“They’re coming over,” Grace said. “I should try to look a little ashamed in the presence of the woman I abandoned my child to.”
“Danielle is not like that.” Laurent reached out and patted Grace’s hand. “She has lived a life of much disappointment, herself. As you know.”
“Salut, Laurent! Madame Van Sant!” Jean-Luc was the first of the two to reach their table and he had his hand out to shake with Laurent, even though Grace knew for a fact the two had spent the day together. “If I had known you wanted to eat out, we could have made plans. Where is Maggie?” Jean-Luc looked from Laurent to Grace and then back to Laurent and his face took on a sudden look of horror.
“Don’t be an idiot, Jean-Luc,” Laurent said gruffly. “Maggie is home with l’enfant. Bon soir, Danielle. Ça va?”
“Oui, ça va, Laurent,” Danielle replied, her eyes friendly and open. “Madame, we were worried about you but I see you are well.”
“Yes, sorry about that, Madame Alexandre,” Grace said, gathering up Laurent’s handkerchief and carefully folding it on her lap.
“Pas du tout,” Danielle said. For a moment no one spoke, and then Danielle approached the table and touched Grace’s shoulder. “I am going to the toilet. Would you care to come too?”
Grace looked at the older woman with relief and for a moment, thought she might start crying again in the face of Danielle’s unexpected kindness. “Yes, Madame Alexandre.”
Danielle waited for her to stand and then took her almost literally under her wing.
“Call me Danielle, please, yes?”
As soon as the women disappeared inside, Jean-Luc took Grace’s seat.
“Forgive me,” he said. “Danielle says I often make hasty calculations.”
Laurent waved away his apology and Jean-Luc edged closer to him across the table. “Is it true that Maggie visits the condemned murderer in her cell in Aix?”
Laurent snorted. “I believe there must be a trial before one can be condemned.”
“A formality, surely? Have you wondered how is it that your wife knows so many murderers personally?”
“Are you coming to a point, my friend?”
Jean-Luc looked over his shoulder in the direction the two women had gone. “My own beautiful wife talks of little else. She knows Lily Tatois, you know. They were girls together. This tragedy has served as opportunity for the two of them to reconnect.”
“Lily Tatois is at least a decade older than Danielle, is she not?”
Jean-Luc nodded. “But friendless as a schoolgirl, I understand. And you know my Danielle. So kindhearted she would befriend a monster.”
And had done so, Laurent thought, thinking of Danielle’s first husband, now in prison for arson and murder.
“It made me think of Jacques; what a putain, eh? Did anybody like him? And that made me think of the time last year when he publicly accused his accountant, Yves Briande of swindling him out of his money. Right in this very café!”
Laurent frowned. “Why did I not hear of this?”
“It was last January. You were in America with your wife. Anyway it was widely known that Yves hated Jacques for the humiliation. He confided to me that his business had fallen off as a result of the slander.”
“Did he?”
“What? Swindle Jacques? Who knows? I didn’t know Jacques had any money to be swindled out of after…well, you know.” He gave Laurent a knowing look. “I, myself, am still recovering. But the look I saw in Yves’s eye that day? It was definitely murderous.”
Later that evening, after Grace and Laurent returned to the mas, Maggie took a long contemplative bath before slipping between the cool sheets of her abundant king-size bed. Laurent was already in bed reading. “So it sounds like Grace is still going through with it?”
“You understand she is in crisis, yes?” Laurent said tiredly. “If she had committed a terrible crime, she would expect you to stand by her. As would I.”
“Are you drawing a connection to this situation with Julia? Because you know I believe Julia to be innocent.”
“So you would not stand by her if she committed a crime?”
“No, I didn’t mean that. Of course I would. If it turned out she were guilty, I wouldn’t abandon her.”
Maggie picked up the tube of fragrant body lotion she used to keep her heels and elbows supple. She read somewhere that lotion was good to rub across pregnant bellies to avoid stretch marks. She glanced at Laurent. “I’ve always believed that children are the glue to marriage,” she said.
Laurent put down his book. “Children are not the glue. They are the cracks that force one to search for glue.”
“Laurent, are you serious? You think children are the thing that cause stress in a marriage?” Maggie’s eyes widened.
“Of course. Well, that and worry about money.” He turned to face her. “Maggie, there is no one thing that will prevent a marriage from failing. Not locks on a bridge or having babies or being Catholic.” He shrugged. “You look for insurance when there can be none.”
“Then why do you want kids at all if you think they’re just going to cause trouble for us?”
“Because I like the glue so much.” He smiled and touched her knee gently with his large hand.
Later, when the lights were out, Maggie was too wide-awake to sleep. From her cuddled position in his arms, she held up her hands in the dark to tick off her suspects.
“Help me with this, Laurent,” she said. “Okay, I’ve got this guy David Armstrong who threatened to kill Jacques but, of course, the police haven’t even questioned—”
“And who you will not go see.”
“Yes, Laurent, I already told you I wouldn’t. And then there’s Michelle, the victim’s daughter, who found the body so that’s suspicious right there.”
“But who Bedard says has an alibi.”
“And, of course, Annette. The ex-wife.”
“The number one suspect of all.”
“Exactly. Thank you. Who nobody’s questioned.”
“She has not been questioned?”
“Well, okay, I don’t know if she has. Bedard doesn’t really share with me, you’ll be happy to know. And now this Yves character, who definitely had a motive for wanting Jacques dead.”
“A weak motive.”
“Why do you say that?”
“The moment of his anger was long past, tu sais? Now if he stood to benefit financially from Jacques’s death…”
“Everyone says Jacques had no money.”
“True, but he was heir to Lily Tatois’s fortune.”
Maggie twisted around in his arms and snapped on the light.
“Maggie…” Laurent groaned as the light flashed on.
“How do you know that? Jacques was Lily’s beneficiary?”
“Jean-Luc told me. Please, Maggie, turn off the light.”
“So that’s what Michelle meant when she said he couldn’t even die when he was supposed to. He died first so someone else will inherit. Laurent, did Jean-Luc say who Lily’s new beneficiary is?”
“I will only tell you if you turn off the light. And perhaps do that thing you sometimes do when you are in a very good mood and you are particularly glad to be married to me.”
Maggie laughed and kissed him. “I promise,” she said. “Who is it?”
“Jacques’s cousin, Florian.”
Chapter Ten
The next morning, Laurent had a table full of females at breakfast. Grace sat next to Zou-zou, her face alternately flushed and wan as her moods came and went. He noticed that Maggie was quieter than usual and assumed that was because she was debating about how to approach her friend. Hopefully, how to apologize to her friend, he thought as he slid an omelet onto her plate.
“Thanks, Laurent,” she said picking up a fork and glancing over at Grace, who was only drinking coffee. She cleared her throat. “Did you sleep okay?”
Grace looked at her and set her cup down. “Are you talking to me?”
�
��Well, since I already know how Laurent slept, obviously I was talking to you.”
Grace shrugged. “Fine, thanks.”
“Look, Grace,” Maggie said, putting her fork back down on the table. “I’m sorry, okay?”
Grace looked at her for a moment and then nodded. “Okay.”
Laurent picked up a piece of bacon with his fingers and placed it in front of Zou-zou. The baby grabbed it as if she hadn’t already eaten a large wedge of quiche and a bowl of grapes this morning.
“Did you get the message from your editor, chérie?” Laurent asked from the kitchen.
Maggie got up and followed him into the kitchen. “Where is the Texas Pete
“You are going to put hot sauce on my omelet?”
“I believe we transferred possession,” she said sweetly, standing on tiptoe to give him a kiss on the cheek. “Where have you hidden it?”
With a long-suffering sigh, Laurent opened a cabinet door and extricated the bottle of hot sauce and handed it to her. “You are going to ignore your editor? Is that wise?”
“I’m not ignoring her,” Maggie said as she returned to the dining room. “I’ll call her back later. The time difference, you know.”
“That’s your New York editor?” Grace asked.
“It is. We’re having trouble connecting lately.”
“Because of the time difference.”
Maggie gave Grace a quick look to try to ascertain if there was any sarcasm or hidden element in the statement but there didn’t seem to be. Grace innocently sipped her coffee.
“That’s right. She sent me a bunch of edits she wanted me to do and she’s calling to see what the status is.”
“Because they’re late?”
“No, because she’s just interested in knowing what stage they’re in.”
“What stage are they in?”
Maggie sighed and looked at Grace, and then glanced at the baby, who was happily chewing on a paper plate Laurent had given her. “They’re not at a very advanced stage,” she admitted. “I’ve been distracted.”
Laurent entered the dining room and tossed down his kitchen towel. He clapped his hands together and held out his arms to Zou-zou.
“Est-ce que tu es prête, ma petite?”
Zou-zou immediately began squealing and clapping her hands. “Oncle Laurent! Oncle Laurent!”
Grace dropped her cup in the saucer as Laurent scooped the child up. “Oh, my God, Laurent,” she said, her mouth open in astonishment. “You got her to speak.”
“She got her own self to speak, n’est-ce pas, little one?” Laurent said to his squirming armful.
The sounds of tires crunching on the gravel front drive had been obvious all through breakfast. A quick look out the window showed that the pickers were right on time this morning. At least ten of them—a scraggly looking bunch of unemployed youths—stood outside smoking and waiting for Laurent.
Grace took her coffee and went to the kitchen window. “Are you picking later than usual this year?” she asked.
Laurent hoisted Zou-zou over his shoulder to her squeals of delight. “Oui,” he said as he grabbed his cap from its hook by the kitchen door. “But still first before everyone else in France.”
“Because the southern grapes ripen faster,” Maggie said to Grace, proud that she knew something about Laurent’s harvest. “How long will it take it pick our fields?”
“A week, I think,” he said. “I will take petite Z to Madame Alexandre, oui?” He stepped back into the kitchen to give Maggie a hearty kiss on the mouth before exiting through the kitchen. Maggie heard him greet some of the pickers as he joined them.
“You used to hate this time of year,” Grace said softly. “How things have changed.” She turned to Maggie. “However, on the ever increasing good-news front, Win will be delighted to know the baby’s first words were Oncle Laurent.”
“Is Zou-zou the reason you two are splitting up?” Maggie didn’t know the question was coming until it was half way out of her mouth.
Grace’s smile dissolved from her face. “Zou-zou?” A look of grim comprehension quickly replaced the confusion. “You mean because of not knowing who her real father is?”
“Sorry, Grace,” Maggie muttered, looking away. “I’m not used to editing my words with you.”
“No worries, darling. Please speak freely. No, Zou-zou has nothing to do with it. Win’s grand gesture aside, he snuck off and had a DNA test done almost as soon as we were back in the States. The results are in and, drum roll, please…she’s officially his.”
“And by his, you mean…” Maggie knew she was making it worse.
“Windsor’s.”
“Oh. Well, good.”
“Yes, isn’t it? I’d hate for him to pay support for a child that wasn’t biologically his. Much tidier this way.”
“He loves Zou-zou.”
“He loves her even more now.”
“Was it because he got the test?”
“Darling, what a simplistic world you live in. It must be very black and white to be Maggie Newberry Dernier.”
“I thought we were trying to be friendly.”
“Sorry. No, it wasn’t because of the test.” Her voice caught. “It was because of everything else.” Grace put a hand to her face and released a stifled moan. Maggie could see she was trying to get her emotions under control. She jumped up and put her arms around her friend.
“I’m sorry, Grace,” she whispered. “I am so, so, so sorry.”
Grace reached up and squeezed her hand without speaking. After a moment, Grace disengaged and patted Maggie’s arm. “I’m okay, darling. I’m good.”
Before Maggie had a chance to reply, she saw her cellphone light up where it lay on the dining room table. She didn’t recognize the number.
“Allo?” she said.
“Maggie?”
Roger.
“Wow. To what do I owe this earth-shattering event?” She said a silent prayer of thanks that Laurent was out of the house.
“Just a courtesy call, as you Americans would say,” Roger said. But Maggie could hear the excitement in his voice. Something had happened that he was taking credit for and he wanted her to be the first to know.
Something good for his case, not hers.
“What’s up?”
“I wanted to let you know there was a break-in at the laboratory that handles our toxicology work.”
A break-in? Maggie’s hopes soared at the thought of something lucky finally leaning in her direction. She willed herself not to speak lest the littlest thing dam up this valuable flow of unexpected intel.
“Someone attempted to destroy the samples of poisonous mushrooms taken from our victim’s stomach.”
Maggie felt her mood begin to deflate.
“Fortunately, the security guard at the lab was vigilant and the perpetrator was quickly apprehended. I thought you would want to know.”
“So the samples were compromised?”
“No. Unfortunately for Madame Patrick, the samples remain intact and viable.”
“The person who tried to destroy the samples—is he a new suspect in the case?” Maggie could see Grace’s eyes widen as she listened to the conversation.
“Non. He is only a person of interest.” Roger’s voice became clipped and Maggie could just see him beginning to pout as he reacted to the fact that Maggie did not appear as impressed as he hoped she might be. “He was arrested and released on bail. He had no priors—”
“Roger, why are you not treating this as the act of a guilty person? He broke in to destroy evidence! That in itself is proof of—”
“It is proof only of being an idiot.” Roger huffed on the other line. “If anything, it is even stronger proof that we have the right person in custody.”
“What are you talking about?”
“The man was trying to destroy evidence of the crime committed by Madame Patrick—”
“So you said, but I don’t understand how that—”
“
He admitted that he’s her lover.”
Maggie turned her shocked face to Grace and then sat down in her chair as if her legs no longer had the strength to support her.
“Her lover?” she whispered in disbelief.
Two hours later, Maggie sat in her car on the Rue Mejanes and waited for the phone to ring. Roger had made it clear that a visit to the detention center would not be possible at this time, but had agreed, if Julia wanted to speak with Maggie, to arrange for a phone call between the two later that morning. Although she knew she wouldn’t be able to see Julia, Maggie opted to drive to Aix to take the phone call. She felt closer to her friend here. And she now had an errand in Aix that couldn’t wait.
What had Julia been thinking? She has a boyfriend? How was that even possible without Maggie knowing? What did it mean in all of this?
She hadn’t even had time to process the news that Florrie was Lily’s new beneficiary. Did that even matter? Even if Florrie killed Jacques in order to take his place as next in line to Lily’s fortune (did that make sense?), why kill Jacques now? Besides, lots of people stood to gain when a rich relative dies. Maggie, herself, would split a sizeable fortune with her brother when their parents passed, but she hadn’t been plotting to kill them in the meantime. It wasn’t actually motive in this case, she realized. More like, Florrie being the next heir was just one more interesting fact to add to the growing pile of other interesting facts that now constituted a confusing mess that pointed in no particular direction at all. She sighed and glanced down at her cellphone at exactly the moment it began to ring. She recognized the number as a New York City area code and hit the “decline” button on her cell. Of course she wanted to talk to her editor, but not when any second she was waiting to hear from Julia.
The next call that came through Maggie recognized as the Aix prison exchange number. She punched accept on the phone face.
“Julia?”
“Oh, Maggie, thank God!” Julia’s voice came over the line reedy and shrill. Her throat sounded rough, as if she had been crying. “They lie to me so much I wasn’t sure you’d really be there.”
“Julia, are you okay?” Stupid question.
“Maggie, you’ve got to help me. Nobody is telling me anything. They won’t answer my questions and my attorney is out of town at a wedding or something. Do you know what’s going on?”
Murder in Aix (The Maggie Newberry Mystery Series Book 5) Page 10
