Episode 8: Everybody's Talkin' At Me

Previously:

Pierre helped Noelle prepare for her homecoming.

Blaine received a call from Paige Gilbert, anchor/producer of Breakfast in Canada.

Maria and Ryan found out Noelle’s exam results.




“You do know who I am, don’t you?”

Blaine’s memory had been jogged.  Since he had  been very busy preparing breakfast, it had been a while since he watched morning TV of any kind.  The only Paige he had remembered was Paige Hobson, an old girlfriend from high school.

“Your parents aren’t from Barrie, are they?”

“No, I’m afraid not,” Paige replied.  She motioned over to the show’s makeup assistant, who had been more than liberal with the foundation and lipstick this morning.  Paige turned her attention away from her cell phone and whispered, “A little more powder, please.”  As the assistant fulfilled her request, Paige went back to her cell phone conversation.

“Born and raised in Toronto, just like me.”

“I can’t understand why you’re calling me, though,” said Blaine, with one eye on the fresh jar of herbes de Provence.  “We just opened a couple of months ago, and I’ve been very busy…what’s your point,  Ms. Gilbert?”

“The point is, Mr. Carroll, that we’d like you to come to Toronto as our guest for a Thanksgiving special.  Can you come up with an old family recipe to do for the show?”

*****

Pierre and Noelle entered the entryway of the Vineyards, with Noelle carrying her purse on her shoulder.  Louisa and Suzanne greeted them, and instructed them to wash up in the Lavender Room.  Suzanne had to start working to clean the other rooms in the inn, but the Lavender Room would suffice for their brief washing-up chores.

“Do you need to call anyone?”  Suzanne asked.

“I have to see the detectives this afternoon, but they’re coming here.”


Louisa gasped. “Oh, dear.  We can’t have the police coming here.”

*****

Maria didn’t want them snooping around, either. She’d make sure of it.

Medical information was supposed to be private.  Or so she thought.

She clicked the mouse on her desk and it pointed to a window containing Noelle’s information.  She nodded, and stared at the prompt telling her to type in her physician access code.  After pausing for a moment, she typed the password into the computer.

ACCESS DENIED.

Maria grunted under her breath,  and tried again. 

“Someone must have changed the system.  I wish people would tell me these things.”

One more time.

ACCESS DENIED.

“Damn!”


*****

Notre Dame d’Orléans was unusually quiet this morning.  Patrick parked his motorcycle on the curb outside, then proceeded to walk slowly around the church’s perimeter.  He nodded and jotted things into a notebook as he walked along.  He had drawn a detailed map of the grounds, and marked precise points known only to himself.

There.

Right there.

At the base of the statue of Jeanne d’Arc.

Patrick smiled at his brilliance and sped off.