Requiem in Yquem
Page 14
“They were talking about the Lacombes. Macarie said, ‘They lived like paupers and were sitting on a gold mine.’ I knew what he meant, but the kid didn’t. Had to ask. Everyone around here knew they worked the Château d’Yquem harvest for years.”
She stopped and looked squarely at Virgile and Barbaroux, perhaps hoping for some kind of applause.
“Go on,” the inspector said.
“The biker got real interested and peppered Macarie with questions. Fernand had a cousin who worked at the château, and he told the kid the cousin knew something funny was going on between the people who ran the place and the old couple. But the cousin kept his mouth shut with his bosses, because he didn’t want to lose his job. Then Macarie went on a rant about people putting on airs, acting mightier than thou, and all the while pulling off who knows what.”
“Is that it?” Virgile asked.
“When old Macarie tried to stand up, he couldn’t get his bearings. He’d had more wine than coffee. The kid offered to give him a ride back to his place. Macarie said he didn’t need no help and just shuffled out the door without even saying good-bye. The kid asked for the check, finished his beer, and left. That was the last time I saw either one of them.”
40
Benjamin was ending a phone call with Inspector Barbaroux while Britney Whatfour was preparing dinner. Paul-William had abandoned his cane and was navigating the apartment with surprising ease. Benjamin thought he even looked well put together in a checked shirt and flannel trousers.
Paul-William sat down in a chair next to Benjamin’s and leaned over. “Benjy, that Miss Whatfour’s a good-looking woman. Do you think I could appeal to her?”
Benjamin stifled a grimace. His father’s fling with Lucy, the home health aide, had left him heartbroken. And even though he had gotten over her, chasing another woman so soon wasn’t such a good idea. Still, Benjamin didn’t want to demoralize his father.
“Father, you’ll never stop being attractive to women. But maybe now’s not the time to pursue a relationship. You’re recovering from a bad fall, after all. Once you’re completely well again, you can think about a relationship. You won’t even need a nurse by then.”
“Well, you may be right, son. I may not have all the time in the world left, but I can wait. Besides, I haven’t felt so lonely since you and I started Skyping and FaceTiming. Have you taken Elisabeth’s advice and created that Facebook page for Cooker & Co.?”
“No, Father. I’m fine with our website.”
“Okay. One step at a time—right? Meanwhile, you must tell me all about this Yquem business. What did your Inspector Barbaroux have to say?”
“First things first. Michael Shuller, aka Ralph Shuller, and also Michael Duforest, is in custody. The musician who showed up with the Lacombes’ Yquem has been charged with murdering the gamekeeper, Fernand Macarie.”
“Well, what about the Lacombes? Who murdered them?”
“It’s a long story, Father. Macarie had a second cousin who worked at the château. He had told Macarie that he was sure bottles had been slipped to the Lacombes at the end of each harvest. So Macarie started nosing around. He even stopped by the Lacombes’ home, pretending he wanted to go hunting with René. His avarice finally got the better of him. He must have sneaked into their home one afternoon when Éléonore and René were out shopping and found the Yquem. He returned at night and shot Éléonore and René in their sleep. Then he cleared out the hiding place.”
Paul-William frowned and shook his head. “You’re confusing me, Benjy. I thought it was Ralph—or Michael, whatever his name is—who showed up at the auction house with the wine.”
“Yes, it was Ralph who wound up with the Yquem. As it turns out, Ralph and Macarie found themselves at the same café. There they were, sitting right next to each other. Ralph figured he had nothing better to do and bought the old man several glasses of wine. Virgile remembered seeing them and questioned the cafe owner with Inspector Barbaroux.”
Benjamin recounted the whole conversation.
Paul-William was hanging on to Benjamin’s every word. “So Ralph and Macarie left the café. How does that make Ralph the old man’s murderer?”
“The rest comes from Ralph’s confession. As soon as Thomas Hyde gave us Ralph’s address, I called Inspector Barbaroux. He had Ralph taken into custody and charged him with possession of stolen property. The man was transferred to Bordeaux. It took several hours of questioning, but Barbaroux finally broke him down. Ralph poured out the whole story.”
Benjamin was enjoying the chance to entertain his father. He sat back in his chair and continued.
“As soon as Macarie shared the Yquem tale in that bar, Ralph put the pieces together. He had suspected that the Lacombes had a stash of Yquem somewhere in their home. Comments from Cecile’s grandfather had given him the idea. After the Lacombes were murdered, he realized that someone else had had the same greedy thought. Many men in Bommes were hunters and had shotguns. But this guy Macarie was always looking for an angle, and he seemed to have more enemies than friends.”
“Sounds like a shot in the dark to me,” Paul-William said, chuckling at his own pun.
Benjamin continued. “After leaving the café, Ralph followed Macarie through the town, down alleys, and finally along a dirt road leading to the river. He watched as the old man circled his trailer, inspected it from every side, and stumbled as he reached for his shotgun just inside the door. He seemed to be looking for intruders. When he didn’t see any, he went inside. Ralph decided to wait and see what the old man would do next. A few minutes later, Macarie came out, shotgun in hand. And sure enough, he was chugging a bottle of Yquem.”
Paul-William snorted. “Chugging wine worth a fortune. What a waste! At least he could have found a paper cup.”
Benjamin smiled. “Right, Father. Anyway, Ralph was standing behind a tree, near the river’s edge. ‘Hey, look over here!’ he called.
“Macarie lifted his shotgun and made his way to the water. When he finally got close enough, Ralph leaped out from behind the tree and shoved the staggering drunk into the river.”
“I say he got what he deserved!” Paul-William yelled out.
“It seems a lot of people thought the same, although not for the same reasons as you. In any case, Ralph didn’t think there was any point in watching the gamekeeper float away. He went straight to the trailer and opened the unlocked door. He knew the treasure would be there. He found it under an old tarp. Ralph couldn’t believe his luck. Cecile had already left Bommes to get to her audition, and Ralph had promised to close up for her. He hurried back to the Lacombes’ home and got René’s old Panhard. He loaded the wine into the car, covering it carefully with the tarp, and drove to Paris. Once there, he unloaded his booty, drove the car back to Bommes, and picked up his motorcycle. Ralph had no compunctions about murdering the drunk. Nobody would miss him. Besides, Macarie never had the wherewithal to unload the wine. You had to know people to get anywhere in life.”
“How true that is. Well, your Ralph knew some people. But you also need a little luck, and that he didn’t have,” Paul-William said, standing up. “I say solving your case calls for a celebration!”
“What do you propose, Father?”
“A bottle of Yquem, of course.”
“You have some in your cellar?”
“Do you doubt that your old father has good taste?”
“That’s not what I meant.”
Paul-William disappeared for ten minutes. Britney was still busy in the kitchen, and an exquisite aroma of roasted meat was filling the apartment.
Benjamin’s father came back, a bottle clutched against his chest.
“A 1992. You wouldn’t believe what I paid for it. I practically stole it.”
“Really, Father? How much?”
“Fifty euros.”
Benjamin couldn’t keep himself from grinning. “Who did you buy it from?”
“From an art dealer. He knew a scheme through a network
of wine merchants. Why are you looking at me that way, Benjy?”
“Well, it was a scheme, all right. Unfortunately, you’ve been had. Yquem didn’t produce a vintage in 1992. It was one of nine years that Yquem didn’t make wine: 1910, 1915, 1930, 1951, 1964, 1972, 1974, 1992, and most recently 2012. The quality in those years was deemed inferior.”
“You’re kidding, son.”
“No, Father, I’m not. But I must say that I’m shocked. The most estimable antiquarian in Notting Hill has been fooled!”
Paul-William put the bottle down and asked his nurse to bring the glasses. “It doesn’t matter, son. We’ll drink it anyway. Every antiquarian knows a good copy is worth more than a bad original.”
Still grinning, Benjamin opened the bottle. But just as he was about to pour the fake Yquem, his phone rang. He pulled it out and saw his publisher’s name on the screen.
“Oh, no! I totally forgot to go over the final edition of my Cooker Guide!”
He answered the call, not even waiting for a greeting before offering his apologies.
“I’m so sorry, Claude. I’ll get them to you right away.”
“Don’t worry, Benjamin,” his publisher answered. “I was able to push back the release date. But you owe me!”
Benjamin heaved a sigh of relief. “Thank you, Claude. And as soon as I get back, I’ll pay my debt. A bottle of Cahors, made by a friend of Virgile’s. You won’t be disappointed.”
Epilogue
Virgile arrived at Jeremy’s with a signed copy of the Cooker Guide. His friend gave him a hug at the door, and Virgile turned to the page where the Cahors was rated.
Jeremy flashed a smile and showed Virgile to the sitting room.
“Why don’t we celebrate with a glass of the wine that’s helping you make a name for yourself?” Virgile asked. “Where’s Pauline? She should join us.”
“She’s out with Valentin. She said we could have the house and grounds all to ourselves.”
“How are things going for you two?”
“Actually, Pauline and I are doing better.”
“Is that so? Tell me.”
Jeremy smiled. “It’s odd, Virgile. Cecile and I met again. Do you believe it? Mama wound up giving her my phone number. Cecile and I spent the afternoon together. She told me all about her life in Paris, her acting jobs, and what she planned to do with the money she got from the Yquem. Needless to say, she’s not worrying about making her rent. But the funny thing was, she didn’t seem interested in my life at all. She didn’t ask more than two questions.”
“But I thought she still loved you.”
Jeremy sighed. “Maybe she loved the memory of me. I realized then that I didn’t have the same feelings for her anymore. We said our good-byes, and I came back home. I didn’t tell Pauline, but guess what happened.”
“She found out.”
“Yes, she picked up my phone and read Cecile’s text message—the one asking if we could get together. I thought she’d be angry, but she wasn’t.
“‘I’ve been thinking of us,’ Pauline said. ‘I’ve been so wrong, made so many mistakes, and the biggest has been not appreciating you for the husband and father you’ve been all these years.’”
“And you believed her?”
“I’m choosing to believe her. That’s all I can say. It’s worth a try.” He looked at Virgile. “You and I have talked so much about my choices, but now I want to know about yours. Have you ever thought about the decisions you’ve made and wished for a do-over?”
Virgile shrugged, reluctant to disclose his misgivings. “I suppose, Jeremy. Who doesn’t?” He paused, reflecting once again on his own life. What about his decisions? Or rather, his non-decisions? And how much control did he have, anyway? Even if he called Margaux and asked her to come back—for him—would she? Then there was the matter of his boss, who thought he was ill-suited for marriage. Maybe the winemaker was right. He was pining for Margaux but still checking out other women.
Virgile didn’t want to think about it anymore. He wanted to enjoy the day and Jeremy’s company.
“You asked me if I had any regrets, Jeremy. I suppose, like you, I look back and wonder how my life could have been different if I did this or that.”
He paused. Then, as he had when they were both students, Virgile bumped shoulders with Jeremy. “But I am certain of two things: it’s a beautiful day, and I’m with a good friend. Oh—there’s something else that I’m certain of. Applying for the position as Benjamin Cooker’s assistant is the best decision I ever made. My job with him has been like a bottle of Sauternes.”
“Yeah? How’s that?”
“It’s just getting better with age.”
Thank you for reading
Requiem in Yquem
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Late Harvest Havoc
Tainted Tokay
Red-Handed in Romanée-Conti
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About the Authors
Noël Balen (left) and Jean-Pierre Alaux (right).
(©David Nakache)
Jean-Pierre Alaux and Noël Balen came up with the winemaker detective over a glass of wine, of course. Jean-Pierre Alaux is a magazine, radio, and television journalist when he is not writing novels in southwestern France. The grandson of a winemaker, he has a real passion for food, wine, and winemaking. For him, there is no greater common denominator than wine. Coauthor of the series Noël Balen lives in Paris, where he writes, makes records, and lectures on music. He plays bass, is a music critic, and has authored a number of books about musicians, in addition to many novels and short stories.
www.lefrenchbook.com/alaux-balen/
About the Translator
Sally Pane studied French at State University of New York Oswego and the Sorbonne before receiving her master’s Degree in French Literature from the University of Colorado. Her career includes more than twenty years of translating and teaching French and Italian, and she has translated a number of titles in the Winemaker Detective series. She lives in Boulder, Colorado, with her husband.
www.lefrenchbook.com/our-translators/