Race to World's End (Rowan and Ella Book 3) (37 page)
Read Race to World's End (Rowan and Ella Book 3) Online
Authors: Susan Kiernan-Lewis
The woman jumped to her feet
and whirled around to face Maggie.
It was Dee-Dee Bell. Even in
the semi-darkened hallway, Maggie saw that the woman’s blouse was food-stained
and her hair had yet to be combed that day.
“Oh, my goodness, you
startled me!” Dee-Dee said, her hand to her throat. Maggie was close enough to
smell her breath. She took an involuntary step back.
“Did you drop something, Miss
Bell?” she said sharply, her irritation ratcheting up as she waited for an
explanation.
“What? Oh! Yes, I did. I
dropped my room key but, well, here it is! I found it.”
“Okay, that’s bullshit. You
were trying to look inside my room. What’s going on?”
“I don’t know what you’re
talking about. I dropped my key.”
“Where is it, then?” Maggie
peered at the woman’s hands.
Dee-Dee scowled at Maggie and
took a step toward her. “I made a mistake, okay? Give me a break. I thought
this was Desiree’s room. Hers is right next door. Okay?”
“How is that any better than
you trying to peek inside my room?”
“Well, it’s better, Miss
whoever you are—and I don’t really know why I’m answering your questions—because
I have a reason for looking in Desiree’s room.”
“A reason.”
“Yes, if you must know, I
thought I saw a man go in here.”
Maggie’s key was in her hand
and in the lock within seconds. “Who?” she asked, her voice tight with concern.
A
man came to visit Annie? Annie was asleep. Wasn’t she?
“Well, I didn’t get a good
look.” Dee-Dee said, glancing down the hall as if contemplating making a run
for it.
Maggie stepped into the
darkened room, confirmed snores were coming from Annie in the bed, and returned
to the hallway. “What man?” she asked again. “Why would you care if a man was
in Desiree’s room?”
“I’d care plenty if it was
Bob Randall,” Dee-Dee said in a taunting tone.
“Bob Randall and Desiree are
an item?”
“Not in any imaginable
universe,” Dee-Dee said. “But I’m sure she
wishes
they were.”
Maggie hesitated and then
pulled the room door shut. She turned to Dee-Dee and nodded toward the
elevator. “Why don’t we take this conversation downstairs so Mrs. Morrison can
sleep undisturbed? Say, the hotel bar?” Maggie forced herself to smile and was
rewarded by what appeared to be a genuine smile back.
The waiter brought two
glasses of white wine and retreated to the mahogany-encased vestibule leading
to the kitchen. The bar at the Soho was elegant. A small plaque indicated the
hotel had been built in the late seventeen hundreds by an intrepid pair of
Brits sick of the English winters but wanting to retain as many touches of home
as possible. The bar looked like it could be easily transplanted back to the
interior of any one of many elegant hotel bars in London.
“I think we were all
surprised the police didn’t ask more questions,” Dee-Dee said, sipping her
wine. Maggie couldn’t help think that even the tiniest hint of blush would do
wonders in perking up the woman’s sallow complexion.
Did she not have a mother? Girlfriends? A mirror?
“Bob said it was because they
didn’t have a decent translator and none of us speak French. Except Desiree, of
course.”
“Lanie didn’t speak French?”
“No, she hated the French.
Regaled us all for hours with anti-France jokes. Some of them were pretty
funny.”
“Is it strange that she gave
tours in France?”
“Not at all.”
“What about you? You’re not
here because you love France?”
“Oh, hell, no.” Dee-Dee
laughed. “I’m here for the job. We could be in Helsinki for all I care.”
“Don’t you feel your delivery
will lack empathy or…depth if you’re not passionate about the places you’re
going to?”
“Yeah, I can see how you’d
think that. Most people do. But this is a business, and more than that, it’s
entertainment. It’s got nothing to do with the place.”
“That’s too bad.”
“If you say so.”
“When I came upon you in the
hallway, you seemed concerned that Bob Randall and Desiree might be together in
the room.”
“Yeah, but now that I really
think about it, that’s ridiculous.”
“Are you and Bob together?”
“I guess you picked up on
that, huh?” Dee-Dee simpered.
“Did Lanie know about it?”
Dee-Dee’s smile evaporated.
“She knew,” she said slowly, as if processing the information herself, “but
it’s not like she wanted him. Bob said they’d nearly gotten together a couple
of times but nothing happened.”
“Did Bob want something to
happen?”
Dee-Dee snorted. “More like
Lanie
wanted something to happen.”
“Because of the co-anchor
slot.”
“Hey, that is
not
why Bob and I are together.”
“Sure. I believe you.”
“Besides, Lanie was with
someone.”
“You mean her boyfriend,
Olivier?”
“Now, you see, that was
always hard for me to believe that she and Olivier were together. Have you met
him? The camera guy? He is seriously hot. No, because she and Jim hooked up at
the beginning of the tour.”
Maggie’s face must have
looked confused because Dee-Dee added, “Jim Anderson? The old rich dude? The
old
married
rich dude?”
“Lanie was sleeping with
him?”
“Well, he
is
rich.”
If what Dee-Dee said was
true, Maggie had to admit it qualified as a pretty solid motive for Olivier.
“Are you sure?” Maggie asked.
“Ask anybody. Three days
after we started the tour his old ball and chain throws a major hissy at
breakfast saying Lanie’s a whore and not to ever come near her old man again.
I’m not even kidding. It was serious gonzo stuff. You can dress those old
broads up but they’re still raw ore underneath. Know what I mean?
Maggie looked away from the
table in confusion. “Jim Anderson’s
wife
…”
she said, trying to piece it together.
“Janet.”
“Janet confronted Lanie
publicly? A week ago?”
“Yup.”
“And threatened her?”
“What would
you
call, ‘
Go near my old man again and I’ll slit your throat’
?”
Five
Why
do I get the feeling I will not like this man?
he thought, frowning, hands on his hips.
A slight vibration in his hip pocket alerted him to the call he’d been waiting
for all afternoon. He sighed heavily and answered it.
“So,” he said, his voice
solemn, “have you decided?”
The brief hesitation before
his friend Michel spoke told Laurent all he needed to know. In fact, he might
as well hang up now. Because not only did Laurent know what Michel had decided,
he knew their friendship was over as a result of it.
“Laurent, my friend,” Michel
said, “you must understand how hard this decision was for me to make.”
“I understand of course,”
Laurent said, turning his attention to the long receiving hall that led to the
train platforms. One had just gotten in, although not yet the one from Nice. A
woman and her two young children were hurrying past.
“Estelle would kill me to
even think of such a thing.”
“Did you tell Estelle about
my offer?”
Another hesitation. “I did,
yes. It affects the whole family, Laurent. I can’t make this kind of decision
on my own.”
“Of course not,” Laurent
replied drily. “I have another call coming in, Michel. I will talk with you
again soon.” Laurent disconnected and tucked the phone back into his pocket.
Merde
. He wasn’t surprised, but he had held
out hope that he might be. And now he was coming to the end. Michel, Geoff,
Jacques and Robert. There was Jean-Luc, of course. But he wasn’t enough. And
Jean-Luc had married into money. He could afford to torch his whole vineyard if
necessary.
Laurent thought of Maggie’s
excitement about the upcoming trip back to the States this Thanksgiving. Unless
he imagined it, she talked of little else.
No, he was glad for
Jean-Luc’s new financial comfort but he had no such luxury himself.
He rubbed a hand across his
face. He would think of another way. He was sure there was another option. He
just hadn’t thought of it yet. He shook out a cigarette from his crumpled pack
and put it between his lips. Perhaps now was not the best time to quit.
It was good fortune that
Grace was still here, he thought. He did not feel very sociable at the moment
and the effort to entertain Maggie’s relations was not one he felt necessary to
expend. If her brother had been interested in knowing him better, he’d had five
years to reach out. Coming here now was at best an act of boredom.
And at worst, suspicious.
His eye caught the slender
form of a woman walking quickly from the train platforms toward him.
She
walks fast, like Maggie
,
he thought. Very American in that way. He also noted that she was trim, with
full breasts and long blonde hair. His face was impassive as he studied her. He
saw her hand go up in a wave as she recognized him. Laurent’s gaze shifted to
the tall man walking behind her. Laurent had seen photographs of Maggie’s older
brother—and had heard the stories. Ruthless. Cold. Arrogant.
Just like every mark Laurent
had ever had on the Côte d’Azur in the old days he thought as he watched Ben
Newberry approach. The arrogant ones were always the easiest to rob. They
suspected everyone of trying to take advantage of them except the one whose job
it was to do precisely that. A small smile curved on Laurent’s lips. There had
been satisfaction in feeling their trust in him.
It made the inevitable con
all the sweeter.
“Yoo hoo! Laurent, right?”
the woman called to him from fifty feet away. Laurent would never get used to
the American habit of yelling out to people in conversation. It was a personal
blessing to him that Maggie had stopped doing it years ago.
He crushed his cigarette
under his heel and went to join the couple. Ben Newberry was allowing his wife
to carry a heavy shoulder bag as well as drag a good-sized Pullman behind her,
while he pulled a small roller bag. If he didn’t know anything about this man
and hadn’t heard a single one of Maggie’s stories, he would know the full make
of him in just these first five seconds.
It
was going to be a long week.
“
Oui
, I am Laurent,” he said, reaching out to shake hands with Haley
before taking her bags from her. “The trip wasn’t too bad, I hope? Sometimes it
gets crowded early in the week.”
“We really appreciate you
coming to pick us up, Laurent,” Haley said, looking like she didn’t know what
to do with her hands now that her burdens were removed.
“
Bien sûr
,” he said. He nodded to Ben. “The car is just there.” Then
he turned his back and led the way.
“Maggie didn’t exaggerate how
big you are,” Ben said. “What are you? Six three?”
“Close enough,” Laurent said
over his shoulder as he led them to the parking lot. It was after eight in the
evening. For Laurent, it was barely dinnertime but he knew most Americans ate
early. “Have you eaten?” he asked as the piled their luggage in the back of his
Renault.
“No, and we’re starving,”
Haley said. “We snacked on the train.”
“
Bon
,” Laurent said opening the front seat passenger door for Haley.
His quick assessing glance took in her blonde hair, pale completion and,
although she’d made an effort to hide it with makeup, a black eye. “We will
dine at Domaine St-Buvard,” he said.
Ben took his wife’s hand and
pulled her away from the car. “Haley will be more comfortable in the back
seat,” he said. “I usually sit in front because of my longer legs.”
Perhaps he wouldn’t have done
it if he hadn’t gotten Michel’s phone call just minutes before they arrived.
Perhaps if he’d had a better night’s sleep—he never slept well when
Maggie was not in his bed. But for whatever the reason, he was in no mood to be
preempted by a guest who did not know how to behave as a guest.
Laurent put two fingers
against Ben’s chest and pushed. The man grunted in surprise and took a step
back.
“You will adjust,
je suis sûr
,” Laurent said, before
turning and taking Haley’s elbow and guiding her into the front seat.
What
the hell was her problem?
Randall thought in frustration. She
knew
he wanted to be discreet. It was probably his very desire for secrecy that was
the reason Desiree insisted they be seen at every café along the Côte d’Azur.
“We were together and that’s all anybody
needs to know,” he said to Desiree as she watched him over her untouched glass
of Pinot. “As long as you don’t talk too much, these French cops are about as
backwater as you can get.”
“Why must you be so
offensive?” she said, frowning at him. “You are as bad as the American slut.”
“And why must you rise to the
bait every time someone says
freedom
fries
? If
anybody
should worry
about what the cops think, it’s you, Desiree. Everyone knows you hated her. And
more than a few know you were alone with her that night.”
Desiree took a long drag on
her cigarette.
She
knows I hate how she tastes after she smokes
.
She blew a puff of smoke in
his direction. “As were you.”
“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.”
