Murder in Nice

by Kiernan-Lewis, Susan

  “So you saw Annie off safely, I presume?” Grace asked.

  “I did. She decided to have Lanie cremated.”

  “A lot easier getting past security than a coffin, I imagine.”

  “I think she was going to have to wait a week if she wanted to bring the body back.”

  “Wise move. And she’s okay, you think?”

  “She’s concerned the cops may have pinned Lanie’s death on the wrong person.”

  “Don’t they have evidence on the guy?”

  “They do, sort of, but Annie is convinced Olivier would never hurt Lanie.”

  “Well, I’m sure that’s what Son of Sam’s mom thought too.”

  “I said I’d look into it.”

  “Does Laurent know this?”

  “I’m almost positive I mentioned it to him.”

  “I’ll take that as a no.”

  “Look, Grace, I’m not doing anything. I told Laurent I’d come home today and voila, here I am practically back in my own little kitchen with an apron tied neatly around my waist.”

  “Laurent doesn’t let you cook in his kitchen.”

  “The point is, I’m home—as promised.”

  “So you’ll investigate it from St-Buvard?”

  “That’s the plan. I just need to probe enough to feel okay about telling Annie I tried. I have no reason to believe Olivier is innocent. The cops got him. Let the cops do their job.”

  “That so doesn’t sound like you.”

  Maggie laughed. “Is Jemmy near? I thought I heard laughter in the background.”

  “He and Zouzou are watching cartoons. Haley’s been great with both kids. Why don’t she and Ben have any?”

  “You’re asking me? I have no idea.”

  “Well, I’ve roped her into babysitting twice and she’s only been here not quite eighteen hours.”

  “What’s my brother doing all this time?”

  “Texting on his phone. He went with Laurent this morning to do the rounds of the vineyards—”

  “You’re kidding.”

  “No, I was surprised Laurent agreed. He’s been so grumpy.”

  “I’m flabbergasted Ben would be interested.”

  “Well, he was. Very interested. Maybe he and Haley are looking for a summer home? Or investment property in France?”

  “He hates France. He hates everywhere.”

  “Well, he’s been dogging Laurent. He’s at the café in the village with him right now.”

  “That does not sound like my brother.”

  “I think you are going to owe Laurent as many big favors as you can count. He is not having a good time, trust me.”

  “I’ll make it up to him somehow.”

  “If he’s like most men I think you can be fairly sure of exactly how he’d like you to make it up to him.”

  Maggie laughed. “As singular as Laurent is in all other ways,” she said, “I have to admit he is like most men when it comes to how he prefers to be recompensed.”

  “You’re a lucky woman, Maggie Dernier. I hope you know that.”

  “I do. Now go kiss my baby boy for me. I’ll be home soon.”

  *****

  Ben sat at the café table listening to Laurent rattle off his French gibberish to each of the buffoons who approached the table. He was amazed to see the man was something of a French godfather to these bumpkins. Dernier sat at his table—the best spot on the south terrace under the largest plane tree—drinking pastis and the locals just lined up to pay him homage.

  It made him sick.

  Thirty minutes earlier, when he had asked Laurent if he could accompany him, the man’s forced patience wasn’t lost on him. It galled him to smile and act the accommodating fool. In fact, this whole trip was galling but the endgame at Maggie’s house was the worst.

  It had better be worth it.

  “This is your first visit to France,” Laurent said.

  Yeah, you manipulating frog bastard. Make small talk. I know you don’t want me here any more than I want to be here.

  “Yes, it is. Haley has wanted to come for ages. And, of course, we’ve been intending to visit you and Maggie ever since she moved to France.”

  Laurent grunted and his eyebrows twitched.

  Don’t these people know how rude it is not to answer someone properly? I’ve just paid you a compliment, you grape-swilling surrender monkey. The least you can do is be gracious.

  Another filthy peasant rambled up to the table. This one had the nerve to pull out a chair and sit. A glance at Laurent’s face showed he didn’t seem annoyed at the effrontery. He even poured the man a glass of pastis.

  Disgusting stuff. Tastes like licorice dipped in kerosene.

  The French flew between the two men and Ben couldn’t help but wonder if it was a cultural thing not to see how rude it was to speak a language in front of someone who didn’t understand it. He probably should just give up now if he was looking to find an area where the people over here weren’t going to seriously disappoint him.

  He saw Laurent gesture in his direction and the village troll he’d been talking with glanced at him. They continued talking, and it was absolutely clear they were now discussing him.

  Unbelievable!

  “This is my good friend, Jean-Luc Pernon,” Laurent said to Ben. He said it in an offhand way while looking at something over Jean-Luc’s shoulder. Ben had never felt more inconsequential in his life.

  And he hated Dernier for it.

  “Bonjour, Monsieur,” the troll said, smiling a gap-toothed grin and reaching out to shake Ben’s hand.

  Jean-Luc’s hand felt oily and Ben resisted the impulse to wipe his palm on his jeans.

  “Jean-Luc is a vigneron as well,” Laurent said. “His property lies next to my own.”

  Well, that was interesting. Ben looked at Jean-Luc with somewhat heightened attention. Maybe winemaking isn’t as difficult as they try to make it sound. If this creature can do it.

  “And does he make his own label, like Domaine St-Buvard?” Ben asked innocently.

  He could have sworn that Laurent gave him a closer look for the comment—as if surprised by it. One thing he’d learned very quickly in the twenty-four hours of the man’s acquaintance: if Dernier didn’t want you to know what he’s thinking, you didn’t.

  “Non,” Laurent said, watching Ben, “he uses the co-op, as we all do, but his is an amalgamated product.”

  “Oh, that’s interesting that you have a wine co-op here. I’ve read about them back home. Napa and all that. Winemaking is becoming quite the thing now. More and more co-ops are cropping up to enable backyard vineyards to come to table.”

  His Internet research on the flight over hadn’t been in vain. He’d practically written the script out—just waiting for an opportunity.

  He had Laurent’s attention now.

  Just as he’d planned.

  “It is true that America leads the way in the new virtual co-ops,” Laurent said, watching Ben closely.

  I’ve got him.

  “It’s really ingenious,” Ben said, edging up his enthusiasm level just a tad. He wanted to appear knowledgeable to keep Dernier engaged, but not so informed as to not be believable. “It’s been a boon I understand for those winemakers who don’t have the big bucks to produce their product without a co-op.”

  Jean-Luc finished his drink, said a few words to Laurent and left the table.

  Laurent stared at Ben. “You know a little about winemaking,” he said.

  Shit. Had he said too much? He forced a confused look on his face.

  “I just know what I read in an article I found in the pocket of the seat on the plane coming over,” Ben said shrugging.

  Laurent nodded slowly, then finished his drink and stood.

  “On y va,” he said abruptly. “Maggie will be home.”

  Ben didn’t even care that he was following the man around like a fawning Yorkie. He’d gotten his attention—without revealing his hand. He felt a flutter of excitement dance
in his gut as he followed Dernier out the café toward the parked car.

  What happens next…well, the big French bastard won’t even know what hit him.

  Six

  Maggie had to admit it was good to be home. Even just a few days away had her relaxed and humming as she drove up the long driveway toward the house.

  An old farmhouse, Domaine St-Buvard was built with materials from the rough landscape. Stones of varying sizes were cemented into sloping knee walls, corralling thick hedges of lavender with stalks of whimsical pink penstemon peeking out from the other side. Cherry-colored roof tiles spanned the entire roof and bright blue shutters, handmade in the village and latched with ironware forged in the seventeen hundreds, punctuated the otherwise bleak façade of the mas with a gesture of wit and insouciance.

  She parked next to Laurent’s Renault and wondered what her brother had thought when he’d first seen Domaine St-Buvard.

  The front door to the mas swung open and Grace stood framed in the doorway.

  “Need help with bags?” she called.

  Maggie climbed out of the car, pulling her carry-on behind her. “Nope. Where is everyone?”

  Grace stepped aside as Maggie entered the front door.

  “Laurent is in the kitchen, Haley’s playing with the babies in the living room, and here’s you and me hugging hello.”

  Maggie laughed and wrapped a free arm around Grace. “I’m so glad to be home,” she said. “I’ve got to see my little man before I go into withdrawal.”

  She set her bag down on the pale, yellowing stone tiles of the large foyer just as Zouzou burst into the room and threw her arms around Maggie’s knees. Behind Zouzou, Maggie saw Haley, dressed in skintight jeans and a linen tunic with little Jem balanced on her hip.

  Maggie kissed Zouzou and picked her up. She was surprised to see how thin Haley was.

  “Welcome home, stranger,” Haley said as Maggie set Zouzou on her feet. She held Jem out to her.

  “Oh, I’ve missed this!” Maggie said, hugging Jemmy as he squealed with giggles. “What a happy boy you are. Did you miss me at all?”

  “He missed you as only a boy can miss his maman,” Laurent said, coming into the foyer, a smile on his lips.

  “Hello, you,” Maggie said, going to him as he pulled both her and Jem into his arms. “Got everyone settled in I see.”

  Laurent kissed her and patted her bottom. “Dinner in an hour,” he said before turning back to the kitchen.

  “I love your home, Maggie,” Haley said as the three women went into the living room.

  A tray of iced drinks sat on the coffee table. “Oh, my God, that man is a mind reader,” Grace said, seating herself and reaching for one of the glasses.

  Maggie settled next to her with Jem on her lap. He clapped his hands together and pulled at her silk scarf, stuffing one end of it into his mouth. Her little poodle mix, Petit Four, jumped up on the couch and settled against her thigh. Maggie touched the dog’s topknot curls absently.

  Haley patted the couch next to her and Zouzou clambered up. “I see your uncle Laurent hasn’t forgotten you,” Haley said, handing the child a section of socca from a plate of still-warm chickpea cakes.

  “J’aime ça!” Zouzou said, stuffing the cracker into her mouth and looking in the direction of the coffee table for more.

  “How much work have you done on the place?” Haley asked Maggie.

  Maggie sighed and reached for her drink. “Well, I did get Laurent to agree to get the bathrooms updated, thank God. And we repaired the terrace because I kept tripping over the broken pavers, but that’s it. I wish we could do more.”

  “Well, it’s simply gorgeous,” Haley said.

  Maggie knew Haley was being generous. She and Ben lived in one of the wealthiest zip codes in Atlanta. Maggie was sure Haley’s idea of French Provincial was nothing like the living room in which she was currently sitting, which was anchored on one wall by a massive floor-to-ceiling fireplace of stacked stone and had a double set of French doors on the opposite wall which led to the terrace.

  You’re never truly dissatisfied until you look at a thing through someone else’s eyes, Maggie thought.

  Domaine St-Buvard was comfortable. It was big and rambling, but it was nobody’s idea of a French country estate by any means. The kitchen had its original stonewalls, two-foot thick and exposed. The terra-cotta tiles on the kitchen floor dated back to the nineteenth century and the ceiling arced to an apex that held a large, circular skylight. The cabinets were glass-fronted to show colorful local earthenware bowls and plates within.

  Off the kitchen a steep staircase led to the wine cellar—and because it was used for wine storage, it was the only room in the house with air-conditioning. Old, stained oaken barrels lined the cellar’s limestone walls. A rack holding at least one hundred bottles of wine faced the staircase, minimizing the steps necessary to replenish party supplies.

  Maggie flinched when she thought of their basement. Something terrible had happened down there one Thanksgiving five years ago. To this day, if she didn’t have to go down there, she didn’t.

  “I would kill to live your life,” Haley said, sipping her cocktail.

  “I didn’t know you were interested in France,” Maggie said, tipping her head to the side to see Haley better. “You should have visited before now.”

  “I know we should have,” Haley said solemnly.

  “I wasn’t fussing at you. I didn’t mean it like that.”

  Grace stood. “Glad you’re back, sweetie,” she said to Maggie. “I think I’ll help Laurent in the kitchen.”

  “He lets you do that?” Maggie asked. She kissed Jem’s cheek. “Daddy doesn’t like us anywhere near where the magic happens, does he?”

  Grace laughed and left, her drink in hand.

  “He doesn’t really keep you out of your own kitchen, does he?” Haley said.

  “Are you serious?” Maggie grinned. “Trust me, it’s his kitchen.”

  “Well, I guess everything is different over here.”

  *****

  An hour later, showered and dressed in a simple linen sheath with sandals, Maggie slipped into the kitchen, where Laurent faced a full panoply of pots and pans on the stove.

  “Tiens, chérie,” he said, gruffly. “Go to the terrace. It is too hot in here for you.”

  He turned and wiped a sleeve across his cheek, his eyes taking her in, fresh from her shower. He wore his dark brown hair almost to his shoulders and shaggy. His eyes were dark, nearly pupiless. Maggie always found them sexy, but a little disconcerting too.

  “But you’re in here,” Maggie said, stung at being ordered out—especially after Haley’s comments.

  “And I will be in our bedroom later,” he said, a smile edging his full lips, “where you may have my undivided attention.”

  “It’s not all about sex, you know,” Maggie said as she swiveled on one foot to make a dramatic exit.

  “Yes, it is,” he called after her.

  She strode to the double set of French doors, opened wide to the terrace. It was after nine but still light out. She saw Grace had lit candles and placed them in nearly every room visible from the outside where the table was set for dinner. The heat of the day had given away to a definite chill and while not uncomfortable, the stack of sweaters and light shawls by the door would be welcome later.

  Haley stood at the outdoor table, her jeans replaced by a long tunic dress. She’d put her hair up too, Maggie noticed. She turned when Maggie stepped out onto the terrace.

  “Grace said you had a babysitter come over to take care of the kids tonight,” she said by way of greeting.

  “I did. Danielle Pernon’s grandniece is visiting. The kids love her and she loves babysitting.”

  “I would have been happy to give them their baths tonight.”

  “Well, you can do it tomorrow night,” Grace said as she joined them. “Isn’t it heavenly out here? Maggie’s got a small plantation of lavender planted just over there.
Can you smell it?”

  Haley frowned and looked in the direction where Grace pointed.

  “The candles are perfect, Grace,” Maggie said. “And the table is beautiful. I’m such a slouch.”

  “You were tired after your long drive from the coast,” Grace said. “Setting the table is fun. It’s the washing up afterward when you’ll be hard pressed to find me.”

  Maggie laughed. “Laurent does that, too, although he may leave it ‘til morning tonight.”

  “Oh? Reward redemption night, is it?”

  “You are so amusing, Grace.”

  Haley turned away and rubbed her arms as if cold.

  “There are wraps by the door,” Maggie said to her. “Shall I get you one?”

  “I’m fine. Thanks.”

  “Where’s Ben? I haven’t even seen him yet.”

  “Is that a criticism, because I warn you I’m not as desperate to please as some people.”

  Maggie turned to her brother as he stepped onto the patio. He wore jeans and a polo shirt with loafers. Although she didn’t expect a hug, a smile would’ve been nice.

  “Everything okay?” she asked.

  “What is that supposed to mean?” he said as he found a seat and slumped into it. Laurent came out onto the patio carrying five wine glasses and a bottle of wine.

  Grace turned to Haley. “So, Maggie says the two of you were in school together. Is that how you met her brother?”

  “That’s right. Ben was three years ahead of us.”

  “So you knew Lanie, too.”

  “Not really,” Ben said. “She was just one of my little sister’s amorphous-faced silly little friends. Made no impression.”

  “Unlike, one would presume, another of her little friends?” Grace smiled at Ben and nodded in the direction of Haley, clearly indicating that now would be a good time to compliment one’s wife.

  Ben didn’t respond.

  Haley said, “Did I mention, Maggie, that Ben and I went to my fifteenth reunion at Pace?”

  Maggie smiled. “No, you didn’t. Was it gruesome?”