Read Online A Temporary Ghost (The Georgia Lee Maxwell Series, Series 2) by Michaela Thompson - Free Book Online Page A

wind. That was unusual. The road had almost no traffic. It got louder, then receded as the cycle whizzed by. In seconds it was gone, and we said good night.

LES BAUX
    I saw the motorcyclist the next day, after we returned from Les Baux.
    The weather had cleared. At breakfast Vivien kept up a stream of chatter, her eyes hectically bright. She turned to Blanche. “How did you sleep? Better?”
    Blanche was listlessly pulling apart a croissant. “Not really.”
    “Did you take one of the pills? You know Dr.—”
    “No.”
    “Why not?”
    “I don’t like to take pills.”
    “You know the doctor said to take them if you had trouble sleeping.”
    Blanche turned away from her mother with an air of detachment. Ross said, “The poor children in China would really like to have those pills, Blanche.” Blanche smiled at him, and I saw a moment of communion pass between them.
    Vivien paid no attention. She got up and walked to the window. “It’s so beautiful today. Aren’t you glad the rain has stopped?” She turned and proclaimed, “We can’t possibly work when it’s this beautiful, can we, Georgia Lee?”
    She gave me a look of winsome pleading. I was the mean slave driver. I was sure this evasion had nothing to do with the weather. I began, “I don’t—”
    “Oh, we can’t! Let’s go somewhere. Where should we go, Blanche?”
    Blanche, her eyes on her plate, shriveled. “I don’t know,” she said.
    “Of course you know. You’re always reading the books. Where did the troubadours go?”
    Blanche bit her lip. She looked up and said, “Well—”
    So it was decided. We were off to Les Baux.
    Although I wasn’t pleased at Vivien’s ditching work, I was elated to have a chance to see one of Provence’s most famous sites, the ruined medieval stronghold touted in the guidebooks. Maybe the getaway would do everybody good.
    We took off within an hour. Ross drove, Vivien beside him in the front seat, while Blanche and I shared the back. It seemed understood that Pedro wasn’t invited. Although Blanche was as quiet as usual I thought she looked strange, almost feverish. When Vivien asked her to fill us in on Les Baux, Blanche didn’t seem to hear. Vivien said, “Wake up, Blanche,” and Blanche opened her guidebook and read aloud the history of the bloodthirsty lords of Baux, a quarrelsome tribe given, so legend had it, to throwing their captives off the promontory where the castle stood. Troubadours had indeed frequented the place in the thirteenth century.
    It was a long drive, through fertile countryside and the bustling towns of Carpentras, Cavaillon, and St. Rémy. We didn’t talk much, and I gave myself up to gazing out at the sundrenched landscape. After St. Rémy, the road began to climb through white cliffs and evergreen forests. At last we rounded a curve and Blanche said in a taut voice, “There it is.”
    The massive gray bulk rising before us first looked like a natural rock formation, craggy and forbidding. Only at second glance could I differentiate the towers and walls of the castle at the top. “Grim,” said Vivien with distaste. Blanche’s lips were parted, and she sat forward, staring avidly.
    As we got closer I could see Blanche wasn’t going to have a lonely communion with the spirits of the troubadours. At the top we found a parking lot crowded with tour buses and people snapping pictures of one another. Far from being a spot of brooding isolation, Les Baux was a tourist mecca in spades. The picturesque stone cottages lining the cobbled streets of the ancient village housed snack bars, curio shops, pizza parlors, and boutiques purveying Provencal cotton fabric, Provencal pottery, Provencal soap, Provencal herbs, Provencal knick-knacks. I bought a straw hat with a green ribbon to shield my eyes from the sun’s increasing glare. Vivien bought a quilted purse printed with immense roses. Ross bought a Les Baux dish towel. Blanche clutched the guidebook and stared around her. It was