Read Chapter 27: The Archivist's Tip

The morning light filtered through the restored library windows, catching the dust motes that drifted above the stacks of ledgers Élodie had spread across the oak table. She was cataloguing the contents of the château's old study—a task she'd postponed for weeks—when a soft knock made her look up.

A woman stood in the doorway, clutching a leather satchel to her chest. She was in her sixties, with silver-streaked hair pulled back in a practical bun and spectacles balanced on the tip of her nose. Her clothes were neat but worn, the kind of practical attire Élodie associated with academics who spent more time in archives than in front of mirrors.

"Madame Marchand?" The woman's voice was soft, almost hesitant.

Élodie set down her pen. "Yes. Can I help you?"

"My name is Colette Verne. I'm the archivist at the municipal records office in Tours." She stepped inside, her eyes sweeping the room with professional appreciation. "I've been following the story of your restoration. And the… resolution of your family's mystery."

Élodie felt her shoulders tense. The past month had brought a parade of journalists, genealogists, and curiosity seekers to her door. She'd learned to recognize the hungry look of someone who wanted a piece of the story. Colette's expression, though, held something different. Concern, perhaps. Or uncertainty.

"I'm not giving interviews," Élodie said, gentler than she felt. "If you'd like to read about the restoration, there's a brochure in the front hall—"

"No, no." Colette waved a hand. "I'm not here for that. I've come because I think there's something you should know." She paused, her fingers tightening on her satchel. "Something in the police archives. About the groundskeeper's son."

Élodie's heart stuttered. "The groundskeeper's son?"

"Basile Moreau. He was nineteen when he disappeared." Colette's voice dropped. "A week after Antoine Chevalier vanished. I know this because I was asked to help catalogue the old case files when the department digitized their records. And I noticed something—no one else seemed to have connected the two disappearances. They were handled separately, by different investigators. But I think they're linked."

Luc appeared in the doorway, a coffee cup in hand. He'd been inspecting the new plumbing in the east wing, his sleeves rolled up and his hands smudged with grease. He caught Élodie's expression and stopped.

"What's going on?"

Élodie gestured for Colette to continue. "Please, sit down. Tell us everything."

Colette settled into a wingback chair, setting her satchel on her lap. She opened it and withdrew a folder, yellowed with age. "I made copies. The originals are sealed pending the investigation into Pierre Moreau, but the older documents are public record."

She spread several pages across the table. Élodie leaned in, scanning the faded type. There was a missing persons report, dated three weeks after Antoine's disappearance. Basile Moreau, nineteen, employed as groundskeeper at Château de la Vallée. Last seen walking toward the river. His mother had filed the report, claiming her son had seemed agitated in the days before he vanished. He'd told her he'd "seen something he shouldn't have" at the château but refused to elaborate.

"He told his mother he was going to tell someone the truth," Colette said, tapping the file. "She assumed he meant the police. But he never made it there."

Luc set down his coffee cup, his jaw tight. "The groundskeeper. That was Pierre's father, wasn't it?"

Élodie nodded slowly. Pierre Moreau's father had been the groundskeeper before him. She remembered Julien mentioning it during one of their conversations about the property's history. But Basile—this was Pierre's son. His name hadn't come up anywhere in their investigations.

"Why wasn't this connected?" Élodie asked, her voice tight. "Two disappearances at the same property, a week apart? That's not a coincidence. That's a pattern."

Colette's expression shifted, something careful crossing her features. "That's what I asked myself. So I did some digging into the investigation records." She pulled another page from her folder. "This is the interview transcript. Pierre Moreau was questioned about his son's disappearance. He told the police that Basile had been struggling with depression, that he'd threatened to run away before. He suggested the boy had gone to Paris and would turn up eventually."

"And they believed him?"

"They had no reason not to." Colette shrugged. "He was a grieving father, cooperative and composed. The investigating officer noted that Pierre provided a detailed account of Basile's troubled state of mind. He even produced a letter Basile had supposedly written, expressing his desire to leave."

Luc frowned. "Supposedly?"

"Handwriting analysis was rudimentary in those days," Colette said. "But I compared the letter to Basile's school records. The handwriting is similar, but not identical. Someone with a good eye and a steady hand could have forged it."

Élodie felt cold despite the morning warmth. "Pierre lied to the police about both deaths."

"It would seem so." Colette closed the folder. "I wanted to bring this to you before sharing it with the authorities. Given everything that's been uncovered, I thought you should know the full scope of what happened on this property."

Luc moved to stand beside Élodie, his hand hovering near her shoulder without quite touching. "Has anyone else seen these files?"

"Only me." Colette hesitated. "And a colleague who helped with the digitization. He mentioned the file to someone—a journalist who does cold cases. I'm not sure if anything came of it."

The implications landed like stones in Élodie's stomach. If the story broke before the authorities had a chance to investigate Pierre further, the narrative could spin out of control. The château had just begun to shed its darker history. Another murder would drag it back into the shadows.

"Thank you for bringing this to us," Élodie said slowly. "I need to think about what to do with it."

Colette rose, tucking her satchel under her arm. "I'll leave the copies with you. I trust you'll handle this properly." She paused at the door. "There's one more thing. Basile was engaged to a girl from the village—Claire Beaumont. She left the area shortly after he disappeared. A few years later, she sent a letter to Pierre's mother, asking if there had ever been any news. The letter was never answered."

After Colette left, Élodie stood at the window, staring out at the grounds without really seeing them. The fountain in the courtyard had been restored, and the garden was beginning to bloom. But beneath the beauty, she now understood, the earth held more secrets.

Luc came up behind her. "We should tell Julien. And we should talk to the police."

"I know." Élodie turned to face him. "But this isn't just about Pierre anymore. If the journalist gets wind of this before we do, we'll lose control of the narrative. The reopening of the château could be overshadowed by another scandal."

Luc's eyes were steady on hers. "What are you suggesting?"

Élodie thought of the old well, now capped and marked with a small plaque in Antoine's honor. She thought of the memorial at the church, where the Chevalier name was carved in stone. And she thought of Julien, who had only just begun to accept his place in this tangled family history.

"There's a boy buried somewhere on this property," she said. "A boy who died because he discovered the truth. We owe it to him to find where he rests." She grabbed her coat from the hook by the door. "And there's one person who can tell us."

Luc's face went pale. "You're not going to see Pierre."

"I am." Élodie pulled the door open, the autumn air rushing in. "Before the police get wind of this and seal off every avenue we have. I need to hear what he has to say about his son—and about the man he's been pretending to be for thirty years."

The question hung between them as she stepped outside. What other bodies, she wondered, lay buried in the soil of Château de la Vallée? And how many more secrets would have to be exhumed before the truth could finally rest?