“It was a terrible time for both of you,” Maggie said numbly.
“I need you to find the person who did this to Lanie,” Annie said. “I can’t believe I’m asking but I have to know and I need you to be the one to do it. I used you to hurt Lanie and I never fixed that in her lifetime.”
Annie grabbed a tissue and held it to her face, her eyes squeezed shut until the moment of intense grief passed.
“Can you see why I need you to step in now and set this right? It’s not even your mess to clean up. And it’s too late for me and Lanie. I know that. But she’s been gone three whole days and I still haven’t reached for a drink. There may be some hope for me to survive this, but if there is…I’m begging you, Maggie, if you ever cared for Lanie—or for me—find out who did this to her. Help me finally do right by her.”
*****
Janet rapped sharply on the hotel room door. It was late afternoon; a good time to catch people in, as it was a good time to take a nap and escape the heat of the day. Although she was sure some people weren’t bothering with sleep.
The door opened a crack and Janet felt a tightness in her jaw. Did he think she would try to force her way in?
“I need a minute of your time,” she said tersely. “If you’re alone, that is.”
“As a matter of fact, I’m not,” Randall said, his eyes droopy and veined with red. “What do you want?”
“I want,” Janet hissed, trying to keep her voice low, “to remind you that Jim and I are not the only ones to be hurt by loose lips.”
“Jesus, Janet,” Randall said, “spit it out before I shut the door.”
“You told Lanie about me and Jim.”
She dared him to deny it. She literally quivered with anticipation. A part of her wanted him to try.
“I didn’t, as it happens, but so what? Nobody cares but you.”
“Oh, believe me, Bob, you’re wrong about that. Jim cares a great deal.”
“Well, he should have thought of that then shouldn’t he?” Randall began to push the door shut and she surprised herself by stepping a foot into the room and wedging it against the door.
“I wish the rest of the world knew you the way I do,” she said in a loud whisper. “I wish your little friend knew what you were capable of.”
“Funny, Janet, I was going to say the same thing about you.”
She saw by the way his eyes went suddenly blank that he didn’t care who he hurt. Especially her. For a moment, the stark look startled her because she hadn’t expected that kind of honesty from him. She pulled her foot back just in time as he slammed the door in her face. She stood there for a moment, hearing her own breath, the sound of the door echoing softly in her head, until she realized one of her fingernails had been too close to the door jamb.
A thread of blood traced down her finger to her wrist.
*****
Maggie walked Annie to their hotel room and closed the drapes while Annie took a sleeping pill and a bottle of water to bed. It occurred to Maggie as she slipped out of the room that Annie was in prime position to swap one addiction for another if she wasn’t careful. Maggie rode down in the elevator and found a large wing chair in the lobby with a view of the Mediterranean. She dialed home and closed her eyes, willing herself to sound calm and nonchalant when he answered.
“Allo,” Laurent said. “Are you on your way, chérie?”
“No, I’m not on my way, Laurent,” she said, already feeling defensive and hoping she didn’t sound it. “This is a very tense business. A woman has lost her only child. I’m doing what I can to smooth things over and take some of the horror out of it for her, but it’s not an easy or fast process.”
“When are you coming home?”
“Would you please listen to me? Lanie’s mom is really upset and I’m helping her sort out all the bureaucratic red tape in getting Lanie’s body shipped home. I did tell you they’re calling it a suspicious death, right?”
“You are not needed for that.”
“I’m needed to be with her, Laurent. She has no one.”
“Why have I not heard of this person before now if she is so important to you?”
“That is a very interesting story and I’m going to tell you as soon as I get home.”
“I have time now.”
“Well, okay. Let’s see…I guess it’s not so much that she was important to me as the other way around. Without knowing it, I was used as a sort of wedge between her and Lanie when…look, it doesn’t matter, Laurent. Why can’t you take my word for the fact that she needs me?”
“Incroyable! Your child needs you.”
“Jemmy has you—he’s probably sitting on your lap right this minute—and I’m only talking about another twenty-four hours. Annie has no one.”
“If you tell me you have agreed to investigate this woman’s death, I am putting Jem in his car seat and driving to Nice tonight to bring you home.”
“Jeez, Laurent, way to overreact. Did I say I was investigating it? Did I even hint at that? The police have someone in custody that they are very happy with and I have no reason to doubt their choice.”
“So this is just about helping your friend’s mother navigate the red tape?”
“Yes, that is it. Almost completely.”
“Almost?”
“Completely.”
There was a pause. “Twenty-four hours?”
“I promise. Put the baby on the phone; I’ll promise him, too.”
“He isn’t old enough to know your ways yet.”
“Laurent Dernier, you take that back.”
He made a sound of disgust.
“Oh, I meant to mention that my brother and Haley are on their way. He said he’d call you when he’s an hour out from Arles. Okay?”
Laurent grunted, which Maggie decided to take as an affirmative.
“Meanwhile, can you tell me what cute thing Jemmy’s done since I’ve been gone?”
An hour later, Maggie hurried up the broad stone steps of the Soho lobby to the front desk. It was after three in the afternoon but there were no guests in the lobby or standing by the desk. The concierge, a tall man with a long jaw and small eyes that missed nothing, watched her approach from under heavy eyebrows.
“Excuse me,” Maggie said to him in French. “I’m in Room 205.”
The man didn’t respond.
So it’s like that, is it? It had been a long time since Maggie had bumped up against an imperious or outright rude service person in France. Even in Paris, most of them nowadays seemed to know on which side their beignet was buttered. And the south of France especially was usually a little more accommodating to tourists and foreigners.
“Mademoiselle Morrison died in your hotel two days ago,” Maggie said bluntly. If she expected the man to blanch or soften, she was disappointed. He continued to wait for her to get to the point. “A glass of wine was found in her room. Did she order it through room service that night?”
The man smiled faintly, surprising Maggie. It was the look from a man wondering how long before someone asked him the million-dollar question.
“Oui,” he said.
“And did she order just a glass or did she order a bottle?”
“A bottle,” he said. “A Côtes du Rhône.”
“No bottle was found in her room.”
He shrugged. “The valet did not wait for her to drink the whole bottle.”
“So is that your smart-ass way of telling me he delivered the bottle and left it with her?”
“As you wish, Madame.”
“You’ve been a peach,” Maggie said, turning away abruptly. “Thanks.”
So Lanie had been bashed in the head with her own wine bottle. Maggie took the elevator to the second floor, her mind racing. That meant whoever had interrupted Lanie in her bath had probably not come there intending to kill her but somehow things escalated and the killer used whatever weapon he could find.
In this case, a bottle of killer Côtes du Rhône.
; Where was the bottle? Surely the cops had gone through all the rubbish bins and garbage cans around the hotel. Would they think to look at a wine bottle as the weapon? Maggie sighed. There must be a hundred bottles a day tossed in the hotel garbage, not even counting the ones the guests brought in themselves.
As Maggie turned the corner from the elevator, she slowed and then stopped. She could easily see the room she shared with Annie at the end of the hall. And she could also see a woman kneeling in front of the keyhole.
At first she thought the person was attempting to spring the lock on the door, but as she stood there she saw the woman was trying to peer through the ancient keyhole into the room. Maggie took several quiet steps on the balls of her feet until she was close by and then cleared her throat.
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
Laurent stood in the receiving lobby of the Arles train station. The drive to the station took thirty minutes, yet he remembered not a single minute of the trip—not even the two toll booths he had to pass through from St-Buvard to Arles. He glanced up at the overhead schedule boards. Maggie’s brother had called an hour earlier. Grace had spoken with him.
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.
Race to World's End (Rowan and Ella Book 3) Page 32