Lotus Flower Charm

Author: Esther Montblanc
Publisher:
Publish Date: 2005-11-01
Features:
Fiery hell on paper! Keep away from the living! The kiss of death is contagious!
Fiery hell on paper! Keep away from the living! The kiss of death is contagious!
When the death comes, it doesn’t let you see his face, you don’t have time to breathe, everything is already over.
Between the writing desk and the green armchair, Adeline Bértrand de Valdonne’s body still maintained a strange posture, like a large doll thrown there by a mischievous child, arms crossed, one leg awkwardly placed over the other, her face hidden under a mass of black hair, which stuck together unpleasantly to the right. Bending down, Jean-Pierre Fouchard noticed that the deceased’s eyes were wide open; she must have been speaking sharply when the death struck, or perhaps someone struck her. She didn’t have time to see the death’s face—everything was already over.
All we can do is turn the head of the truth to let you see the murderer’s guilty face. Episode 1 Episode 1
November 18th, this unusual morning, the weather was nothing like the season should be. Emmanuelle naturally noticed this change, enduring sciatica as she struggled forward along the path. For several days, heavy rain had poured, the Loire River had surged, and thick fog had hung in the air. On this morning, the sun finally miraculously reappeared, outlining bright lines on the bare branches and dyeing the outer walls of the village houses pink. The sky was clearing.
Emmanuelle quickened her pace; it was the meeting of the American Proust scholars, and she couldn’t be late. Why on earth would someone choose November for this place! Usually, such events are held in the summer. There’s already enough work to do, let alone heating and mud. Emmanuelle “takes care” of the Proust House, and she’s been saying this for over twenty years. She knows every corner of this place, every closet she’s opened, and the temporary staff who come and go—she’s seen more of them than many managers in large companies.
Emmanuelle is a local, and the village government pays her under the new title of “Exterior Technician.” Her job is to keep this place spotless and orderly. This is the home of the late Miss Amiot, which visitors from all over the world stubbornly call the “House of Aunt Leonie.” As she passed the laundry tub, Emmanuelle shook her head disapprovingly, thinking of those “desperate” people who occasionally flood the village, holding the same book in their hands. As the current secretary put it, they come here to find the “ambiance of Combray.” “Secretary,” Emmanuelle muttered. She had no respect for those who came one after another, rummaging through files for nothing. Recently, though, it had gotten worse—the intern, Gisèle Cambell, was a thoroughly pretentious Parisian woman. She brought a computer and even changed the key to the room used as the office.
“Don’t touch the office, Emmanuelle,” she said repeatedly in her sharp accent.
“I’d like to know what she’s up to in there,” Emmanuelle often complained quietly in the nearby grocery store.
“Really?” The shopkeeper looked as if she understood.
“Ah, I’m used to these outsiders by now,” Emmanuelle nodded and continued. “I’m telling you, Madam, something’s bound to happen.”