Murder in Nice (8 page)

“
That’s not
true.”

“
No, you told the
police
that’s not true. I
know the real story.”

“
Look, now more than ever,
Desiree, I think it makes sense for us to take a breath and maybe a
step back. Everyone will be watching us—”

“
You want me to sneak up to
your room at night but not sit next to you in the light of
day?”

“
It’s not like that. I’m
just saying we should be careful since this murder investigation
shines a harsh light on everything it—”

“
I am not your whore to be
shoved under the rug!” Desiree said, standing up and jabbing her
cigarette angrily into the ashtray on the table.

“
Will you please stop
causing a scene and just sit—”

Desiree snatched up her purse hanging on the
back of the chair and flounced out of the café, prompting a line of
interested café patrons to turn and look at Randall. He felt sweat
coat his brow as he waved to the server to get his attention.

“
L’addition, s’il vous
plait
?”

The waiter appeared to
shrug and then turned away, which could either mean he was getting
the bill or wasn’t up for it. Randall sagged in his seat, defeated.
Desiree knew he counted on her to handle this kind of bullshit. Why
did he put up with her?
Bitch!

He poured the contents of Desiree’s glass
into his own and turned to stare at the Mediterranean, unseeing.
His stomach churned painfully. This whole tour had been a disaster
from the start. He hadn’t wanted to do it in the first place and
now…this. He downed the wine glass and closed his eyes.

Dear Lord, I know I deserve damn little, but
if prayer works, and if someone who could take a life for their own
benefit deserves any kind of consideration at all in your book,
then please God, I’m begging you, let the cops look elsewhere for
Lanie’s murderer.

*****

The two-hour drive back to
St-Buvard helped calm and focus Maggie’s thoughts. When it came
time to finally say goodbye to Annie, Maggie hadn’t been surprised
by how difficult it was. What
had
surprised her was the feeling that she was also
saying goodbye to Lanie. While they hadn’t been in contact in the
last several years, she had been a friend at one time. How many
times in the last couple of days as Maggie accompanied Annie to the
police station or sat with her holding her hand and talking had she
gotten flashes of the Lanie she had known?

So full of life, so determined to have the
happy family and the love that had escaped her mother. To end up
killed in a bathtub on the French Riviera and only the mother she
was estranged from to claim her…

Maggie shivered. She didn’t need to compare
her own life to Lanie’s to feel grateful.

Why had
she
been so lucky when poor Lanie had
not?

Maybe it was the friends Lanie had chosen?
Even in high school, Maggie remembered Lanie’s friends as being
largely fringe: tattoos, foul language, some drug use. Maggie’s
thoughts quickly fast-forwarded to the people who shared the tour
with Lanie. Was Dee-Dee telling the truth? If Janet really did
threaten to kill Lanie, did the police know?

Her phone rang and she glanced at the GPS
screen on the car dashboard to confirm she had at least another
hour before she would be pulling into the driveway at
St-Buvard.

“
Maggie here” she said into
her phone.

“
Hi, sweetie, tell me
you’re about to pull into the driveway, I beg you,” Grace
said.

“
Why? Is the visit going
badly?”

“
We hate your brother. No,
I take that back. I haven’t shared notes with Laurent on the
subject.
I
hate
your brother. Is that wrong?”

Maggie laughed. “Don’t worry about it,
Grace. Ben is an acquired taste. What’s he doing?”

“
He’s just a dick. Nothing
is good enough for him. He doesn’t even
look
at Jemmy. I guess he thinks he’s
at a hotel or something. That’s how he acts.”

“
How’s Laurent handling
him?”

“
He’s handling
him…infrequently.”

“
Oh, he’s at the village
café a lot?”

“
I don’t know where he goes
to be honest.”

“
So you haven’t had a
chance to talk with him?”

“
I’m sorry, darling, no.
But you’re right. Something’s up with him.”

“
Yeah, this visit with my
brother is probably ill-timed. What do you think of
Haley?”

“
She seems normal but I
can’t imagine what would prompt her to marry your brother. He
treats her like a servant he doesn’t like very much.”

“
Poor Haley.”

“
Didn’t you say Ben met her
through you?”

“
Yeah, we were friends in
high school—with Lanie, actually.”

“
So the three of you were a
girl group?”

“
Well, not for long. That
was about the time Lanie decided she didn’t need the competition
any more and gave me the heave-ho. As a result, Haley and I got
closer.”

“
And then you did Haley the
mother of all favors and introduced her to your horrible
brother.”

“
In my defense, he wasn’t
always horrible. I have some very endearing memories of growing up
with Ben.”

“
Really?”

“
Alright, not really, but
he’s a good provider.”

“
I can’t believe you just
said that.”

“
You can’t be happy with no
money, Grace. Haley spends her days playing tennis and shopping at
Lenox Square. Not really a hard gig.”

“
Trust me, I know that gig.
I divorced that gig.”

Grace and her then husband, Windsor, had
lived in Provence for three years before Laurent and Maggie
arrived. Unlike Maggie, Grace always handled the language, the
villagers, the food and the clothes as if she had been born to
them. In that way, they were a study of complete opposites. Where
Maggie was compulsive, scribbling madly outside the lines, Grace
was languid and careful, her eye always on the style, the mode, the
rules. Somehow, against all logic, they had become the closest of
friends.

“
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.