Race to World's End (Rowan and Ella Book 3) (38 page)

“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.

“
Non
,” Laurent said, watching Ben, “he uses the co-op, as we all do,
but his is an amalgamated product.”

“Oh, that’s interesting that
you have a wine co-op here. I’ve read about them back home. Napa and all that.
Winemaking is becoming quite the thing now. More and more co-ops are cropping
up to enable backyard vineyards to come to table.”

His Internet research on the
flight over hadn’t been in vain. He’d practically written the script
out—just waiting for an opportunity.

He had Laurent’s attention
now.

Just as he’d planned.

“It is true that America
leads the way in the new virtual co-ops,” Laurent said, watching Ben closely.

I’ve
got him.

“It’s really ingenious,” Ben
said, edging up his enthusiasm level just a tad. He wanted to appear
knowledgeable to keep Dernier engaged, but not so informed as to not be
believable. “It’s been a boon I understand for those winemakers who don’t have
the big bucks to produce their product without a co-op.”

Jean-Luc finished his drink,
said a few words to Laurent and left the table.

Laurent stared at Ben. “You
know a little about winemaking,” he said.

Shit.
Had he said too much?
He
forced a confused look on his face.

“I just know what I read in
an article I found in the pocket of the seat on the plane coming over,” Ben
said shrugging.

Laurent nodded slowly, then
finished his drink and stood.

“
On y va
,” he said abruptly. “Maggie will be home.”

Ben didn’t even care that he
was following the man around like a fawning Yorkie. He’d gotten his
attention—without revealing his hand. He felt a flutter of excitement
dance in his gut as he followed Dernier out the café toward the parked car.

What
happens next…well, the big French bastard won’t even know what hit him.

Six

Maggie
had to admit it was good to be home. Even just a few days away had her relaxed
and humming as she drove up the long driveway toward the house.

An
old farmhouse, Domaine St-Buvard was built with materials from the rough
landscape. Stones of varying sizes were cemented into sloping knee walls,
corralling thick hedges of lavender with stalks of whimsical pink penstemon
peeking out from the other side. Cherry-colored roof tiles spanned the entire
roof and bright blue shutters, handmade in the village and latched with
ironware forged in the seventeen hundreds, punctuated the otherwise bleak
façade of the
mas
with a gesture of
wit and insouciance.

She parked next to Laurent’s
Renault and wondered what her brother had thought when he’d first seen Domaine
St-Buvard.

The front door to the
mas
swung open and Grace stood framed in
the doorway.

“Need help with bags?” she
called.

Maggie climbed out of the
car, pulling her carry-on behind her. “Nope. Where is everyone?”

 
Grace stepped aside as Maggie entered
the front door.

“Laurent is in the kitchen,
Haley’s playing with the babies in the living room, and here’s you and me
hugging hello.”

Maggie laughed and wrapped a
free arm around Grace. “I’m so glad to be home,” she said. “I’ve got to see my
little man before I go into withdrawal.”

She
set her bag down on the pale, yellowing stone tiles of the large foyer just as
Zouzou burst into the room and threw her arms around Maggie’s knees. Behind
Zouzou, Maggie saw Haley, dressed in skintight jeans and a linen tunic with
little Jem balanced on her hip.

Maggie
kissed Zouzou and picked her up. She was surprised to see how thin Haley was.

“Welcome
home, stranger,” Haley said as Maggie set Zouzou on her feet. She held Jem out
to her.

“Oh,
I’ve missed this!” Maggie said, hugging Jemmy as he squealed with giggles.
“What a happy boy you are. Did you miss me at all?”

“He
missed you as only a boy can miss his
maman
,”
Laurent said, coming into the foyer, a smile on his lips.

“Hello,
you,” Maggie said, going to him as he pulled both her and Jem into his arms.
“Got everyone settled in I see.”

Laurent
kissed her and patted her bottom. “Dinner in an hour,” he said before turning
back to the kitchen.

“I
love your home, Maggie,” Haley said as the three women went into the living
room.

A
tray of iced drinks sat on the coffee table. “Oh, my God, that man is a mind
reader,” Grace said, seating herself and reaching for one of the glasses.

Maggie
settled next to her with Jem on her lap. He clapped his hands together and
pulled at her silk scarf, stuffing one end of it into his mouth. Her little
poodle mix, Petit Four, jumped up on the couch and settled against her thigh.
Maggie touched the dog’s topknot curls absently.

Haley
patted the couch next to her and Zouzou clambered up. “I see your uncle Laurent
hasn’t forgotten you,” Haley said, handing the child a section of
socca
from a plate of still-warm
chickpea cakes.

“
J’aime ça
!” Zouzou said, stuffing the
cracker into her mouth and looking in the direction of the coffee table for
more.

“How
much work have you done on the place?” Haley asked Maggie.

Maggie
sighed and reached for her drink. “Well, I did get Laurent to agree to get the
bathrooms updated, thank God. And we repaired the terrace because I kept
tripping over the broken pavers, but that’s it. I wish we could do more.”

“Well,
it’s simply gorgeous,” Haley said.

Maggie
knew Haley was being generous. She and Ben lived in one of the wealthiest zip
codes in Atlanta. Maggie was sure Haley’s idea of French Provincial was nothing
like the living room in which she was currently sitting, which was anchored on
one wall by a massive floor-to-ceiling fireplace of stacked stone and had a
double set of French doors on the opposite wall which led to the terrace.
    

You’re never truly
dissatisfied until you look at a thing through someone else’s eyes
, Maggie thought.

Domaine
St-Buvard was comfortable. It was big and rambling, but it was nobody’s idea of
a French country estate by any means. The kitchen had its original stonewalls,
two-foot thick and exposed.
 
The
terra-cotta tiles on the kitchen floor dated back to the nineteenth century and
the ceiling arced to an apex that held a large, circular skylight. The cabinets
were glass-fronted to show colorful local earthenware bowls and plates within.

Off
the kitchen a steep staircase led to the wine cellar—and because it was
used for wine storage, it was the only room in the house with air-conditioning.
Old, stained oaken barrels lined the cellar’s limestone walls. A rack holding
at least one hundred bottles of wine faced the staircase, minimizing the steps
necessary to replenish party supplies.

Maggie
flinched when she thought of their basement. Something terrible had happened
down there one Thanksgiving five years ago. To this day, if she didn’t have to
go down there, she didn’t.

“I
would kill to live your life,” Haley said, sipping her cocktail.

“I
didn’t know you were interested in France,” Maggie said, tipping her head to
the side to see Haley better. “You should have visited before now.”

“I
know we should have,” Haley said solemnly.

“I
wasn’t fussing at you. I didn’t mean it like that.”

Grace
stood. “Glad you’re back, sweetie,” she said to Maggie. “I think I’ll help
Laurent in the kitchen.”

“He
lets you do that?” Maggie asked. She kissed Jem’s cheek. “Daddy doesn’t like us
anywhere
near
where the magic
happens, does he?”

Grace
laughed and left, her drink in hand.

“He
doesn’t really keep you out of your own kitchen, does he?” Haley said.

“Are
you serious?” Maggie grinned. “Trust me, it’s
his
kitchen.”

“Well,
I guess everything is different over here.”

*****

An hour later, showered and
dressed in a simple linen sheath with sandals, Maggie slipped into the kitchen,
where Laurent faced a full panoply of pots and pans on the stove.

“
Tiens, chérie
,” he said, gruffly. “Go to the terrace. It is too hot
in here for you.”

He turned and wiped a sleeve
across his cheek, his eyes taking her in, fresh from her shower. He wore his
dark brown hair almost to his shoulders and shaggy. His eyes were dark, nearly
pupiless. Maggie always found them sexy, but a little disconcerting too.

“But
you’re
in here,” Maggie said, stung at being ordered
out—especially after Haley’s comments.

 
“And I will be in our bedroom later,” he
said, a smile edging his full lips, “where you may have my undivided
attention.”

“It’s not all about sex, you
know,” Maggie said as she swiveled on one foot to make a dramatic exit.

“Yes, it is,” he called after
her.

She strode to the double set
of French doors, opened wide to the terrace. It was after nine but still light
out. She saw Grace had lit candles and placed them in nearly every room visible
from the outside where the table was set for dinner. The heat of the day had
given away to a definite chill and while not uncomfortable, the stack of
sweaters and light shawls by the door would be welcome later.

Haley stood at the outdoor table,
her jeans replaced by a long tunic dress. She’d put her hair up too, Maggie
noticed. She turned when Maggie stepped out onto the terrace.

“Grace said you had a
babysitter come over to take care of the kids tonight,” she said by way of
greeting.

“I did. Danielle Pernon’s
grandniece is visiting. The kids love her and she loves babysitting.”

“I would have been happy to
give them their baths tonight.”

“Well, you can do it tomorrow
night,” Grace said as she joined them. “Isn’t it heavenly out here? Maggie’s
got a small plantation of lavender planted just over there. Can you smell it?”

Haley frowned and looked in
the direction where Grace pointed.

“The candles are perfect,
Grace,” Maggie said. “And the table is beautiful. I’m such a slouch.”

“You were tired after your
long drive from the coast,” Grace said. “Setting the table is fun. It’s the
washing up afterward when you’ll be hard pressed to find me.”

Maggie laughed. “Laurent does
that, too, although he may leave it ‘til morning tonight.”

“Oh? Reward redemption night,
is it?”

“You are so amusing, Grace.”

Haley turned away and rubbed
her arms as if cold.

“There are wraps by the
door,” Maggie said to her. “Shall I get you one?”

“I’m fine. Thanks.”

“Where’s Ben? I haven’t even
seen him yet.”

“Is that a criticism, because
I warn you I’m not as desperate to please as some people.”

Maggie turned to her brother
as he stepped onto the patio. He wore jeans and a polo shirt with loafers.
Although she didn’t expect a hug, a smile would’ve been nice.

“Everything okay?” she asked.

“What is
that
supposed to mean?” he said as he found a seat and slumped into
it. Laurent came out onto the patio carrying five wine glasses and a bottle of
wine.

 
Grace turned to Haley. “So, Maggie says
the two of you were in school together. Is that how you met her brother?”

“That’s
right. Ben was three years ahead of us.”

“So
you knew Lanie, too.”

“Not
really,” Ben said. “She was just one of my little sister’s amorphous-faced
silly little friends. Made no impression.”

“Unlike,
one would presume, another of her little friends?” Grace smiled at Ben and
nodded in the direction of Haley, clearly indicating that now would be a good
time to compliment one’s wife.

Ben
didn’t respond.

Haley
said, “Did I mention, Maggie, that Ben and I went to my fifteenth reunion at
Pace?”

Maggie
smiled. “No, you didn’t. Was it gruesome?”

“No,
not at all. I was surprised I could convince Ben to come with me, but I think
he ended up enjoying himself. Didn’t you, Ben?”

“Oh,
for Christ’s sake,” Ben said and reached across the table to take one of the
wineglasses that Laurent had filled.

“Was
Lanie there?” Maggie asked turning back to the conversation. Laurent got up
from the table and returned to the kitchen.

Haley
frowned. “I didn’t see her. Did you, Ben?”

“How
would I know? I barely remember what the woman looked like, for crap’s sake,”
he snarled.

“Well,
you
know Lanie,” Haley said to
Maggie. “If she
were
there, we
would’ve known.” She turned to Grace. “Lanie wasn’t the shy type even back in
high school.”

“Those
are usually the most fun types,” Grace said.

“I’m
afraid Lanie didn’t have a very fun high school experience,” Haley said sadly.
“Wouldn’t you agree, Maggie?”

Maggie
squirmed. The embarrassing fact was that right after she and Lanie parted ways,
Maggie had become obsessed with a new student named Jeremy (or was it Joshua?)
who had absorbed the whole of her concentration until he graduated—the
year before her—and left her briefly heartbroken. She simply hadn’t
thought much about Lanie that year.

“I
guess so,” she said. “I know Annie said the two of them were going through a
lot because of Annie’s divorce.” She decided not to mention Annie’s drinking.
 

“Oh,
Laurent,” Haley said. “What is it that smells so heavenly?”

Laurent
emerged from the kitchen and set down a large, heavy casserole on a platter stacked
high with thick-sliced homemade toast.

“Oh,
it’s
brandade
,” Grace said. “And
Laurent’s is killer. Did you double-dose it with garlic?”

Laurent
rolled his eyes as if to imply,
what
else?
The table laughed.

“Yeah,
I hope you’re not sensitive to garlic,” Maggie said, picking up one of the
pieces of toast. “Laurent brought on early labor for a friend of ours after she
ate his
bourride
.” Maggie used a
spoon to dip into the steaming casserole and settled a large dollop on top of
her toast, which she held carefully over her plate.

“What
in the world is it?” Haley asked, reaching for a piece of toast. “It smells
like…like the best thing I’ve ever smelled in my life.”

“Wait
until you taste it,” Grace said. “It’s salt cod, right, Laurent?”