“I didn’t want to be there,” Max said. “It felt too personal.”
“Which means there was something you didn’t want to hear. Is it about my parents’ relationship? Something you know that I don’t know?” Max could see the worried expression on her face.
“You’re assuming way too much. Your mother asked to speak to Olivier, and I knew it must be personal.”
Chloé followed Max to her room. “Just don’t tell me they’re getting divorced.” She picked up the book by Max’s bed. “You still keep a journal?”
“Funny you’d remember that. I do, but sadly this one has turned into all the details around Léa’s death.”
“For example?”
“I weigh evidence against alibis against motives. I draw up charts and maps. And sometimes I come up with a genuine suspect.”
“Do you think her murder will be solved?”
“I have to believe it will. It’s harder when dealing with family and friends of the victim. Which reminds me, I’m surprised that Geneviève and Hans knew each other before the wedding.”
“I think Hans was cozy with the Minister of Justice, and she was the minister’s mistress. It has no relevance to Léa, but Marc alluded to a scheme the three of them were involved in to buy land for cash in a village called Serval that is only six miles outside the Champagne boundary. They had a tip that this land will be next to be approved by the AOC, and if it’s true they will make a huge profit. But people are always speculating about that land.”
So that’s my connection, Max thought. “Obviously if they’re paying cash, corruption is involved.” Max thought Douvier was exactly the kind of crooked politician Olivier would go after. “But the money’s gone, and Hans is blaming Geneviève.”
Max laughed. “So that’s why Marc has cooled toward Hans. You’re lucky to have such attentive parents.”
“Au contraire.” She explained the trendy term, “helicopter parents.”
Chloé laughed. “Then the French invented the concept.”
Max changed into jeans and t-shirt. “Maybe we’re lucky and just don’t know it,” she said. “Too bad Marc doesn’t have a dad to balance out his mom.”
“His mother makes my parents seem lackadaisical in their parenting,” Chloé answered. “Geneviève has ruled every waking moment of his life since he was born. Once in a while he explodes at her, then he feels terrible and returns to her full of remorse.”
“Do you like your mother-in-law?”
Chloé hesitated. “Let’s say I don’t hate her. One reason I’d like to move is to put space between Marc and her. Wait! Does that make me sound like a helicopter spouse?”
Max laughed, but then grew serious. “Geneviève needs to get over herself and leave you and Marc alone. Maybe revive her design business.”
“I think we’ll be supporting her. I just have to keep her out of the office. Imagine though, she had Marc when she was sixteen. He wouldn’t want anyone to know this, but she promised she’d tell him the name of his real father on the day of his wedding.”
“That’s huge. Did she?”
“No. She talked to the local bartender and he said he wouldn’t want to know and she decided that Marc shouldn’t know either. She’s always letting him down, and I nurture him back to health.”
Max felt restless. “Hey, let’s go see Antoine.”
“As long as he’s not a suspect in your journal.”
“Everybody is.” When Chloé looked shocked, Max said, “Now begins the elimination process.” She tucked her hand into Chloé’s arm. The air was fragrant with roses, and Max paused long enough to pass along the information she had gleaned from Olivier about the flower.
“What’s happening with you and him?”
“Murder turns out to be a deterrent to romance.”
“What about Girard?”
“Reminds me too much of Joe back home.”
They entered Antoine’s yard and called out. A response came from behind the house and the two young women increased their pace. Antoine was standing on the river bank, holding a beer. He shielded his eyes as they approached, and Chloé ran up and hugged him.
“Thank God it’s you,” Antoine said. “I’m expecting Captain Canon to come marching in with the cavalry any minute.” He proceeded to imitate the military stance of the captain, which made them laugh. “He has a huge prejudice against rich, slovenly people like me.”He leaned down to check his fishing pole that was propped up.
Max looked out onto the wide river and the leafy foliage that ran along both sides. “This is paradise,” she said, enjoying the tranquility and the feel of the sun on her face. She and Chloé sat on the grass.
“How’s the detecting going?” he asked Max.
“Slow, but I saw Olivier in action and was impressed. He would have the president confessing.”
“That’s the danger of his position,” Antoine said. “Yet I still believe in what these examining magistrates do, despite the controversy. If we didn’t have them, there would be no one to challenge the jackass at the top.”
Chloé announced she was hungry and Antoine offered to make an omelet. The two women waited while he stopped to pick some basil from his garden. Max was glad for the opportunity to hang with this twosome. Something glinted from the leaves, and curious, she ambled over a few yards to see what it was. Chloé ran up. “What’re you doing?”
“The sun must have bounced off an object here. I saw a prism, or something.” They both cupped their hands around their eyes and peered into the dense foliage. “There it is,” Max said. She stretched her arm inside and her hand touched an object that she pulled out and held up in the sunlight.
Chloé’s hand flew up to cover her mouth and she gasped. “It’s Léa’s necklace. Mon Dieu! Antoine!” He walked over slowly, and studied the necklace as though it were a specimen of a unique species. Which it was. Léa had told Max the evening of the wedding that it was made of natural Australian pearls, each the size, and similar to the color of, a fully-ripened chardonnay grape. It was rimmed in twenty-four carat gold.
Max watched Antoine’s eyes blink rapidly several times and as he reached over to touch it, Max stopped him, and asked him instead to get her a plastic bag. “It’s bad enough that my fingerprints are on it. We don’t want yours.”
Chloé stared at her uncle. “How’d it get here? Poor Léa! Whoever killed Tante Léa…” She started sobbing uncontrollably. Antoine put his hand out, but she pulled away, and ran up the path.
“Merde,” he said, “If my own niece can have the fleeting thought that I killed Léa, so can others who aren’t so fair.” He stumbled, but caught himself. “I know I had a black-out because of that moment of becoming conscious and knowing that someone was standing over me. I don’t know how a detective determines who might have done it.”
“It comes down to proof, but the first step is intuition or hunch. That’s my father’s way anyhow, and I’m trained by him.” They entered his house. “No recollection yet of who that was standing over you?”
“Let’s say I have a hunch. I’ll wait for a little more proof. This murderer is cold-blooded to remove Léa’s necklace after killing her. If he comes to the conclusion that I recognized him, he’ll come after me. He’s already trying to set me up by throwing the necklace into my yard. Smart. If it was found, I’d be a stronger suspect, and if it wasn’t found, he could return in the night and reclaim it. It’s worth a small fortune so it must have been hard to part with it.”
Max thought few people knew this side of Antoine, and was pleased and surprised that he was willing to open up to her a little, yet cautioned herself to remain objective. “Stop wondering if I’m a sociopath, roping you in,” he said. “I’m a full-blown narcissist and an obnoxious drunk, but not a killer.”
She laughed. “It’s hard to be obj
ective around a family I like.”
“Impossible assignment, which is why they have the conflict-of-interest rule. Olivier is the best when it comes to solving crimes, but I’m glad he has you as back-up because of that. He and my brother are very good friends, and I consider him a friend, too.”
“I’m in the same situation, having my friend Ted to worry about.”
“He has an intelligent blog. Writes well about wine, too.”
Max glanced at her watch. “I think I should call Girard and let him know about the necklace.”
“I’d prefer you call Olivier. I have his cell phone number.”
She hesitated, but then agreed. “I’m really starting to worry.” She waited while he poured beer into a glass. “I know it sounds paranoid, but that necklace was a warning.”
Max had been through this kind of paranoia with people she had arrested, some suffering from paranoid schizophrenia. “You should tell Olivier and he’ll post a gendarme here.”
“That would drive me crazy, but I’ll think about it.”
“Do you have a plastic bag I can put the necklace in?” She followed him into the messy kitchen, and watched as he dug around in drawers until he found one. “The phone’s over there. You know, Olivier has a big plan to get me sober after he closes this case. Don’t tell him I told you.”
“What made you say yes?”
“We had a philosophical talk, and somehow he got me to say yes. I can’t think how. But once I make a commitment I rarely go back. He found a place in Belgium, I think. And no, my brother doesn’t know. I’ve flunked out of a few, and he’s given up.”
Max slid the necklace into the small plastic bag he handed her, and dialed the number written on a piece of paper. Olivier answered and said that as soon as his interview with Baptiste Dupuis ended he’d drive over.
“I’m going to find Chloé,” Max said.
“I’m back.” They turned simultaneously.
Chloé stood with Marc, who said that Chloé had told him about the necklace. “I called Commissaire Girard.”
Shit.
“Why?” Antoine asked. “We don’t need any more detectives, you know.”
“Because it’s important evidence.”
Antoine didn’t take his eyes off Marc. “Max has it covered, Marc. Olivier is on his way.”
Marc lit a cigarette, and Max made a mental note that these two were far from being friends.
A loud knock at the door interrupted them, and Girard asked through the screen if he could enter. Antoine motioned the officer in. “Thanks for calling the police, Monsieur Durand,” Girard said pointedly. “May I have it?” He didn’t smile at Max when she handed it to him. “Mind showing me where it was found?”
Max led him out to the hedge. He walked alongside her. “You should have called me.”
“I was just on my way to the Marceau house to do that.” He pulled a clip from the local newspaper, L’Union, from his pocket and tapped with his index finger on a photograph of her, which made her feel for a second that she was being attacked. Someone must have taken her picture with a phone. It was a frontal view, taken when she had stood in a pugilistic stance waiting for Hans to come after her. Not flattering in the least. The headline read, American takes down German entrepreneur…The reporter mentioned her status with the NYPD, as well as her friendship with the Marceau bride.
“It looks like you took over my job,” Girard said. “And the Chief Prosecutor, Monsieur Reynard, is not happy that you weren’t all arrested.”
“The picture makes it look a lot worse than it was. You know how that goes.” She wondered how she could assuage the damage to his ego. “I’m sorry. I really don’t know the protocol here.”
His face relaxed a little. “Max, this necklace is serious business.” He paused. “Does Monsieur Chaumont know of your discovery?”
Exactly the way Joe would behave, Max thought. Slip in a question to test your loyalty.
“Why would he?”
Girard smiled. “I’ll take the necklace with me and have it fingerprinted. And if Antoine Marceau isn’t too far gone from alcohol, I’ll have a chat with him. He and Madame de Saint-Pern had an altercation at the dinner table the night before the wedding, I understand.”
“They exchanged words, but everyone was tense that night. I have no idea what they were talking about, of course.”
“Was Monsieur Chaumont there?”
Out of the corner of her eye she saw a car drive in. It had to be Olivier. “He can answer that as he’s here.” With that, she took long strides to the car and was upon Olivier as he opened the door, speaking rapidly, “I told Girard I didn’t call you and he wants to know if you were at the pre-wedding dinner.”
Girard caught up. In French he demanded of Olivier, “Did she call you to come here?”
Max didn’t know if Olivier had understood her rapid-fire English.
“Pourquoi?” he asked. “Why? Is something wrong?”
Max remembered to breathe.
“This.” Girard extracted the necklace from his pocket and gave it to Olivier who held it up in the light.
“I remember it. Extraordinary quality.”
“Max found it.”
Olivier looked over at her. “You like treasure hunts.”
This is beginning to feel like teamwork, Max thought.
Chloé intervened. “Uncle Antoine said he thinks the necklace was planted.”
Girard was curt. “They all say that. Let’s go find out why he thinks that.”
“Marc and I are going home,” Chloé said. “I hate seeing him drunk.”
Max thought Chloé made the comment about her uncle for Marc’s sake, and it made her sad. She lagged behind the investigators as they walked toward the house, which gave her the chance to eavesdrop on them. Girard, she learned, was not to be trusted. He brought up Reynard’s pique about her photograph in the paper, saying, “Imagine trying to go to bed with a woman who fights like that.” He chuckled. Olivier shot him a sour look. “The two Americans, I take it, are a team.”
“They’re friends.”
“Really, she shouldn’t be as involved as she seems to be.”
Max held her breath, waiting to see what Olivier would say. “Whatever she does is completely unofficial, and so far she’s done nothing but happen onto a necklace in a hedge while visiting her friend’s uncle. The fight in the bar had nothing to do with this case.”
Thank you, Olivier.
Antoine was sitting slumped in the plaid easy chair. He cocked one eye open. Girard asked what he and Léa had argued about, and he said he was angry over her announcement that she was selling her company to foreigners, and yes, he had threatened to sell his shares to Dupuis Enterprises. And yes, he had gone to Le Bar after stomping out of the house.
“Someone reported that they heard you predicting Léa’s death,” Olivier said.
“If someone heard me do that, then yes, I probably did.”
“Did you tell a patron in the bar that you knew who killed Léa de Saint-Pern?”
He blinked hard. “I said that? I probably did in that moment, but I’ve lost it again. It will come back.”
Max could see Olivier’s frustration. Yet some part of her thought Antoine knew more than he was letting on. Was he trying to protect someone? Olivier and Girard pounded him with questions about an alibi for the night of the murder. He told them about blacking out and waking up on the lawn, but didn’t mention the strange presence. They sat in silence for a moment watching him as his head lopped over. He was asleep
Girard stood up, angrily, shaking his head. “He’s worthless. A mass of flesh with no meaning. No purpose. He’s never had to be accountable to anyone. For anything. He could have killed Madame de Saint-Pern, and have no memory of it.”
Olivier said quietly, “But what would have been his motive?”
“Sometimes the motives are so weak that you can’t believe it, Monsieur Chaumont. The wife puts the knife in the wrong place. Or in this case, Madame de Saint-Pern told him the truth about him, that he is a drunk and a parasite. I have a statement from his brother…”
Olivier was growing impatient. “Put it with the other statements and I’ll have a look. Detective Maguire, do you need a ride to the house?”
She nodded assent.
“Detective.” She turned to see what Girard wanted. “I would like to take a statement from you as soon as possible. I’ll call and arrange it.”
You’ve really pissed me off now, Girard, thought Max.
Chapter Eighteen
Olivier preferred having Max on Girard’s good side. Because of the lying—about his relationship with the family and agreeing to let Max do some solo sleuthing—things could backfire. Girard was no dummy, and if he sensed the unspoken collaboration between Max and him, he might take it personally.
Max interrupted his thoughts. “I didn’t call Girard.”
“Obviously not.”
“Marc called him. He thought it was the right thing to do.”
Olivier sighed as he pulled into the Marceau driveway. “Marc likes to be in charge, wouldn’t you say?”
She laughed. “That applies to a lot of us, not to name names.”
He wondered if he could provoke her. “Like Girard? Who needs a statement from you? It’s a ruse to spend time with you. Harmless, though.”
A look of annoyance flitted across her face. “Olivier, where’re you going with this? I think Girard has the perverted notion that I’m an easy target for his lust…”
“On the contrary, it’s your unavailability that’s making him more determined.”
“I’ll be clear that I’m not looking for romance, that’s all.”
“Shall I rescind my invitation to take you for drinks in a couple of hours then?”
Champagne: The Farewell Page 15