Murder for Love (Molly Sutton Mysteries Book 4)

by Nell Goddin

  “Oh come on, you know what I’m talking about. What I heard was—you broke up with her by email. Isn’t that sort of bad etiquette, Tristan? I mean, not to get all schoolmarmish on you, but surely that’s something people ought to do in person?”

  Severin’s eyes opened wide. Molly imagined she could hear the whirring of his brain working. He was still for a long moment, then expelled a bark of a laugh as he looked both ways down the long table as though to see if anyone else was listening. He leaned forward and said in a low voice, “The truth is, Molly, I had gotten to the point…I was focused on trying to do right by my dear wife. I hate to say it…but you see, I tried to break it off with Iris several times before that—in person as you say—but she was very persistent. In the end, it seemed the only way to shake her.”

  Nugent had leaned in so as not to miss what Séverin was saying. After a momentary pause he leapt to his feet and exploded, “Shake her? What kind of merde are you spouting, you sickening excuse for a man!”

  The table went quiet. Thomas hurried over to Molly’s laptop and turned off the music.

  “I cannot imagine how you managed to pull the wool over her eyes in the first place!” Nugent continued. “But I will never believe that she was clinging to you and wouldn’t let go. Never!”

  Séverin patted Nugent on the shoulder, which he could do without standing up because he was so much taller than Nugent. “Settle down, my friend. It’s all over now, right? We’re here to celebrate Mr. Weebly’s birthday!” He raised his glass and then took a gulp, but no one followed suit. All down the table, people were staring and paying close attention to the drama unfolding.

  Molly watched Nugent, praying he would not go silent, not now.

  Nugent pulled away from Severin’s touch with an expression of disgust. He walked up towards the end of the table where Ben, Maron, and Monsour sat, all eyes on him.

  “All right then, if it’s come to this…I absolutely must speak, no matter how personally embarrasing it might be. I am sorry for not doing so sooner.” He looked soberly at the gendarmes. “I wrote that email, not Séverin!” he said loudly, his voice quavering.

  “What is he saying?” Caroline asked Nathalie. Molly got up and followed Nugent to the end of the table.

  “Go on,” Ben said to him calmly.

  “I don’t think there is one person here who would say that Tristan Séverin deserved to wipe Iris Gault’s feet!” Nugent continued. “I couldn’t believe it when I heard they were…” He shook his head as though to cast out the distasteful image of the couple. “I had hoped it was nothing but gossip. But then I saw the poem,” he spat.

  “What poem is he talking about?” Caroline said to Nathalie, who had no idea what was going on, being way behind in village gossip.

  Nugent looked down the table at the guests and sneered,“Oh, so you’re all thinking how lovely, how romantic, the school principal wrote the beautiful Iris a poem. Well, I’ll tell you, it was nothing but filth. To the village goddess—filth! She deserved so much better. Someone who understood her…someone….”

  “Someone…like you?” said Monsour, eliciting some nervous chuckles.

  Nugent shook his head. He reached down and absently took a long pull from Monsour’s glass of wine and then rubbed his forehead with his fingers, something Molly had seen him do when he became agitated.

  “The poem was in Severin’s desk, in the school office. That’s where you saw it? What were you doing there?” asked Ben.

  Maron kicked himself for not thinking of the question himself.

  Nugent tried to wave Dufort off, and go back to his seat. His shoulders drooped and his face sagged, as though he were suddenly twenty years older.

  But Maron stood up and held his arm. “No, Monsieur, I believe you have some questions to answer.”

  “Shall I get handcuffs?” asked Monsour brightly.

  “Not necessary,” said Maron. “Answer the question, please. The poem was in the school office. Is that where you saw it?”

  Nugent nodded, staring at the ground.

  “And this was when you also gained access to Séverin’s computer?” asked Ben, unable to stay quiet now that he saw what must have happened. Nugent did not respond, so he continued, “It was you who sent the email breaking up with Iris, not Séverin? That is what you are admitting?”

  Molly was barely able to contain her impatience when Nugent did not answer right away. “Well?” she said, and then clamped her mouth shut and told herself to let the thing play out without interfering.

  “So what if I did!” Nugent blurted out finally. “The idea of him with her—it was unbearable to me! He is nothing but a lightweight, a mere child, what right did he have—”

  “It is interesting to me that you think you get to decide who does what, who deserves what,” said Maron. “Perhaps you believe it is also your job to decide who has a right to live and who does not?”

  Monsour stood on Nugent’s other side, clamping his hand on his arm, and waited for Maron’s instructions.

  Wait, what?

  This was not the direction Molly was expecting things to take. But it was out of her hands now. She had lit the match and could not control who got hurt in the explosion.

  38

  Ben was on his feet. “When were you in the school office?” he asked Nugent. “Think carefully, Edmond. What night was it?”

  “The night she was killed!” said Caroline, jumping up from the table and knocking over her wine. “It was you I saw in the office that night night, wasn’t it? Not Tristan!” She turned to face her boss, who leaned back in his chair and smiled.

  “Oh, take your seat, Caroline!” he said. “Don’t get involved in this—it’s just silly drama. You know how Nugent is.”

  “You mean, in love with Iris? Yes, I do know. I know exactly how that is.” Caroline was backing away from Séverin, just as Dufort was coming towards him. The other guests were looking from one end of the table to other, not quite understanding, and not wanting to miss anything. No one moved, not even to take a sip of wine.

  “Please refresh our memories, Caroline,” Dufort said. “Can you describe what you saw, the night Iris died?”

  “Murdered,” said Caroline. “Don’t say ‘died’ when you mean ‘murdered’. All right.” Caroline did not take her eyes off Séverin as she reached for Nathalie’s wine-glass and took a gulp from it. “I went for a walk. It was a hot night and I was feeling restless. My apartment is not far from the school and I happened to go down that street. I noticed Séverin’s car parked outside which I thought was a little strange.”

  “Strange?”

  “Yes. It was after dark. He is not known for being a workaholic, let’s just put it that way,” she said bitterly. “Though in my defense, I figured he was rushing to finish up some work that should have been done weeks ago.”

  “So his car was parked where?”

  “In the small area reserved for the school. So when I saw someone in the office—it was dark, the lights weren’t even turned on, all I could see was sort of a silhouette, or just a shape, really, from the glow of a computer screen—I just assumed….”

  Molly couldn’t help it, she grinned.

  “…I just assumed it was Séverin, sitting at his desk. Finally getting around to doing some of the work I’d been after him to get done.”

  Dufort turned back to Nugent. “But it was not Séverin at all, was it?”

  Maron came up behind Dufort and stood on the other side of Séverin.

  “Oh, of course it was me!” Séverin jumped in to say. “My car was there, right?”

  “Why did you go to the school office?” Maron asked Nugent. “This is not the testimony you gave when I interviewed you.”

  “No, no, of course it isn’t! And mon Dieu it’s not the testimony I want to give now! I would like everything to go backwards, backwards to the day when Iris was still alive, and see if any of us fools could do something to stop what happened.” He put his face in his hands. “All
I wanted…all I wanted was for her to be happy….”

  “I don’t believe you,” said Caroline to Séverin, her voice rising. “At least—all this time, I thought at least you cared about her. Even if you were being a total jerk, I thought she really mattered to you. I never, ever dreamed you’d be the one….”

  Séverin stood up slowly. “I don’t appreciate these insinuations,” he said, holding his palms up. He took a step backwards but Maron was on one side and Monsour the other.

  “I’m afraid your alibi has just collapsed,” Maron said.

  “You went to the Gault’s that night,” Molly said to Séverin. “Left your car at the school and walked over. It was Iris who wanted to break up with you, wasn’t it?”

  Séverin attempted to chuckle. “Oh, you know, that was…she didn’t mean anything by it. God love her but Iris could be flighty, you know what I’m saying?”

  “Flighty?” said Nugent, rushing up and shoving the taller man in the chest. Monsour pulled Nugent back and held him. At this point the guests at the table could stay quiet no longer and a loud murmur sprang up. Lawrence could be heard saying he had never had a birthday party quite like this one.

  “You went over to the Gault’s,” Molly repeated. “Had tea, I believe? You left your teacup in the living room. It stood out, you see, because the Gaults were so tidy. And then you tried to convince Iris not to leave you, isn’t that right? And perhaps…perhaps you didn’t mean to, but as you fought, the two of you got closer to the stairs, and….”

  Séverin looked around, searching for an ally, but found no one. He started to speak. He sat back down and then stood up again. He looked at Molly, Nugent, Dufort, and the two gendarmes, smoothing his palm over his cheek. Finally he hung his head and murmured, “I just couldn’t stand her leaving, you understand? I’m not some cold blooded killer. I loved her. I really, really loved her.”

  As Maron and Monsour led him away, Lawrence noted aloud the irony of that statement, and the guests murmured their agreement.

  Feeling triumphant but also sad, Molly turned to look for Ben, but he was headed around the side of the house, the glitter-ball throwing colored dots on his back as he walked away.

  39

  It was a sort of tradition, after a killer had been caught, for Molly and her friends to have a celebration at Chez Papa and talk over the the details of what happened. Not this time. Molly and Ben had still not spoken. When Molly talked to Lawrence the next day, he said all he wanted to do was come to La Baraque to eat leftovers just with Molly, and that is what they did.

  “I just got some news,” Molly said when Lawrence came inside. “The toxicology report came back on Pierre. Narcotics. Not enough to overdose, but still, apparently a pretty big dose.”

  “Enough to make him lose his balance.”

  “Exactly.

  “Well, at least he wasn’t murdered. I guess that’s something. Did Ben tell you?”

  “I guess Nagrand had lunch at Chez Papa today, and Nico called to pass it on.” She sighed. “Sorry, the salad is a little wilted,” she said, handing him a plate. “Do you want to eat on the terrace?”

  “Yes. But first I’m putting my slippers on. I love that we’re having a sleep-over, just like we did after the Amy Bennett case.”

  “Okay, put on your slippers and grab the wine, will you?” Molly went out, Bobo at her heels.

  “I have a lot of questions,” said Lawrence. “Shall I begin with the ones about how in the world you figured out Séverin pushed poor Iris down the stairs? Or I have some more personal questions if you’d rather I start with those.” He raised his eyebrows at her and poured them some wine.

  “If it’s about Ben, I honestly have nothing to tell you. I don’t know what’s going on. Only we’re not talking, which obviously isn’t a good sign.”

  Lawrence looked at his friend to gauge her feelings, then sliced off a hunk of duck confit and ate it. “No, I suppose not,” he said finally. “But maybe a bit of a break from each other will be…clarifying? I’m really in no position to give advice on romantic matters. All right, let’s leave that subject for the moment. Now tell me: how did you start to suspect Séverin? Everyone loved him, or so I thought. The last thing I’d ever have imagined is that he’s a cold-blooded killer.”

  “I know. To be a little fair, we don’t know his intentions when he went to see Iris that night. Maybe he was only trying to talk her into staying with him and at some point he lost control. But you’re right, he doesn’t fit any of our ideas about murderers, does he? And that fact almost let him get away with it. That, plus a lot of luck. It’s not like he planned for Nugent to break into his office while he was with Iris that night—that was pure chance, and gave him what appeared to be a rock-solid alibi when Caroline thought she saw him there.”

  “So how did you guess it wasn’t Séverin after all?”

  “Well, nobody was making any progress with case. Not me, Ben, or the gendarmes. I figured we’d overlooked something important—or not overlooked exactly—that we’d assumed something incorrectly, or taken something for granted. That we thought we knew something when we actually didn’t. Anyway, I went back through every detail that we had so far, trying to look at it completely objectively. Holding the facts of the case up in the light and looking at them upside down and backwards….” Molly took a sip of wine. “And that didn’t get me anywhere either. But it did sort of prepare my brain, if you know what I mean?”

  “Sort of?”

  “I mean that when the break came, I was ready to notice it. I was having a pastry lesson with Nugent. The poor man was obsessed with Iris, so much so that for a little while I thought maybe he had totally lost his grip and killed her, in a moment of total insanity or something. But anyway, the other day I was in his shop and he was showing me how to make pâté à choux, which is how I learned to make your profiteroles last night.” She stopped to eat some salad, slowly wiping her mouth with her napkin as she remembered the afternoon with Nugent.

  “Come on, Molly, stop dragging it out!”

  “All right, have some patience,” she laughed. “So…he’s ranting away about Séverin, utterly furious and jealous that Iris had an affair with him instead of with Nugent. He started saying how Séverin had broken up with her, had just tossed her aside when he got tired of her, that’s the kind of horrible man he was. He wanted me to agree that Séverin hadn’t deserved her.”

  Lawrence cocked his head, not getting it.

  “Don’t you see? Nobody knew about the supposed break-up except for the gendarmes, plus Ben and me. The only reason any of us knew about it is that Maron had taken Severin’s computer and found the email on his hard drive, along with a folder of emails the couple had written to each other over the course of the affair. In other words, the only source for the breakup was that one email—no village gossip, letters, witnesses, nothing else at all.

  “Nugent had no way to know anything about it,” she continued, “…unless he had written it himself.”

  “And since it was sent from Séverin’s computer, you knew Nugent must’ve broken in there to send it.”

  “Exactly. And then it was no great leap to realize that the man Caroline saw in the school office that night was not Séverin, but Nugent. She assumed it was her boss because, well, it was the school office. The man was sitting at Séverin’s desk, at Séverin’s computer. She worked with him there everyday. His car was parked right outside. There was no reason for her to question it because Caroline had no idea someone else had a motive for being there. And she said it was typical for Séverin to let things at work slide and then have to scramble to get stuff done in time.”

  “It must have made Nugent furious that he ended up inadvertently giving Séverin an alibi.”

  “I think it did,” Molly said. “He was certainly terribly unhappy, and agitated. For a moment there, when the affair was discovered, we had the right idea—that Séverin might have killed Iris in a jealous rage because she had ended the affair—but once it
appeared he had broken up with her and he had an alibi…well, we totally crossed him off the lists of suspects.”

  “Who were you looking at then?”

  Molly considered. “My backup choice was Nugent. But I was fairly convinced it was Pierre almost up until he died.”

  They were silent for a while, taking a moment to appreciate the magnificent leftovers and the starry night. “One thing that’s bothering me. I think that I let some emotions that had absolutely nothing to do with the case get in the way of my thinking. When Ben got mad at me for wanting to consider Pierre guilty, I got all competitive about it. I was insisting it was Pierre because I wanted Ben to be wrong and me to be right. It was stupid. And I can’t help feeling guilty, because what if we’d caught Séverin much sooner? Would Pierre not have…?”

  “I see what you’re saying. But I think the point is, you did figure it out in the end. And Pierre’s taking those pills had nothing to do with Séverin, at least not about his being caught or not caught. He did it because he was in so much pain from losing Iris.”

  Molly nodded, not entirely convinced. “Pierre was an odd duck,” she said finally. “I have a lot of questions I’d like to ask him. Like—that teacup. When I went to the Gault house after Iris was murdered, I noticed it right away, sitting on a table in the living room. The Gaults were fastidious people and that empty cup stood out like a flashing red light. Now, why did Pierre leave it there?”

  “I wonder if he knew who left it. And wanted you to see it.”

  Molly’s eyes widened. “But in that case, why not just point it out? For sure it would have had Séverin’s DNA on it.”

  Now it was Lawrence’s turn to shrug. “More likely he was simply so undone about his wife’s murder that he wasn’t tidying up like he usually did. I have the feeling he loved Iris more than anyone gave him credit for. Maybe including Iris herself.”

  “Maybe. But then why did he say he called the ambulance, when the emergency number has no record of the call?”