The young man adjusted the lavaliere mic on Randall’s lapel and then stepped back behind the camera before pointing to Randall.
“Greetings from Fréjus,” Randall said into the camera, his smile genuine with delight. “If you are English-speaking and visiting this relentlessly beautiful town on the Côte d’Azur, I will know you heard my voice. Why is that? Because Fréjus is a hidden jewel in the crown of southern France.”
Then Randall snapped his fingers at Sage. “And we’ll do a cutaway there,” he said. “Go ahead and get some B-roll, okay? Desiree? Tell him to shoot the aqueducts and maybe some of the skyline. I can’t remember your script. Do you mention Fréjus is mostly inland?”
“I do not,” Desiree said, straightening the peplum of her cotton blouse. Maggie saw she had freshened her lips and foundation while Randall was performing.
“Okay, don’t worry about it then. Rolling?” he asked Sage.
Maggie saw Sage shrug, but as he continued to look in the viewfinder she thought it was a safe bet he was still filming.
Desiree plastered on a wide smile that startled Maggie in its patent falseness and stepped into the foreground of the shot as Randall stepped out.
“Bonjour from Fréjus,” she said and swung her arm out to take in the view behind her. “A medieval city created by the Romans in 49 BC, this amazing structure you see behind me, this aqueduct, was built in the middle of the first century BC and functioned for a thousand years. Can you imagine? Forty-two kilometers long, providing the village and the surrounding area with its water.”
Desiree turned as if to give the structure an admiring glance.
“We French have at least a few things to thank the Italians for, no?” she said smiling.
“No, cut!” Randall said, waving his hands at Sage. “Desiree, no. Why did you say that? Now we’ll have to do it again.”
Desiree blushed furiously.
“I thought it would feel more…organic to refer to the fact that as a Frenchwoman presenting this amazing town to our listening—”
“Your Frenchness is not the point, Desiree,” Randall said. “It is not near the point. Stick to the damn script. Can you just do that? Honestly, people…” Randall ran a hand through his thinning hair and turned to Jim and Janet, who were standing impatiently in the summer heat.
“Did that last bit feel right to you? I mean as tourists? Mrs. Dernier? Please be honest. Desiree is a professional. You won’t hurt her feelings.”
Maggie’s mouth fell open and for a moment she forgot she was posing as a tour member. She felt Desiree’s gaze drill into her. “Uh, it felt okay to me,” she said, shrugging.
“You see, Desiree?” Randall said. “Do it again.” He turned to Sage and made a rotating motion with his finger. “Encore? Encore that scene? Tell him, Desiree.”
“He understands,” Desiree muttered, taking her place in front of the camera again, her smile not yet in place and the blush still evident on her neck.
“Should I mention the dog shit visible on her shoe?” Dee-Dee said loudly. “Or will you crop that in post?”
Desiree looked down at her feet. There was no dog mess anywhere near her. But when she glared back at the camera, her eyes darting to Dee-Dee as she spoke, it was clear she was done for the day. Fuming, she turned and stormed back to the SUV, which she climbed into, her arms folded in an angry, protective clench.
“All right, everyone,” Randall said wearily. “Take five.”
Maggie watched him get into the car and put a hand on Desiree’s shoulder. She shrugged it off but her body didn’t move away from him.
Dee-Dee went over to Sage as he broke down his camera tripod, her voice high-pitched and silly as she attempted to engage a non-English speaker in conversation. The Andersons stood silently, staring up at the looming aqueducts, neither speaking. Probably neither seeing, either,.
Reminding herself of Annie’s email message, Maggie pulled out her phone and opened the forwarded email. She scanned its contents quickly. Annie had been right. Massar said the main piece of evidence against Olivier was the fact he had in his wallet the keycard used at the time of the murder.
Pretty damning, Maggie thought, wondering for the hundredth time why Annie thought Lanie’s boyfriend was innocent.
*****
“You have no idea how dysfunctional everyone on this trip is,” Maggie said on the phone that night. “Everyone either hates everyone else or is sleeping with everyone else. Sometimes both at the same time.”
Grace laughed. “Sounds like great fodder for your next novel.”
“I’m done with writing novels.”
“Too bad. Laurent said it kept you busy.”
“I’ll just bet he did! Honestly, he doesn’t even try to hide how patronizing he is.”
“You should get on her your knees and thank God for Laurent,” Grace said, still laughing. “How’s Haley? I didn’t get a chance to talk to her before I left.”
“Your sister-in-law is my personal hero about now. You’re not going to believe this, but Zouzou fell down the well.”
“Are you serious? I told Laurent that thing was dangerous!”
“Well, he’s a believer now. When it happened, Maggie, I just totally froze. I don’t know why but the horror of the sound of that scream coming from my baby…I just sat there. And Haley was up and racing to the well before I even got to my feet.”
“Was Zouzou hurt? How did she get her out?”
“One little scratch. Haley just threw the board that was on top of it out of the way and jumped down. She didn’t even look around for another way. Of course, Laurent was there by then and he pulled them both up. If I live to be a hundred, I will owe that woman.”
“Well, she always was very athletic. So besides rescuing children from wells, what does she do all day?”
“She reads a lot and takes long walks through the vineyard. She watches Laurent cook and she babysits.”
“And Ben?”
“On his laptop in the bedroom or on the phone.”
“I wonder what his deal is. Haley told me in Nice that he was under a lot of pressure about something. What about you? How’s the business? Have you heard from Windsor?”
Grace sighed. “No to Windsor, but I’ve been meaning to talk to you about something. Frankly, I am not sure of how to handle it. As far as business, I have a meeting next week with the owner of a children’s boutique and for once it’s not someone acting like she’s doing me a big favor. I really like her clothes, too.”
“That’s great. Where is she? Paris?”
“Yes, but she has a store in Aix.”
“Too bad. It’s nice to have an excuse to spend the weekend in Paris.”
Grace laughed. “That’s what I thought. And then I reminded myself I’m supposed to be thinking like a businesswoman.”
“I hate when that happens.”
“But when you have a few minutes—not now, I understand you’re in a rush—but when you do, I have something I could use your help with.”
“Sure. How about when I get back?”
“I may need you before then. Oh, I think I hear Laurent home downstairs. He’s been in such a bad mood lately.”
“Tell me about it.”
“Oh, stop. Laurent worships you.”
“Except when he’s yelling at me.”
“Darling, I live here, remember? Laurent never yells at you.”
“That may be true, but he has a raised eyebrow that can scorch.”
“But as far as whatever’s going on with him, I really think you need to grab this particular toro by the horns.”
“Laurent doesn’t respond well to the direct approach.”
“He responds very well to your approach, dear. You need to talk to him.”
“It’s a thought.”
“Darling, I’ll put this in plain language for you: Come home, your husband needs you.”
Maggie laughed.
“I’m serious, Maggie.”
“Grace,
trust me, he wouldn’t welcome me trying to butt into his business.”
“It’s your business too. The vineyard is what supports your house, your groceries, your lifestyle. You can’t let him manage it alone.”
“He prefers to.”
“Zouzou prefers to eat ice cream at every meal,” Grace said. “Doesn’t mean she should.”
“Laurent needing me…huh, that’s a new one. What next? The Earth orbiting around the sun?”
“I believe the Earth does orbit around the sun, dearest.”
“You know what I mean.”
“Alright, before I hand you over to your hunky hubby, whom I hear climbing the stairs, tell me in one sentence or less what you’ve found out in your elongated stakeout thus far.”
“I’ve found out that Desiree—one of the tour guides who was competing with Lanie for the TV job—is sleeping with the boss and she hated Lanie.”
“Well, that’s motive. Anything else?”
“Since I don’t have access to the police records on the case, I don’t know if she has an alibi for the time of death or anything. I’ll have to find that out on my own.”
“I don’t suppose just asking her…?”
“She’s not very nice. I try not to ask her for the salt when she’s sitting right in front of it.”
“Too bad.”
“Then there’s Olivier. He had motive for killing Lanie because of the baby not being his and we all know he had opportunity.”
“Not exactly what Annie was hoping to hear.”
“Well, I’m hoping what she really wants to hear is the truth.”
“Anybody else look suspicious to you?”
“Not really. They’re all pretty horrible, but it takes a special kind of horrible to kill someone in cold blood.”
“This is true. Oh darling, Laurent is here and he has a sleepy baby in his arms whom I know you are going to want to FaceTime with. Promise you’re not taking chances and that you’ll come home on schedule. I have a special reason for asking you that.”
“I will, Grace. Thanks.”
*****
After dinner on the walk back to the hotel it began to rain.
“So, this must be a nice break for you. Are you friends with Randall?” a slurred voice asked close to Maggie’s ear. Maggie turned to see Janet by her elbow. The woman had been solidly drunk all during dinner. Maggie had no idea how she was able to stay upright for the two-block walk back to the hotel.
“I wasn’t needed at home and just thought I’d finish up with y’all.”
“You’re from the South? How come your brother doesn’t have an accent like you do?”
“I have no idea.” Maggie noticed that Janet didn’t really seem to be waiting for a reply but was looking around, distractedly, as drunks do.
“You know about my husband I suppose,” Janet said, moving alongside Maggie and gripping her arm for support.
Maggie turned her head to see Jim trudging along behind them. Although not quite as inebriated as his wife, he walked with his head down, as if carefully, single-mindedly watching every footstep that would lead him to his bed.
“I’m not sure what you—”
“About him sleeping with that slut. I’m sure you know. Everyone knows.”
I know you’re the first person I’ve heard call her that, Maggie thought, her stomach tensing, and I know the word “slut” was written on her dead face.
“She came on to him. Did you know that?”
“I did not.”
“Well, she did. You know why?”
Maggie didn’t answer. Janet was leaning heavily on her now, which slowed their progress. A few feet ahead of them, an equally drunk Dee-Dee was trying to walk without falling. Randall and Desiree had left the table an hour ago.
“Because she thought we were rich, that’s why.”
“You’re not rich?” This was news.
“Ha! You thought so, too. Everyone thinks so. You know why?”
This guessing game was getting tiresome. But the last thing she wanted to do was shut off the flow of information.
“No, why?”
“Because Bob told everyone we were. Truth is we’re only here because Bob’s mother is Jim’s sister. She made him take us.”
“Shut up, you stupid bitch,” Jim snarled.
Maggie jumped at the intensity and the closeness of his interjection. He had obviously been listening to every word.
“And when Lanie the slut found that out,” Janet continued, unperturbed, “she told the world what up to then only I knew—”
“If you say one more word, you disgusting bitch,” Jim said, grabbing his wife’s arm and jerking her away from Maggie, “I will divorce you the minute we return to the States.”
Janet cackled and her laughter brought her to her knees. “Promise?” she said from her position on the sidewalk. Maggie held back to allow Jim plenty of time to jerk Janet to her feet and guide her in the direction of the hotel.
She couldn’t help but wonder what Janet had been about to say before she collapsed.
What had Lanie told the whole world that up to then only Janet knew?
*****
The next morning, Maggie found herself crammed up against the window in the middle seat of the tour SUV as the group left Fréjus and headed toward Marseille. She was scheduled to leave the group to head back to St-Buvard tomorrow morning so she knew she needed to make today count.
Squished inside a seven-person vehicle with all the suspects ought to do it.
The drive down the coast to St-Tropez was nothing short of breathtaking. Minus the notorious hairpin turns found around Menton and Villefranche-sur-Mer, the coastal drive ambled alongside carefully placed stone knee walls, the heart-stopping beauty of the Mediterranean laid out before them like an undulating carpet of azure blue. White sailboats dotted the bays and inlets, making Maggie think the whole world must be on vacation.
Who owns these boats? Are they here all year long? Is life just one long party to some people?
Sage had reluctantly agreed to continue on with the group but even Maggie had picked up on an attitude that hadn’t been there before. Surely, Randall was paying him? She glanced in the back seat where Sage sat hunched over his camera equipment, his gaze seaward but not seeing. Dee-Dee was staring out the other side of the car where the view was a long series of bushes and cement bulwarks edging the southern side of the E80.
“Ben said your husband owns a vineyard in the Languedoc area?” Jim said abruptly to Maggie.
She hesitated before answering. Jim Anderson hadn’t said a word to her before now. Was this because of his wife’s drunken revelation to Maggie last night?
“Well, yes,” she said. “But it’s Provence. Not Languedoc.”
“And your husband runs it and produces wine, does he?”
Why don’t I like you? Maggie thought as she tried to smile in response.
“He does. His label is Domaine St-Buvard. Mostly reds but he’s starting to experiment with rosés now.”
“Your brother was asking me if I knew anything about vineyards.”
Janet snorted and Maggie looked at her but Janet kept her focus out the window. It occurred to Maggie that last night was the second time Janet had tried to cast suspicion on someone in the tour group—first Randall and then her own husband. Might that be a logical ploy if you were trying to divert suspicion away from yourself? She hadn’t forgotten that Dee-Dee believed Janet had plenty of animosity against Lanie.
“I told him,” Jim said, “I own several, but was never really interested in the day-to-day.”
Maggie shot a covert glance at Janet but the older woman didn’t turn around. Clearly Jim was fully committed to maintaining the fiction that he and Janet had money.
It was strange that Ben would talk about Maggie and Laurent—even if all he did was mention their vineyard. After so many years of disinterest on his part in anything that had to do with them, it was startling and vaguely unbelievable to imagine h
im talking to a stranger about her. She looked at the sea and hoped they were going to stop soon for lunch. Breakfast had been nonexistent, as usual.
“I got the impression he was about to invest in one here in France,” Jim said. “I told him that was a frankly idiotic idea. Well, if one hoped to make money, that is.”
Maggie stared at him. Ben was thinking of investing in a vineyard? She looked away and tried to remember how her brother acted at dinner at Domaine St-Buvard. Was he thinking of investing in Laurent’s vineyard? Does that even make sense?
“He hits her, you know,” Janet said, still staring out at the unbroken canvas of interminable blue water.
Maggie snapped her attention back to the interior of the car. “What?”
“Now, we don’t know that for sure,” Randall said from the front seat. “Let’s don’t pass on rumors.”
“I heard them,” Dee-Dee said from the back, her voice high and whiny. “I heard the slaps, and I heard the cries.”
Maggie felt her face flush with heat. Her mind whirled as she tried to take in what they were saying. She clawed for the window opener.
Even without breakfast, she could feel an oily nausea creep up her throat.
Ten
Grace watched Laurent pull out of the driveway. The man had been downright evasive this morning—even for Laurent. As taciturn and phlegmatic as he normally was, the difference was just noticeable enough to cause alarm.
Maggie was right. There was something going on. A queasy, hard ball formed in the pit of her stomach. Am I right, too, though that it couldn’t possibly be another woman?
Just because Windsor dropped the ball…Grace quickly did a mental shout of Stop! when the thought formed in her mind. It was one of the tricks she discovered in a magazine while waiting to get her hair done in Aix. If you have an unwelcome thought pop into your head, just scream Stop! in your thoughts and it kills the thought. Too often, if one thinks of something unpleasant, Grace reasoned, it feels as if you’re meant to hold it up to the light, dissect it, probe it…and that never ends well.
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