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

as if he were crazily but calmly muttering to himself in French at a quick pace. After rapidly conveying information to someone perhaps a few meters away, he turned to face her again.
    “Do you know if Professor Beirnes was writing something important? Controversial even?”
    “Controversial?”
    Gasquet shook his head in the affirmative.
    “He was a poet. Of course he was writing something. He was always inspired by this or that.”
    Gasquet took a few steps back and turned away from her, answering another call. She was agitated. The last thing she wanted to do was to have to outmaneuver a clever killer. Why did I promptly return that call that night of all nights? She placed her hand on her forehead and closed her eyes. Between bad nerves and the way the sun was glaring down like the sun in The Stranger , she could sense a headache was closing in on her. She rummaged around her purse and popped a Tylenol, hoping for some relief.
    Gasquet concluded the call. Havilah began to retrace all of her conversations with Kit over tea, in the hallways, in the office, on the telephone. The telephone . She choked off the thought before Gasquet could register a change in her demeanor, as he was watching her face. Havilah fidgeted, trying to distract him first by again lifting her sunglasses atop her head and then unnecessarily rummaging around her purse. With its many compartments and pockets, the white patent leather bag served as both a purse and computer carrying case.
    “Have the police checked Kit’s apartment?”
    He nodded in the affirmative. “We have found nothing compelling so far. We do have his computer. His emails had been accessed and the hard drive erased. They had nothing but time on their hands, it seems. Why?”
    “I’d like to go over it myself, if possible?”
    “Why?” He waved his hands dismissively. “You wouldn’t know what to look for. Besides, it’s not possible.”
    That was it!! This was what she didn’t like about Gasquet. He was dismissive and aloof all at once, swatting her like a meddlesome fly.
    “Since I have a stake in this I’d like to take a look for myself. You didn’t even know he was a poet and Southerner.”
    Gasquet stared blankly at her. “I’m sorry I can’t let you into the apartment. It’s part of the crime scene.”
    “This,” she pointed a finger in the direction of the Greek Theater and the Perched Terrace, “is the crime scene.”
    “It is protected by a barrier, Professor Gaie. But it is all—” he pointed his finger in every direction of the foundation’s grounds, “— part of the crime scene.”
    He sounded as if he hoped that, with that last gesture, she would understand she would no longer be welcomed on these parts of the foundation grounds— until the investigation was completed.
    She moved the bag’s flap until she heard the magnets click to a firm close. She decided she needed to figure out a way to get into Kit’s apartment without Thierry Gasquet’s assistance. He had left her no choice.

III
    To her mind, things had been settled between them. I will keep my own counsel from now on. She pursed her lips with the understanding that she was ill suited for the role of damsel in distress. Despite her usual preternaturally calm demeanor, Havilah Gaie’s stomach was stirring again.
    She made her way to the Trianon, the director’s residence. She had told Gasquet she needed to use the restroom there. He could see the entry to the director’s quarters from where he was standing. So he agreed. She made another visual sweep of the grounds. She didn’t see Laurent anywhere. She entered and exited the Trianon at different points. She decided to cross the street to the foundation’s main building, the Académie, where the administrative offices were located on the first floor.
    Havilah looked upwards to the third floor apartment. My apartment , she mused proprietarily. She’d spent many afternoons with all six balcony doors open. She would have her tea