The 13th Fellow: A Mystery in Provence Read Online Free

foundation’s on-site director. It’s not a direct route to the Greek Theater.”
    “Everyone, except you, Professor Gaie, is a suspect,” he replied dispassionately.
    Havilah took note of his precision. So any and everyone, from the cleaning staff to the foundation’s director, were under suspicion . She decided she didn’t much like Thierry Gasquet, with his natty suit and probing green eyes. He was cool, smooth even, which she had to admit added a certain mystery to his comportment, but he was also deliberately reserved with her. She supposed that was part of the job. She wrinkled her nose in annoyance and allowed her eyes again to follow the bloody trail.
    “The body was dragged?”
    Gasquet nudged her by the back in the direction of the blood smears on the paving stones. “It appears that he was dragged from the Perched Terrace to the Greek Theater, resulting in more contusions to his head and blood loss. He died from a loss of blood, not blunt force trauma, which suggests that whoever assaulted the professor may not have been necessarily trying to kill him.”
    “But he’s dead all the same,” she stated flatly. Why the Greek Theater? She mulled over that idea.
    As if reading her thoughts, Gasquet suggested, “Our killer certainly has a flair for the dramatic, non ?”
    “A Greek Tragedy?”
    “That would be too obvious.” The agent ran his hand over his chestnut curls in frustration. “The killer could have just as easily left the body on the steps leading down to the orchestra. That message would have been just as clear. The real question is: why place the body there?” He pointed to the Félibrige Foundation symbol.
    She peered through her dark glasses at the symbol, shifting them slightly upwards to take in its colors. The sun caused her to squint. She didn’t like taking in Kit’s blood. But it was unavoidable. Some sadistic bastard was making a point. She began to recall her Félibrige Foundation history.
    “The symbol is a seven-pointed star made of beach pebbles. It’s an homage to the seven Provençal poets who wanted to revive Occitan rituals, customs, and the language in the nineteenth century. They founded a literary society called the Félibrige in the 1800s. The name was taken from a Provençal song where there is some mention of the seven félibres , scholars, or scribes. The poets numbered seven. The only poet who readily comes to my mind is Frédéric Mistral. He won a Nobel Prize for Literature in 1904 for his efforts. I also read Judith Krantz’s novel, The Mistral’s Daughter , when I was in high school. Her Mistral was a painter. The setting was Provence nonetheless. And everyone in Provence talks about the cold, dry wind that blows along the Mediterranean coast and Provence in the winter; it’s called a mistral. But Cassis doesn’t really get them. It’s insulated by the Cap Canaille and the calanques .”
    Gasquet studied her intently, as if he’d forgotten that she was a learned woman. “Most Americans come here for the lavender, sun, and wine.” He continued, “ Le pays de langue d’oc . The country of the language of oc . The Provençal language, or Occitan, uses oc for ‘yes’ as opposed to the French oui . But why there?”
    He pointed with the focused persistence of the Belgian Hercules Poirot rather than the bumbling French Inspector Jacques Clouseau.
    Havilah looked at him oddly, as if he had now asked an obvious question.
    “Kit was a poet. He was also a Southerner like the members of the original Félibrige society. They were all poets from the South of France.”
    “Those last details I did not know, Professor Gaie. I knew you would be of some assistance.”
    Gasquet turned his back to her and began speaking again into the earpiece that was lodged deeply and quite invisibly into his ear. She watched his gestures closely. He moved confidently with a natural smoothness and an economy. But had she not known what he was doing, he would have looked insane,