* * *
At seven the next morning, Marie was awakened by René returning to their bedroom with a cup of coffee for her and the quiet announcement that there were four policemen downstairs.
Late last night, in the darkest part of the night, Brigitte, their daughter, had been brutally murdered.
Chapter Five
1
Maggie plunged the long-stemmed sunflowers into the silver canister of water and gently spread the flowers apart from each other. Laurent had gone off earlier that morning to finish the repair work on the stonewalls that encased his vineyard. Determined to be as involved with her own project as he was with his, and not to complain about how much more pleasure he obviously got from his project than she did with her own, Maggie had waved him off cheerfully after breakfast and turned, with a little resignation, to her laptop of notes and recipes.
To her surprise, an hour of working quietly at the breakfast table in their sunny kitchen passed quickly. She had pulled to the top of her pile those recipes dictated or approved by Uncle August and decided to use them as the core of her book. They were simple, basic recipes; exemplifying what August called “farmhouse cooking”. And the simplicity of the recipes, combined with the complexity of their taste and versatility, had helped given Maggie’s book a whole new angle, as well as given Maggie the freshness of material she had not even known she’d been looking for until she recognized she was looking at it this morning.
Feeling happy with herself, she allowed herself a small break from her work to walk through the garden and cut the bunch of sunflowers. As she stood standing at the kitchen sink, rearranging their positions in the water canister, she saw the police car pull, almost noiselessly, into the gravel drive of the mas. She could see two men in the car; one in uniform and one in a suit. Quickly, she dried her hands and went to the door.
“Madame Dernier?” The man in the suit squinted at Maggie through the open door.
First things first, Maggie thought, working to control her breathing.
“Is Laurent all right?” she asked. “Has he been hurt?”
“Eh?” The suited man turned to look at the uniformed policeman behind him, who shrugged. “Ah, yes, your husband, yes?” He shook his finger and his head at her and made a tut-tutting noise.
Maggie opened the door.
“Come in, please,” she said.
“I am Detective Inspector Roger Bedard,” the suited man said. He presented his identification to Maggie while he took in the large living room. “I am afraid I must ask you some questions. This is Sergeant Michaud. May we be seated?” He entered the living room and selected a place for himself on the sofa to sit. His sergeant remained standing.
Maggie sat down slowly opposite the detective. Her hands felt damp again, even though she still held the kitchen towel in her hands.
“What’s this all about?” she asked.
“A death, I am afraid,” the detective answered, still looking around the living room as if its physical make-up were very important to his visit. “You are familiar with a Madame Brigitte---?”
“Oh, my God.” Maggie put her hand to her mouth.
“I regret to inform you that the body of Madame (last name?) was discovered last night on the side of the A-24 at approximately 2 a.m.”
“Oh, my God,” Maggie repeated.
“I am sorry to have to tell you this,” Bedard continued, looking not at all sorry. “I have been told that you were friends with Madame Genet?”
Maggie nodded numbly.
“Good friends?”
Maggie didn’t answer. How can this be? We were just.....just, what? getting started? just together? Poor Marie!
“You saw Madame Genet yesterday, I believe?”
“How did she die?” Maggie took a long breath. Does Grace know? How can this be? “Was it a car accident?” she asked. “How...who found her?”
Bedard pressed down the hairs of his short mustache with a well-manicured hand. He was a handsome man, about Maggie’s own age. His eyes were a clear blue, unlike Laurent’s dark, unfathomable orbs.
Bedard looked directly at her, regarding her kindly, it seemed to Maggie.
“It was not a road accident, no,” he said.
“An accident how then?” Maggie asked. “I mean, surely Brigitte wasn’t a pedestrian at that time of night in the middle of nowhere?”
“We are not really of the mind that it was an accident,” Bedard replied, watching Maggie carefully.
“Not an accident?” Maggie felt totally confused. “But you said she was dead. I don’t understand.”
“Madame Genet was discovered by a small family of German tourists,” Bedard said, flipping through a little notebook that had materialized in his hand. “The body was nude upon discovery.”
Maggie shook her head. None of this was real.
“She was murdered,” she said quietly, to the floor.
“We think so, yes,” Bedard replied. “And we are hoping that you may help us reconstruct some of her last day before she died.” He spoke the last words softly, gently, and by their very kindness, finally provoked Maggie to the inevitable emotion that up to this point disbelief and revulsion had kept at arms’ length.
“I cannot believe this,” she said into her hands, surprised at the intensity of her feelings as the tears escaped through her fingers. “I just can’t believe this.”
2
Maggie stood at the end of the long gravel drive waiting for Grace to pick her up. The police had left after an hour. They had Maggie’s description of the afternoon before, had thanked her politely for her help, and disappeared into the harsh Provençal sunlight. Within minutes, Maggie was on the phone to Grace -- who was in the middle of her own visit with the police. Arrangements were made to meet and to drive to Marie’s.
Grace’s shiny black Mercedes appeared around the sharp bend that led to the small stone footbridge on Maggie and Laurent’s property. Maggie picked up her leather backpack from the dust at her feet.
When she climbed into the car, she could instantly sense that Grace was in control and businesslike about their day’s task.
“Did you leave a note for Laurent?” Grace asked, as she turned the car around in the driveway of Domaine St-Buvard.
“Yeah, I did,” Maggie said, buckling herself in with her seatbelt. “Grace, you’re strung pretty tight right now, are you okay?”
“I’m fine. I just want to get there and do whatever we can to help.”
“Are you sure now’s a good time?” Maggie winced as Grace narrowly missed a row of garbage cans lined up on the side of the road.
“Look, what did the cops tell you?” Grace asked, ignoring Maggie’s question. “Did they tell you how she died?”
“Not really,” Maggie admitted.
“Well, they told me, or rather, they told Windsor and he told me.”
“I can’t believe any of this is happening.”
“She was raped and then they bashed her brains out.”
Maggie stared at Grace’s stony profile.
“What’s the matter with you, Grace?” Maggie asked.
Grace looked at her in surprise.
“Why do you ask that?”
“Because you are acting weird, awful! Why are you acting so cold and....bloody?”
Grace opened her mouth, a look of astonishment on her face.
“What are you talking about? I’m only saying what the police told Win!”
“Well, it’s horrible! Can you have the decency to act a little revolted about it? I know it would come in handy before you go consoling her bereaved Mother.”
Grace slammed on the brakes and pulled the car off the narrow road. She twisted in her seat to face Maggie.
“I am every bit as enraged and horrified as you, Maggie Newberry Dernier and how dare you intimate I am not!”
“I will absolutely intimate it! And you’d better get a grip of it, Grace, before you try to complete a charade that even I can tell is false!”
A moment passed.
“She was going to be my replacement,” Grace said. “That’s why you’re taking it so hard.”
“That’s a shitty thing to say,” Maggie said. But, true, she admitted, now angry at herself as well as Grace.
“I know, I’m sorry,” Grace said. “I didn’t feel the connection with her that you did. I saw it yesterday and I was amazed. Even went home and told Win, ‘wow, Maggie’s over me already; found someone she’s going to be best friends with. Out with the old, blah-blah-blah.’” She turned back to Maggie, her eyes flashing a little. “Look, I said I was sorry. I didn’t know her hardly at all! I’d only met her twice, same as you. How can I act like I’m going to miss her? She was never a part of my mental landscape.”
“Forget Brigitte, Grace,” Maggie said. “If you think you can help Marie -- and she’s the one who’s your friend anyway -- then concentrate on her. But don’t be so bluff and flip about how she died, okay? It’s offensive.”
Grace pulled the car back onto the road.
“Wow, a manners lesson from Miss Maggie,” she said with a hint of a smile. “We really are coming to the ends of our days, aren’t we?”
3
The scene at Marie and René’s house was total mayhem. The police had set up their temporary headquarters in the middle of Marie’s salon. Seven policemen alternately talked and joked amongst themselves, questioned René, and made themselves at home in the kitchen, making endless cups of coffee for themselves.
When Maggie entered the house, she could saw Marie, in the midst of the bedlam, weeping inconsolably on the small sedan, ignored by the coffee-drinking policemen and her ranting husband. René was waving his arms about in great dramatic fashion and swearing his own brand of bloodthirsty justice on the perpetrator, the identity of whom he was bestowing upon Yves.
“I will kill the bastard! Why don’t you have him in custody? It’s her husband, I tell you, you incredible idiots! You want his address? Can I give you a lift to his place? What are you doing here?!”
René saw Grace and Maggie come in but turned away to continue his awful tirade. Marie simply sat, weeping and exposed. Wondering why she wasn’t upstairs in her room or sedated or something, Maggie hurried over to Marie. She put a firm hand on the older woman’s shoulder and squeezed it gently. Marie only moaned.
“Marie, we’re here,” she said. Maggie motioned to Grace who was still standing in the doorway as if stricken by the sight of the pandemonium in the living room. She walked slowly over to Maggie and Marie.
“Grace, sit with her, will you? I’m going to get her a drink or something. Marie?” Maggie brought her face close to Marie’s. “Grace is here, Marie.” She hugged her briefly. “She’s here for you, dear.”
Marie looked up into Maggie’s face. Maggie nearly recoiled from the presentation of naked pain so close to her.
“Oh, Marie,” she whispered, her eyes welling up with tears.
“I’ll take over,” Grace said, nudging Maggie away. “I’m here, Marie. “I’m here, darling.” Grace sat next to Marie and put her arms around her. Maggie walked to the kitchen. The agony of losing a child, she thought. My God, how do people live through it? She looked over at René who was becoming wilder and louder. How will poor Marie live through it? Wiping the tears from her face, Maggie pushed past a thickset policeman standing in front of the kitchen door.
“I will talk to Madame presently. Medoin, you need to get Pernon out of the house during the search--”
All eyes of the small group of men in the kitchen turned to her as she entered. The speaker was standing in the middle of the group. He held up his hand.
Maggie took a sharp breath.
“Detective Inspector,” she said.
Bedard nodded to her then raised an eyebrow.
“I’m looking for something to offer Madame Pernon,” she said. Her eyes flitted to the empty coffee pot and the scattering of china cups and saucers on the kitchen counter. “A cup of coffee, perhaps.”
Bedard snapped his fingers and a young uniformed man began to fill a pot with water.
“My men will see to Madame Pernon,” he said quietly, his blue eyes riveting Maggie’s own. “You are here to console Madame?”
“We are...we’re friends…of the family,” Maggie stuttered. He was making her feel quickly useless.
“Perhaps there is a better time to pay your respects,” Bedard said, his eyes never wavering from Maggie’s.
A phone rang somewhere in the house and was promptly answered by someone. Maggie could hear René’s raving begin to descend into a rasping version of its earlier vehemence. Marie’s sobbing was audible.
“Perhaps there is a better time to ask your questions,” Maggie said, her eyes locking onto Bedard’s. I won’t be bullied into not helping where I think I’m needed.
As if reading her thoughts, Bedard smiled slightly. He waved his men from the kitchen and turned his glance to the floor. They let the silence swell between them. Finally, he spoke:
“It’s never a good time to do my job when there is a death,” he said quietly, his eyes reclaiming hers again. “But in a violent death like this, the early minutes of the investigation are the most important.”
Maggie let out a breath.
“You must be able to feel what's she's going through,” she said, surprising herself. “Of course. She has lost her daughter. A precious treasure.” He paused. “I have such a treasure.”
“You have a child?” As soon as Maggie spoke, she knew she was playing a dangerous game. Maybe it was just flirting, maybe it was something she’d never felt before borne from an extreme emotion brought about by the sudden death, she didn’t know. She did know that as soon as he released a single personal comment about himself, she was able to recognize that she found him attractive and the thought stunned and upset her.
“A two-year old daughter,” he said. He raised his hand in the direction of Marie in her salon. “It is unavoidable to imagine how I might feel if the words I spoke to that woman today were ever spoken to me about my own precious child.” He put his hand to his heart. “And I cannot allow myself to imagine it if I am to do my job.” He smiled sadly at Maggie.
He knows, too, Maggie thought. Of course he knows. Something happened between us for God’s sake and now I’ve got to shake it off and make it go away and do what’s necessary here.
She cleared her throat.
“Do what you need to,” she said. “But please allow me to stay and give comfort if I can.” She found she could no longer look at him.
“Stay, of course,” he said.
4
Laurent spooned up the steaming ratatouille onto Maggie’s plate and set it down before her.
“You were gone too long,” he said.
Maggie opened her napkin onto her lap.
“Smells great,” she said. “I couldn’t help it. I couldn’t leave until Grace was ready to.”
“Madame Pernon is very badly shaken?”
“Of course.”
Laurent settled himself back in his chair and picked up his wine glass. He watched the blood-red wine in the glass. His face was set and somber.
“When is the funeral?” he asked.
“The police are releasing the body this weekend. It was really horrible, Laurent. I mean, René screaming at one end of the house and Marie carrying on at the other and all these cops milling about and the phone ringing constantly. It was like a loony bin. Plus, everyone’s drinking coffee so if they weren’t all edgy before just because of the circumstances...” Maggie took a sip of her wine. “This is good. Is it one of ours?”
Laurent shook his head and continued to regard her soberly.
“Anyway, so it went on like that pretty much the whole afternoon. Then Pijou came and she was yelling at all the cops, I’m really not sure why. And of course, René is yelling at the cops telling them to go get Yves, that h
e’s the murderer--”
“René accused Yves?”
“Hell, yes. And then Pijou -- she must’ve been drunk or something -- chooses this time as the time to accuse Marie of liking Brigitte best.”
“Incredible.” Laurent shook his head.
“It was a circus,” Maggie finished. “Really. Nut-City. I felt so bad for Marie, so bad. Laurent, she was really destroyed. Well, naturally she would be.”
“Naturally.”
“Laurent, why are you acting like this?”
Laurent looked at her with surprise.
“What are you talking about?”
“You are acting weird, repeating my phrases and just sitting over there like you’re judging everything...”
“I’m just listening to you!”
Maggie got up with her plate.
“Are you finished?” Laurent asked with surprise.
“Look, I’m sorry, Laurent,” Maggie said. “But I’ve had a pretty emotional afternoon and I guess I’m not all that hungry.” She put the plate back down on the table and came over to Laurent. Quietly she slipped into his lap and put her arms around him. “I don’t mean to be acting so strange. I don’t know what’s wrong with me.”
“C’est ne fait rien,” Laurent murmured softly, nuzzling Maggie’s neck. “Why did the police visit you before they visited the Pernons, do you think?”
“They didn’t,” Maggie said, squirming to an upright position on Laurent’s lap. “They went to them immediately, of course. They came to talk to me and Grace hours after they’d already set up camp at Marie’s and René’s.”
“It is a very sad thing,” Laurent said, resuming his nuzzling.
Maggie pulled away slightly.
“You know, Laurent,” she said. “What with Brigitte being killed and Grace leaving the country soon...I feel pretty unbalanced these days.”
Laurent nodded. He had stopped nuzzling and appeared to be waiting.
“I want to...I don’t know. I want to be a part of finding the person who did this to Brigitte.” Maggie felt Laurent’s hands tighten around for a moment and then loosen.
“The police are doing what they can in this investigation,” Laurent said carefully. He reached past Maggie for his wine glass.
The Complete Maggie Newberry Provençal Mysteries 1-4 Page 73
