Free The St. Tropez Lonely Hearts Club by Joan Collins

expanse of his lover’s inert body. ‘Are you alright, darling?’ he wailed. ‘Please don’t die, love.’ As if to set his mind at rest, Charlie let out a loud burp and opened his eyes weakly. ‘Thank God! I couldn’t live without you!’ Spencer started laughing and hugging Charlie’s huge bulk, which made the comedian break some fierce wind.
    Half an hour later, a phalanx of ambulances screeched to a halt as the retching and nausea reached a climax, coinciding with the final wailing soprano notes of Mina’s CD.
    At least everyone thought it was the final wailing notes of the CD, until Khris noticed that the music system had stopped and what could be heard was Mina herself, wailing in some undetermined location accompanied by a chorus of cicadas.
    They started to search, but the young pop star’s injured moans had stopped. Then a paramedic raised the alarm as he discovered Mina sprawled beside a lavender bush. He started frantically administering CPR as the stunned guests rushed down the incline to watch, then he shook his head gravely. ‘I’m afraid she’s gone.’
    The assembled partygoers gasped in horror.
    ‘Oh, my God!’ shrieked Khris Kane. ‘I’m ruined. What’s going to happen to my tour?’

C HAPTER E IGHT

    The day after the first party
    Although Mina Corbain’s death seemed like a straightforward case of severe food poisoning, under French law it immediately triggered an investigation.
    When Captain Poulpe and his daughter Gabrielle arrived, they asked all the guests what they had eaten during the party.
    Captain Poulpe was a short, stocky man of few words and many actions. He had been with the Saint-Tropez Gendarmerie for over thirty years and knew where the metaphorical bodies were buried. He had thinning black hair swept back from a broad intelligent brow and small brown eyes that seldom missed a trick. Invariably he wore a navy blue or grey three-piece suit even on the hottest of summer days. Everyone in town respected him because he never turned a blind eye whenever corrupt officials interfered with the small-business and beach-restaurant owners, who depended on making their money in the few precious months between April and September, which made them easy prey to coercion. He didn’t tolerate the practice of
baksheesh
that seemed always to be prevalent in places that depended on tourism for their livelihood.
    Gabrielle, his daughter, differed from him in that she was tall and lanky. She was a true tomboy, with flaming red hair that ran wild with curls and a sprinkle of freckles on her pretty, unmade-up face. But beneath the huckleberry exterior she was a good cop, and highly respected by those who knew her.
    ‘There is no question that something poisonous in the food or drink has caused this mass outbreak. I note that none of the healthy guests has eaten the oysters,’ Poulpe announced to the shaken guests, who had not been allowed to leave. ‘There were plenty of other dishes that everyone had eaten but it seems that, of the unaffected guests, none had touched the oysters, so the source was unmistakable.’
    He and Gabrielle then thoroughly queried each of the guests’ activities on the day of the party to ascertain that none of them had anything to do with the preparation of the food. Having satisfied himself that none of them would fall under immediate suspicion, he allowed them to go home at four a.m., dazed and confused about the horrifying night. He even gallantly escorted Sophie to Adolpho and Frick’s awaiting ministrations; much as he admired her, he had to place her on his list of suspects as well – now everyone was on it.
    After the guests departed, Captain Poulpe returned to Harry Silver’s staff waiting at the mansion. The chef told him that he had received the oysters from his regular party supplier the previous day.
    ‘I thought they came from the Nice fish market, but I wasn’t sure, so I kept them in ice for all that time,’ he bleated. ‘They couldn’t