Champagne: The Farewell

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by Janet Hubbard


  “Then perhaps you’ll have to stay.”

  “That’s a simple conclusion.”

  She told him she thought the Chaumont two-story, stone house outside the village of Avenay-Val d’Or fabulous in its elegance and simplicity. She admired the gardens that were colorful and neat. When they entered the house, Olivier switched on John Coltrane and Max playfully whirled around.

  “I know from the wedding that you like to dance.”

  “That was the first time I’d danced since my brother died.”

  “We’ll have to make sure you continue.” He took her in his arms and they spun into a dance around the kitchen, both of them smiling. When the music ended, he brought out a bottle of champagne and poured a glass for each of them, then removed the steaks from the refrigerator. Pulling a stool up to the center island, he ordered her to sit in the ringside seat. He put dried cèpes, a type of mushroom that had soaked in water, into a sauté pan, then added champignons de Paris, garlic, and parsley. When all the water was gone, he added the escargots.

  “Snails, a universally favorite food.” She was leaning in to watch, appearing to be fascinated. “I think my mother would have put more parsley.”

  “She cooks like this? I thought you were joking.”

  “I was. My mother’s the exception. She’s quite adventurous.”

  “You don’t speak much about her.”

  “She’s my best friend.”

  Olivier had never considered a mother and daughter being friends. He stuffed puff pastry into a dish and slid it into the oven, then turned and leaned toward Max for a kiss. When he turned back to check the pastry, she came up behind him and put her arms around his waist. He wondered if the dinner could wait. He had to make the beurre d’ail to pour over the mixture once it was in the cups, but he could do it later. He removed the pastry and turned off the oven. “I can’t finish this now,” he said. “Something much more important deserves my attention.”

  “What?”

  “You.” He grinned as he wrapped his arms around her. The telephone rang and he ignored it as he led her toward the stairs. Just as they arrived at the bottom of the stairs, Olivier’s cell phone jangled. Then the house phone rang again, followed by the cell phone. “I should get that.”

  He walked to the counter and checked his cell. “It’s Abdel.” He answered. “Oui? When? I’ll be right there.”

  Max was standing beside him. “What is it?”

  “It’s Antoine. He’s missing.”

  Chapter Nineteen

  Max, trying to ward off the notion that something bad had happened to Antoine, diverted her thoughts to dancing in the kitchen with Olivier.

  “Sorry, Max. Fate keeps intervening.”

  “Shhh. I’m trying to make the adjustment back to the business at hand.”

  “Me, too. I’ll drop you off at the house so you can change. And don’t worry. Antoine’s probably at Le Bar, though I assume they looked there.” Olivier drove through the porte cochère and saw several police cars.

  Abdel stepped out of the shadows, carrying a flashlight, though the moonlight was bright enough for them to recognize him. “The commissaire is already at Monsieur Marceau’s cabin. The maid, Mimi, went to take Antoine dinner and found all the lights on and music blaring. She became alarmed and called the Marceaus, and they went down and looked around and didn’t see any sign of him and began to worry.”

  “Who else is down there?”

  “Captain Canon is on his way, and Chief Petit is there now.”

  “Why wasn’t I called earlier? Obviously this happened at least an hour ago.”

  “It’s eleven. Girard called me at 9:45. It started out with the family searching. Monsieur Durand called the police.”

  Again? Max thought.

  “I’ll meet you there.” She raced into her room and peeled off her white clothes and stepped into jeans and cowboy boots, then threw on a tank top. She was at the stairs when Ted appeared. She stopped to embrace him, avoiding his bandaged jaw.

  “Abdel drove me to the inn at five. He told me that you and Olivier were out. I came over here to see what’s going on. I heard the sirens braying. What’s happened?”

  “Antoine has gone missing.”

  “But I was just there.”

  “With Antoine? Why, for god’s sake?”

  “Abdel picked me up at the hospital and drove me to the inn. I was bored as hell and decided to go for a drink at Le Bar, and Antoine was there.”

  She stopped. “Then what?”

  “He invited me to his house for another drink and I said yes. Finally, I thought, someone in Léa’s family is including me. I only stayed for a beer and went back to Le Bar for dinner.”

  “Did he say anything about leaving?”

  “No. But he was afraid of being accused and locked up and also afraid that the murderer was coming for him. So much so that he told me that there was a blue vase on the mantel, and that if he was found dead and the vase was turned upside down it meant they had come for him. He told me a story about his childhood.”

  “Ted! I can’t listen to all this right now. Do you know where he is?”

  “No.”

  “I’m off. Go back to the inn and stay there. I’ll find you.

  “You don’t believe me, do you? I’ll put it all on my blog.”

  “Don’t remind Girard and the other officials that you’re back. Later.” Once outside, she ran down the now-familiar path. Olivier, Abdel, and Girard watched her approach.

  Girard said, “We’ve learned that Ted Clay had a drink with him at Le Bar.” She could see that he wanted to impress his colleagues.

  “I just saw Ted. There’s nothing unusual about that, is there?”

  Girard looked shocked. “Clay just got dropped off at five and he starts drinking with Antoine Marceau? Quelle idiot.”

  Max almost burst into a series of French expletives, but thought better of it. Instead, she chose to ignore him by turning to Olivier, “What’s going on?”

  “We’re about to go speak with la jeune fille.”

  Mimi sat in a wicker chair, not intimidated by the officials who surrounded her. Max took a seat on the front step. Mimi explained. “This evening I walked the path down with my basket containing the sorrel soup that Antoine loves. When I arrived in his yard I thought it a little strange that all the lights were on and music was playing. I went up the stairs and the front door was open. I called out to Antoine but no one answered. I put my basket on the counter and climbed the narrow flight of stairs to his bedroom but it was empty. I went outside and walked down to the riverbank, and looked out across the Marne. Sometimes I know Antoine likes to fish at night. The sky wasn’t dark yet. I saw a champagne glass on the ground, which was empty, and a bottle lay nearby. That was when I became alarmed and called Jacques, who went to Le Bar to look for him. Monsieur Durand and the German came to see if they could help find Antoine. Monsieur Durand insisted on calling the police chief, and since then I think half of the French regiment has shown up. I’m sure he’s passed out somewhere, maybe with a woman. Wouldn’t that be nice?”

  Girard immediately started organizing a search. Abdel asked Max if she wanted check around the house with him, and she hopped up. “Do you think he’s on the lam?” she asked.

  “It would be completely out of character, but they’re checking train stations. He’s terrified of flying. We’ve learned that it’s rare for him to leave his house, other than to walk to Le Bar. That has become his world.”

  Abdel went upstairs, and Max stood in the living room, her eyes darting around until they landed on a blue vase that was upside down. What was Ted telling me about a blue vase? If it’s upside down, that means someone came for him.

  She heard a shout from the river and joined Abdel on the porch. A gendarme was wa
ving what looked like a large piece of fabric in the air. Captain Canon took it from him, and motioned Jacques to come over to identify it. Max stood watching, spellbound. When Jacques turned to the little audience that had gathered, she knew. She and Abdel walked down to join the others.

  Canon commanded his men to prepare to drag the river. Max knew the routine. If they discovered Antoine’s body, they would need to find out if Antoine drowned, or if his body was thrown into the river after he was dead. It would take a long time, and there was nothing for the investigators to do but wait.

  Olivier encouraged Jacques to return to the house. Marc insisted on staying, and Girard gave him a look of approval. Max couldn’t get the vase off her mind, and decided to slip away and ask Ted more about it.

  ***

  The lights on the river made Max think of a movie set. Ted had told her the story of the blue vase while they sipped a glass of champagne. Now she stood on the hill alone, watching the figures down below rushing around. When she walked into the lighted area at the river, Girard said, “We got him. They’ll be bringing him off the boat in a few minutes.” He seemed excited.

  Olivier was standing in the shadow, out of the way of the confusion. “I called the medical examiner as you asked me to, Olivier.” Olivier thanked Girard. “You don’t suspect foul play, do you?”

  “It’s a precautionary action.” Girard ran off to where Antoine’s naked body lay in a supine position on the stretcher the gendarmes were lifting off the boat. They placed it gently on the riverbank, where several work lamps beamed artificial light onto the body.

  “Grab a sheet!” someone called out, and Marc ran up to the house to fetch one. Olivier hadn’t moved toward her, and she thought he might not know she was there. It was strange to think how intimate they had been, and completely carefree, a few hours ago. She recalled how it had been with Joe. When they were at a murder scene they would become brusque with each other, but later they would accept that this was the business they were in, and behave as though nothing had happened. She wondered, though, if dealing with violent deaths on an everyday basis had cut them off from their own feelings, and from each other.

  “I didn’t see you arrive,” Olivier said. He walked over to her, and to her surprise, his hand wrapped around hers for an instant. He released his, and said, “Did you go to the house?”

  “No. I went to Ted’s room at the inn. He had attempted to tell me a strange story that Antoine had shared with him.” She told him the story of the blue vase.

  “You believe the story.”

  “The vase is upside down.”

  “This might be Antoine’s idea of a joke.”

  “Maybe.”

  “We’ll check it later, okay?”

  He moved down to where the medical examiner was bent over the body. She thought him the same doctor who had shown up earlier for tea. Max wondered what it was like for him to be called to the property of the aristocratic family twice in a three-day period.

  The doctor said, “There is froth exuding from the mouth when I press on his chest which tells me that he was alive at the time of submersion. I’d rule out suicide. He had on a robe, but most suicides remove their clothing. Often they attach heavy objects to themselves. I’m leaning toward accidental drowning.”

  “I want a forensic autopsy performed to make sure,” Olivier said.

  “Really? They’re quite uncommon.”

  “I know.”

  The medical examiner shrugged. “As you wish, monsieur. We’ll wrap things up here.”

  Girard came up and said to Max, “I’ll need to speak to Monsieur Clay again tomorrow. He may have been the last to see Monsieur Marceau alive.”

  “That’s between you and Monsieur Clay.”

  “Monsieur Reynard informed me today that the Minister of Justice is watching the case closely, and approves of your participation. Is this because of your father?”

  “I hope not, Thomas.” She knew that he was impressed by her new status, but that he couldn’t comprehend how a lowly detective was under the watchful gaze of someone like Douvier and hobnobbing with the aristocracy.

  She hadn’t heard Olivier approach with Jacques, and hoped he hadn’t overheard the remark. “Max,” Jacques said, “I would like to ask you to go be with Chloé tonight. She is quite anxious over her uncle’s disappearance. This will be devastating.”

  “Of course.” A quick glance at Olivier told her that he understood. Girard looked from one to the other, puzzled. Max took Jacques’ arm and they went up the path. Once at the house, she asked Jacques if she could call her father, and he offered his study.

  Hank answered immediately. “I was getting ready to fly over to check on you. Your mom….”

  “There’s been another death.”

  “You got a serial guy?”

  “I don’t know. A panicked murderer, I think.”

  “Tell me about it.” She did. Every detail. Even the ridiculous blue vase.

  After hearing her story, Hank offered, “Antoine’s death is a homicide. Hard as hell to prove that a drowning is homicide. You got a clever one.” After a moment’s hesitation, he said, “You okay?”

  “Sad and mad.”

  “Antoine was another lost puppy. How many of those have you rescued?”

  “A few.”

  “You’ll feel a lot better when you nab the killer. I’m sure as a lit major you read Crime and Punishment, right?”

  “I wrote a thesis on it.”

  “Remember what Raskolnikov’s friends said, ‘The more cunning a man is, the less he suspects he will be caught in a simple thing.’”

  “I’d forgotten it. But I do remember the rejoinder, ‘The more cunning a man is, the simpler the trap he must be caught in.’”

  “The only reason your friend Antoine got killed was because the murderer thought Antoine could identify him. Setting it up to look like suicide or accidental drowning was a good ploy. But it still doesn’t eliminate any of the suspects. Where’s Oliver in all this?”

  “His name’s Olivier.”

  “Same thing.”

  “Impressive in all aspects. You’d approve.”

  “Huh. I’ll put your ma on.”

  “Chérie, what did you say about Olivier?” Max smiled. Any hint of romance took precedence over murder for her mom. “There is interest, yes?”

  “Sort of.”

  “You know I don’t understand that expression.”

  “Parce que cela ne veut rien dire! It has no meaning. Think of it as a verbal shrug.”

  Hank got back on, “You can solve this case, Max. Focus on the motive. On the psychological. Write everything down in your journal. I’ll run it through my personal database and see what I come up with.” He had referred to his brain being a database too often for it to be funny any longer, but she smiled anyhow. “This killer’s angry.”

  She went to the salon after she hung up, and was surprised to see Marc. “Oh, sorry,” she said. “I’m looking for Chloé.”

  He lifted a glass of brandy, then lit a cigarette. “She went to bed a while ago.You want a glass?”

  “No, thanks. Is she okay? She must have been devastated.”

  “She is. She knew, though, that with the drinking and all that his days were numbered. Can I get you something from the kitchen?”

  “I’ll be fine. The village will be buzzing with these deaths.”

  “No one will be surprised to learn that Antoine got drunk and fell into the river. I heard he’s been drinking more since Léa’s death. I hate to say it, but it wouldn’t surprise me if they discover he killed her.”

  “Really? Why do you say that?”

  “You remember the fight they had the night before the wedding. Antoine was rabid about not letting a German buy out a champagne company.”


  “Half of the companies were started by Germans.”

  “It was personal for Antoine, and fueled by alcohol. Jacques and Antoine’s grandfather died in a German concentration camp. Their father never got over it and that attitude was inherited by Antoine. Jacques decided to move on.”

  “But, Marc, it’s one thing to carry revenge in your heart and quite another to kill over it. Nothing justifies murder.”

  “Léa called Antoine a parasite and a nothing. A man’s only going to take so much of that.”

  “You called the police when you learned Antoine was missing? Did you think he was dead?”

  Marc sipped his brandy. “Everybody in the family was looking and no one knew what to do, so I called Girard. He’s a good guy.” Max didn’t need to hear Girard’s praises sung.

  She got up to leave, but Marc stopped her with his next comment. “Hans and I were at Le Bar and saw Ted Clay having a drink with Antoine. He followed him out.”

  “The investigators already know all of this. What are you implying?”

  “Nothing, Max.” He laughed, “There’s nothing to accuse him of, except getting drunk with Antoine and leaving.” Max felt confused. She was the only one who thought Antoine was murdered, so why was she being so sensitive?

  “Is Hans still staying at the inn?”

  “Yes, and quite miserable about it, I might add. My mother is coming out for Léa’s funeral tomorrow. She’s concerned about Ted.”

  This was as chatty as Max had ever heard Marc, but everything he said felt pointed, as though there could be a double meaning. Why, for example, did his mother feel concern for Ted when she denied his alibi? And why would Marc tell her?

  “I’m off to bed. Bonne nuit, Marc.”

  She went to her room and pulled out her journal and sat in the chair at the window, writing stream-of-consciousness. Everything she had seen and heard. She smelled cigarette smoke, and looked up to find Chloé standing in the doorway. “I can’t sleep, Max. He died thinking I blamed him for Léa’s death. I’ll never be able to live with that.”

 

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