“Emily! Hey, wait up!”
I turned around to find Cal Jolly barreling past a spinner of postcards to catch up with me.
“Are you heading for the beach?” He stopped beside me, cheeks flushed from his little jog.
“Sure am. I’m a sucker for a good mystery.”
“So you don’t know why Étretat is supposed to look familiar either?”
“Don’t have a clue. I confess complete ignorance on the subject of French coastal towns and their significance.”
“Oh, good. I thought I was the only one. Would you mind if I tag along with you?”
“Heck, no. I’m happy for the company.” I pointed north. “I guess we just keep walking thataway. So where’s your dad?” I asked as we got underway again. “I’ve eaten my last two meals with him, so I think we’re becoming something of an item.”
“Actually, it’s my dad I wanted to talk to you about. You were in the room yesterday when Madeleine’s grandmother suffered her meltdown, weren’t you?”
“Oh, Lord. It was heart wrenching.”
“Do you have any idea what set her off ? I caught the tail end when I poked my head back in the door to hurry you guys up, but I missed the main event, and Dad has clammed up completely. Refuses to talk about it. And he’s been avoiding me ever since, which is probably why he’s pestering you at meals. I apologize if he’s been harassing you and your tablemates about funeral arrangements. I’m afraid he sees every chance encounter as a marketing opportunity.”
“Victor threatened him with eviction from the table last night, and one of the Mona Michelle blondes muzzled him at breakfast, so there’s no need for apologies. The poor guy isn’t making much headway. As to the incident with Madeleine’s grandmother, I’m still baffled. Your dad went into his spiel about his website and online funeral planning services, and when he tried to hand Solange a brochure, all hell broke loose. She kept crying, ‘My God, my God,’ in French, and then she started screaming a whole barrage of stuff at him, which is about the time you stuck your head in the room. I think it shook him up pretty badly. He dropped the brochure on a table and hightailed it out the door. Madeleine did what she could to calm Solange, but at that point, the poor woman almost seemed beyond help.”
We veered into the street to avoid running into a sidewalk display of Hello Kitty balloons, Étretat placemats, and key chains. Cal grumbled something inaudible and threw an angry hand into the air.
“You know, I keep harping about the fact that some people don’t like to talk about end-of-life issues. The death and dying stuff really frightens them, so you have to softpedal your approach. But Dad just blows me off. I don’t understand how he’s had as much success as he’s had in the business.”
“Lack of competition?”
“Yeah, there’s that. He was the only show in town for decades. Say, can I treat you to an ice cream?” He paused before the Le Glacier d’Étretat shop, with its glass counter offering frontal views of treats so enticing, I doubted the ability of any tourist to pass by without indulging. “I won’t feel so guilty about splurging if I can tempt you, too.”
“I’m afraid you don’t have to twist my arm. But the next one’s on me, okay?”
After a fun twenty minutes spent taste-testing every flavor in the shop, Cal purchased a Pomme Verte cone for me and a dish of Fleur d’Oranger for himself. As we continued our trek to the beach, he picked up the thread of our conversation exactly where we’d left off.
“So did you happen to understand any of the barrage of stuff that Solange was yelling at my dad?”