Pursuit in Provence (A Jordan Mayfair Mystery)

by Phyllis Gobbell

  Millie said no. “And I was just thinking about going into Downtown Fontvieille to get a bite to eat—though it’s not even noon yet.” I knew what she meant. In Provence, we were accustomed to having lunch sometime between one and three.

  We agreed to get something simple at the boulangerie patisserie. A few minutes later we met in the lobby and began walking the short distance to Downtown Fontvieille, which was also Uptown Fontvieille.

  “Are you all right?” Millie asked. “I heard about the murder.”

  Twinge of guilt again. “How did you hear?”

  “This is a small town, honey, and the French are worse gossipers than Americans. I heard it first in the dining room at about seven o’clock this morning.”

  I told her what I knew about the shooting—the murder, all of it old news to Millie. Except what Felicity had said about hearing the two shots but not realizing what they were.

  “I heard the shooter used a pillow to muffle the sound. Up close and personal,” Millie mused. “Any idea about the motive?”

  “Felicity has a theory about a robbery gone wrong, but I’m betting whoever shot Barry came there to do just that. I think he was into some shady deals with bad people.”

  “Are they friends of yours from Savannah?”

  “They’re from Nashville.” I explained the history Felicity and I had from college and the connection through Kyle Delaney.

  “So they just happened to be here on vacation, too?” I caught a look from Millie.

  “To tell the truth,” I said, “I don’t know why they came to Fontvieille.” I took a long breath. “Kyle was at the Atlanta Airport before we left, and he said Felicity and Barry were in Paris. They wanted to meet us for dinner. We went out with them before we came to Provence. Next thing, they called from Aix, where they were visiting another couple from Nashville, and invited us to join them. That’s where we were Sunday. As we were leaving that night, Felicity said they were coming to Fontvieille.”

  I may have been frowning. Millie asked, “What is it?”

  “A silly thing. It’s almost as if Barry and Felicity were following me, too.” I watched Millie, gauging her reaction.

  “Are you saying, like the man with hairy arms?”

  “And the cowboy.”

  “And Louis—following us into the tunnel. Are you thinking your friends had something to do with that?”

  “I’m not sure what I think,” I said, glad we had reached the boulangerie patisserie. Lunch might clear out the fog in my brain.

  In the display case were our choices, golden croissants and baguettes, bright-white cheeses, meats, olives, ripe tomatoes, boiled eggs, pastries and cookies, and on and on. Neither of us could decide. The plump matron behind the counter said matter-of-factly, as if she were accustomed to doing this for tourists, “I will choose for you, oui?” We said yes, and she prepared a plate for each of us, with a little bit of everything. We took our plates to the table, along with bottles of l’eau minéral.

  “I ought to be able to figure out this puzzle,” I said.

  “Maybe you don’t have all the pieces,” Millie said, stacking meats and cheeses on bread.

  I nibbled at a salty olive. “What pieces do I have?” I began to recapitulate, starting with the train ride from the Brussels airport to Bruxelles Midi. “The young man from Istanbul has been explained away. He’s out of the puzzle—I guess—but not the cowboy.” I reiterated the sighting at Gare du Nord, the call to the Britannique Hotel, and the hit-and-run near the hotel, on to the incidents in Provence. I couldn’t remember how much I’d already told Millie, but she listened with wide eyes as she devoured her lunch. I paused to take small bites, but all at once I was less hungry than I was eager to figure out this puzzle that had turned deadly.

  Millie did not make judgments. I realized why I couldn’t go through this mental exercise with Alex. He was too eager to put my mind at ease, like a parent placating a child—and at the same time, I didn’t want my pragmatic uncle to think I was paranoid. Millie gave no argument. She asked a few questions but none indicated she thought I was headed off the deep end.

  “Here’s what I think,” I said, pausing for a drink of water. “Someone believes I have something in my suitcase. That’s why I’ve been followed and why my room was ransacked. Somebody besides the cowboy wanted whatever it is that I’m supposed to have. That’s why he was killed. And now Barry. You know, he asked me a lot of questions about my suitcase.”

  “You think that’s why they came to Fontvieille?” Millie asked.

  “Yes! I just thought of something.” I pressed my palms against my temples. “Sunday night in Aix, I mentioned that I’d talked to the man at the Turkish Embassy, and he was sending my suitcase to L’hôtel du Soleil. Next thing I know, Barry and Felicity are heading to Fontvieille.”

  “Why can’t you just ask Felicity? Would she be honest with you?” Millie said.

  “I can ask. Though I’m not sure how much she can tell me. There might have been another woman.” I told her about the beautiful young woman at Guy Savoy. “But she said something about Antonio, so it’s possible their exchange was all business. Bad business.”

  I took a few bites of my lunch, thinking about Felicity, feeling sorry for her in spite of her annoying traits. I always felt protective of her in college, and that hadn’t changed entirely.

  “Felicity had money from her second marriage to a filmmaker, Lorenzo something or other. I suspect the money was what attracted Barry. Felicity stays busy keeping fit and beautiful and decked out in designer clothes. I doubt she knows much about Barry’s dirty dealings.”

  “Sometimes people know things they don’t know that they know. If you know what I mean,” Millie said.

  We finished our lunch, settling nothing, but I felt some satisfaction. Millie had been the perfect sounding board. As we left the bakery, I said, “The big question is, Why do these people believe I have something in my suitcase that they want?”

  Millie thought about it. “Maybe because you do.”

  “But I don’t,” I said.

  “Are you sure?”

  I opened my mouth to answer, but I didn’t.

  “What’s wrong?” Millie asked.

  I thought about it another minute. “I was remembering checking my bags in Atlanta, where the ticket agent said, Has your luggage been in your possession the whole time? And of course I said yes. Everyone always says yes. Even though there are times that you let a family member or friend watch your luggage while you go to the restroom. Right?”

  “Sure. Because you know your family member or friend isn’t going to plant a bomb.”

  “Exactly.”

  “So who else had access to your bags?”

  My nerves began to jangle. “Just family. I feel silly about this. I know I can trust my family. Alex, of course. And Catherine. I’d brought a box of things she wanted from home. Alex and I went up to her dorm room and I forgot to take the box out of the car. She could’ve waited to get it until after we went out for lunch, but she wanted something from the box right then. It was in the back of my Jeep Cherokee, along with our luggage.”

  “Sounds harmless enough,” Millie said.

  “I know! I told you this was ridiculous.”

  “Who else?”

  “Michael drove us to the airport. But Michael wasn’t ever in the car when we weren’t. Kyle was at the airport. Holly’s boyfriend.”

  “Is he the one who works for the guy that was murdered?”

  “Right. Kyle works for Barry. But forget it, Millie. He’s probably going to be my son-in-law.” My voice had turned irritable, and I realized I was walking faster.

  “Why was he at the airport?” Millie asked.

  “He’d flown to Atlanta early that morning for a meeting and was flying back to Nashville. He’d talked to Holly. She knew we were at the airport. Anyway, he surprised us and stayed with us throughout the ordeal of changing our flight. Have I told you about that?”

  I had not.
Millie put on a face of horror as I told about Alex’s frantic search for his passport, how it seemed we’d have to cancel our trip. “I would’ve just died,” she said.

  “The flight to New York had just taken off when Alex located his passport in one of his folders.” I shook my head. “Maybe it was a sign of things to come. This was supposed to be a relaxing vacation, but one strange thing after another has happened.”

  The hotel was in sight. I wrapped up the story. “We got on a later flight to New York but it was arriving too late for us to continue on to Paris. We had to re-route through Brussels.”

  “So what was it about your daughter’s boyfriend, Kyle?” Millie reminded me.

  “Just that he stayed with us until Alex found his passport and we’d worked out the new itinerary.” I sighed. “And there were times—yes—I’m sure he was alone with our luggage, but that doesn’t mean anything.”

  “I asked if you were sure you don’t have the thing in your suitcase that everybody wants.” Millie raised her eyebrows. “You’ve just proved that you can’t be sure. Not until you get your suitcase back and go over every inch of it.”

  I knew she was right.

  CHAPTER 26

  * * *

  As soon as we returned to the hotel, I put in a call to Adnan Kemal at the Turkish Embassy in Brussels. Barry had been right about one thing. I should have asked Mr. Kemal for more specific information: when would the suitcase arrive, and how.

  I reached the woman whose English was impeccable. Mr. Kemal had not mentioned a suitcase to her. Not good news. But she would be happy to give him my message. “His mother has been very ill. She’s quite elderly,” the woman volunteered. “But when I spoke to Mr. Kemal earlier today, he said he was planning to return to the office tomorrow.”

  I dropped my phone on the bed beside me and lay back against the pillows. I still had my hand on the phone when it jingled, making me jump.

  “Jordan, how are you?” came the welcome voice of Paul Broussard.

  “I’m all right,” I said. Feeling better by the minute.

  “I enjoyed last night very much,” he said.

  “So did I. It was lovely, Paul—just perfect, until we were interrupted. I don’t know if I even said thank you. Things were so confusing after the call came about Barry Blake.”

  “Please—I understand. I’m terribly sorry for your friend and sorry that this happened on your trip to Provence. Have the police given out any information?”

  “Very little.” I told him about the morning at the police station. “Inspector Bouvier looked worse than Felicity,” I said.

  “Inspector Bouvier is a dedicated gendarme,” Paul said, “but I wonder about these crimes, the stolen sketches and now a murder. Perhaps the man is in over his head, as they say.”

  I felt a twinge. “Maybe. I do like him.”

  “As do I,” Paul said, his tone indicating the unspoken but . . .

  “No news about the robberies?” I asked.

  “No. Monsieur Llorca believes the investigation might be more productive if we close the museum temporarily, but I disagree. Actually, the publicity has brought many more visitors than we normally have at this time of year.” He sighed. “Ah, Jordan, forgive me. I shouldn’t burden you with this when you have so much else on your mind.”

  “The truth is, I’m glad to think about something besides Barry’s death,” I said.

  “Is there anything I can do?” His voice so very earnest.

  I said I couldn’t think of anything, but I appreciated his call more than he could know.

  “Could I take you to dinner tonight? Somewhere in town, something simple. Nothing like last night.” He said this with a charming little laugh.

  “I can’t imagine anything like last night,” I said, “but dinner in town sounds wonderful.”

  “I would enjoy meeting your uncle. Do you think he would like to join us?”

  I said I’d check with Alex, though I had no doubt what his answer would be. Any proprietor would surely seat Monsieur Broussard’s party, whether two or three, but Jean-Claude had explained that in the tiny restaurants of Fontvieille, reservations affected not only the seating but the availability of fresh fruits and vegetables. “I’ll call you when I’ve talked to Alex,” I said.

  “Monsieur Llorca and I will be on a conference call at the Château later this afternoon.You may need to leave a message,” Paul said as if I might be offended by his failure to answer. “In any case, I will meet you in the lobby tonight at eight, and perhaps your uncle, as well.”

  For the first time all day, I felt myself smile.

  The Great Dane watched me with idle curiosity as I prepared to plunge into the pool. Bending over next to him, I spoke in a syrupy sweet voice, “Hello there, pretty dog. What’s your name? You like the sunshine, don’t you?” Those silly questions adults ask babies and pets, as if they could reply. The dog rose up on his front haunches, tilted his head, and gave a congenial wag of his tail. Looked like he expected a pat on the head, so I obliged, careful to let him sniff my hand first. I wondered if the elderly woman in the pool approved or if she’d rather the dog remain aloof, like her, but she was too focused on her strokes to notice us.

  I swam laps for a while, until long after the Great Dane and his master had left the pool, trying to work off some of the calories I’d consumed in Provence. Hoping also that the cold water and the exercise would energize me. It did.

  Back to the room. No sign of Alex yet. After I’d cleaned up, I dialed Felicity’s number. It took several tries to get through. She said she’d been making calls. “Talking with people back home,” she said, sounding a little bright for the situation. “Barry has a brother, though they weren’t close. I made some business calls, too. Barry has a meeting set up in Paris on Friday.”

  Maybe Felicity knew more about Barry’s business than I’d thought, or maybe she was trying to grab hold of the reins of his company. “Were you able to get a nap?” I asked.

  “Too much to do.” Her glittery voice betrayed jangled nerves.

  “You need to get some rest,” I said.

  “Don’t worry so much about me, Jordan.” She gave a brittle laugh. “You know, I’m much more capable than you think. Oh, I know you have the best intentions, and you were so sweet to stay with me last night. But this is a new day. I’m not going to fall apart.”

  I didn’t know what to say. People grieve in various ways, and it seemed Felicity was adopting a brisk, business-like attitude to get her through this ordeal.

  “I have to go now, Jordan,” she said. “I do appreciate everything you’ve done.”

  “You’ll let me know if I can do anything else,” I said.

  “Of course I will.”

  I couldn’t be sure she wasn’t falling apart, but what could I do except let her know I was available for her?

  Another call, not ten minutes later.

  “Mom, what’s going on over there?”

  I hadn’t spoken to Holly since before we left on the trip. It was apparent she hadn’t called just to make pleasant conversation. I told her I was fine and asked, “Are you all right?”

  “Confused,” she said. “Kyle is flying out this afternoon, heading to France. Someone called and said Barry Blake had been murdered.”

  “It’s true,” I said.

  “That’s so awful! And Kyle—I just don’t know. I’ve never seen him so—undone. He’s usually so steady, so strong.”

  Her adjectives surprised me a little, but in all honesty I didn’t know Kyle that well. At the Atlanta Airport he’d seemed a little distracted, which I attributed to the fact that he needed to get back to Nashville, yet he wanted to stay with Alex and me until we got our plans worked out.

  Holly went on, almost in one breath. “The call came about Barry’s death last night, and Kyle hardly slept at all. I knew he was upset but I had no idea he’d have to go to France until a little while ago. I’ve got his itinerary—flying out of New York tonight, arriving in Nice
at 9:40 A.M. tomorrow. Then he’s renting a car, driving over to where you are. What’s that town?” She began to spell what she’d apparently written down.

  “Fontvieille.” I was trying to figure out the time element. Last night in Nashville would’ve been wee hours of the morning here. Probably Hunt made that call. Most likely another call came from Felicity within the last hour or two.

  “I thought the Blakes were in Paris. Why are they in Fontvieille?”

  “I’m not sure, but they came here on Monday with their friends Hunt and Portia.”

  If those names resonated, Holly didn’t say so. “Oh, another thing. Julie e-mailed that you’d lost your suitcase.”

  That was really old news. “I did, but it’s been found, and it’s supposed to be delivered any day. Believe me that’s not the highest priority right now.” Though what I didn’t say was that my suitcase appeared to have some great significance, and I was eager to discover what it was.

  “I mentioned to Kyle that you’d lost your suitcase and he said he already knew. And we got into an argument about that because I said, ‘Didn’t you think you should tell me? She’s my mother!’ That was a couple of days ago. I’m so worried about him. He’s been acting really, really strange.” The pitch of Holly’s voice dropped. “A few minutes ago when we were on the phone, and he told me his plans, before we said goodbye, he said, ‘I’ll explain everything when I get back.’ And I said, ‘Kyle, please! What’s going on?’ and you know what he said?”

  She paused. I couldn’t guess what he said, but the pause was likely just to get her breath. “He said, ‘Trust me on this. It’s for Jordan.’ Mom, what did he mean, for Jordan?”

  I didn’t have a clue. Holly might not have believed me at first, but I had never lied to her. She finally said, “Please, will you try to figure out what’s going on?”

  I promised I would.

  And then, in an effort to end our conversation on a light note, I also promised I would tell her all about the amazing Monsieur Broussard. “We flew in his plane to Paris for dinner,” I said.