Murder in Aix (The Maggie Newberry Mystery Series Book 5)

by Kiernan-Lewis, Susan

  “Of course, darling. Everyone’s heard of it. Well, mostly just pregnant people, I guess.”

  “Well, how can you tell it apart from the real thing? Are you sure it’s too late to catch Laurent? I hate for him to come all the way to Aix for nothing.”

  “It’s not for nothing, darling. He’s your husband. It’s what husbands of pregnant women do.”

  “Yeah, I guess. Listen, Grace, speaking of that, I hope I don’t need to tell you that this afternoon is not the kind of thing we share with Laurent, right? I mean, it’s bad enough that I spent way more than I told him I would at that one shoe store, but being attacked by a maniac with a baseball bat…well, you know how Laurent is.”

  “Darling, you know that I am the last person to give marital advice.”

  “And I’m really grateful for that. It’s just that I know you and Laurent have your little talks now and then so I’d appreciate it if you don’t mention this.”

  “Well, you must know best as you are still at least presently married, and I am soon not to be.”

  “This thing between you and Win doesn’t define you, Grace. You’re not a failure. You’re a million really good things.”

  “Thank you, darling. Now that is why I came to France.” She reached out and took one of Maggie’s hands. They held hands silently for a moment and then Maggie shifted uncomfortably in the wheelchair.

  “So what am I to think about the fact that it’s Annette who’s Lily’s heir? What a shocker.”

  “Especially for Michelle,” Grace said, picking up another magazine. “It was almost worth your being assaulted to see the look on her face when she found out.”

  “You realize this pushes Annette up to pole position on my suspect list?”

  “Because she has motive now?” Grace frowned. “I think she had plenty of motive for killing Jacques before this, just being the ex-wife of the slime bag. Besides, at the time she didn’t know she would be next in line.”

  “Or did she? All I know is that when you add financial motive to personal animosity and throw in opportunity—you’ve got the ultimate prime suspect. Julia didn’t stand to gain financially from Jacques’s death.”

  “There’s Laurent, darling,” Grace said as she stood up and straightened her sweater over her slim hips. “Remember now to act grateful for the attention or trust me, the next four kids you’re in labor with, he’ll be texting you from Le Canard.”

  Maggie waved to Laurent as he approached from across the waiting room.

  “You think I’m joking, darling?” Grace said under her breath with a wry smile.

  “And you are sure you are alright, chérie?” Laurent asked, tucking the wool rug around Maggie’s knees where she sat on the couch. Grace had opted to stay the night with Zou-zou over at Danielle and Jean-Luc’s again, though Maggie was tempted to ask her not to. She knew Laurent was worried—especially with the false labor scaring everyone half to death. Historically, his worry and her secrets were not the best combination for a serene evening at home with just the two of them.

  Laurent handed her a cup of tea and sat down in his easy chair opposite her. He sipped whiskey from a small glass. “You got another ticket.”

  “No way!” Maggie said, startled. “When?”

  “It was on the car when we came out of the hospital.”

  “I didn’t see it.”

  “I removed it before you could.”

  “What was the infraction?”

  “Having a broken tail light.”

  “Are you serious? The entire windshield is bashed in! If I didn’t know better, it would be almost funny.”

  “But you do and it’s not.”

  “Unbelievable.”

  “I’ll have to talk to him.”

  “Oh, Laurent, no. It’ll die down, don’t you think?”

  He didn’t answer, but regarded her closely as he finished his drink. She made a point of touching her stomach in case he needed reminding that she was vulnerable tonight, and to perhaps forestall any attempt on his part to confront her or start an argument.

  In Maggie’s experience, Laurent’s worrying usually translated into an attempt to stop her from doing something she was doing and she knew tonight was no different. When she looked at him, she felt a rush of love and guilt. As big as he was, as capable as he always behaved, she knew he felt helpless to protect her—especially after today. And although he didn’t know—couldn’t possibly know—what had happened in Florrie’s bar earlier, she also knew his senses were operating in overdrive. He knew something had happened. Something above and beyond the rush to the hospital for the false labor. Something that had likely triggered the false labor.

  “Can we do an early night tonight?” she asked sweetly.

  “Of course.”

  “I wish you wouldn’t worry, Laurent. Everything’s going to be fine. How’s the grape processing going? Any sense of what kind of year it’ll be for us?” She watched him struggle with himself for a moment. As focused as he was on getting to the bottom of her recent activities, he was also right in the midst of bringing this year’s wine harvest to production and to market. She probably couldn’t have asked him anything else that would distract him as well.

  Except tonight.

  “You were on your way back from Aix when the contractions started?”

  Like a dog with a bone.

  “That’s right. I heard Grace tell you that already.”

  “C’est ça.” He put his glass down on the coffee table. “And Grace was driving?”

  “Yep. As I’ve already said. Wasn’t that lucky?”

  “Much about this afternoon appears lucky,” he said darkly.

  “Okay, Laurent, you might as well come out with it, as difficult as I know it is for you not to beat around the bush.”

  “You are still investigating Jacques Tatois’s murder.”

  “See? That wasn’t hard, was it? Well, first of all, we never said I wouldn’t. And second of all, I was out shopping with Grace today. As you know.”

  “And there was nothing about today that involved working on the murder case?”

  “Again, I never said I wouldn’t work on the case. Julia is after all still in jail.”

  “I want you to stop all inquiries until after the baby is born.”

  Maggie took in a sharp breath. The direct approach was new coming from Laurent. She couldn’t remember a time when he actually asked her straight out for something. And because of that, she had the decidedly uncomfortable feeling that it wasn’t really a request.

  “I can’t,” she said. “You know I can’t.”

  “You can and you will.”

  Maggie was stunned to hear the edge of steel in his voice. Gone was the phlegmatic and affable Laurent who worked behind the scenes to orchestrate his desires but never directly commanded. She wasn’t sure how to respond to him like this.

  “I…Laurent, you know Julia tried to kill herself two days ago.”

  “That is unfortunate but irrelevant,” he said, his eyes hooded and cold. “Not until after the baby is born.”

  “Look, Laurent, I know you’re worried. We’re both stressed after what happened today. I’m reliably told that all new parents are…”

  He stood up and approached her on the couch. She gasped as she felt his hands slip under her and lift her effortlessly into his arms. If he was trying to remind her of who was the more physically powerful, he had done it.

  In spades.

  Maggie allowed him to carry her up the stairs to their bedroom, where he deposited her on the bed and began silently undressing in the dimly lit room. She watched him for a moment and then got up to pull her nightgown from a dresser drawer. While no more words were spoken that night, Maggie had the inescapable—and unsettling—feeling that the argument of whether or not she would work on the case had somehow been completely and irrevocably resolved. At least in Laurent’s mind.

  The next morning, before either of them was fully awake, the quiet was assaulted by a t
remendous banging on their front door and a police bullhorn instructing them to come out. Laurent was at the bedroom window overlooking the front door before Maggie had even pulled the duvet back.

  “Who is it?” she asked, half wondering if this were just a terrible dream.

  Laurent didn’t look away from the scene below him. He opened the window to let in the onslaught of noise of what sounded to Maggie’s ears like doors slamming on several police vans, and a team of men crunching through the gravel to their front door.

  “Monsieur Dernier!” a familiar voice called from outside. “I have a warrant to search your house.”

  Roger!

  “Please allow us entrance before my men break down your front door.”

  Laurent turned to grab a pair of trousers and, without a glance at Maggie still in bed, left the bedroom. She listened in numbed shock, her trembling fingers touching her parted lips, as his footsteps thundered down the stairs.

  Chapter Seventeen

  By the time she made it downstairs, after hurriedly throwing on a corduroy jumper and cardigan, the search was in already in progress. Laurent leaned against the kitchen counter, his brow knitted as he read the warrant. Roger was directing his men—at least a half dozen of them—to ransack their living room, go through the drawers of the buffet in the dining room and fan out into the basement where Laurent kept his wine cellar. Two men were in the process of rolling up the living room rug when Maggie entered. She went straight to Roger.

  “Are you crazy?”

  He looked at her and she couldn’t help but notice that his eyes went to her very pregnant belly first before they found their way to her face.

  “I have a warrant, Madame,” he said, his face devoid of emotion.

  “On what possible grounds?” She saw Laurent toss the warrant down on the kitchen counter. “Is this about Annette? You know, I’m really starting to think the two of you have something going, Roger, because you’re like her little lapdog the way you respond to every single complaint from her. Was it her? Did she make a complaint?”

  She watched his mouth twist into a smile and at that moment she could have happily ripped his features from his face.

  “Madame Tatois filed a complaint through proper channels that you accosted her daughter yesterday at Florian Tatois’s establishment.”

  Out of the corner of her eye Maggie was aware of Laurent approaching. “She accosted me!” she said, and immediately wished she could bite the words back. Even from the corner of her field of vision, she could see Laurent stiffen.

  “In any case,” Roger said, gesturing to one of his men to go upstairs, “that is not why I am here.”

  Maggie heard a low growling sound and she whirled around to see a uniformed officer holding Petit-Four in one hand and trying to stuff her into a small dog carrier.

  “What are you doing?” she shrieked and ran to him. She snatched Petit-Four from him and backed away, the dog nestled in her arms. “Roger, what is the meaning of this? I knew you would stoop to any level but trying to steal my dog?”

  Roger reached over and plucked Petit-Four from her arms and held his arm out to prevent her from grabbing the animal back. “The dog is forensic evidence,” he said, keeping an eye on Laurent, who was now standing very close to him.

  “What are you talking about?” Maggie said. Just seeing Petit-Four squirming in Roger’s grasp was enough to break her heart. Dear God, he can’t take my dog, can he? “So now I’m a murder suspect? You really have lost your effing mind.”

  “Not at all, I assure you,” Roger said as he handed the dog to the man with the dog carrier who was standing next to him. Maggie’s eyes tracked her dog as it was pushed into the carrier and taken outside. A part of her wanted to look to Laurent to make him stop all this. Another part of her, realizing it was all her doing, didn’t dare.

  “You see, I remembered what you said about how Madame Patrick’s apartment—the crime scene—was compromised. Do you remember when you came to my office to tell me that?”

  Maggie forced herself not to look at Laurent. She didn’t have to. She could tell what he was feeling by the way he stood—absolutely still—with his hands on his hips.

  He was furious.

  “And it occurred to me,” Roger continued, “that you were right. And it was you who compromised it.”

  “You think I destroyed evidence of the mushrooms that Jules supposedly used to kill Jacques.” Maggie’s voice was breathless. She would not cry in front of him. She would get her little dog back today.

  “Well, we didn’t find any in her kitchen and he did die of mushroom poisoning.”

  “And that doesn’t add up in your book to the possibility that you have the wrong person in jail for this crime?”

  “No. It adds up to the possibility that you would do anything to help your friend. You forget, I know you, Madame Dernier. You are very passionate. You break the rules.”

  “Then why aren’t you arresting me for accessory to murder?”

  “I may yet. When we see what these samples reveal, I very well may.”

  “You are a total asshole, Roger. This has nothing to do with Julia Patrick and you know it.”

  “I would hate to put a pregnant woman behind bars, Madame. It’s not a very nice place. Ask your friend Madame Patrick.”

  “Do your worst, you insufferable prick. If you were on the Atlanta police force, you wouldn’t last ten—” Without warning, Laurent lifted Maggie off her feet and removed her to the dining room where he set her down solidly and stuck a very large warning finger in her face, which made her focus on his own face and its carefully controlled fury.

  Without a word or a further glance in her direction, he closed the doors behind him as he left, leaving her alone. She could hear his low murmur through the closed doors as he spoke to Roger.

  Maggie pulled out a dining room chair and sat heavily, realizing her knees were about to give way. The pounding of her heart blotted out the sounds of the police as they packed up their collection of rugs, pillows, hair, as well as what she would later discover was the full contents of their vegetable crisper

  She knew Laurent was angry, but more than anything she was sorry to have disappointed him so badly. His wife was pregnant with his first child and all the joy of that was being strangled to death by Maggie’s insistence on putting herself and the baby in precarious positions. And poor Laurent was powerless to do anything about it.

  And then there was Roger. As much as she wanted to pound his taunting face into mush with her bare hands, she had to admit that she had personally given him every tool to hurt her—and Laurent—today. She desperately wanted to deflect the responsibility of Laurent’s anger, but she knew she couldn’t.

  She stood up and went to the window to watch the procession of police vehicles as they backed up the long serpentine driveway. They’re leaving. As Maggie watched them through the dining room window, it occurred to her that she had no concept of how long they had been there, or for that matter how long she had been in the dining room. No one had entered, and after the first few minutes of being able to hear Roger and Laurent talking underneath all the noise she realized she hadn’t really heard any other sounds.

  On the floor of the dining room under a chair lay one of Petit-Four’s little chew toys. Maggie clapped a hand to her mouth to prevent the groan that she knew would precede hopeless tears if she didn’t staunch them now. Petit was gone. But she would get her back! Oh, how terrified she must be! I won’t cry, she thought. I will not cry.

  A creak from the dining room door told her that Laurent had entered.

  “They are gone,” he said.

  She took a long breath, resolving that she would take every angry word he had to give her and, because she knew how it would soften her chastisement, no matter what she would not cry. She turned to face him.

  He stood in the doorway, his head cocked to one side and little Petit-Four in his arms.

  Maggie burst into tears.

  An hour
later, Petit-Four in her lap and an untouched sandwich on a plate before her on the coffee table, Maggie and Laurent sat together on the couch and processed what had happened. She would never know how he got Roger to leave the little dog; she was just grateful that he had. Nearing losing her beloved pet helped her to understand how Laurent must feel when she foolishly endangered her and the baby’s wellbeing.

  “Again, Laurent, I am so sorry,” she said, reaching out to touch Laurent’s strong jaw. She could feel the stubble of his beard. He still hadn’t shaved yet today. “I’m sorry I was so selfish. I can’t believe I put you through all that.”

  “Bedard is like a man crazed.”

  “That’s for sure.”

  “With a woman he cannot have.”

  “I didn’t realize until it was too late that he was all…you know.”

  “Oui. But now you know. He is not playing around.”

  “Could he cause trouble for you?” Maggie knew Laurent’s past as a Côte d’Azur conman had a habit of cropping up in some very undesirable ways.

  Laurent snorted.

  “But it’s not good for anyone to have a policeman gunning for them,” she said.

  “It is for this reason that I will need to handle it once and for all.”

  Shit. Maggie seriously hoped this once-and-for-all handling didn’t involve a face-to-face with Roger whereby the little slime-weasel would feel it necessary to mention that he and Maggie had kissed. He will absolutely make it more than it was. She was sure of that. But it didn’t matter. Once she was forced to confirm that it had happened—and that she had never mentioned it to Laurent—it wouldn’t matter if it had been an innocent peck on the cheek.

  Which, of course, it hadn’t been.

  So should I say something now?

  Laurent leaned over and kissed her. “I must meet with the co-op,” he said. “You will be all right?”

  “Of course. Grace is due home any minute.”

  “Are you going out?”

  She shook her head and smiled sweetly at him, hoping she looked the very picture of the angelic, docile and non-troublesome wife. “Nope. Just a quiet afternoon playing with Zou-zou and talking with Grace. Maybe I’ll make dinner.”