hostage in a nearby apartment. After that I decided to modify my questions to include affect but it didn’t matter. Nobody except the woman at the crêperie remembered seeing anyone new or different on the street. Amazingly, in spite of the heat and my mushrooming fear of an attack, I didn’t feel the weariness and physical strain that I’d felt yesterday. It was as if my body wasn’t going to recognize anything like blisters or leg cramps as the reason why I didn’t search as far and wide and as long as humanly possible. I resisted looking at my watch because, whenever I did, my brain automatically translated the time into how many hours I had left. …how many hours Catherine had left. My phone buzzed while I was leaning against a stone wall, resting. I was so involved in my desperate mental world of search and probable loss that I jumped in surprise and looked at my phone as if it were a foreign object It was Adele. “Hey,” I said to her. I appreciated that she didn’t ask me if I’d had any luck. Obviously she’d have heard from me if I had. “I’ve finished my streets,” she said. “Do you want to give me Noel and Bill’s?” I’d been mulling that over and decided I had a different job for her that was at least as important. “Jean-Marc thinks Abadi might have acquired another car in anticipation of the lockdown lifting,” I said. There was a pause on the line. “Do you want me to try and find it?” Adele asked. Even on the phone I could hear the misgiving in her voice. “I want you to look at the cars parked on the street where you are,” I said, “and jot down the license plate numbers—unless you see somebody getting out of one who could not possibly be our man.” “Are you sure you don’t want me to knock on doors instead?” she asked doubtfully. I knew it sounded like a long shot. I knew I was asking her to finish her day with literally nothing to show for it. “I’m sure,” I said, knowing that the one thing I was sure of was that I was sure of nothing...
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A Perfect Murder Mystery--because Claire knows who is behind it all...Will it work out that nobody will hurt Catherine?
GABixlerReviews
Kiernan-Lewis, Susan. Deadly Faux Pas: A page-turning mystery set in Paris (The Claire Baskerville Mysteries Book 6) (pp. 237-241). San Marco Press. Kindle Edition.
