Le Dernier Mot: Inside Job

Returning home from my morning walk, I noticed my mom pacing in the garden. “Kristi,” she said. “The front gate was open.” The two of us turned to examine the wrought-iron portillon behind me. “It was open by about two feet,” Mom indicated, holding up her hands as a measure.

“I am certain I closed it,” I said. “Yes, I remember giving it a good shove!” There was no way I’d left that creaky old gate open, not with two adventurous chickens and a friendly Golden Retriever. Can you imagine the trio parading around La Ciotat, in traffic?

“Well,” Mom continued. “I saw a strange couple hanging out near the fence! He was tall and gangly and the girl had stringy, dark blonde hair. They did not look like they were from around here.”

So it was a couple of strangers who’d opened the gate! The shady pair must have fled when Mom appeared. Remembering my recent run-in with un cambrioleur, I speculated about their unsavoury intentions.

“They were casing our house! Yes, they must have said to themselves, ‘Blonde With Ponytail has just headed out for morning walk. On fonce!’”

As we stood at the gate, Papa, one of our resident tourterelles, hopped past with Golden Retriever Smokey trailing behind, bringing our attention back to the fence. Beyond the stone muret, a beat-up Peugeot 206 lingered. Mom and I peered past some sunflowers to get a better look at the bagnole with its chipped red paint.