DeeDee marveled at the taste of the deceivingly simple dish of Provence cassoulet, freshly baked bread, and a salad that tasted as if it had been brought directly in from the garden just before they sat down for dinner. She turned to her hostess to compliment her on the meal. “Madame Durand, this is amazing. I’m a caterer in the Seattle area, and I don’t think I’ve ever tasted food this fresh. Is it sourced locally?”
A glimmer of a smile passed across Madame Durand’s face as she spoke. “We grow almost everything on our own property. What we don’t produce here comes from local farmers’ markets. There is one somewhere in the region every day. For example, for breakfast we use fresh eggs from our hens, local bacon, and our own fruit.”
“I think I’m going to enjoy breakfast very much,” DeeDee said, sipping her wine.
Jake leaned across to face Madame Durand and nodded. “Me, too.”
Madame Durand seemed to be loosening up. Her English was pretty good once she got talking. “You can come and see the orchards and vegetable gardens in the morning. We even have, how do you say it…” She paused for a second, thinking of the word. “Quail. You know of it?”
DeeDee smiled and nodded, indicating that she understood. At the same time, she wondered if Madame Durand would share her cassoulet recipe. She decided to wait until they’d been there a few more days before asking.
“You will not eat better anywhere in Provence than at Chateau Durand,” Madame informed her. “What else do you have planned during your stay here?”
“We’re looking forward to visiting some of the art galleries and restaurants in the area, isn’t that right, Jake?”
Jake, who was munching on the crusty bread, swallowed before answering. “For sure. Sorry, I think I’m in French bread heaven. Madame Durand, if there’s some sort of bread award, you get it.”
Madame nodded politely. “If you like art galleries, you should visit the Germain Gallerie. I think you will enjoy it, because they also have landscapes by American artists that are similar to the landscapes of Provence. For food, you must eat at Henri’s Boulangerie, because it has been given two stars by the Michelin Guide.”
“We will,” DeeDee said, her eyes shining. A sudden wave of tiredness swept over her. Jake gave her a concerned look, and when they were finished with dinner they said their goodnights to their hosts and the other guests. Upstairs, DeeDee brushed her teeth and pulled on a nightgown before sinking into Jake’s waiting arms.
“Let’s unpack in the morning,” DeeDee said, before turning out the light. “Did I mention how much I love this place? I can’t believe we’re really here. I kind of feel bad Balto’s not with us to enjoy it too.”
She could feel Jake’s body shake with laughter. “Are you kidding? Balto will be having the time of his life at Al’s place. I don’t want to alarm you, but he might not want to come home with you when we get back to Bainbridge Island.”
“Ssh,” DeeDee scolded him. “Maybe I’ll call Cassie tomorrow to check on him. She could put him on the line and we could say hi. Or, even better, we could FaceTime with him.”
Jake chuckled and rolled over. “Sure. You do that, and I’ll really know you’ve gone crazy at fifty. Goodnight, sweetheart.”
“Night,” DeeDee mumbled, still determined to get in contact with Balto when Jake wasn’t around.
CHAPTER 3
A continental breakfast buffet was laid out in the dining room when DeeDee and Jake went downstairs the next morning. The selection of breads, cereals, cold meats, pastries, cheese, fruit, and freshly squeezed juices made a vibrant and colorful display. The spread of food on the buffet table was complemented by the rays of golden sunlight streaming through the windows, casting a warm glow on the room.
“I can’t decide whether to have orange or apple juice,” DeeDee sighed. “Or cranberry. Talk about tough decisions.”
“Grapefruit for me,” Jake grinned, filling a small crystal goblet from a jug of cloudy yellow liquid. “What are these chocolate pastries?”
“Pain au chocolat,” DeeDee said, reaching for one and putting it on a side plate. “They’re chocolate croissants, straight from the oven. I think it’s going to be impossible to resist the gourmet temptations we’ll be encountering on this trip, so I’m not even going to try.”
“That’s my gal,” Jake said, rubbing his chin. “I guess it’s going to take me a while to get through all of this goodness, but I’ll do my best. I think I’ll start with some fruit salad.”
“Make that two,” DeeDee said, “and I’ll order the coffee.” She walked across the room to an open window table. Several other tables were occupied, and DeeDee recognized a few couples from dinner the previous evening. There was also what looked like a large family group that looked as if they’d just arrived.
Andre approached them wearing the same friendly smile DeeDee remembered. “Good morning, Madame,” he said. “I hope you slept well and that everything was comfortable?”
“Yes, thank you, Andre. I slept like a baby. I do need some coffee to fully wake me up, so I don’t miss any of this wonderful morning.”
“Of course, Madame. And Monsieur Jake?”
Jake had appeared with two dishes of fruit salad, and he set one in front of DeeDee before sitting down across from her.
“Monsieur Jake will have coffee as well, please, Andre,” Jake said with a grin. “Madame Durand was telling us last night about the fresh eggs and local bacon. I’d really love to try those as well. How about two eggs, scrambled?”
“I’ll have the same,” DeeDee said. “That sounds like a perfect start to the day.”
Andre nodded. “Coming right up,” he said, before moving away to serve another table.
“I think Andre and I are going to get along just fine,” Jake said, putting his spoon into the medley of fruit. He lowered his voice. “I’m not so sure about Monsieur Durand. I think he might be a bit of a creep. Maybe that’s why his wife looks so miserable.”
“Ssh,” DeeDee said, glancing around to make sure no one had overheard Jake. “I thought she was a lovely woman. I think she’s just reserved. Her passion for the local area and its produce was obvious. I’d like to talk to her some more.”
Andre brought the coffee, and DeeDee and Jake enjoyed a leisurely breakfast of several courses, sampling a little bit of everything. When they were done, Jake groaned. “I think I’ve died and gone to cheese heaven,” he said. “And it’s not even 10:00 a.m. So, what’s the plan for our first full day in Provence?”
A woman sitting at the table next to them spoke up. A rosy-faced brunette in her forties with frizzy hair, she was with a distinguished-looking older gentleman who had a shiny bald head and a kind face. “I hope you don’t mind me interrupting,” she said, “but I overheard you say it’s your first day here. There are so many places to see, you won’t know where to start. This is our second visit. What kind of things do you like? I’m Chrisann, by the way, and this is my husband, Bob. We’re from Fort Worth.”
“Pleased to meet you both,” DeeDee said, as the couples shook hands. “I’m DeeDee, and this is Jake. We’re from the Seattle area. I’m a caterer, so food is pretty high on my list of interests.”
“And mine,” Jake added, “although I’m not a caterer. I just have a vested interest in eating it.”
Chrisann giggled, and began to rattle off a list of restaurants she and Bob had visited and would recommend. “There’s Restaurant de la Pyramide, in a little village called Vienne. The village is full of historical architecture—old Roman buildings, cobblestone streets, and flowers everywhere. I think it’s cute, don’t you, Bob?”
Bob nodded in silence. DeeDee got the impression that Chrisann did most of the talking in their relationship.
“You’ve gotta go to Avignon,” Chrisann went on.
“I’ve heard of it,” DeeDee said. “From what little research I’ve done, it’s one of the largest cities in Provence, right? The reason I’m interested is I learned it has lots of art galleries as we
ll as restaurants. After food, art’s another of my passions. I used to volunteer at an art museum. I don’t get the chance to visit museums much anymore, and it’s something I miss.”
“In that case, you’ll love it,” Chrisann said. “Go to Ginette et Marcel for lunch. Believe me, you won’t regret it.”
Chrisann also told them about Brasseries George Restaurant in the city of Lyon, which had one Michelin star. She explained Lyon was less picturesque than the countryside with lots of big city traffic. Then there was Chez Feraud, in a place called Aix-en-Provence, and L’Atelier de Lean Luc Rebanel in Arles, where Van Gogh painted.
“If you decide to go to any of those places, let me know,” Chrisann said. “I’m a Modern Languages teacher, and I spent a year in Lyon as part of my college studies, so I can fill you in on some background.”
“We’ll take you up on that,” DeeDee said, when Chrisann finished her monologue. DeeDee was interested in getting more information about the area. As well as being knowledgeable, Chrisann was a lively conversationalist, even if it was hard to get a word in edgewise. “I think we’re going to take a walk through the beautiful grounds here, and then just stay local for today. We’ll probably try Henri’s Boulangerie in the village, which Madame Durand recommended, and take a look at the art on display at Germain Gallerie.”
“Henri’s is something else.” This, coming from Bob, startled DeeDee. He pulled his chair out and stood up with the aid of a cane. Chrisann rose and steadied him, taking his other arm.
“Well see you guys later,” Chrisann said. “Have fun.”
Jake reached across the table and put his hand on top of DeeDee’s, giving her a warm smile. “We will.”
*****
The April morning sunshine was warm enough to stroll through the grounds of the chateau without a coat, although in the shade of the orchard it was a little cooler. The sight of a covey of the cute quail running through the olive trees made DeeDee try to snap a photo of them with her cell phone camera, but they were too quick for her to catch a good shot. Somehow, Jake managed to insert himself in most of the pictures.
“We’ll have to get Andre to take a few of us together later,” DeeDee said with a laugh. “Or the photo album of our trip to Provence will be full of pictures of you. And I don’t mean that in a bad way,” she added hastily before Jake could think of a smart comeback answer. “For some reason, those little quail make me think of Julia Child. I must remember to check my copy of her ‘Mastering the Art of French Cooking’ book when we get back to see if there are any quail recipes. I think I remember one for roasted quail with liver canapés.”
Jake put his arm around DeeDee’s waist. “Speaking of food, let’s take a walk around the vineyards and work up an appetite for lunch. Then we can head into the village and hit Henri’s Boulangerie before doing a bit of gallery hopping.”
DeeDee wriggled out of Jake’s grasp. “Sure,” she said, running ahead. “It must be at least an hour since you’ve eaten. How will you ever survive?”
Jake sprinted after her. DeeDee had just about made it as far as the end of the orchard before he caught up with her and ensnared her with a bear hug and a kiss. “That,” he said solemnly, stroking her hair, “is what you will get if you keep mocking me.”
“In that case,” DeeDee murmured, tilting her head back up to his and feeling herself melt into the deep pools of blue that were his eyes, “I guess this week is going to keep on getting better.” She pulled away with a giggle and ran off again. “Race you to the vineyard,” she yelled, knowing full well it wouldn’t be long until he caught up with her for a repeat performance. And so it continued until they arrived back at the chateau an hour or so later. They went directly to their room and got ready to go into the village for lunch.
Saint-Victor-la-Coste was only a short drive down the hill from the chateau, its medieval buildings still intact and dominating the skyline, just as they had for hundreds of years. The small village center was scattered with a few typical types of village shops, and Henri’s Boulangerie was easy to find, a traditional café-restaurant with a wooden-floored outdoor terrace situated beneath several large, shady trees. It was opposite the town hall, in front of which stood a large fountain and obelisk, and it served as the centerpiece of the village square, Place de la Mairie.
“It’s called the Centenary Revolution Fountain,” DeeDee said as they stood facing it. She was reading from a local guide book Andre had given her when they’d left the chateau. “Otherwise known as the Fountain of Knowledge. According to this, the fountain was restored in 1889 during a restoration of the village. The tall obelisk is dedicated to science and the metric system, and displays the names of Galileo and Newton.”
Jake raised a hand to his forehead to shield his eyes from the sun, trying to make out the etchings on the different faces of the obelisk. “What’s the writing on the sides? It looks like math equations.”
“That’s right,” DeeDee said, scanning the text of the guide book. “It’s different arithmetic and geometric principles. When it was constructed, the architect stated the fountain would quench our thirst in two ways: with water and knowledge.”
“I know another way to quench our thirst,” Jake said, pulling her by the hand toward Henri’s. “Let’s sit outside on the terrace with a beer and see what else the book says about this quaint little place.”
DeeDee skipped the beer and had a cool glass of chardonnay white wine while they feasted on shrimp bisque with shaved fennel, freshly baked bread, and an apple salad. The bread was served with butter and a ramekin of Camargue salt, something DeeDee filed away in her head as a simple but unusual idea for her catering business. Despite her best efforts, and having cut down on work the previous few months to spend more time with Jake, her mind was never truly switched off when it came to recipes and food.
After lunch, they visited a couple of ancient churches before wandering from one gallery to another. It was late afternoon by the time they entered Germain Gallerie, the tinkle of a small bell above the door announcing to the owner that customers had entered the shop.
DeeDee was immediately captivated by the paintings on display. Having been a docent at the Seattle Art Museum for several years, she’d been exposed to a lot of very fine art. While she didn’t consider herself to be an expert, she knew when a painting was good. The standard of the artwork displayed in this gallery was very high indeed.
The gallery featured numerous twentieth century oil paintings. The landscape of the Provence area was prominent in a number of pieces depicting rolling hills with picturesque vineyards and olive groves. In addition to the landscape paintings of Provence, there were also a number of paintings that DeeDee remembered were referred to as plein air art or California Impressionism.
“These are amazing,” she whispered to Jake, slowly walking around the room. “There are pieces here by the American artists Hanson Puthoff, Alfred Mitchell, and Edgar Payne. I wonder how they ever got here.”
Jake shrugged. “I know I can’t tell a good one from a bad one, but I know what I like. Some of these, I like a lot. They don’t seem too expensive, either.”
The low prices were another thing puzzling DeeDee, who had done a rough exchange rate conversion in her head of the prices that were displayed in euros, back into US dollars. She told herself she must be wrong. Before she could work it out using the calculator on her phone, a large bearded man wearing a paint-smeared apron over a t-shirt and jeans appeared through the draped doorway which separated the gallery from his studio. He wore a diamond stud in one ear, and his tan arms were splashed with daubs of colored paint.
“Hello,” the man said, wiping his hands on his apron. “I’m Marc Germain, the owner. Do you see anything you like?”
DeeDee was looking at a painting by Alfred Mitchell, a large landscape with a barn and hills in the background that was mounted in a gold frame. She knew she’d seen it before, and was trying to recall where. Racking her brain, she realized with surprise it wasn’t
from an exhibition or the Seattle Art Museum. She remembered her friend, Cassie, had recently bought an almost identical painting from a gallery in Seattle. DeeDee had seen it just a couple of days beforehand hanging in the hallway of Cassie’s new home on Bainbridge Island, and she’d admired it at the time.
DeeDee turned to Marc. “Could you tell me where this is from? It looks kind of familiar.”
Marc smiled. “My uncle in Seattle owns an art gallery and sends plein air paintings to my gallery. Since this type of American art is very similar to the Provence landscapes, they sell quite well here in this part of France. It’s a popular style, which is probably why it looks familiar.”
Something was still bothering DeeDee. On closer scrutiny, she thought the brushstrokes and the artist’s name were slightly different from the one Cassie had recently purchased.
“I’m really interested in this one,” DeeDee said, ignoring Jake’s look of surprise. “There are a few others I like as well. Would you mind if I take a couple of photographs with my camera, and think it over?”
“Of course, that’s not a problem,” Marc said with a nod. “Please, go right ahead.”
The sound of the bell ringing above the door indicated more customers had arrived, and Marc went to greet them.
Jake spoke to DeeDee in an urgent whisper. “We’ll never fit it on the plane going home. We need to leave before you do something crazy like buying it.”
DeeDee raised a warning finger to her lips, and Jake became silent. He waited until she’d finished taking several photos and they were outside before he said anything more on the subject. “DeeDee, what was that all about? I can tell when you’re up to something. And I have a funny feeling it has nothing to do with you buying that painting. Am I right?”
They quickened their steps back towards their car.
“Yes,” DeeDee said. “That’s because it’s almost exactly like the one Cassie bought, but the brush strokes and the signature are a little different.”
Murder at the Gallery: A Northwest Cozy Mystery (Northwest Cozy Mystery Series Book 6) Page 3
