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

by Kiernan-Lewis, Susan

  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.”

  “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 i
n 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.