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the hall, but wasn’t exactly sure. Then I heard absolutely nothing, as everything went perfectly still.
    Whoever you are, go away!
    I listened for another five minutes, watching those glowing numbers change on my bedside clock. Still nothing. Then I turned on the lamp and eased myself out of bed. I was jumpy and most likely blowing it all out of proportion.
    But had someone hovered over me? … Maybe.
    I tiptoed to my doorway and stuck my head out and scanned the upstairs hallway. Nothing. I flicked on a light switch. My heart thumped, hearing another noise, but this time it was a howl coming from outside, below my terrace. I pivoted and rushed out to the balcony, only to find a cat racing across the back lawn, down below in the moonlight, after leaping from a flowerpot on the ledge.
    Had I overreacted? Was someone watching me as I slept? I needed to snap out of it and get back to sleep and so I boldly stomped back to my bed and slept like a baby for the rest of the night.
    …That is, after closing the balcony door and locking it.

 
     
     
    Chapter 18
    Lunching On The Past
     
     
    The next morning I arranged for a light lunch with Martine after her morning swim with Sonia in the Mediterranean. I was anxious to talk with her about the neighbors. Knowing Martine, she would be dependable, reliably straightforward and honest with all her answers.
    I waited at the restaurant on the beach that sat below our houses, sipping my glass of wine. Martine rushed over to the table, out of breath, and quickly placed her order even before she sat down. Of course, it helped to know the staff and to speak fluent French. I had stumbled through the menu moments before, barely explaining my order.
    “Oh, Martine! I don’t think I will ever remember that your adjectives come after the noun. I’m not sure what I ordered. I can only hope it is cooked and not raw.”
    “I think you will get… how do you say, the hang of it?”
    The waiter brought a glass of white Burgundy for Martine and we clinked glasses. “Salut.”
    “Salut. Now, what about Monsieur Tussout?”
    “What about him?” Martine replied, sipping her wine and watching me steadily.
    “Why is he harboring all that built-up anger? I don’t get it. Is there something I should know about?”
    She replied cautiously, “…He has suffered much in the past. I am afraid he is taking it out on all the surrounding neighbors. It is very unfortunate.”
    “What happened?”
    “What didn’t happen is what you should ask. His daughter ran off with an undesirable, his son’s scandalous behavior involved prison, and his wife had a nervous breakdown.”
    I sat there, curious for more. “I expected something, but not that. No wonder he has all this anger brewing.”
    Martine began to explain. “We tried to reach out to them, but Monsieur Tussout is stubborn and wouldn’t socialize. Eventually, we let it go and stopped calling on them. The rest is, like you say, history.”
    I understood withdrawing, but why hate the neighbors?
    Martine nodded, knowingly. “As this was the first of many incidents, I can tell by your look, you are wondering why he started lashing out, trusting none of the neighbors.”
    “That had crossed my mind.”
    “Long ago, his wife was accused of stealing a valuable antique brooch from the powerful widow Sorrell while at her house for tea. With Madame Sorrell’s husband, Henri, being a powerful politician at the time, Sorrell demanded and got the Gendarme Marie to search Toussout’s house.”
    “Did Madame Toussout ultimately admit taking it?”
    “No! The police never found the brooch. Later, Sorrell’s husband offered token apologies, that maybe his wife was mistaken and had misplaced it, but Monsieur Toussout never forgave Madame Sorrell for causing his wife such public humiliation. Like you say, it was the last straw. ”

 
     
     
    Chapter 19
    Lectured & Lesson Learned
     
     
    I returned home, feeling a bit more up to date about Sorrell and