Murder in Nice

by Kiernan-Lewis, Susan

  But if you took Olivier out of the picture for just a moment the news meant that the father of Lanie’s baby—whoever that was—might have a class-A motive for killing her. Especially if, say, a knocked-up tour guide on your popular television travel show displayed a propensity to reveal her sources?

  Talk about public broadcasting, Maggie thought grimly.

  The parting at the train station with Laurent had not been exactly icy, but neither had it been very mushy either. Maggie knew he wasn’t thrilled with her leaving—especially not with a house full of guests—but she also picked up on a certain amount of relief to have her gone for a bit. In many ways, that scared her more than anything else.

  What in the hell is going on, Laurent? She prayed that Grace would have better luck in the next two days.

  When her train arrived in Fréjus, Maggie saw Desiree standing on the platform waiting for her.

  Guess she got the short straw.

  It was just barely midday and Maggie found herself wondering where lunch fit into the itinerary. She cursed Laurent for keeping her too well fed. She was always hungry now, and the time when she could walk away from a tarte de pomme or even a simple cassoulet was long ago. At this rate she would never lose the baby weight.

  “Bonjour, Desiree,” she said brightly as she descended from the train onto the platform.

  The woman nodded curtly at her and forced a return greeting out between clenched teeth. It was probably her association with Lanie, but it was very clear Desiree didn’t like her. In fact, hadn’t liked her from the get-go.

  “We are to meet the others at lunch,” Desiree said, turning away as Maggie ran to keep up. Desiree was wearing four-inch heels on her sandals, but her long legs were athletic and she had to stop more than once to wait for Maggie to catch up to her. That was all the more embarrassing because Maggie knew Desiree was older than she was.

  It didn’t matter. She consoled herself that she was logging in the steps on the pedometer, which might allow her to indulge in a little dessert at lunch. With a sinking heart, she saw as they left the train station, that Desiree was not leading Maggie to a parked car. Clearly the woman had walked to the station.

  The more steps I rack up, Maggie told herself reasonably, the more I can relax at lunch. She thought that she would look at her two days away from Laurent and his kitchen as an opportunity to fast—or at least cut down to three meals a day—but she felt her resolve waiver the closer she got to the restaurant section of Fréjus.

  The aroma of cooking seafood, saffron and garlic seemed to fill the air as she and Desiree turned down one narrow cobblestone street. Directly ahead, Maggie saw the road dead-end into a large outdoor restaurant. The umbrellas over the tables were a deep green and gave the impression of a lush garden among all the stone and brickwork. Dee-Dee stood up from one of the large tables and waved to them.

  Everyone was there. Jim and Janet Anderson looked up from their wine and dishes of olives and smiled blandly at her and then went back to their conversation. Bob Randall stood up from the table and spread his arms out to Maggie although he had not even looked in her direction when they met in Nice.

  “Madame Dernier,” he boomed out. “Come sit next to me. I can’t tell you how grateful I am that you agreed to serve as our guinea pig for this tour!”

  Maggie noticed that Desiree simply sat down and lit up a cigarette. Her job was done.

  “We have a huge order of fried calamari coming,” Dee-Dee said, pouring Maggie a glass of rosé wine.

  So much for the diet, Maggie thought with resignation as she reached for the wineglass.

  Lunch was prolonged and wonderful. After the first hour, Maggie stopped keeping mental notes to share with Laurent and just sat back and enjoyed the foie gras au torchon, the heavenly moules Provençale steamed in white wine, olives and garlic and, oh, the amazing rack of lamb with the juniper demi-glace. Maybe she would tell Laurent about that one. She tucked her pedometer into her purse. It felt like it was pinching her waist every time she turned in her seat.

  Just from a cursory examination of the small tour group, she could see that Jim and Janet were a closed society unto themselves, caring only for each other’s conversation or company. Dee-Dee had said they were wealthy, so it was possible they used that as a reason not to socialize too closely with the others.

  On the other hand, the others were all deeply crazy in one form or another.

  Randall was the sun around which everyone revolved, that much was clear. Maggie could still feel the charm radiating off him. It wasn’t just that the sought-after prize came at his discretion, and that it included working closely with him. It was also because the man had an aura of charisma that seemed to draw everyone into his sphere—even waiters and shopkeepers, Maggie noticed.

  Full and thickheaded from the afternoon wine followed by multiple cups of espresso, Maggie wondered how any of them were going to perform in any kind of coherent manner for the afternoon tours.

  “We took the day off because of you,” Dee-Dee said.

  “Oh, I didn’t realize that,” Maggie said, her eyes watching as Desiree drunkenly tugged at Randall under the table.

  “Well, some of us will be working, of course,” Dee-Dee said tartly. “Some of us are always working.”

  “Tais-toi,” Desiree snarled.

  “Now, girls,” Randall said, his arm going around the back of Desiree’s chair. “We’ve had a lovely lunch, haven’t we? Let’s don’t ruin it. Are you tired, darling?” he said to Desiree, his eyes glossy with drunken lust.

  Looking at Dee-Dee and not Randall, Desiree smiled slyly and nodded. Maggie thought it was the first smile she’d seen the woman give. It wasn’t pretty.

  Randall and Desiree stood up and staggered away from the table without a backward glance.

  “Disgusting,” Dee-Dee said, watching them retreat down the long street and disappear.

  Maggie turned to her. “I thought you said they weren’t an item. I thought you said it was all in Desiree’s head.”

  A loud bark of a laugh made Maggie turn in surprise to the Andersons at the end of the table. They were both watching Maggie.

  “Is that what Dee-Dee told you?” Jim said. “Well, that is truly pathetic. Even for our little Dee-Dums.” He laughed again.

  Dee-Dee jumped to her feet, lost her balance and fell back into her chair, knocking her wineglass over onto the table. She was successful on the next try, grabbing her purse and making the best possible show of swanning out of the outdoor restaurant. Maggie watched her go and then looked back at the couple.

  “So Dee-Dee’s got a torch for Randall?” The couple exchanged a look, trying to decide if it would be appropriate to condescend to converse with her.

  Finally, Janet leaned across the table. “It’s a fascinating study in human behavior. Dee-Dee wants Bob but Bob wants…wait for it…Lanie.”

  Maggie frowned. “But isn’t he sleeping with Desiree?”

  “Didn’t I say it was fascinating?”

  “Don’t forget the best part,” Jim said as he placed a hand on his wife’s arm. “The best part is that Desiree knows that Bob really wanted Lanie.”

  “But Lanie said no?”

  “Supposedly,” Janet said, her eyes glittering with cryptic meaning. Maggie reminded herself that according to Dee-Dee, Lanie had said yes to Jim. And while that might give him bragging rights since it sounded like she wasn’t totally undiscerning, it also gave his wife, Janet, motive.

  Maggie looked back down the narrow road where Desiree and Randall had vanished.

  “So Desiree is sleeping with Randall, but everyone knows he preferred to be with Lanie—who he couldn’t have.”

  “Exactly.”

  “Wow,” Maggie said. “Desiree must have hated Lanie.”

  “You could say that,” Janet said, leaning back into her chair and reaching for her wineglass.

  *****

  Grace walked across the lawn, a basket of just-cut zinnias in her hand. The sun hadn
’t set yet and the warmth of the day seeped into her thin linen tunic.

  Zouzou burst out from the underbrush and tackled Grace around her legs, making her falter but not fall.

  “Zouzou, you little monster!” Grace laughed, wrapping her arms around her daughter and trying to tug her into her arms. “If this is an ambush, I’ll have you know I can retaliate with rapid-fire tickling.” Zouzou shrieked and twisted out of Grace’s grasp. She ran back around a large lavender bush that anchored the north corner of the flagstone terrace.

  Haley appeared from inside the house and set down a tray of drinks glasses on the large outdoor dining table. She had little Jem snugly tucked into a carrier she wore in front. He was awake and, unlike how Maggie usually wore the carrier, was facing outward. Actually, Haley’s way made more sense, Grace realized.

  The baby was kicking his feet and looking at the world around him, his fists reaching out to grab at the trees, the tablecloth or the ears of Laurent’s big hunting dogs, Inge and Marthe. Little Petit Four, Maggie’s scraggly poodle terrier mix, wisely spent most of her time under tables and away from Zouzou’s insistent demonstrations of love.

  “Drinkies, Grace,” Haley called to her. “Laurent thought this would lure you in.”

  “The man knows me too well,” Grace said, dropping the flower basket on a chair and surveying the tray of drinks. She picked up a cold crystal glass with crushed ice and cut limes in it. One sip told her it was vodka, but infused with something she couldn’t put her finger on. Basil?

  She settled in a chair and put the drink down before reaching out for Jem. “Shall I take him? He looks heavy.”

  “He’s absolutely no trouble at all,” Haley said, unbuckling him and slipping him out of the harness. “But it is a little warm.” She handed him to Grace and sat back in her chair and smiled. “You should have another,” Haley said. “You look beautiful with a baby in your arms.”

  “I look even better when it’s somebody else’s baby,” Grace said. “Did you have a good day? Did Zouzou behave herself?”

  “She was an angel. I could eat her with a spoon. Did you get a lot of work done?”

  Grace took a long sip her of her drink, turning her face away. “Not near enough,” she said. “I don’t really know what I’m doing.”

  “I’ll bet you’re doing better than you think.”

  “Thanks. I suppose time will tell.”

  Later—much later—Grace would remember the next several seconds as happening in slow motion. She would realize that time had slowed down and along with it the ability to move or react or think until all she could do was sit frozen in her chair, a baby on her lap, and listen to the terrified screams of her child as they reverberating across the lawn and into the atmosphere.

  Nine

  After her lengthy and heavy lunch, Maggie’s first day on the tour ended with a nap that didn’t finish until the next morning. Furious that she’d wasted the evening when she knew Laurent was counting the hours until she returned, she vowed to redouble her interviewing efforts of the group to make up for lost time.

  That morning, she met the rest of the group in the lobby of their hotel off the N7 Highway.

  I guess the magic begins after breakfast, she couldn’t help think. Her hotel room had been charmless and basic, and while a continental breakfast was on offer in the small breakfast room, one glance confirmed it was a stale section of reheated frozen croissants, canned juice and bad coffee.

  Randall was talking through Desiree to a young man draped in various video cameras. Obviously he was trying to get some local talent to pinch-hit for the still missing Olivier. She smiled as she joined the Andersons and Dee-Dee as they stood waiting for Randall to finish.

  Janet wasn’t as friendly as she had been the night before, but she’d already tipped her hand to Maggie that she was an easy talker once she started drinking. Maggie would remember that.

  “Everyone sleep well, I hope?” Maggie asked cheerfully. If their faces were any evidence at all, it looked as if the Andersons hadn’t stopped imbibing after lunch the day before. Jim looked ill and every minute of his sixty-one years. Janet wore sunglasses even in the hotel lobby and clutched her arms in a protective gesture that warned all to stay away.

  Dee-Dee was drinking a diet soda from a can and didn’t respond.

  “May I ask what’s on the agenda today?”

  Dee-Dee sighed, as if it were a terrible imposition to respond. “We’ll do a tour of the Roman antiquities,” she said. “That was supposed to be Lanie’s part and Bob hasn’t decided who’ll do it now.”

  Maggie wondered how deluded you’d have to be to believe you were having a relationship with someone who was having a relationship with someone else. She wasn’t sure she’d ever even heard of it before. She smiled at Dee-Dee but the woman refused to look at her.

  She’s probably embarrassed, being called out in the open like that yesterday.

  A loud handclap made Maggie and Dee-Dee turn their heads to see Randall shaking hands with the boy and turning toward them. Desiree continued to speak to the new cameraman.

  “We are in business, people!” Randall said, rubbing his hands together as he approached the group. “Young Sage here won’t be with us past St. Raphael, but we’ll use him up before then. Are you ready to see Fréjus?”

  Maggie smiled politely and noticed the Andersons weren’t bothering with that kind of courtesy.

  “Who’s leading today?” Dee-Dee asked.

  “Well,” Randall said, “as young Sage is new to our little group and speaks no English, I thought it might be less wear and tear on all of us if—”

  “Never mind,” Dee-Dee said with disgust. “You answered my question.”

  As they all walked to the SUV to begin the day’s tour, Maggie’s phone began to vibrate. A glance at the screen made her answer it immediately.

  “Hey, Annie,” she said. “Is everything okay? I’m just about to join the others for the tour.”

  “Yes, darling, I won’t keep you. But I wanted to let you know that I found out from that nice police detective that the main reason they’re holding Olivier is because of the keycard they found in his wallet.”

  Maggie slowed her pace. “What about it?”

  “That’s just it,” Annie said with a sigh. “Detective Massar sent me an email and that’s all I could unscramble from it. May I forward it to you?”

  “Sure.”

  “Maggie, are you coming?” Randall called from the parking lot.

  “Be right there!” Maggie called back. “I have to go, Annie.”

  “Of course, darling. Just let me know what he said when you have a moment, okay?”

  “Will do.” As Maggie hung up, she saw the email struggling to come through on her phone. She would read it in the SUV.

  The tour began with a drive down the center of Fréjus. Maggie shared a seat in the SUV with Jim and Janet and looked out the window at the tidy, tree-lined residential sections of town. Souvenir shops, dress shops and bookstores seemed to line the people-clogged streets. Maggie was amazed to see so many tourists and assumed they must be French.

  Most people back home would never have heard of Fréjus. And the fact that it wasn’t near the beach also seemed to make it a surprising popular stop for visitors.

  They sailed past the shops and a beautiful arch of stone that Maggie could see served as some ancient entranceway. Beyond it and the tips of the trees, she spied the spire of the town’s ancient cathedral set off a small, graceful square and wondered why they weren’t being told anything about it.

  Randall drove with Desiree in the passenger’s seat while the new videographer, Sage, and Dee-Dee sat in the cramped rear seat. Sage wasn’t homely, Maggie thought, but he was awfully young. She wondered if Dee-Dee was thinking about making a move. A few covert looks in her direction seemed to confirm that Dee-Dee was trying to decide the same thing.

  “We’re not doing the town, itself?” Maggie asked.

  Randall turned to l
ook at her and instantly she wished someone else would answer. The roads were narrow and the stonewalls unforgiving. And, she thought, he drove too fast.

  “Not this trip,” he said. “Just a taste of the highlights. What do they call it when it’s food, chérie?” He turned to Desiree and it was all Maggie could do not to cringe when he used the endearment. He mangled it so bad it sounded like he was calling her the name of the fruit.

  “Amuse-bouche,” Desiree said promptly, not taking her eyes off the road.

  Maggie made a point to remind herself that just because she was starting to seriously dislike someone was no reason to consider them guilty of a crime.

  Although I have been pretty accurate in the past. And, she admitted, wrong as many times, too.

  “I just need to remind everyone that even I have not yet heard Desiree’s presentation,” Randall said over his shoulder. “Mademoiselle Badeaux—ever the dedicated professional—only rehearses in the privacy of her hotel room so as to keep the excitement level cranked to its very highest level. I’m sure we’ll all appreciate that.”

  Desiree turned and smirked at Dee-Dee sitting behind her in the backseat.

  Thirty minutes later, Randall pulled the SUV over to the side of the road and everyone piled out. Maggie noticed they were just beyond a large roundabout that headed toward the main highway. The massively high pillars loomed overhead like crumbling but majestic giants. Roman aqueducts. They were impressive, and she couldn’t help but try to imagine the men who had built them and the villagers in the Middle Ages who had toiled, lived and died in their shadows.

  “Wow,” Maggie said, her voice tinged with awe. She stood off to the side of the road—a road with few cars on it in spite of its direct access to the N7—while Randall and Desiree and Sage took their places. Sage set up his tripod in front of the aqueducts, no more than twenty yards beyond them, and Randall stood in front of the camera waiting patiently.