Maggie felt a light sweat develop on her forehead as, for her, things just got a lot less random.
Chapter 16
1
"How do you expect to pay for this, may I ask?" Gerry shuffled through the Paris brochures stacked on Maggie's desk.
Maggie, uncomfortable in a now too-snug knit dress, gathered up her maps and travel brochures and placed them in the bottom of her briefcase. She closed the top of the case firmly.
She felt tired from a late night of conversation and lovemaking with Laurent the evening before. He had gotten home early and they had spent much of the time going over the results of her visit with Alfie and his mother. As she had predicted, Elise had not been the one who had ridiculed Alfie in the hall that day. Alfie had never laid eyes on the person in Maggie’s photograph. The person he described was someone so bizarre as to be a cross between something out of a sci-fi movie and a demented person’s wild imagination.
‘She had a big, big face and awful, big teeth! She wanted to eat me up! She was red and green, like a big Christmas tree! And mad at me and wanting to eat me!’
Maggie left wondering if the poor guy had even been in the apartment building that day. She felt defeated and stymied.
"I've charged it to my MasterCard," she said to Gerry.
"The same card, I believe, on which you put that lovely and very expensive frock you wore to the Addies banquet a few months back?" Gerry leaned up against the windowsill to the right of her desk. He wore jeans and a light cotton sweater. Maggie noticed he wore colorful leather moccasins too instead of his usual wingtips. "The same card upon which you blew two hundred smackeroos last spring for that ungodly kitchen appliance you said would make your life complete?"
"The very one."
"Don't those people require payment periodically?"
"I'll worry about it when I get back. I don't have the cash and I need to do this."
"I see. The old worry-about-it-later-credit plan. Yes, I think Darla subscribes to that too. Can't say it works very well for her, though."
"Aren't you dressed a little casually today, Herr Boss? I mean, I didn't miss an interoffice memo, did I? This isn't the afternoon we all have to go out and do the lawn in front of the building or something, is it?"
"Ahh, Maggie." Gerry smiled and folded his arms. "Maggie, Maggie, Maggie. I'm going to miss that keen, snappish wit. That biting--some might say, corrosive-- repartee. You'll have to write me a lot."
"Why are you being so hateful?"
"What are you talking about?" The smile was replaced by a puzzled frown. "I'm not being hateful."
"Talking about knowing each other from now on only in letters? That's not hateful?" Maggie tossed a file folder across her desk. It skidded and fell on the floor, flopping open and spilling its contents on the carpet.
"I'm only happy because I know I'm going on to a better place for me. That's all--"
"You sound like you're going to start transchanneling any minute now."
"You know what I mean." Gerry shifted uncomfortably on the windowsill. "Being here isn't good for me. You should be glad that I was able to figure it out. Otherwise, I'd just go on being miserable, making everyone around me miserable. I'm not happy to leave you, Maggie, you old boob, but I am happy about starting a new life someplace better."
"Yeah, yeah, yeah." Maggie covered her eyes and felt a leaden weariness descend upon her.
"And you'll come visit us down there--"
"Are you kidding?" Maggie uncovered her eyes and stared at him. "It's over ten thousand miles away from here. It costs thirteen hundred dollars just to get there--"
"You'll stay with us. There won't be any hotel costs.”
"It takes twenty hours flying time, not to mention the time difference.” Maggie began ticking the calculations off on her fingers. “Say, I leave on a Tuesday. Two days of travel later, I arrive in Auckland on Monday! What happened to those other two days?”
"You probably need to take this vacation to Paris more than I thought."
"And returning? Going northeast across the date line? Let's say I leave on a Friday--"
"I really do get the point, Maggie."
"I'm so very glad. Hey, listen, gar , go to Kiwi-Land if you have to. Knock yourself out. She'll be right, mate. No worries. Do what you have to do."
"That's really what it comes down to, don't you see?"
"Oh, don't explain this to me, Gerry."
"I'm not doing this to drive you crazy or to break Darla's heart. I'm doing this because I have to. I have to! Doesn't anything move you? I'm dying here. How can I make it clearer to you?"
"Well, go then." Maggie bent over to scrape up the contents of her spilled folder.
"You'll visit me?"
"Of course." She tried to smile but gave it up. "Laurent will come too."
“Naturally. You know, Darla has a hissy fit if I even mention New Zealand, and we're scheduled to board the airplane in less than six weeks."
"You are?" Maggie gaped at him in astonishment.
"Yes. What? Did you think this was just bullshit? Maggie, I am moving, emigrating with my family to Auckland, New Zealand. I am getting residency, a work permit down there and leaving the good ol' U.S. of A. Okay?" Gerry tossed a paper clip at her waste paper basket. "And Darla is a mess about it. Very nonsupportive if you want to know. And it would be nice, I'm just saying it would be nice if there was one person on the planet besides my travel agent with which I could discuss my plans. My dreams, as it were."
"Six weeks. Man, that’s so soon. What are you going to do down there for work?"
He grinned broadly, his eyes alive and happy for the first time in a year.
2
Elspeth Newberry picked up the newspaper, careful not to get newsprint on her fingers, and placed it at her husband's breakfast place. The headline shouted up at her: Man Confesses to Buckhead Murder.
"Good morning, my dear." John Newberry turned from the breakfast buffet in their dining room, his Belleek plate sparsely adorned with a scrambled egg and a melon slice. "I didn't know you were up." He kissed her absently on the cheek as he set his plate down.
John Newberry’s thick shock of white hair was trimmed neatly in a cap around his head. His eyes were cerulean blue and a pink flush was on his high cheeks. Last night's schnapps and a generally happy disposition contributed to his good coloring. John Newberry was a man happy with his world. He never doubted the future, he never regretted the past. As a result, he thoroughly appreciated his present. He was a man with the incredible propensity to always feel in step with life. It showed, too, in his overall affect, in his relations with others, and in his nights of sound, dreamless sleep.
Elspeth sat next to him at the long table. It was set with china and silver for a simple Friday morning breakfast for two. She poured his coffee from a large silver pot and then added a small amount of skim milk to it.
He frowned. "Honestly, El, what could a speck of cream hurt?" He knew it was a waste of breath and his wife didn't bother responding to him.
"Did you see the headlines?" she asked.
"Is that all you're having?" John Newberry looked at the solitary melon slice on his wife's plate.
"The police say he confessed to it. There’s a picture of the man. He looks a little like Uncle Jim."
"Hmmm." Her husband took a bite of his eggs and glanced at the newspaper story. "Who is he?"
"They're not terribly specific." Elspeth sighed and poured her coffee. She took it black. "No names.”
John wiped his mouth with his napkin and placed a large hand over her small one.
"And how, exactly, does it affect us, my dear?" he said. "Whether the police have Elise’s killer or only someone claiming to be?"
Elspeth withdrew her hand and picked up a spoon to carve open her melon slice.
"It affects us, John, as long as we still have a daughter alive and living in Buckhead."
John Newberry looked at her with surprise. "You think Maggie is in dange
r?"
"I know she still lives in the apartment where her sister was brutally murdered." She looked at him coldly. "I know that the press have given reason to believe this confession is not authentic which would mean the maniac is still on the loose. Do I need to know much more?"
"She's living with that great big brute of a Frenchman, for pity's sake!" he said, not hiding his exasperation. "His only full-time job is to look after our daughter. I should think that would--"
"I'm not sure what I feel about Monsieur Laurent Dernier," his wife said, returning to her melon.
"You don't? Well, then I think I can help you out." He took a sip of his coffee. "Yes, I think I can set your mind at rest about that point at least. It is my belief that Laurent is the one stable, normal thing that our daughter has had in her life for a long time--"
"And what do you call Brownie?" Elspeth pushed her fruit plate away and stared at him.
"I'm not saying anything against Brownie. Personally, I always liked the boy. But he wasn't right for our Maggie and I wouldn't have liked to have seen them get together."
"I can't believe you're saying this. Brownie comes from the finest family--"
"I'm not saying he doesn't."
"He adores Maggie." Elspeth looked around the room in agitation. "He...he has practically grown up with her..."
"I'm not sure what kind of a recommendation that is. All I'm saying is the girl doesn't love him and I don't blame her. Nice chap, but I'll pass on the son-in-law part, if you don't mind."
"I cannot believe you are saying this," she repeated. "And you'd rather have this...Laurent Dernier, instead, I suppose?"
"I would."
"He doesn't have a job! He barely speaks English--"
"Maggie understands him. Come to that, you have no trouble understanding him either."
"I'm not against Laurent." Elspeth stood up from the table, her gold bracelets jangling softly as she did so. "But I think to compare him to Brownie is preposterous."
"I quite agree," John said quietly.
"You know what I mean, John. I cannot understand that this is what you would want for your daughter. An unemployed foreigner. Yes, charming, even, handsome, but marriage material for Margaret? Honestly." With that, she turned to make an elegant exit in complete possession of the last word.
John Newberry replaced his napkin and finished his coffee. He grimaced and added more milk to the cup. Idly, he flipped the paper to the sports section and got up to find a small sausage on the quickly-cooling buffet table.
3
"They're expecting us there around six, I think." Maggie juggled the phone receiver against her chin and flipped through her work diary on her desk.
"I will get the cadeau," Laurent said on the other end of the phone line.
"Cadeau? Oh, yeah, right, Nicole's birthday present. That'd be great if you would, sweetheart. I'm not going to have time today."
"You have seen the paper this morning?"
"I saw it. I think it's crap, but I saw it."
"Peut-être we will not think about it for a few hours? Put it away for a little bit?"
"Yeah, I'm not thinking about it. It doesn't matter anyway.”
"Je t'aime, cherie. Est-ce que tu m'aime?"
"With all my heart, you big mush," Maggie said softly. "And you know it very, very well."
"Mais, bien sûr," he said before hanging up.
4
Laurent smoothed his shaggy brown hair from his forehead and kept his eyes fixed on Nicole Newberry. She sat, stiffly, a starched white petticoat peeking from under her velvet tunic. Her hair, shiny and soft with a simple wave Elspeth had put in it, was caught up by a long blue velvet ribbon which draped down her back in a demure ponytail. Her eyes were flat and stared unseeingly at her mirror-bright black patent leather shoes.
"Nicole is sex ans today, oui, ma petite?" Laurent sang softly to the little girl. He lifted her chin and smiled encouragingly at her. "A big girl now, is our Nicole." She stared dully into his bright blue eyes.
"She's a little tired tonight, Laurent dear," Elspeth said as she straightened the candles on the dining room table. Laurent and the child were seated in chairs lined against the far wall. The butler's table with Nicole's birthday cake, a sugar castle of icing and roses, was placed next to them, and Elspeth thought, suddenly, that it made a winsome picture. "A Kodak moment," as her irreverent daughter would say. All the same, Elspeth wished she had a photograph of the scene. She even wished she were the kind of person who could snatch up a camera and capture the image herself.
"We've been shopping today and visiting people and wrapping prezzies and helping Becka in the kitchen...all kinds of things, haven't we, darling?" Elspeth didn't look at Nicole when she spoke, just continued to straighten and re-position the immaculately set dining table of crystal and china. The table was set for five although Elspeth had been tempted to add another plate for the one person who would never show.
"Oh, that is formidable," Laurent murmured to the girl. "You have been getting many beautiful things today, yes?"
Elspeth felt a budding annoyance with Laurent. She didn't want the child picking up his crippled pronunciations although she knew that Maggie would say that should be the least of her worries. Nonetheless, she would have preferred the man to either speak French to Nicole--and she certainly disapproved of that at this point--or to keep communication to a minimum. She felt a pulse of guilt at this thought. Laurent was kind to the child, gave her, in fact, more attention than her own aunt. She sighed and looked at them both. Nothing was turning out the way she had planned.
"Dad's got the drinks and stuff in the library, Mother. Is that okay?" Maggie appeared through the swinging doors that led to the kitchen, carrying a frosty highball glass.
"That will be fine, dear," she said.
"How are you two doing?" Maggie walked over and sat down next to Nicole. "Happy Birthday, darling." The child continued to stare at Laurent.
"Do you need any help, Mom?"
"No, I think we're about ready." Elspeth stood back and surveyed the perfect table.
The door bell rang and Maggie put her drink down.
"I'll get it," she said.
Brownie stood on the other side of the Newberry threshold, dressed in a natty sports jacket and razor-pleated trousers.
"Brownie--"
"I can't come in. I just stopped by to give you this to give to Nicole." He pushed a stuffed giraffe into Maggie's hands. "So tell her 'happy birthday from Uncle Brownie'. That is, unless you've already told her I've died or something and, in that case, forget it."
"Don't be an ass. Why don't you come in and give it to her yourself?"
"Can't. Got someone waiting in the car. And this is for you."
Maggie tried not to look towards the darkened interior of Brownie's BMW, its engine still running, parked in the circular drive.
He pressed something cold and hard into her hand. "It's what I told you I found in your--"
"Oh, yeah, okay. What is it?" She looked at the strange, circular piece of jewelry for a minute.
"You're asking me? Look, I gotta run. Tell Nicole--"
"It's a scarf ring, is what it is," Maggie said. "This looks like one of my Mother's."
"Mystery solved. Great. Later, Mags."
He turned and hurried down the wide flagstone steps of the mansion's verandah.
"Yeah, Brownie, thanks. Thanks from Nicole too."
Maggie watched as he opened his car door, illuminating the car's interior. The girl waiting for him was young and pretty.
Maggie dropped the scarf ring into her purse on the foyer marble-top table and returned to the birthday gathering.
"Who was it, darling?" Elspeth was still retouching the flawless place settings.
"Just Brownie. He brought this for Nicole." She waved the giraffe at Nicole and smiled. The child looked at it.
Maggie took a quick sip of her drink and offered it to Laurent who shook his head.
"She is very be
autiful tonight, is she not, Maggie?" he said.
"Oh, yes," Maggie plucked at Nicole's dress with her hand. "Very pretty, Nicole. Très jolie!" She turned to her mother. "What else did you get her?"
"That would be telling, darling. We don't want to spoil Nicole's surprises."
A loud crash sounded from the other side of the swinging doors and, Elspeth sprang into action.
"What is the woman doing?" she said as she hurried into the kitchen. Maggie noted the sense of satisfaction apparent in her mother's voice.
Maggie took another long drink and listened as the ice cubes fell musically back into the half-empty glass.
"I can't believe you're going to do this." She gestured to Nicole with her glass.
"Your father said it would be all right," Laurent said. He was watching Nicole closely, fondly. Maggie knew the child had become special to him in a way the Newberry family hadn't expected. It was as if there was an already existing kinship between them -- their both being French? Maggie wondered -- that Laurent took care to fan and tend.
"Yeah," she said to him. "But Dad told you that without checking with my mother. She will freak."
"I don't think so." Laurent leaned back in his chair and Nicole dropped her eyes again to her knees. "In fact...." he stood up and placed his hands on his hips. "Now is a good time, n'est-ce pas?"
The Complete Maggie Newberry Provençal Mysteries 1-4 Page 21
