Murder in Lascaux (26 page)

By the time David had devoured his walnut candies and Lily and I had powdered our lips with confectioners' sugar from the crispy
gaufre
we shared, Toby was back. He held a brochure in his hand. “Sorry, I wanted to get a map of the town, and I saw that the tourist bureau was open. They recommend a walk along the ramparts. Anyone game for that? We'd have just enough time before lunch.”

“I'm in,” said David, looking over to check with Lily.

“I'm not feeling too athletic this morning. But you go ahead. I just feel more like strolling the town. I'll meet you for lunch at the hotel.”

I surprised Toby by opting to stay with Lily. Toby knows I generally crave a daily walk, but I wanted to get to know her better, and besides, I hadn't quite recovered from last night's overindulgence. A leisurely stroll round the town would be better for me than a hike.

Lily and I made easy companions as we walked slowly down the steep main street without talking much, motioning to each other when we wanted to go into a shop or pointing out particularly nice decorations. We remarked on the costumes of the local women. Many wore white lace blouses with dark skirts and colorful aprons. Others wore full dresses like Marianne's. Those in costume looked as if they were going to have to peel off layers, because it was already hot and it was still before noon. The tourists, in their shorts and T-shirts, looked out of place but comfortable.

Walking gently down the shopping street, we stopped to peer into windows, which featured the old instruments of each shopkeeper's trade—ancient scales and weights at the greengrocer's, old mortars and pestles at the pharmacist's. At the window of the pastry shop, decorated with nineteenth-century cake molds, we looked at each other and simultaneously asked, “Coffee?”

Inside the pastry shop, we sat back to watch the mix of locals,
félibres
from out of town, and tourists like us, ordering and receiving their goodies with relish. Over coffee, Lily asked me to tell her about our life in California, and I did, asking her in turn to tell me about her life in New York with David.

“We haven't been married long, actually. So we haven't really got a rhythm to our life together, not like yours, with you teaching all day and coming home to a nice dinner cooked by Toby. Right now, I'm alone a lot. I do my copyediting job nine to five, but then there's not much to do unless I go to visit my mother or sister. David's job is very demanding. He's often at work till ten or eleven at night. And he's at the office all weekend.”

“I've heard the hours are grueling for lawyers who are trying to make partner.”

“Of course…. But with David, it's not just that. There's no doubt he'll make partner, but I don't think that will change how much he works.”

“Is it that he loves his work so much?” I replied cautiously.

She looked up at me soberly. “I don't call it love.” Then she fell quiet.

When the silence threatened to become awkward, I asked, “Is this a sore topic?”

“Sort of. David is dedicated to his job. It's a passion with him. And I know it's very important work. But it's going to be difficult now.”

I gave a puzzled look.

“We'll be having a baby. We just found out, before we left on the trip.” I might have guessed. That explained Lily's fatigue, her demurral from drinking, and her lightheadedness in the cave. Not to mention David's solicitude toward her.

“Congratulations! You must be so happy,” I said excitedly, and the inappropriateness of the comment was clear before it had completely come out of my mouth. Lily plainly was not happy. “You'll work this out,” I predicted, more on faith than on evidence. “David is obviously crazy about you. When he sees you need him, I'm sure he'll get his life in balance. If it comes to the office or the wife and baby, he'll make the right choice.”

“Sometimes it's not a matter of choice.”

I was flummoxed. And kept my mouth shut for once. After a moment, Lily spoke, with a mixture of conviction and despair.

“Sometimes the work chooses you, and you can't say no.”

“I suppose,” I replied, a little anxious to break the gloomy mood. “I never realized intellectual property law could be so compelling.”

Lily looked as if she didn't understand my remark. Then she seemed to remember something, pushed her coffee forward, and said, “Well, in this case, I'm afraid it is.” She stood up and turned away, ending the conversation abruptly.

We made our way silently back to the square and then moved toward our restaurant. We arrived just as the church belfry sounded two clangs to mark half past the hour. Lily excused herself to use the ladies' room.

Toby looked as if he had worked up an appetite. “How was your walk with David?” I asked.

“Good. There are some great views from the ramparts.” David and Patrick were examining the day's menu, posted on a wrought-iron stand at the edge of the hotel patio.

“Ready to order, gentlemen?” I asked.

“Nothing to order,” Patrick informed us. “In honor of the festival, there's a set menu of traditional dishes.”

“Fine with me,” David declared enthusiastically.

When Lily rejoined us, she gave me a hesitant smile. I realized she'd probably been fighting morning sickness at every meal.

Marianne waved to Dotty and Guillaume, who were clinking glasses at one of the patio tables, and soon she had us all assembled for an announcement: “We have a table for six and a table for three, so I'm asking if there are three of you who would be content with a little table by the window. You'll have the best view.”

Roz spoke up. “I'd be happy to join a couple at the little table. Nora and Toby?”

“Great,” declared Toby.

We did have a great location, right in front of an open window, looking out over the valley. I could see all the way to the bluffs at La Roque-Gageac. Toby, opposite me, looked over the esplanade down to fields along the river. And Roz, facing the window, looked straight across a meander of the Dordogne in the direction of the little village of Vitrac. Our companions had a more ample table, but it was in the interior of the restaurant, away from this stunning view.

We started with medallions of foie gras, paired with a Sauterne from nearby Monbazillac. After a sherbet of red Cahors wine “to cleanse the palate,” we moved to grilled
magret de canard.
That gave us plenty to talk about, as we compared the chef 's masterpiece to what we had done with our duck breasts in cooking class. There was no comparison. We drowned our chagrin in a good round glass of the local Pécharmant.

“I swear, I've let my cooking go,” Roz confessed. “I'm been so busy with the neighborhood center. But I do love good food, and I think that now I'll have more time for it.”

“You mean, you'll make more time, now that Marianne has renewed your interest?” Toby asked.

“Well, yes, but what I was thinking is that I'll actually have more free time now. I'm expecting the center to close.”

“But,” I replied, “isn't there a possibility of saving it, if your brother's bequest comes through?”

“We did talk about that, didn't we?” Roz seemed surprised to remember she had been so self-disclosing. “Well, yes, if we get the bequest Tom planned before he died, we'll be able to buy the building. If not, there's no way for us to keep up with the rent increases. The problem is that Tom never put the bequest into his will, and Dotty can't make up her mind whether to honor his promise. I've asked Tom's lawyers to explore options with Dotty's lawyer while we're away, but when we return my sister-in-law will have to make a decision. For now, everything's in limbo.”

“Maybe it will all work out,” I offered, optimistically.

“I hope so. But Dotty and I have been talking about it, and she doesn't really see the value of a neighborhood center. It's hard to get her to think of anything but herself,” Roz added, with a note of bitterness.

“Maybe she needs to see the programs at work. Have you given her a tour?” I asked.

“No, and that's just what I've been thinking. When we get home, I'm going to take her there and show her the classes for single mothers and the day care operation.” She caught herself. “Not that Dotty is exactly maternal. It might do more harm than good.”

As the conversation continued, Marianne pulled up a chair and joined us for dessert. It was clear she and Roz had been talking about Dotty earlier, for she already knew the details and was clearly incensed. “It's a scandal what your sister-in-law is trying to do, ignoring your brother's will. Why don't you let me speak to her about it?”

“Marianne, you're my oldest friend, but please don't interfere. I'd like to handle this my own way.”

“I know you. You won't say anything. I wouldn't keep quiet if someone were trying to tarnish my brother's legacy. I'd fight.”

“I know you would, but please do as I asked. I'll fight in my own way.”

“You're too nice; that's the trouble,” sputtered Marianne. “To think of it! What did your brother want? Only to help the charity you've worked so hard for all these years, not to leave all his money to you instead of his wife. There still will be plenty left for Dotty, am I right?”

“I do have lawyers working on this, Marianne, believe me.”

“Lawyers. Once you start with them, it never ends. In France, we would settle this matter within the family.”

“Marianne, please don't make things more difficult than they already are. I'm asking you as a friend.” The finality of her tone put an end to the conversation.

“Very well,” said Marianne, rising from the table. “But you know how I feel.” She strode brusquely off to find the others, who had moved on to the next event.

Roz let out an exasperated sigh. “She's been at me about Dotty ever since we arrived. I know she means well—I couldn't imagine a friend more loyal than Marianne. But her idea of forcing a confrontation would only make things worse. I know Dotty, and she doesn't like to be pushed.”

I nodded. “Do you suppose Marianne feels so strongly about your sister-in-law because of the way she feels about Guillaume? I mean, she dotes on him, anyone can see that. And the idea of Dotty coming between you and your brother Tom, even after his death, must strike her as intolerable.”

“You may be right. And it
has
felt pretty well intolerable. But I haven't given up on convincing Dotty to honor Tom's bequest, and I don't want to stiffen her resistance by fighting with her while we're over here. That's what I've told Marianne, and she'll just have to trust me on this.” Roz pushed her chair back from the table. “Come on, let's see what's next on the schedule.”

We strolled down to the town gardens, where an outdoor lunch was just breaking up. Marianne had reassembled our little group there. She gave a slightly disapproving nod to Roz but then resumed her tour-guide patter. Gesturing toward the tables, she explained that the core celebrants—such as people staffing booths or doing craft demonstrations, dancers, and musicians, as well as everyone in traditional costume— had been invited to a communal meal. We may have enjoyed the finer cuisine at our lunch, but they seemed to have had a more boisterous time, for all were merry and ready to start the next activity, the Court of Love.

We couldn't understand the words in Occitan, but Marianne explained that by tradition the nobles of the area—today, the queen and her consort—would settle romantic disputes according to the rules of courtly love. The other main activities of the afternoon were musical. At the back of the garden, there was a low stage, where three women played ancient instruments in their laps, and a man strummed a guitar. At the side of the garden, a costumed mother and son played accordions under a tree, with spectators surrounding them. A group of young girls, from eight to eighteen, danced together in facing lines. Couples were also dancing, with the women holding up their skirts with the left hand.

It was hard to pull ourselves away when Marianne said it was time to find Fernando's van. “If you want to return later, you can do that,” she announced. “With this heat, I'd advise coming back after dinner for the outdoor ball. That will start at nine.”

By the time we found the van, it was mid-afternoon, and we had wilted. We were suddenly a quiet group, glad to cool off in the air-conditioned car.

B
ack at the château, we freshened up by splashing cold water on our heated skin. Toweling himself dry, Toby said he needed a real soak in the pool, but I wanted a nap, so we parted ways. I must have fallen deeply asleep, because when I woke to the ringing of my phone, I was befuddled. At first I didn't recognize my brother's voice.

“Is that you, Nora?”

“Eddie—I'm surprised to hear from you. Is anything wrong?”

“No, everybody's okay. I just need your help. It's about Angie's new boyfriend. I'm looking into his background.”

My stomach knotted. “Eddie, I'm not sure it's such a good thing for us to be all over Angie's love life. There's such a thing as being overprotective. Did Mom put you up to this?”

“No. If she had asked me to, I wouldn't have. Angie asked me.”

“You're kidding. Just yesterday she told me to mind my own business about Hank.”

“Maybe she decided she didn't want opinions, just facts. And since I work in I.T., she knew I could get facts fast.”

“So what did you find out?”

“Before I tell you, I want to say I don't really go for this business of family members knowing every detail of each other's lives. I wouldn't be doing this search if Angie hadn't asked me. And I wouldn't be telling you the results if Angie didn't want me to.”

“I'm with you on the principle. But what do you need to tell me?”

“I have a question. Do you remember Jack Havens from high school? He was in your class.”