“Well, no, he didn’t. Now that you mention it, he was complaining of not feeling well. Did you hear they arrested poor Julia? Well, of course you would, because of Maggie, non?”
Laurent nodded solemnly, forcing himself not to look at the line of people at the fish stall.
“It’s ridiculous to believe Julia could hurt Jacques,” Florrie said, finally extricating a badly soiled cloth from his pocket and mopping his wet face with it. “She must be so distraught. Have you talked with her?”
“Ah, no,” Laurent said.
“Will they release her soon, do you think?”
“I am sure they will. Would you care to walk with me?” Laurent could see the fish he wanted from here, a very fat John Dory that would do nicely in the soup he wanted to make today. He began to edge Florrie in that direction.
“I begged him to take better care of himself,” Florrie said as he trotted to keep up with Laurent’s long stride. “He smoked. He drank too much. He ate the wrong things…”
Laurent got in line at the fish stall and relaxed enough to turn his attention fully to Florrie while he waited.
“Getting back together with Julia would have been the best thing he could have done,” Florrie said earnestly. “I tell you, if it was murder, the police should be looking at his crazy daughter, Michelle. That girl is demented. I have seen her physically attack Jacques on more than one occasion.”
“Do you know if she saw him that night?”
Florrie blinked at him as if having trouble understanding. Laurent felt sorry for him. Clearly he wasn’t prepared to have his passionate theories derailed by facts or evidence.
“It’s possible she did,” Florrie said.
“I’m sure the police will check into her whereabouts during the time of his death,” Laurent said, then turned to the fishmonger and pointed to the fish he wanted. When he turned back around with his prize all neatly packaged up, Florrie was gone.
Maggie tried to concentrate on the beauty of the broad avenue of the Cours Mirabeau with its row after row of ancient fountains and cafes beneath the majestic plane trees that lined the row. She had forgotten that Laurent was going into Aix this morning, which was supremely annoying since she was planning on going there, too, and they only had the one car. She hated taking a taxi in France—it was literally risking your life the way those maniacs drove—but her errand today couldn’t wait. As she stared out the taxicab window, she tried to see if Laurent’s Renault was parked somewhere visible, but didn’t really expect to see it. While the traffic wasn’t bad this time of day, it was not yet eleven, there was still a sizable crowd of tourists and shoppers clogging the grand avenue.
During the ride, Maggie allowed herself some time to decompress and reflect on her evening with Grace. It was clear Grace had left Windsor, but whether or not that was a formal leaving was yet to be determined since Grace wasn’t talking. What was clear was how completely miserable Grace was.
How could this happen? Grace and Windsor were the perfect couple. And they had kids! Maggie could not imagine what could have occurred in their lives to cause something like this to happen.
With a supreme effort, Maggie put her friend’s unhappiness out of her mind to concentrate on her morning. She intended to go to the jail in Aix to see Julia. Her phone calls to the number Roger had given her had been met with a very unhelpful recording. It was time for a little face-to-face, she thought grimly. But first, she would run by Julia’s apartment and pick up a few clothes for her. If Julia were released this morning as everyone hoped, then it would just be a wasted half hour. But if this nightmare was going to go on any longer, Julia would want a fresh change of clothes.
She had the taxi stop outside Julia’s apartment building and instructed the driver to wait for her. “Dix minute,” she said firmly to the driver and then exited the cab and hurried up the stairs.
By the time she reached the landing on the second floor, she had to lean against the close walls and catch her breath. By the time she reached—much more slowly—the next landing, she had gone from hopefully wondering if all the noise she was hearing from the floor above her could be the result of construction of a lift being added to the 1890 apartment building to flat not caring. As she dragged herself to the final landing just before Julia’s floor, the noise was clearly more of a destructive nature than constructive, with loud thuds and the sounds of breaking glass exploding in the narrow stairwell. Julia’s apartment was one of two on her floor, but only hers had the sounds of a full-scale demolition coming out into the hallway through the wide open door.
Bewildered and tentative, Maggie edged her way to the door opening. Was Julia having scheduled work done? Was she being broken into? In the brief space between crashes, Maggie could hear the sounds of her own labored gasps as she fought for breath after her climb. The silence startled her, and when she heard the sound of her own struggling breaths she began to feel afraid. Whoever was in there destroying Julia’s apartment—for that was clearly what was happening—might not be very welcoming of an unexpected friend of Julia’s on the threshold.
A loud crash ended the silence and Maggie used the moment to slip through the front door. Inside she saw a young woman of about twenty-five in the process of hammering to splinters with a very large axe the beautiful antique table that had been a birthday gift to Julia from her long-passed father. Maggie watched in horror as the girl brought the axe down on the table full force, the table’s tiny hand-placed bits of mosaic shooting out in all directions like flints of wood from a chipper.
“Stop it!” Maggie screamed. “Stop it this minute!”
The girl whirled on Maggie, the axe gripped tightly in her hands, her eyes wild with hatred and anger. When Maggie saw her face, she knew the woman had to be related to Jacques. They shared the same dark hair and brown eyes, the same olive skin coloring. It was entirely possible that the girl was pretty, probably was, but it was impossible to believe it with her current expression of insane urgency. She took a step toward Maggie.
“I am an American,” Maggie said without thinking. “Think twice before you dare to attack me. Remember…Saddam Hussein,” she added stupidly.
The girl stared at her as if not understanding, although Maggie had spoken in clear, plain French. Slowly, Maggie could see the energy that the manic fit had given her begin to fade and the girl lowered the axe to her side, but she did not drop it.
“Who are you?” she asked. “Are you a friend of the English whore’s?”
Maggie looked around the apartment, so much of it already destroyed. The girl had obviously been here awhile. Julia’s couch had been chopped into chunks of expensive fabric and batting. Her beautiful Royal Doulton tea set, the one she had brought with her from London, was in shards. Two paintings over the couch, neither expensive, were ripped and had gaping gashes in them. The birdcage was on its side and Maggie quickly went to see if the little bird still lived.
“I am cleaning up the bastard’s love nest,” Michelle said, finally dropping the axe to the floor. It hit with a thunk.
Maggie saw the bird huddling in a corner of the cage. She grabbed the handle of the cage and stood up with it. “I’m leaving now,” she said, shocked to hear her voice sound strong and unwavering. “I intend to call the police as soon as I’m in my car. If I were you, I’d figure out what you’re going to say to them.”
Michelle straightened the hem of her tee shirt over her jeans and surveyed the damage in the apartment. “I will tell them that you did this!” she said defiantly. “It will be your word against mine.”
Maggie walked to the door holding the birdcage. “Good plan,” she said. “Then we’ll just see who they believe.” Before she could edge past the girl, Michelle turned and bolted out of the apartment, running down the stairs. Maggie listened to the sounds of her heels pounding the steps until they receded into silence as Michelle disappeared into the street.
Maggie looked at the poor little bird, still shivering in terror, and then at the ruined
apartment. A feeling of incomprehensible sadness came over her as she closed the door behind her and began her own descent to the street below. Somehow she no longer felt very optimistic about Julia’s chances for returning home any time soon.
Chapter Six
Grace pulled the duvet up to her chin and squeezed her eyes shut. Moments before she’d heard Zou-zou call for her from the next room, but before she could decide what to do she heard Laurent’s tread as he came up the stairs and into the child’s room. She listened to his soft, deep rumble of a voice as he talked to the baby. When she heard him leave, she knew Zou-zou was in his arms.
She let out the breath she didn’t realize she had been holding. This was, all of it, so much harder than she ever imagined. It wasn’t just the overwhelming desire to weep all the time that she hadn’t expected. It wasn’t even the fact she missed Windsor—which was a total shock. It was the constant state of indecision that she hadn’t anticipated. That she, who was always so in control and confidant, now wanted only to hide under bedcovers and cry was a facet of her personality she never knew existed.
Her glance strayed to her cellphone on the side table, attracted by the silent vibration of an incoming call. She couldn’t help herself. She had to look. She propped up on one elbow and saw the photo of Windsor on the cellphone screen. She remembered well the circumstances when she had taken that picture. Before Zou-zou was born, during one of the peaceful times that they’d found a decent au pair for Taylor—one who had been able to last longer than a month—and, of course, long before Leeza the twenty-two-year-old intern who had begun work at Windsor’s corporate office had moved into their world. Grace let the call go to voice mail. She would delete it later without listening to it.
What in the world was there to say? Was he calling to tell her Taylor had fallen during PE and cracked her skull? Did he want to know where she kept the paprika in the pantry? Was he hoping they could move things along a little more quickly please? Leeza was probably becoming impatient, and if she knew anything about Windsor she knew how accommodating he was.
As she pulled the duvet tighter around her, she could smell the wonderful aromas of Laurent making breakfast downstairs. She could also hear the sounds of her child making delighted cooing noises. Uncle Laurent was obviously letting her “help.” As one particularly happy squeal came from downstairs, Grace clapped her hands over her ears to block out the noise.
How many more people’s lives did she have to ruin before she could just go off somewhere and hide for the rest of her life?
Maggie poured herself an espresso from the pot on the counter and sat down next to Zou-zou at the big table in the dining room.
“Such a big girl who doesn’t need a booster chair” Maggie said, handing the baby a dish of sliced bananas Laurent had prepared. The girl scooped up the contents of the entire dish and stuffed them all into her mouth.
“Dear God in heaven,” Maggie said, staring at her.
“I believe she is to be handfed, Maggie,” Laurent said, frowning as Zou-zou labored through the chewing of her mouthful of bananas.
“Is she starving, do you think?”
“I have already fed her scrambled eggs and brioche au chocolat.”
“She’s like one of those dogs that doesn’t have a mechanism to determine when they’ve had enough.”
“You just made that up.”
“Any more of that brioche left?”
“Non, Mademoiselle Zou-zou is a girl of large appetites.”
“God, I’ll say. Oh, Laurent, where did you put the bird? He can’t be near drafts.”
“Why again is it we have a bird?”
“It’s Julia’s lovebird. Someone has to take care of him until she gets out. That crazy Michelle would’ve killed him if I hadn’t come along.”
“Ah, yes. And why again did you come along? Indulge me, chérie.”
“Oh, come on, Laurent. You didn’t think I was just going to sit back and wait for the phone to ring, did you? I need to do what I can to help.”
“And so you found yourself, eight months pregnant, face-to-face with an axe-wielding crazy woman in the midst of committing a felony.”
“Is it a felony? I thought vandalism was a misdemeanor.”
“Not when you break and enter in order to do it, and please do not distract me from my point.”
Maggie got up and lumbered over to him where he stood in the kitchen, his hands on his hips, a dishtowel thrown over one shoulder. She put her arms around his waist. “Please don’t worry so much about me, Laurent. I’m being very careful, I promise.” She pulled away and rubbed her stomach, smiling up at him. “We’re both being very careful.”
“Well, then will you wait until I am available to go to the jail to see Julia?”
Maggie hesitated. “Well, sure, okay. If you think that’s really necessary.”
“I do.”
“Can you go today? I haven’t seen her since the arrest and I—”
“I cannot go today.”
“Okay, see, now we’ve got a problem. Your schedule is not very flexible because of the harvest and I understand that, I do. But I can’t wait until all the grapes are picked before I go and see how she’s doing. Maybe Grace can come with me?”
She saw Laurent glance at Zou-zou, happily shredding a paper napkin.
“Grace is not…” He looked away and made a noise of frustration. “That would be no better than you going alone.”
“Well, good. I’m glad you’re okay with me—”
“Non, Maggie, I am not okay with you going to the jail alone. Non.”
“What the hell, Laurent? We’ve been over this a million times in the past.”
“And my feelings have not changed since then!” Laurent glanced at the baby again and forced himself to lower his voice. “You are very vulnerable right now. You must be protected.”
“Okay, now that’s just silly and you know it.”
“I do not know it. You are enciente and it is very dangereux where you are going. And also, of course I know that Bedard is running this case.”
“What does that have to do with anything? Look at me, Laurent. I’m as big as a house! Do you seriously think he wants a piece of this?”
Laurent gave her a look of incredulity and heightened annoyance. “Bien sûr,” he said. Of course.
“Well, that’s just nuts. I have to go.”
“You do not.”
“I do! She’s my friend, Laurent. She needs me. And do not even begin to say that you need me because that dog won’t hunt and you know it.”
“I was going to remind you that you have another friend not twenty feet from where you are sitting right now who also needs you.”
The energy seemed to seep out of Maggie. She knew he was right. Grace, for all her big talk, was in a bad way. She had come to Maggie for support and friendship. Grace did need her right now.
But Grace wasn’t sitting in a foreign jail accused of murder.
“I know,” Maggie said. “And I’m sorry about the timing of all this, but right now Julia’s situation trumps Grace’s. Can you watch Zou-zou?”
Laurent threw down his dishrag in frustration and the little girl snapped her head to where the two of them stood facing each other. It occurred to Maggie that maybe the child had recently heard more than her fair share of bickering adults and she felt instantly ashamed. But Laurent was faster than she was and scooped the little girl up into his arms, prompting an outbreak of giggles as she wrapped her arms around his neck.
“Ma petite Z et Oncle Laurent will go visit Madame Danielle, n’est ce pas?” he said to the child, giving her a kiss on the cheek.
“Thanks, Laurent,” Maggie said.
He gave her a solemn look as he reached for the child’s coat. “We are not finished with this.”
Finished or not, Maggie knew she had to hurry to make the luncheon engagement she had set up with none other than Roger Bedard. Not only had she dodged a bullet by Laurent not being able to accompany
her today, which would have been awkward, she had caught another break because he didn’t need the car either. She felt extremely guilty about the covert luncheon but, honestly, he drove her to do it. She had to find out what Roger knew about Julia’s case and she had to see Julia. It was infinitely annoying that Laurent didn’t appear to understand that, or if he did understand it, didn’t realize how important it was.
Maggie had to admit she didn’t love being this large when she met with Roger after all this time. It wasn’t like he was an ex-boyfriend or anything, but when someone thinks you’re hot it’s depressing to then present them with dramatic evidence to the contrary.
I’m being silly, she thought as she parked the little Renault into one of the few parallel parking spots off of Rue Mejanes. What Roger does or doesn’t think about me is entirely beside the point. No wonder Laurent wasn’t comfortable with her seeing him.
Reminding herself that the French were different and could easily find a pregnant woman every bit as sexy as a bathing suit model (did she really believe that?), Maggie reapplied her lipstick in the car then threw her bag over her shoulder and tottered down the cobblestone street to the café on her too-tall high heels.
He was standing at the entrance waiting for her, and damn if he didn’t look every bit as confident and sexy as ever. Maggie felt her heart beat a little faster. Doesn’t mean I want him, she reminded herself. Just means I’m not blind.
She smiled when he saw her and she could see he was struggling to remain cool and unaffected.
He still cares.
He touched her elbow and leaned in to kiss her on both cheeks. She could smell the mints covering a light scent of tobacco.
“You are looking well, Maggie.”
“And you, Roger. Thanks for meeting me.”
“Of course. It has been a long time.” He gestured to the outdoor dining area and Maggie picked out a table under a large umbrella. It could still be very warm in September, and afternoon downpours were more and more common these days.
Once they were seated and had ordered, Maggie asked after Roger’s little girl and how living in Aix suited him. She could tell by the way he answered her—a faint smile tugging at his lips all the while—that he knew she was waiting for the moment when she could talk about why she was really here.
Murder in Aix (The Maggie Newberry Mystery Series Book 5) Page 5
