The French Maid Murder
Page 6
Grabbing my cell phone, I punched in a quick text to Max. Is Gregory in the kitchen? Go check and let me know.
A few moments later, Max texted back that the kitchen was dark and empty. I stood in Gregory’s room with my hands framing my hips. Where could he be? Popping my head outside the door, I glanced down the hall and saw that the door to Laurelle’s bedroom was tightly closed. Was it possible that Gregory and Laurelle were together in her bedroom? Gregory was such an unappealing man, to say it nicely. If I were a cruel person, I would be blunt and call the man a moronic gorilla. It was baffling to imagine what an alluring young woman like Laurelle would want with a baboon like Gregory.
Gathering my courage, I walked down the hall and knocked on Laurelle’s door. She took her time in answering my knocks, finally emerging in front of me in a cotton tee-shirt and skimpy boy shorts. “Oui, Detective? What now?” She feigned boredom à la Lady Milton.
As I was about to respond, I noticed a hairy pair of tree trunk thick legs sticking out from her feminine bedspread. If Gregory had been trying to camouflage himself, he had done a horrendous job. “Um, who’s your guest over there?” I asked innocently.
Laurelle looked over at the bed and promptly lost her temper. “Gregory! You big goon! She can see you!”
“Yes, I certainly can. Why did you feel the need to hide him?”
“Because Lady Milton does not like the staff to be romantic,” Laurelle replied, tucking her chin into her chest as though she felt tremendous shame.
“Is that right? Yes, I’m sure she especially didn’t like her husband to be romantic with the staff, but that’s another story.” As I spoke, I sent an SOS text message to Max to hurry upstairs so we could interrogate the suspicious pair separately.
At my side in record time, Max suggested, “I’ll have a word with Laurelle.” Addressing the giant lug in bed, Max hollered, “Get up, man! It’s not bedtime. Detective Langford needs to speak to you.”
Donning nothing but a shockingly red pair of boxer shorts, Gregory lunged out of bed. “Put some clothes on, man!” Max ordered. “You’re making everyone sick!”
Gregory clumsily threw on a tank top and a pair of sweat pants before pounding into the hallway. I followed him and shut Laurelle’s door behind us. “Why don’t we have a word in the kitchen? It will be more private there.”
Mutely, Gregory descended the staircase and switched on the kitchen lights. “I don’t know anything,” he groused as he poured himself a glass of ice water.
“None for me?” I said sarcastically, pointing to the water pitcher. “And really, don’t you have any other lines? Is that what you use to pick up the ladies?” I mocked him as he gave me a hard murderous stare. “I guess it worked with Laurelle. How long have you two been having private sleepovers?”
“None of your business,” Gregory said obstinately.
“Now, I’m going out on a limb here,” I ventured as my sarcasm became more wicked. “But I’m going to guess that you know quite a bit. No, actually, I’m going to place all my money on the fact that you know everything. I don’t know if you killed Fifi yourself, but I’m convinced that you know who did. Talk to me, Gregory. Unless you want to continue this little chat down at the police station.”
“I don’t know…”
“Spare me!” I shrieked. “A broken record from 1947 wouldn’t be as repetitive as you!”
Gregory fidgeted in place, taking an enormous gulp of water, and then hiccupping loudly. Several minutes passed before his nervous hiccupping was under control. All the while, I patiently waited for my suspect to speak. “I’ve got all night,” I said. “You can fix yourself a seven course meal and I’ll still be here until you talk.”
The chef slapped his hand over the granite countertop but said nothing. He looked around the room as though trying to find a way to escape. His breath was expelled in audible spurts that betrayed his increasing anxiety.
Knowing that I was starting to break him down, I switched tactics to keep the suspect on his hairy toes. “Gregory, you have family somewhere, right?” I asked rhetorically. “There are people who love you in this world. And there are people who loved Fifi too. She was young. She didn’t deserve to be strangled to death. Search inside your heart. Tap into your conscience. Talk to me,” I urged in an intimate tone.
“I have a sister in Connecticut,” he muttered as I tilted my head to one side compassionately.
“Really? Are you close to her?”
“I only see her once a year,” he replied mechanically.
“But you love her?”
“Yeah. And her kids. I have two nieces,” he revealed as I kept playing the role of casual confidante.
“How old are they?” I asked softly.
“I don’t remember…maybe about 10 and 12 now. I don’t know,” he said with audible sadness.
“What can you tell me about Laurelle?” I seamlessly switched gears. “Other than the fact that she’s from Normandy…”
Gregory wrinkled his pug nose in confusion. “She’s not from Normandy. She’s from Marseille…” As soon as he spoke the words, his countenance became agitated again and he let out another belting hiccup.
Every muscle in my body tensed as I tried to manipulate my fragile informant. One misstep and he would refuse to say anything else. “Did she come to the United States with Fifi? Did they know each other?”
“If I don’t tell you what I know, could I go to jail?” He asked fearfully.
“Yes, you could. And if you are protecting Laurelle, I’d say she’s really not worth it. She didn’t treat you very nicely just now.”
“She’s so pretty…” Gregory said helplessly.
“Pretty poison,” I corrected. “Talk to me. I don’t want to see you in jail.”
“Fifi and Laurelle came from France together,” he confirmed. “They were friends.”
“What else? What about the secret passageway?”
“You know about that?” Gregory marveled as he hunched his shoulders in defeat. “Laurelle told me that her and Fifi were going to steal all the money from the safe and go back to France. Laurelle promised to take me with her too!”
Gregory’s story was slightly disjointed, but I was catching on. “Did Laurelle get greedy and want to keep all the money for herself rather than share it 50/50 with Fifi?” I guessed.
“Yeah, she wanted all the money. But I didn’t know she was going to kill Fifi!” Gregory outed his lover as I heaved a shallow but satisfied breath. “Laurelle told me that something bad was going to happen and when the police come I should just say that I don’t know anything. Laurelle said if I tell the police then she won’t be with me anymore and she won’t take me to France.”
“So basically, she blackmailed you?”
“I guess so.”
“Did she actually confess the murder to you?”
“Yeah, just before when we were arguing upstairs. I already knew she did it. I’m not stupid,” he said defensively. “So she told me everything about the vacuum cleaner…”
Before Gregory could continue his confession, Laurelle came flying down the stairs and swooped into the kitchen. “Do not listen to this idiot!” She screamed.
Max swiftly arrived in the kitchen as Laurelle fixed Gregory with a lethal stare. “Why did you run away from me during our questioning?” My partner asked knowingly.
“Laurelle, it’s too late,” I said grimly. “You can’t blame Gregory. You can only blame yourself. You already lied to police when you said you worked here for two years and were from Normandy…”
“I am from Normandy! Gregory is the one who is lying!” She insisted.
“My partner and I have already sought out your public records from France. If you are from Marseille, which I believe you are, we will find out very shortly,” I informed as she appeared momentarily deflated.
“Gregory did it!” She accused pathetically.
“Don’t use this man as your scapegoat,” I said disdainfully. “Take respons
ibility. Or don’t.” I shrugged lightly. “Either way, we’ve got a limousine outside waiting to take you to the ball.”
“Limousine?” She murmured.
“Police humor,” I said with a grin.
“You cannot take me anywhere!” Laurelle protested.
“If we search your room again, will we find bundles of cash?” I asked as her eyes roved nervously. “That’s what I thought. You should have run while you still had the chance. But I’m sure glad you didn’t.”
“That’s why I locked you in Laurelle’s room,” Gregory confessed sheepishly. “I wanted to keep you there so you would find the money.”
“And that was a good way to stay out of trouble with Laurelle, wasn’t it?” I assumed. “She didn’t have to know that you locked me in there.” I had underestimated Chef Gregory; he wasn’t stupid at all. At worst, he was just a fool for love like we all are at one point or another.
“Smart of you to leave some of the money in the safe,” Max observed, turning towards Laurelle. “You thought your theft would go unnoticed if you didn’t empty out the safe, didn’t you?” Max guessed shrewdly.
“I have nothing to say to you,” Laurelle said sullenly.
But I persisted, “And I guess you had enough time to take a quick break from stirring that broccoli cheddar soup and go kill Fifi? She was easy prey, wasn’t she? She probably didn’t even hear you come into the room with the vacuum cleaner on.”
Cornered and defenseless, Laurelle surrendered and accepted the fate of her “limo ride.” As our back-up officers arrested her on suspicion of second degree murder, she cried out, “I have a plane ticket to France! My flight leaves tomorrow! You cannot stop me! And Gregory, you cannot go without me! I bought that ticket for you!”
“You bought it with stolen money!” Gregory reminded.
Laurelle’s outburst filled me with gratitude that we had arrested her in the nick of time. As the cops brought Laurelle to her new “mansion,” Max and I stole a few peaceful moments in his car. Neither of us spoke as we mentally processed the triumphant fact that we had solved Fifi LeChou’s murder as a cohesive team.
“I guess I have to buy you a bottle of wine now, don’t I?” My eyes and tone flirted with my partner.
“No, Luna. Why don’t you let me buy you a glass of wine and some dinner while we’re at it?” He offered invitingly.
“Are you asking me out on a date?” I asked coquettishly, all my inhibitions fading away from the victory of my first homicide solve.
“Yes, I am. And don’t say no. Maybe it’s against the rules, but it’s not against the law!”
***
Epilogue
Two Weeks Later
Newport, Rhode Island
Two Cups of Coffee & a Fifth Date
Summer was cooling as August chilled into September, but my fresh romance was in the beginning of a balmy spring. Max and I had been keeping our blossoming relationship a secret from our colleagues and superiors. And I didn’t feel the least bit guilty. Now that we had unearthed all the skeletons in the Milton mansion, our hush-hush relationship felt harmless, cozy, and absolutely delicious. As we gazed into each other’s eyes and sipped our coffee, I silently reflected on the gratifying resolution of the Fifi LeChou homicide case.
For starters, Laurelle had bitterly confessed to strangling Fifi. She cited Gregory as a co-conspirator, but we knew her tale to be a bold-faced lie designed to take some of the pressure off of her sorry self. No charges were pending against Gregory as we granted him immunity in the case in exchange for his future testimony against Laurelle. Gregory had promptly resigned from his post at the Milton mansion and made use of his plane ticket to France.
Rhett had also slipped under the radar as we decided not to pursue any theft charges against the former butler. His cooperation in the case had won him a second chance to explore the vast terrain of Canada. Last I had heard, Rhett was on a tour bus headed north to Niagara Falls.
We had finally located some of Fifi’s family in Marseille. Her parents were deceased, which spared us the grueling task of informing them of their daughter’s homicide. Fifi did, however, have a younger brother, Claude, who was devastated upon learning the news of his sister’s death. Claude wasn’t the least bit shocked to learn that Laurelle was the culprit. The grieving brother claimed that Laurelle had always harbored envy towards Fifi throughout the course of their decades-long friendship.
As for the fire that had burned in Lady Milton’s bedroom, our arson investigators suspected a deliberate blaze but couldn’t prove it. My theory is that Lady Milton dropped the candle on purpose in order to destroy some damning documents related to her husband’s fraudulent business practices. As far as I knew, the pair was still living in a complete lack of domestic bliss and remained clever enough to evade formal charges. But their joint misery was punishment enough; their mansion was a gold-encrusted prison that neither one could escape. And they were coping without a servant staff as no one wanted to work for them since a cold-blooded murder had occurred under their roof. Ah, justice.
“Let’s go to the beach later,” Max suggested sweetly. “There’s going to be a full moon tonight, Luna.”
“Is there?” I sighed contentedly.
“Yes. But just like your mother, I have more than enough light from you.” He smiled, stealing a kiss across the table. “And I know your light will shine for us to solve our next case.”
In that moment, I felt more luminous than I ever had in my 32 years. My reflection through Max’s eyes was a radiant one and I was confident that I could light our way through even the darkest investigation. My doubts about my chosen career path had retreated into the distance even though the rocky cliffs would surely remain. Ballerina? No. I was exactly where I needed to be and who I needed to be as Detective Luna Langford.
***
*BONUS SECTION*
10 FROU FROU FRENCH RECIPES
TURN THE PAGE AND
PICK YOUR FAVORITE FRENCH INDULGENCE!
Recipe #1
Tarte aux Poires
(Pear Tart)
PASTRY:
1 cup flour
1 tsp. salt
6 tbsp. butter
2 tbsp. vegetable shortening
FILLING:
2 lbs. pears, peeled, cored, halved
Juice of 1 lemon
1¼ cups sugar
6 tbsp. butter
½ cup sliced almonds (optional)
In a bowl, combine flour and salt, then rub butter and shortening into flour. Sprinkle 3 tbsp. ice water into flour mixture and knead until dough forms. Wrap dough in plastic and refrigerate. Preheat oven to 425.Place pears on a cutting board. Cut each one into 4 slices, leaving stem end attached. Place in a bowl, toss with lemon juice and ¼ cup of sugar, and set aside. Melt butter in a skillet over medium heat. Add remaining 1 cup sugar (and, optionally, the almonds) stirring until golden brown and caramelized. Remove skillet from heat. Stir to cool. Drain pears and place in skillet with caramelized sugar. Roll out dough into a 10" round. Place dough on top of pears. Press edges down and cut four breathing holes in center. Bake for 25 minutes. Remove skillet from oven. Transfer juices to a saucepan and reduce over high heat until thick. Spoon reduced caramelized juices over the pears. Serve warm with vanilla sorbet. Comfort food from France!
Recipe #2
Gâteau au Mousse de la Framboise
(Raspberry Mousse Cake)
CAKE:
1 tbsp. butter
4 eggs, separated
½ cup sugar
7 tbsp. flour
1¼ tsp. vanilla extract
MOUSSE FILLING:
9 cups fresh raspberries
¾ cup sugar
1 package plain gelatin
2 cups heavy cream
Cake: Preheat oven to 400 degrees. Butter a pan and line bottom with buttered parchment. Whisk egg yolks and sugar in a bowl. Beat in flour until mixture is smooth. Add vanilla and set aside. Whisk egg whites in a bowl until stiff p
eaks form, then fold whites into yolk mixture. Pour into pan and bake until brown for 30 minutes. Set aside to cool. Filling: Put raspberries, sugar, and 1 cup water into a saucepan. Simmer over medium heat until sugar dissolves. Press through a sieve set over a bowl to catch purée. Return purée to pan and set over low heat. Sprinkle gelatin in ¼ cup cold water, set aside until softened, then add to purée in pan, stirring until dissolved. Whip cream in a large bowl until soft peaks form. Fold purée into cream. Unmold cake and discard parchment. Slice cake in half, then return cake bottom to pan. Pour in filling, then replace cake top. Cover with plastic; refrigerate overnight. Serve cool with your choice of fruit sauce (strawberry sauce is recommended). So indulgent!
Recipe #3
Beignets
(Sweet Fritters)
½ cup butter
1 cup water
¼ teaspoon salt
1 cup flour
4 eggs (organic, cage-free)
Vegetable oil (for frying)
3 tablespoons powdered sugar
Chocolate sauce (optional)
In a saucepan, melt butter in water. Add salt and flour, and stir until batter is formed. Beat in eggs until the batter is smooth. Heat oil to 375 degrees. Fry rounded teaspoons of dough until golden brown on each side. Drain on a dish towel. Serve warm, dusted with powdered sugar (drizzling of chocolate sauce optional!)
Recipe #4
Tarte au Citron
(Lemon Tart)
PASTRY
1 1/4 cups flour
2 tablespoons sugar
1/2 teaspoon salt
7 tablespoons butter
3 tablespoons cold water