Read Online Wolfsbane by William W. Johnstone - Free Book Online

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    â€œNo!” Victoria spat the word, her voice filled with venom. “There is no one in that wretched village I would allow to lay a hand on you.” Her eyes were hot with hate.
    On thing hasn’t changed, Janette thought: the old woman’s hatred of Joyeux and all its inhabitants. Someday, perhaps soon, she will tell me why the years of hatred.
    â€œI saw something from my window late last night, grand’mère.”
    Something clouded the old woman’s eyes. “Oh? And what did you see, child?”
    Their eyes met, locked. “A creature,” Janette said softly.
    â€œDid you now? And what kind of creature did you see in your dreams?”
    â€œIt was no dream, grand’mere, I assure you of that. I saw it, and I heard it howl. I watched it lope across the yard, then saw it stand on its hind legs like a man. It turned, looked straight at me, and screamed.”
    â€œYou had a dream, child. Just a dream.”
    Janette would not back down. “No, grand’mère. I did not have a dream. And I did not dream what happened in the villa. The creatures were the same.”
    The old woman shrugged her shoulders. “You always did possess an overactive imagination.” She smiled. “Tell me, Janette: exactly where in the villa did you see this so-called creature?”
    Janette flushed, opened her mouth to speak, then shut it as Sylvia walked into the dining room.
    â€œYes, Sylvia?” Madame Bauterre looked away from Dawn’s steady gaze and flushed face.
    â€œIt’s the sheriff, Madame. A Sheriff Vallot.”
    â€œHere?” Victoria glanced at a diamond-encrusted bodice watch. “At nine o’clock in the morning? Since when do gentlemen call at this hour without an appointment? She sighed. ”I have outlived my time. Well . . . show him in, Sylvia, but first have another place set for coffee. This village may be full of ill-mannered and ignorant louts, but we will always remember our manners.”
    Sheriff Edan Vallot, a man in his early thirties, wandered into the mansion, hat in hand. He was awed by all the grandeur around him. He looked at the expensive rugs on the floor and hoped he hadn’t picked up any dog shit on his boots. He finally located the dining room and stood awkwardly in the archway.
    â€œMrs. Bauterre?” he asked, looking from one woman to the other.
    â€œMadame Bauterre,” Victoria corrected. “Bon?”
    â€œOui, Madame,” Sheriff Vallot shifted automatically into Cajun French. “Please excuse the interruption at this unseemly hour of the morning, but something has come up that I must discuss with you.”
    â€œS’asseoir, ” Victoria pointed to a chair at the table.
    Sheriff Vallot sat.
    â€œCafè?”
    The sheriff nodded, silently praying to whatever God looks over men silly enough to enter the field of law enforcement not to let him drop the fragile-looking cup or to let coffee dribble down his chin.
    â€œYour message, Sheriff?” Victoria asked, after introducing him to Janette and coffee had been served.
    â€œIt’s . . . ah . . . your husband’s grave, Madame. It’s. . . ah . . . been desecrated.”
    The old woman smiled.
    Why, Sheriff Vallot thought, would she smile when I tell her of vandals breaking into her husband’s grave? This old woman is weird!
    â€œWhen did this happen?” Victoria asked.
    â€œIt looks like perhaps several weeks ago.”
    â€œAnd you are just now reporting the event to me?”
    â€œBut Madame . . . it was just reported to my office last evening,” Sheriff Vallot defended his office and himself. “I went out early this morning to see.”
    â€œMy husband’s ashes?”
    â€œGone, Madame. I am sorry. I don’t know why anyone would do such a thing.”
    Madame Bauterre’s sharp, piercing eyes never left Vallot’s face. “You really don’t,