Murder in Nice

by Kiernan-Lewis, Susan

  In the back of her mind Maggie heard the musical ding of the elevator’s arrival on her floor, but it wasn’t until the shadow fell across her knees that she thought to look up.

  “I cannot believe you have the nerve to show your face here,” Maggie said to Desiree as the Frenchwoman stood wringing her hands in front of her.

  “Where’s Bob?” Desiree asked. “He’s not answering his phone.”

  “Maybe he’s busy having it dusted for fingerprints.”

  “Where is he?”

  “Aren’t you interested in how Dee-Dee is doing?”

  “I know she’s fine,” Desiree said with an impatient snarl. “I called the hospital.”

  “How thoughtful.” Maggie peered around the back of her. “Where’s the stuffed animals and bouquet of flowers? Where’s the card? Sorry I tried to kill you. No hard feelings.”

  Desiree’s face blanched and she started to turn away but Maggie jumped up and grabbed her arm.

  “Did your little stunt not turn out the way you thought, Desiree? The cops are booking Randall right now for criminal assault.”

  “You lie!”

  “Why don’t you ask Bob? If he’s still talking to you, that is.”

  Desiree wrenched out of Maggie’s grasp. “It was an accident!”

  “What was? Her surviving the attack?”

  “I need to talk to Bob.” Desiree brought her hands to her face and, very uncharacteristically, began to chew on a nail. “I didn’t think she would be hurt. I just meant to scare her. You must believe me.”

  “Actually, it’s really more the police you need to convince. But you’re good at that, aren’t you?”

  A look of confusion on Desiree’s face turned to a reddening glare. “Why do you persist in believing I killed Lanie? I told you, I was with Bob that night.”

  “I wouldn’t put too much stock in that alibi after today.”

  “Besides, everyone on the tour knows who killed Lanie.”

  “May I join the party of people who know?”

  Desiree sat down next to Maggie and gripped her fingers tightly together in her lap. “The day Lanie died she stood up at lunch and announced to everyone that Jim Anderson was not what he seemed.”

  Was this the big secret Janet alluded to?

  “Go on.”

  “It appears that Monsieur Anderson is not wealthy, as he pretends to be.”

  “And you’re saying he was so mad that Lanie publicly revealed this that he killed her?”

  “Non, it was when she announced to all that he was sexually incapable that he became enraged.”

  Maggie frowned.

  “Monsieur Anderson was enraged,” Desiree said. “Ask anyone who was there.”

  “This happened the day she died?”

  “Oui.”

  Maggie looked up and saw the elevator doors open to reveal Olivier stepping free of them. He saw Desiree sitting with Maggie and quickly joined them.

  “What are you doing here?” he said to Desiree. The Frenchwoman stood and straightened her blouse free of wrinkles, attempting to retain some dignity.

  “Be so kind as to tell Bob that I will be with the others.” She straightened her shoulders and walked woodenly to the elevator, where she got on and disappeared.

  “She has some nerve,” Olivier said, shaking his head.

  “I’m not sure I don’t believe her,” Maggie said.

  He looked at her in surprise. “You think she wasn’t responsible for the assault on Dee-Dee?”

  “No, I’m fairly sure she was. But she actually sounded kind of sorry.”

  Olivier snorted. “She is full of guile.”

  “Were you…can I ask if you were at lunch with the tour group the day Lanie died?”

  Olivier rolled his eyes. “Desiree told you that Lanie embarrassed Monsieur Anderson at lunch.”

  “She did. But I find it hard to believe it was enough to make anyone want to commit murder.”

  Olivier hesitated and seemed to debate responding.

  “Am I missing something?”

  “I don’t want you to think badly of Lanie.”

  “Look, Olivier, was she blackmailing Jim Anderson?”

  “Lanie could be…impetuous,” Olivier said. “She had a big heart but often she spoke before thinking.”

  Maggie found it difficult to be patient but she forced herself to smile encouragingly at him until he continued.

  “She was blackmailing him,” he said reluctantly. “In a way.”

  “I don’t know a whole lot about blackmail,” Maggie said, “but it seems to me if you publicly announce that your intended victim has no money and can’t get it up, you’ve pretty much blown the thing you had to blackmail him with,” Maggie said. “Unless there was more.”

  Olivier made a face. “There was more.”

  “I’m listening.”

  He sighed heavily. Maggie saw his shoulders sag with weariness. “When Lanie spoke out publicly at lunch that day, she was giving Monsieur Anderson a message that it was just…a taste of what she could reveal if she…I hate talking about her like this. And I’m not convinced she would have gone through with it.”

  “What did she have on him?”

  “It was true that Monsieur Anderson has no money and it is also true that he can’t get it up…with women.”

  “I see.”

  “I blame myself because it was I who told this fact to Lanie.”

  “Jim came on to you? Because you probably know the rumor is he and Lanie slept together.”

  Olivier laughed roughly. “It is not true. It is in fact ridiculous.”

  “Did you tell the police this?”

  “Non! Of course not. Never.”

  “But if you could discredit the motive they feel like they have for you…”

  “You mean because people think I was jealous of an affair between Lanie and Jim Anderson?”

  “Exactly. The police see the so-called affair as a motive for you. It would help your case if Jim’s true sexual preference was revealed.”

  “I know, but I don’t want the world to see this side of her,” he said miserably. “A blackmailer.”

  Maggie nodded but didn’t speak. Was this love or what? To be willing to go to prison so the world didn’t discover some unsavory fact about your dear one? She would definitely have to ask Laurent if he’d do this for her.

  As far as putting Jim at the top of her list of suspects, Maggie had already come to the unfortunate conclusion that regardless of how much she personally disliked Desiree—and was absolutely convinced the woman followed her to Nice and stole her purse—the jump drive likely wouldn’t have held up as evidence. The recording could have been made at any time of the day and there was no confirmation from any other source that a screaming altercation had happened at the time of the murder. It was, in fact, because the rooms and hallways had been so silent at the time of the murder that the cops were particularly stymied.

  While she knew everything she had discovered was just gossip and hearsay at this point, she realized the information on Jim was officially the best lead she’d had in the case so far.

  Olivier leaned in so closely Maggie could smell the coffee on his breath.

  “Please don’t let Desiree fool you into thinking she did not want my beloved dead,” he said.

  “I’m sure she wanted her out of the way,” Maggie said gently, “but who can say if she’s crazy enough to actually commit murder?”

  “She is crazy enough.”

  “I don’t like her either, Olivier, but—”

  “Non, I have proof that she is capable of it.”

  “What kind of proof?”

  “I overheard Randall talking with her when I joined the tour last spring. It was late one night and I was checking on my camera by the bus. They didn’t know I was there.” He leaned in even closer and Maggie saw his eyes glitter with intensity. “Desiree said she spent the last three years in the Centre pénitentiaries de Fresnes.”

  Magg
ie’s stomach tensed. “I don’t suppose you heard what for?”

  “Manslaughter.”

  *****

  Grace watched the sun drop along the horizon of the vineyard from her bedroom window. She didn’t bother looking for Laurent wandering the carefully organized lanes. He still hadn’t returned from wherever he’d run off to this morning.

  To see Madame Mystery Lady again? Grace had to admit, if Laurent was having an affair he didn’t spend very much time with his lover. Except for that one very public liaison at Le Canard in St-Buvard—and of course wherever he’d gone off to today—he’d stuck pretty close to home.

  The affair was looking more and more like a non-affair. Thank God she hadn’t said anything to Maggie about it. The vineyard, on the other hand, was a different matter. Even Grace could tell the grapes were so ripe and juicy they were practically falling off the vines, and yet Laurent had not called in his pickers.

  Was it a money issue? She knew handpicking was more expensive than mechanical harvesting, but Laurent and always hired pickers to do his harvest. In fact, now that she thought about it, everyone in Laurent’s co-op hired pickers. Usually the little village of St-Buvard was abuzz with excitement by now of the impending harvest—from the influx of immigrant pickers, mostly from Hungary and Romania, to the anticipated inpouring of money to the village—certainly the bar and café.

  Why was this year different?

  She turned away from her window and smoothed out the nonexistent creases in her lemon yellow Yves Saint Laurent slacks, which she wore with her favorite vintage Charles Jourdan heels—the result of a very pleasant shopping weekend in Nice three years ago. She could still remember the little boutiques that lined the narrow street of the Vieux Nice neighborhood. She’d just found out she was pregnant with Zouzou after months of agonizing infertility treatments.

  Unavoidably, Grace thought of Windsor. He had been so happy then. They both had. He’d accompanied her that weekend. They’d stashed their four-year-old daughter, Taylor, with the nanny—the only one who could really handle her anyway—and had one last wonderful fling on the French Riviera. She touched the hem of her tunic.

  Before it all went to hell.

  Her eye fell on her leather carry-on, open on the bed.

  Was she really going to do this? Her stomach lurched painfully at the thought. Shouldn’t I pay attention to gut reactions? She smiled ruefully. Maggie practically lives by them.

  A light tap at the door made her turn her head. “Come in.”

  Haley opened the door and Grace felt a comforting warmth infuse her at the sight of her new friend’s face.

  “Madame Pernon’s grandniece, Margo, is here to help me watch the kids this evening. You okay?” Haley moved into the room and Grace saw her eyes go to the suitcase on the bed. “So you’ve decided?” Haley asked.

  “I don’t know. Maybe.”

  Haley settled herself on the bed next to the bag and lifted out a pale pink silk and lace babydoll camisole. “Pretty.”

  Grace sat down on the other side of the bag and sighed. “Am I doing the right thing, Haley?” Haley dropped the negligee and reached over the bag to take Grace’s hand. “One thing I know is that happiness doesn’t go in a straight line. And it’s the jagged parts that hurt.”

  “I feel like I’m slamming the door on my life before today and nailing it shut. There’s no going back.”

  “There’s always a way back. If that’s what you truly want.”

  “And if I don’t know what I want?”

  “Well, I always think trying things on for size, or taking a few steps down a new road, helps to shine a light on what you really want.”

  “You are a seriously wise woman, Haley.”

  They both laughed. “Now if I could just use some of that wisdom in my own life,” Haley said, the smile dropping slowly away from her face.

  “Anything happening lately between you and Ben?”

  Haley shook her head. “Nothing bad. Nothing good. Just…nothing.”

  Grace squeezed Haley’s hand and stood up and walked to her dresser. She pulled open a drawer and lifted out a matching bra and panty in black lace. “I guess if I’m going to go down a new road I should start by being honest with myself.” She returned to the bed and carefully placed the lingerie in the bag.

  “It’ll all work out, Grace. Did you ever get back to Windsor about letting your oldest daughter visit you here?”

  Grace shrugged. “He said he didn’t want to interrupt her school year.”

  “What about the Christmas holidays?”

  “He said it made more sense for me to come back to the States with Zouzou than sending Taylor over here. He’s right. It does make more sense. I hate separating the girls.”

  “Are they close?”

  “No. Taylor is hard to love, frankly. She doesn’t care at all that Zouzou and I are gone.”

  “I’m sure that’s not true.”

  Grace smiled at Haley. “All family stories aren’t warm and fuzzy.”

  “I guess I know that better than anyone.” Haley stood and walked to the door to leave. She turned and smiled sadly at Grace. “You know I’ll take good care of Zouzou while you’re gone.”

  “That means a lot to me, Haley. Thank you.”

  “And that sounds like you’ve finally made a decision.”

  “I guess I have.”

  Sixteen

  Holy crap. Desiree is a convicted murderer? And Randall knows this? And the Nice police know this? How is that not one hundred percent relevant to Lanie’s murder?

  Maggie sat on top of her carry-on luggage as she waited for Randall to sort out the hotel bill and finish loading the car. Janet stumbled over toward her. With anyone else, Maggie would be tempted to think it was the uneven stones in the sidewalk.

  “Did you see her?” Janet asked Maggie without preamble. “Was she just going into surgery?”

  Maggie frowned and looked past Janet, where she saw Bob putting his wallet away and walking toward the car. He looked like he’d aged since breakfast.

  “She didn’t need surgery,” Maggie said, standing.

  “Is it true Bob had someone lying in wait for her?” Janet dropped her voice to a loud whisper that caused her husband and Desiree—both of whom were standing by the front bumper of the car smoking—to turn toward her. “That he was trying to assassinate her?”

  “Don’t be ridiculous,” Maggie said, her eyes on Desiree. When the Frenchwoman saw Bob walking toward them, she tossed her cigarette down and hurried toward him. He put his hand up to forestall any attempts on her part at communication. Nonetheless, Desiree began speaking French to him in a low voice.

  Randall put his hand in front of her face, as if to push her away. “I can’t frigging understand you so just stop,” he said with irritation, moving past her. “Everybody’s bags in?” he called out. “Let’s get this show on the road.”

  Janet looked at Maggie. “We’re leaving Dee-Dee in Arles?” The smell of wine poured off the older woman’s clothes, her hair, her breath.

  “I have no idea,” Maggie said, picking up her bag and rolling it to the car.

  She handed her bag to Randall, who placed it in the trunk without looking at her. Desiree was at his elbow, a pleading look on her face, but she didn’t speak.

  “May I have a word, Bob?” Maggie asked, her eyes on Desiree.

  Without answering, Randall turned and walked away from the group. Maggie followed.

  “What happened with the police?” she asked as he lit a cigarette.

  “Dee-Dee dropped the charges,” he said, sucking in sharply on his cigarette.

  “What made her do that?”

  Randall narrowed his eyes at her, but Maggie knew he would answer. Whether he was still afraid she might bring up the little matter of his unannounced visit to her room the other night or whether he was just worn down from the day’s events, she saw he didn’t have it in him this afternoon to play games.

  “My producer faxe
d a contract to the hospital giving her the co-host position or twenty-five g’s, my choice. She signed it.”

  “I’ll bet she did. You gonna give her the money?”

  “I don’t know. Probably.”

  “Because you still think Desiree’s the right one for the job?”

  Randall laughed, but it wasn’t a nice sound. “Dee-Dee’s going to have a seven-inch scar on her calf. She might even walk with a limp."

  “So she no longer fits the part.”

  “Seriously? Gimping around Europe with a big-ass scar up her leg? Wardrobe would never be able to put her in shorts when we do the Italian Riviera. She actually had a decent body before she met El Toro.”

  Maggie forced her face not to show her revulsion at his insensitivity.

  “You’re not worried about Desiree’s criminal past coming back to bite you on the ass?”

  He started and nearly dropped his cigarette. “How the hell did you find out about that? My producer got those files expunged.”

  “Wow. Your producer really earns his money.”

  “Besides, there were major extenuating circumstances. It’s not like she’s a murderer.”

  “Of course not.”

  “It was an ex-lover. I told you, she’s very passionate.”

  “Are you still going to hold up her alibi for Lanie’s murder?”

  Randall tossed the cigarette down and ground it out with his shoe, his patience clearly finally drained. “I believe your chariot awaits, Madame. I promised your husband I’d have you home before you turn into a pumpkin.” Without another word, he strode to the car, got into the driver’s seat and laid an arm on the horn. Maggie walked to the SUV and climbed into the backseat. Jim and Janet were already there. Desiree sat in the front with Randall.

  “Where’s Olivier?” Maggie asked, but no one answered her.

  It’s going to be a seriously tense forty minutes to St-Buvard. Maggie pulled out her phone to see if Laurent had called her back. He hadn’t.

  “Chérie,” Desiree said to Randall, her hand snaking along the top of the back of the front seat to rest on his shoulder. “Do not let us end this way. Please let us finish our adventure in glory, not recriminations and unspoken—”