Maggie nodded politely at him while she wondered if they could arrest her if she asked Laurent to throw them out on their Banana Republic khakis.
When she closed the door behind them, Laurent went out onto the small stone balcony that faced Peachtree Road to smoke. Maggie ran a comb through her hair. She looked awful, she decided, as she stood in front of the bathroom mirror. A tiny vein under her right eye, normally imperceptible, was vivid against her white skin—an unmistakable sign of weariness and stress. After splashing cool water on her face, she gave her cheeks a brisk rub with a rough towel to bring back some color. She still looked awful.
Laurent appeared in the hallway. She could smell the scent of tobacco on him as it clung to his clothes and hair. She eased past him and went to a chest of drawers in the dining room. Laurent followed her. He leaned against the dining room table, his arms crossed, and watched her.
Maggie pulled out a large leather photo album and began flipping the pages.
“They are trying to tell us that Elise died for no reason. That she was just some random body that happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time.” She stopped and then tugged a color snapshot out from the plastic pages.
“You are going out?” he asked.
“Not right away. But I have to ask Alfie a question,” she said. “Where are you going?” She noticed his cigarette pack was in his shirt pocket, which usually meant he was going out.
“I did not think you would feel like going out so soon.”
“Laurent, you don’t have to ask my permission to go somewhere. And you certainly don’t have to stay here and babysit me.”
“I am taking the dog to Monsieur Danford downstairs. Then I have a lunch engagement with your father. I am happy to break it, chérie, but I thought you were feeling better.”
She hesitated. She knew the two of them were becoming close. Was Laurent looking for a father figure? She really didn’t know much about his family. Was his father even still living? She touched his arm. “I’m glad you and my dad are getting along so well. I’m just surprised, I guess. He never spent much time with any of my friends before.”
He leaned down to kiss her. “You will be careful, eh? And then come back and go to bed?” He held her chin in his hand.
“Yes, yes. I promise. Listen. Don’t tell my dad what happened last night, okay? He’ll just freak and there’s no point. Oh, and please tell him I don’t want you knowing any stuff about my teenage years or anything.”
“Pfut! We have covered all that many weeks ago.” He scooped up the puppy and held him in the crook of his arm. Before he left, he gave her one last knowing smile.
Maggie went into the bedroom to pull on jeans and a tee shirt, and then into the kitchen. Laurent had made ham and cheese sandwiches using a slightly runny Camembert instead of Swiss slices. She took one of the wrapped sandwiches from the counter, poured a glass of juice and sat out on her balcony.
It struck her as bizarre that here she was eating a ham sandwich, with Laurent off to keep a lunch engagement, and just last night she’d been knocked unconscious into a ditch. She touched the knot on the back of her head.
Maggie tried to see the attack in elementary terms. Had she—as the cops seemed to think—merely interrupted a dog abuser during his moment of gleeful torture? Or had someone been watching her through her apartment window and used the dog to lure her out? Was the attack meant for her? More importantly, was it connected to Elise’s death?
She drew the photograph out of her pocket and stared at it. The photographer had caught Elise looking annoyed and unsmiling. Maggie tried to remember when it was taken. After a tennis game, maybe? But Elise wasn’t dressed for tennis.
She couldn’t remember what was going on in the picture to make Elise frown, but what she did know, what she believed in every fiber of her being, was that when she showed this picture to Alfie this afternoon he was going to say he’d never seen the girl in it before. And if that was true, then it meant there was someone else who had frightened him that day.
She finished off her sandwich and looked around her apartment. She thought it looked lonely and too quiet. Had she already gotten used to the little puppy’s presence in the small flat?
Or was it Laurent’s presence she now needed as much as she did oxygen in the air?
She left the apartment and walked to the front of the building to the little stone bench, which sat a few yards away from a bus stop and the grocery store. And she waited.
It wasn’t long before she saw him come out of the store, his arms cradling a box of groceries. She hated to accost him. She knew, as gentle as she would be with him, that he would still be upset. She glanced at the photo of Elise and her heart broke all over again. Upset or not, she had to know. She got to her feet and intercepted Alfie before he was even on the sidewalk to The Parthenon.
“Hey, Alfie.” She smiled and tried to look surprised at seeing him.
He stopped walking and began pulling on an ear and blinking rapidly. His eyes darted everywhere at once.
She held up the photo before he could speak. In her experience, something visual always prompted an innate curiosity in practically everyone. She’d learned that from years of dealing with—and manipulating—advertising clients. She’d yet to have it fail her.
“Can you look at this, Alfie?”
Instantly, his eyes flickered to the photo. He stopped and stared at it, then up at her. “Pretty,” he said.
He didn’t recognize her.
“You don’t know this lady, do you?”
He shook his head in confusion. “Is she waiting for her groceries?”
“Nope.” Maggie tucked the photo into her pocket. “No, she is not. Thanks, Alfie. Have a great day.” She turned and walked back to her apartment. The police hadn’t shown Alfie a picture of Elise.
And he had never laid eyes on her until today.
19
Gary hung up the phone and tapped the base of it with a mechanical pencil.
Mugged! In her own parking lot. Wait until Darla heard about this. She’ll be calling Qantas Airlines herself.
With Maggie out for the day and not in next week because of her trip to France, he realized he wouldn’t have a chance to tell her face-to-face what he knew about Laurent. And now, what with being a victim of a crime, he could hardly deliver the news to her over the phone. There was nothing for it. It would have to wait.
He stood and raked up the venetian blinds on his window with a jerk of the cord. The full blaze of the morning sun shot through the window.
Mean temperature in Auckland in summer is 78 degrees with less than ten percent humidity. He turned away from the sight of cars and trucks moving at a slug’s pace on the street below.
Situated on an isthmus, the views of harbor and beach are enjoyable from every vantage point of the city.
Gary leaned over his desk and engaged the public address system. “Attention, everyone,” he said into the speaker. “There’ll be a short meeting in the conference room in ten minutes.” He felt a rush of adrenaline push through his veins. He’d been waiting for this.
The point of no return. The crossed over line.
He straightened his tie and patted the pockets on his blazer. He knew what he would say; no further preparation was necessary. It was annoying that Maggie wasn’t here, but he’d describe it all to her later.
He jumped at the knock on his door, which pushed open to reveal Patti’s blonde head popping through.
“Hey, Patti. What’s up?”
“I can’t make the meeting, Gary.” She entered the room, her clothing, as usual, making its entrance first. A loud bow was knotted in her hair, something ruffly and pink. Wasn’t there an age limit on women wearing bows in their hair? Gary wondered.
“Can’t make it? Why not? It’s important.”
“Well, I’ve got a job interview,” Patti said, her lips pressed tightly together.
He stared at her and then relaxed. She was obviously baiting him. Sh
e wasn’t going anywhere. This was the usual manipulative Patti crap they’d all endured for the last four years. A perverse part of him—the part of him that was almost free—wanted to drop to his knees and scream, “God, Patti, no! You can’t leave!” He got a grip on himself with effort.
“Okay. You don’t need to be there.”
“I’ve decided to leave the company, Gary,” she said, taking a step toward his desk.
“So have I, as a matter of fact.”
Her mouth fell open in surprise. “What?” she sputtered.
“That’s what the meeting’s about. To announce that I’m leaving.”
“Because of me?”
The suggestion was so absurd Gary nearly laughed in her face. Instead, he paused as if considering it and then shook his head. “No, Patti. I am not leaving because of you. I am leaving...” He turned and waved a hand at the scene outside his window. “...because of everything.” He liked the sound of that. Maybe he’d use it in his speech to the others. “But I wish you every kind of luck. I don’t think you’ve been happy here either, and it’s probably a good idea you’re looking elsewhere.”
It was true. The freedom he felt by cutting his ties—even by breaking the news to just one person—was profound. He felt energized, yet relaxed, capable of talking honestly about anything.
He felt great.
Patti continued to stand there in front of him in her ridiculous dress, her arms pressed in a Joan of Arc fold across her chest, her eyes burning with some indecipherable passion. “Well, that’s it, then.”
“I wish you luck, Patti,” he said again. He felt more in control than he ever had before. He watched her shoulders sag beneath her dress, her head sink.
“Thanks, Gary,” she said in a voice softer and more sincere than he’d ever heard from her. She held out her hand to him. “I hope you find what you’re looking for, too.”
“Just a little peace,” he said. “And I will.”
She moved toward the door. “Take care of yourself.”
“You too,” he said, buoyed with his factory-fresh, hither-to-untried ability to handle any situation. He smiled at her until she closed the door behind her. Then he turned for one last look out the window, patted down his suit pockets again, and went out to tell the rest of the world.
20
Maggie rolled over in bed and saw Laurent was already awake and watching her.
“Morning,” she said. He smiled. “You’ve got that thing today, don’t you?” she said.
He nodded and she noticed he was already drinking coffee. A second cup sat on the side table.
“You been up long?”
“No, chérie. Just long enough for coffee.” He handed her the cup and she took a quick sip. As usual with everything about Laurent and everything he touched, it was just right.
“They’re expecting us tonight at six,” she said.
“I will get the cadeau.”
“Cadeau? Oh, Nicole’s birthday present. Will you have time? That’d be great if you would.”
“No problem.”
“You okay, Laurent?”
“Je t’aime, chérie.”
“Je t’aime, too.” She paused. “I’ll be back from France before you know it.”
“Je sais.”
“I leave here tomorrow afternoon, I’m back Wednesday night.”
Laurent narrowed his eyes. “Almost not worth the jet lag.”
“Yeah.” They sat quietly for another moment. “Did you take the dog out this morning?” Danford’s wife had returned the animal to them late last night. He had been professionally stitched and bandaged. The woman had shoved the dog into Laurent’s arms along with a bag of veterinarian prescription drugs with a rushed, “The instructions are on the label,” before she disappeared down the hall.
“Oui,”
“I hated having Danford take him to the vet. Next time, I’ll do it myself.”
Laurent frowned. “You are not thinking of keeping the dog?”
Maggie sighed. “I’d love to, but I can’t. The apartment doesn’t allow animals over ten pounds.” She turned to look at the animal curled up in a brand-new dog bed in the corner of the room. “He’s probably over that now. No telling how big he’ll get.”
Laurent took their empty coffee cups and set them aside. He pulled her effortlessly into his arms and her mouth met his naturally and easily. After the kiss, she whispered, “Last night was fun.”
“I was important to make sure there are no long-lasting damages from your head.”
“I think we definitely determined that. Although I’m pretty sure I saw stars at one point.”
“Très amusant,” he said, a smile tugging at this full lips.
“You’re not nervous about doing your chef’s thing at lunch today? Everything’s under control?”
Laurent laughed. “Bien sûr. Everything is under control.” In one fluid movement, he turned so that she was on her back and he was positioned over her. He leaned down to kiss her again, and Maggie let out the same small sound of appreciation and relish that he himself often made when enjoying something particularly delectable.
* * *
Elspeth Newberry picked up the newspaper, careful not to get newsprint on her fingers, and placed it at her husband’s breakfast place. The headline shouted: Local Banker Confesses to Buckhead Murder.
“Good morning, my dear.” John Newberry turned from the breakfast buffet in their dining room, his Belleek plate sparsely adorned with a scrambled egg and a melon slice. “I didn’t know you were up.” He kissed her absently on the cheek as he set his plate down.
John’s thick shock of white hair was trimmed neatly in a cap around his head. His eyes were cerulean blue and a pink flush was on his high cheeks. Last night’s schnapps and a generally happy disposition contributed to his good coloring. He was a man happy with his world. He never doubted the future, never regretted the past. As a result, he thoroughly appreciated his present. He was a man with the incredible propensity to always feel in step with life. It showed, too, in his overall affect, in his relations with others, and in his nights of sound, dreamless sleep.
Elspeth sat next to him at the long table set with china and silver for a simple Friday morning breakfast for two. She poured his coffee from a large silver pot and then added a small amount of skim milk to it.
He frowned. “Honestly, El, what could a speck of cream hurt?” He knew it was a waste of breath, and his wife didn’t bother responding to him.
“Did you see the headlines?” she asked.
John looked at the solitary melon slice on her plate. “Is that all you’re having?”
“The police say he confessed to it. There’s a picture of the man. He looks a little like Uncle Jim.”
“Hmmm.” John took a bite of eggs and glanced at the newspaper. “Who is he?”
“They say he is a bank teller at a Buckhead bank.” Elspeth sighed and poured her coffee. She took it black. “A Robert Donnell.”
John wiped his mouth with his napkin and placed a large hand over her small one.
“And how, exactly, does it affect us, my dear? Elise is gone and all the suspects in custody in the world will not bring her back.”
Elspeth withdrew her hand and picked up a spoon to carve open her melon slice. “It affects us, John, as long as we still have a daughter alive and living in Buckhead.”
John looked at her with surprise. “You think Maggie is in danger?”
“I know she still lives in the apartment where her sister was brutally murdered.” She looked at him. “If you took the time to read the story you’d see that the media seems to have reason to believe this confession is not authentic, which would mean the maniac who actually killed Elise is still on the loose.”
“The media is trying to sell papers. They don’t know squat. And as for Maggie, she’s living with that great big brute of a Frenchman, for pity’s sake!” he said, not hiding his exasperation. “Practically his only full-time job is to look afte
r our daughter.”
“I’m not sure what I think about Laurent Dernier,” Elspeth said, returning to her melon. “There’s something about him that doesn’t feel right.”
John took a sip of his coffee. “Well, I think I can set your mind at rest about that point at least. It is my belief that Laurent is the one stable, normal thing that our daughter has had in her life for a long time.”
“And what do you call Brownie?” Elspeth pushed her fruit plate away and stared at him.
“I’m not saying anything against Brownie. I always liked the boy. But he wasn’t right for our Maggie and I wouldn’t have liked to have seen them get together.”
“I can’t believe you’re saying this. Brownie comes from the finest family.”
“I’m not saying he doesn’t.”
“He adores Maggie.” Elspeth looked around the room in agitation. “He has practically grown up with her.”
“All I’m saying is the girl doesn’t love him and I don’t blame her. Nice chap, but I’ll pass on the son-in-law part, if you don’t mind.”
“I cannot believe you are saying this,” she repeated. “And you’d rather have this...Laurent Dernier, instead, I suppose?”
“I would.”
“He doesn’t have a job! He barely speaks English.”
“Maggie understands him. Come to that, you have no trouble understanding him either.”
“I’m not against Laurent.” Elspeth stood up from the table, her gold bracelets jangling softly as she did so. “But I think to compare him to Brownie is preposterous.”
“I quite agree.”
“I cannot believe this is what you would want for your daughter—an unemployed foreigner. Charming and handsome, yes, but marriage material for Margaret? You must be mad.” With that, she turned to make an elegant exit, in complete possession of the last word.
Newberry replaced his napkin and finished his coffee. He grimaced and added more milk to the cup. Idly, he flipped the paper to the sports section and got up to find a small sausage on the quickly cooling buffet table.
Murder in the South of France: Book 1 of the Maggie Newberry Mysteries (The Maggie Newberry Mystery Series) Page 17