“I still hold George responsible for the death of my mother because he caused so much stress in her life. My mother knew he was a criminal, but it’s hard to lock up rich criminals in New York. They buy their way out.”
“I’m sorry about your mother.”
“I’ve got some bad karma going on. All my focus right now is on Tim. The local cops aren’t going to work hard to solve that one. Max told me she had just spent an hour with him before he was shot.”
“She was looking forward to a friendship with him.”
“He told too many people he had photographs to prove my innocence. The images were blurred and he was working on that. He told me Yvette was captured in one of the photos in the woods the day of the hunt. But he knew she might have just been looking for Roland.”
“Do you know who shot at the cabin door?”
“Roland said it was his dad, because he recognized his hat. He grabbed his rifle, but I told him we should run to Tim’s. We stopped for a minute for Roland to get his breath. He turned on me and called me a traitor for going to Paris with Tim and leaving him in the cabin. He said it was my fault Yves died. I took off running again, hoping to get away from him.”
“That’s when you were shot.”
“Soon after.”
“You were sober at Yves’ party?”
She nodded. “It was stupid that we went. I told Tim I planned to sneak into Yves’ office and find the information about me he had on his computer. He gave me his password months ago when I was helping him some.”
“But he turned on you.”
“He couldn’t hide his jealousy, but he was up and down. He called to invite me to his party. And Tim, too.”
“What happened after you got there?”
“I couldn’t find my file. Then Roland came in and he said he wanted the file on his mom he knew his dad had paid Yves for. We found that one. Lots of nude photos of his mom with Jean-Claude. I shut down the computer, and we went out.”
“Roland seemed okay?”
“I didn’t see him for a long time, then he found me, and I knew he was high. Tim said we needed to leave. Everybody was starting to leave anyhow. I told Roland to meet us downstairs at the car. Tim and I went around a curve where the car was, and heard Yves up on the balcony yelling good-bye to everybody. He was leaning against the railing. Tim aimed the camera and started snapping pictures. I said I’d run up and get Roland. We met on the second set of stairs. We walked out together and his father came from the bushes and gave him a lot of shit, and asked if this was where he got his drugs.”
“Was his mother there?”
“I didn’t see her. Roland told his father to go to hell, and we went to the car. Tim was a wreck when we got there. ‘Yves fell,’ he said. We saw neighbors running toward the body, and people were calling the police. I went close enough to see the body, but Tim said I shouldn’t get involved.”
“Did Roland say anything?”
“Nothing. He said he was tired, and got in the backseat.”
“You didn’t think Roland had anything to do with Yves falling?”
“Tim wondered, but I told him not to go there. The next day we saw it was ruled an accident, and that was when Tim said he was taking me into Paris. When it came up on the news that Yves was pushed, Tim said he might have some kind of proof with the photos.”
“He didn’t actually see anyone push Yves?”
“No. He said it happened so fast, but sometimes the camera sees what the naked eye can’t.”
“Somebody wanted those photos enough to kill for them.”
“I don’t think the negatives were with the photos.”
“What do you mean?”
“Tim was a little worried that someone would want the photos. Not bad enough to kill him, but enough to break in and steal them. He kept his negatives in separate places.”
“I should have gone immediately to Tim’s when Max told me about the photos he was developing.”
“Tim didn’t believe in regrets. He will end up being the one to solve this case if we can find the negatives.”
They had arrived at the hotel. “You sure you’re up for this?”
Lucy nodded. “I don’t really have a choice. Uncle George said he had some information for me that he knew I’d want. I don’t ever have to see him again after today.”
George was standing in the parking lot yammering on his cell phone, waving a hand in the air for unnecessary emphasis. “About time you got here,” he said to Lucy, muting the call and the tinny voice squawking back through the phone. “Listen, kiddo, I wanted to wish you a happy birthday. I didn’t chase you all the way across the ocean to kill you, so let that one go.”
She gave him a skeptical look. “What do you want?”
“You need to learn about gratitude. I paid Yves Laroche a lot of money to prove or disprove your father’s identity.”
“Oh, I already know who my father is, and he’s dead.”
Olivier knew she was talking about Anne’s husband, Gervais.
George’s eyes were fixated on Lucy. “Wrong. Your father’s alive. The bastard outbid me, and Yves turned over his folder to him. But I can be a wily fox, and I had other methods of tracking him down. This man will never claim you. But I can help you go after him to get some financial reward.”
“You’re full of it.”
“It’s Hugo Bourgeot,” George said. “A famous exporter right here in Beaune. I thought we might swing by there, and announce ourselves.”
Lucy was out the door before Olivier could even extend his arm to stop her. He ran after her, but she was fast. When he got to the sidewalk, he saw her in full run, then stop and throw an object into the trash can. He chased her and at least was keeping her in sight. Then he saw her approach a policeman and point in his direction. The policeman loped up to Olivier, asking why he was following the girl. Furious now, Olivier pulled his ID from this pocket and within moments had the officer apologizing to him. They said a civil good-bye. He retrieved the cell phone Anne had given Lucy from the trash, and walked on.
***
Anne was eagerly waiting at a glass-topped wrought iron table, a bubbling glass already at hand. “Where’s Lucy?” she asked.
He explained what had happened and Anne said, her eyes fierce, “Hank gave me the responsibility of taking Lucy into town to make sure no one would be stalking her around my house. We have to find her.”
“Give her a few minutes. She might come back.” Olivier ordered a Scotch on the rocks for himself when the waiter appeared, then looked at Anne. “The same,” she said. They drank in silence. Half an hour later, Olivier, calmer, said, “I have no choice but to call the police.”
His cell phone rang, as if on command. “Monsieur Chaumont, this is Hugo Bourgeot. A young woman has appeared at my door just now, and demands that I admit to being her father. I thought I had your word on this!’
“I take umbrage at your attack, as I did not reveal your identity to her. But I will be there momentarily. Don’t let her escape.”
“How do I do that?”
“Give her a drink. She’s eighteen today.”
“Let’s go!” Anne said.
“I want to finish my drink. They may have to get to know each other.”
An hour later Anne parked outside the elegant eighteenth-century brick building that housed the Bourgeot Company that had been in the family for centuries—the inner sanctum of the wine kingdom. Until the modern era, most wine growers sold their grapes to the company, where they were turned into wines of character. But today, Olivier knew, the young upstarts, as Alain had referred to them, were insistent on creating their own wine. Bourgeot still sold wine made from grapes purchased from local vineyards, but they also excelled in wines that they produced from their own grapes.
The receptionist looked up and said, “
Monsieur Bourgeot is expecting you, upstairs in the conference room.”
A door to the left of the reception desk opened, and Anne greeted a man who appeared to be in his forties. He greeted Anne and shook hands with Olivier. “My sister is on her way over. Our father has locked the door to the conference room and refuses to allow anyone else to enter. We know that a young woman bullied her way into his office, where he happened to be, and confronted him. We were about to call the police when he told us to wait and slammed the door.”
“He invited us here,” Anne said. She led Olivier up a short flight of stairs to a carved wooden door, took a deep breath, and knocked.
“Qui est la?” a baritone voice asked from the other side of the door.
“Anne. Et Olivier. Ouvrez la porte, Hugo!”
The door swung open and they found themselves in a high-ceilinged room with a massive, and highly polished wooden table occupying the center. Lucy was sitting at the head of the conference table with five glasses in front of her, and as many bottles. They were tasting.
“She’s not bad,” Hugo said, raising a glass. “She has discovered the fragrance perfectly in the Clos de Reine.”
Lucy looked at them and gave a smile of accomplishment. Hugo poured wine into two more glasses and handed them to Olivier and Anne. They sipped, surprised to have entered a scene of calm celebration, and smiled mawkishly at each other. “Lucy explained that everyone around her is dropping like flies, and she thought she’d better meet me before I die.” He looked amused.
An insistent rapping at the door made Hugo get up. “My poor children,” he said. He picked up his cane and made his way to the door. Three adults—two men and a woman—entered, their eyes going uncertainly from their father to the strange girl sitting at the head of the great table, surrounded by uncorked wines.
“I was intending, in due time, to sit down with each of you and explain,” he said to them with a ragged sigh. “But here we are. This is Lucy Kendrick. Your half-sister.”
Olivier thought he had never seen more shocked faces. The eldest son turned on his heel and left the room. The daughter, Vanessa, went to Lucy, who stood up, and said, “Forgive us, we are in shock. Please come to lunch tomorrow at our father’s house, and we will get acquainted.” The younger son shook Lucy’s hand, but said nothing, his face a drawn mask. Vanessa went to her father and kissed his cheek, “Lunch tomorrow, then.” She shook hands weakly with Olivier and Anne, and departed.
Olivier turned to Hugo. “We, too, must leave.”
“Vanessa has invited Lucy for lunch. I insist that you and Anne come as well. And bring your fiancée, of course. I don’t want Lucy feeling ganged up on.”
Anne exchanged cheek kisses with her old friend.
Hugo turned to Lucy and said, “It took courage for you to come here. I am glad to be found. And I will be sure to tell my children that your mother was a remarkable woman.”
She smiled up at him.
Once outside, Olivier asked Lucy to ride with him. He explained the police were searching for Yvette Milne, and that until she was caught, Lucy was not to be alone even for a minute.
“I’m done running, Olivier.”
“In the end I guess we could say your Uncle George did you a favor.”
“But it wasn’t his intention. Hugo is okay. It’s weird, today, for the first time, I saw myself in someone other than my mother. I thought it might be like how someone feels after receiving a lifesaving organ from a dead stranger. They feel the stranger inside them. Share some of the same feelings, maybe. That’s how I feel. Like I just had a heart transplant.”
“I see,” said Olivier, with slightly raised eyebrows.
“You don’t, really, but that’s okay.”
They were entering the village. Olivier said, “I wonder where you will go once this is all over.”
“Oh, it’s decided. I’ll go back to New York to live with Hank and Juliette and get my diploma, then come back to help Anne.”
“Does Max know?”
“She was annoyed with Hank when he told her, but we’re working it out.”
They passed the turn to Tim’s B&B, and Lucy said, “I want to go into Tim’s house now.”
“But we’re expected for dinner.”
“Please? I’ll only stay a few minutes.”
Olivier turned the car around. The police tape still surrounded the house, but Olivier knew where the key was, and retrieved it from beneath a stone, and unlocked the front door. Lucy turned on a few lamps, and looked around. “It’s as if he’s still here, waiting for me. I haven’t really said good-bye.”
Olivier wished Max would come. He thought about texting her, but decided not to. Lucy disappeared into the bedroom, and he heard her crying. He went to the doorway. “Can I be of assistance?”
She was sitting on the side of the bed. “May I take this photograph of us?” and Olivier nodded. He thought of the post-it note had seen the night forensics showed up, the one with the word L U C Y printed out and a heart beneath, and another word or two. He had pocketed it. Reaching into his jacket pocket, he felt it, a small piece of folded paper. “This was on the counter the night we discovered his body,” he said.
She opened it and looked at it. “Oh, Olivier, this means a lot to me. He was always leaving little notes around for me. I wonder why he put Uncle Jeremy on it. Look.” Olivier looked at it. U N C L E J E R E M Y! He shrugged and handed it back to her.
“The ancestral paintings are unusual in a B&B,” Olivier said. “There are three or four. He must have felt pride in his family.”
“A brief tour,” she said, going from one to another. “Grandfather James, Aunt Rosalind, mother Matilda, and in the kitchen, Great Uncle Jeremy, who was a bigwig in government, I think. Huh. Uncle Jeremy, why did he write your name under mine?” She turned to Olivier, “I have a thought. Remember I told you Tim kept negatives, and often hid them? Can you get that portrait off the wall? And don’t look at me like I’m crazy.”
It was heavier than Olivier had imagined, but they got it down, and turned it around, and saw a big envelope taped to the back. He called to tell Abdel to send someone out for them. They could be developed in a day.
Isabelle’s house was aglow when they pulled in. Lucy said, “I told Max Tim would solve this crime. All in one day I’m no longer an orphan, and we know who shot me. And who pushed Yves.”
“It’s a lot for one day. I agree.”
She smiled at him, and all he saw was Hugo.
Chapter Thirty-one
Max glanced at her watch. She had played outside with Luc until the temperature dropped. Jean-Claude said he needed to get home, but then he accepted a drink, and Hank got him engaged in a discussion on hunting rifles. A small, cozy fire was crackling in the fireplace. Isabelle came in from the kitchen. “I wonder what’s going on in Beaune. I haven’t heard a word from Anne.”
“Olivier hasn’t checked in either. Let’s enjoy the temporary quiet.” She had been in constant touch via text with Abdel, but so far they were having no luck finding Yvette. When she heard a knock at the back door, her restlessness had an outlet. She jumped up to open it, and Yvette Milne stood there. “Bonsoir,” she said in a low voice. “May I come in?”
Max opened the door and allowed her to step in. Had she come to turn herself in?
Juliette turned from the stove, and said innocently, “Oh, bonsoir, Yvette. May I offer you a glass of champagne?”
“Non, merci.”
“I’m looking for Lucy,” Yvette said.
“They should be along soon,” Max said. “It’s her birthday and Olivier and Anne took her for an official glass of champagne.”
Jean-Claude came into the kitchen, and stopped short. “Yvette.”
She smiled wryly at him. “I wondered if you were hiding out here.” He flushed. “Everything I did, I did for you, Jean-Claud
e.” Her voice was eerily calm. Max tried to prevent her thoughts from returning to the bedroom where Yvette had waited in her finery for her lover. Only to have him vaporize the dream.
Jean-Claude said, “Yvette, the police are looking for you.”
“That’s all you have to say to me?”
She opened the door, her eyes still on Jean-Claude. Max thought, No way. She suddenly knew Yvette had come to shoot Jean-Claude. Max yelled as she darted across the room and pushed Jean-Claude hard. But she was too far away to stop Yvette from lifting the gun from her coat pocket and shooting herself in the heart. She fell onto the steps, landing in a heap on the dirt. Max reached her in seconds, with Hank right behind her. Juliette came to the door and Hank told her to call the ambulance. “She’s not going to make it,” Hank said to Max in a low voice. He ran inside for a pillow and blanket, and Max stayed with her, constantly checking her vitals.
Jean-Claude came out, carrying a drink. “I don’t know why she did this. She went crazy.” He lit a cigarette, standing away from Yvette’s body.
Hank went in and returned with a coat for Max. “She’s gone. I told everybody to stay inside.” He looked at Jean-Claude, “Your son needs you.” Jean-Claude tossed his cigarette on the ground and stomped it out, and went back inside. The door opened quietly and Olivier stepped out and took a seat beside Max. “I heard the shot just as I was entering the house,” he said. She reached for his hand.
Abdel arrived half an hour later with the local police, who removed Yvette’s body. Max didn’t want to go inside just yet. “We still don’t know if she killed Yves, though it’s pretty certain she killed Tim.”
“We know,” Olivier said. “Lucy found the negatives attached to an ancestor’s painting. Here’s the way it will go down: Roland pushed Yves off the balcony, and Yvette shot Lucy and Tim.
Abdel said they’d have the photos by tomorrow. He bid them good night. They went into the salon and Olivier stirred the few embers left in the fireplace, then poured them each a glass of cognac.
Max sighed. “She must have learned the morning of the hunt that Roland and Lucy were in the cabin, and walked over with her rifle to scare them. The chase wasn’t planned but her rage drove her to pursue Lucy.”
Burgundy Page 20