He couldn’t get his mind off Max. He had seen her childlike hurt when she realized that Philippe Douvier was full of guff, and meant nothing that he said. But the shock he felt when Douvier made a show over her still reverberated. He was sure that Douvier knew that Olivier had been kept in the dark, and liked having the one-upmanship over him. Olivier had been so angry at her for her subterfuge that he had almost enjoyed seeing her uncle rope her in and spit her out.
But what had made him angriest during their brief visit with Douvier was the veiled threat that he had to be careful not to step on the wrong toes, just the attitude that could jeopardize the entire investigation. Was he supposed to tiptoe around Geneviève and Hans? And Max had been put in a protective aura, too. He hated cronyism, but was Douvier right when he accused Olivier of being an insider in the Champagne network, or was he intentionally trying to create self-doubt in Olivier?
He assumed Douvier had requested an audience with his niece in order to assess her, to see if she could create trouble, and had come to the conclusion that she was just a harmless snoop. Olivier thought Douvier might be in for a surprise. He didn’t think Max was vengeful, but she had integrity and would find it hard to compromise. She had been hurt by her uncle’s manner and would have her guard up more than ever. She also still had to prevent her friend Ted from becoming the permanent scapegoat of the investigation.
Olivier would let her know this evening that he accepted her apology, which reminded him to call Abdel to see how the interview was going with Delphine. Abdel’s cell phone was off. He left a message for them to come to the château after they were finished interviewing Delphine, then tried Véronique again, who either wasn’t picking up or was out of cell phone range.
Girard called and said that Ted Clay’s blog fans were demanding his release and that he and Reynard were beginning to think they didn’t have enough evidence to keep him locked up.
“I agree.”
“Where will he go if we release him?”
“Put him under house arrest in his Paris apartment.”
“D’accord. I heard that you went to Paris to the medical examiner to talk about Antoine Marceau. Do you think it was murder?”
Olivier wondered what Girard was so nervous about. “Yes, but it’s difficult to prove.”
“What led you to that conclusion?”
“Imagination.”
“I see. Zeroual checked in. He’s interviewing a secondary suspect? She’s changing her story?”
“Hans Keller is changing his, and it involves her.”
“Oh, I get it. Was anybody not full of lust that night?”
Olivier was sure he was included in the jab. Girard had never bought one bit about Max being sick. “A bit of an exaggeration, I would say, Thomas. What you probably want to know is have we made progress and it distresses me to tell you no. I’ll keep you informed of any new discoveries. By the way, it turns out that Max is the niece of Philippe Douvier. He showed her the newspaper clip of her photo. I wonder what your purpose was.”
“Does she know I sent it in?”
“Her uncle told her.”
The line went dead.
The magnificent gardens at the de Saint-Pern château made Olivier wish he could spend a day there to study them. Chloé rushed out and bestowed the requisite kisses on him. “I’m glad you’re here,” she said.
He followed her into the house, not stopping to ogle the interior as most people did. Instead, he and Chloé continued on to a closed door on the opposite side of the foyer. She took a key from her pocket and opened it. “This has always been my second home. I wonder what will happen to it.”
The room they entered was more library than office. Books lined the walls, but there was also a television set in a far corner and stacks of films around it. Photographs of Léa and Charles occupied one shelf. Olivier appreciated the casual elegance, and thought that this room more than any other contained the essence of Léa. “Have you started going through her personal papers?”
“It’s a good thing you called ahead. The gendarme was guarding this place as though his life depended on it. I’ve sorted out house bills that have to be paid, and salaries.” She unlocked a file drawer. “Léa told me that most of her important papers are stashed here. Did you go by the office?”
“I have boxes of papers in my car. Some of them date back thirty years. I think Bernard saw it as an opportunity to clean house.”
Chloé laughed. She pulled out an armload of files. “I think they’re pretty well organized.”
Olivier picked up the first one. “Here’s a will dated July, 2006.”
“A year after Uncle Charles was killed.”
Olivier perused it. “This one is a testament authentique. It looks in perfect order. It has been read and signed by two notaries. The notary registered it with the central database, the FCDDV.”
“Okay, I’ve never had reason to ask or look. Tell me.”
“It’s simple. Everything she has is to be divided between you and your mother.”
Chloé started to sniffle. “None of this is a surprise except the fact that she’s gone.”
“It takes a long time to realize that it’s permanent.”
“What about the company? What were her wishes?”
“That’s in the box in my car, which I’ll start going through tonight. She will have set up a business trust, I’m sure.”
“Don’t be too sure. Léa was a good businesswoman, but she hated filing claims and going to notaries.”
Olivier got up and walked over to the filing cabinet and pulled the drawer out. “Let’s see what else is here. Ted said that she had told him she was leaving him part of her estate.” He handed a stack of papers to Chloé to go through and took another for himself.
Chloé said, “We haven’t been fair to Ted. He was a complete stranger to us, and a foreigner to boot. And the day after he arrives she dies, and almost immediately he’s accused and locked up.”
“He’s being released today. There is actually very little evidence that he murdered Léa.”
“I felt better knowing that someone was locked up.”
“I understand. You know, I went by Lea’s office and Bernard was there. It seems that he and Marc both want to move into her office.”
She glanced up and he tried to analyze the emotion that flitted across her face. Anger? Shock?
“Those two have been at each other from the start. And now that I know I have some rights, or at least I think I do, I’m going to put a stop to either of them thinking they’re taking that office. Everyone knows that Bernard has been helping Baptiste Dupuis purchase shares from de Saint-Pern family members who want out. He was not in favor when my aunt died. And Marc is following his mother’s orders, I’m sure. What she might not understand is the concept of family that exists there. This is what I would want to reinstate.”
Olivier was surprised, and pleased, to hear Chloé speaking up. “If Marc, and his mother, are determined to be at de Saint-Pern, then I won’t sit at home twiddling my thumbs. My mother and I will be there as well.”
“I think you’d be good at running a company. Oh, here’s the will that Ted mentioned. It’s called a testament olographe. It’s written by hand, and is dated a few days before your wedding. In it, she is leaving her child one half of her estate and the other half left to you. Your mother’s name isn’t on it. A certain amount each year is to go to Ted for care of their child.” He turned the page over. “It’s signed, but I have no idea if it’s valid or not. And we’ll have to check to see if she registered it with the FCDDV.”
“But there is no child.”
“I’m not an authority on this, but then it seems that all of her estate will go to you.”
“She didn’t leave it to Marc and me together?”
“No.”
>
“Then once everything is settled, I’ll put his name on everything that’s mine.”
“There’s nothing more to be done until we talk to the notaries. I’m off but will call you later. I’ll take this drawer and bring it back tomorrow. I’m due for tea at Bernard’s.”
“Don’t believe him when he tells you in a hangdog face that they’re being run out of their home. They were supposed to be out five years ago, after Charles died, and they’ve been like squatters. Tante Léa didn’t start forcing the issue until Marc and I started talking about moving back. I don’t want to live there anyway. Feel free to tell them I said so.”
***
Caroline Martin was wearing a dress just a hint too small, a deep cerise red that created a violent contrast to her pink cheeks and lips. Olivier thought that this would be what he would dread most about a second wife, marrying someone who provided deep contrast to the first and finding himself with a cartoon character, someone as “effervescent as champagne.” He thought Bernard looked quite miserable, and yet had to pretend to be okay with this woman. Looking around, he thought the room was a deeper reflection of Caroline. The parlor was all chintz and craft fair décor. Dolls were propped up all over and shelves were running over with bric-a-brac. Olivier said yes to a cup of tea and sat down across from Bernard who had been reading the paper.
“I spent more time than I intended at Léa’s house,” Olivier said.
Bernard’s eyes opened wide. “I hope you found all the papers you were seeking.”
“I can’t answer that as I’m not exactly sure what I’m looking for. However, I do want to bring something up before your wife returns. You were overheard in conversation with Baptiste Dupuis discussing how you could find out for him the amount of Hans Keller’s offer for de Saint-Pern. That, of course, was information that was intended to stay private.”
Caroline re-entered, chattering like a squirrel as she put the tray down on a table in front of the men. Bernard looked as if he had been struck, but Caroline didn’t notice. “Madame Martin, will you please sit for a moment?”
She plopped down on the couch beside Bernard. If he had to, he could pull out the financial sheet that Abdel had gotten from the bank, listing all of their assets, and deposits and withdrawals. Picking up a brochure of Biarritz, he casually asked, “You’re planning on purchasing property in the south?”
Caroline giggled a little too loudly, “Some day. With that upstart Marc Durand around, who knows when we’ll get pushed out?”
“If Baptiste Dupuis happened to outbid Hans Keller, and finally was able to buy this company, do you think you would be secure?” He sipped his tea, and smiled. It was obvious that they were both afraid to answer, fearful of falling into a trap. “I just told your husband, madame, that he was overheard making a deal with Baptiste Dupuis. Something to do with keeping him informed of what Hans Keller was offering for the de Saint-Pern Company.”
“I think somebody is making it up,” Caroline said. “The stories around this murder are growing more absurd every day. People are nervous, especially now that the American man is being released. He was innocent looking enough, but no one knows what evil lurks beneath peoples’ façades. Everybody thought he was after her money, though when he came out here he was quite pleasant…”
When Olivier finally managed to get in a word, he said, “I’ve done a check on your banking actions over the past year, and was surprised to find that you have a large sum of cash, some of which was sent off to a realtor in Biarritz.”
Bernard sank deeper into the couch, if possible.
Caroline took over. “I had a small inheritance, but no matter, our privacy has been invaded. I don’t think what we do is anyone’s business, as long as we’re not hurting anybody.”
“But it is. Especially when your business involves a company whose owner was just murdered, leaving behind a champagne company with a stellar reputation but whose reputation might be soiled because certain people behaved with no probity.”
“You don’t know how badly Bernard was paid all these years. We have had to stay in this house because we couldn’t afford what we wanted. Bernard was taken for granted all these years. Oh, yes, while Madame Léa’s photograph was in the newspaper hosting some gala event, wearing the latest Dior, Bernard was here, making slave wages. Then this Marc Durand comes in and starts acting all high and mighty over the past few days, and his mother is worse…”
“Shut up!”
“Bernard.” Her tone was reprimanding.
“Shut up before I force you to shut up.” Bernard pulled himself off the couch and pointed at her. “There was never enough for you. I could never provide you with enough, and look where it’s gotten us.” He sat down again. “Monsieur Chaumont, arrest me. I might find more peace in prison.”
“What Monsieur Dupuis gave us was a gift,” Caroline said to her husband. “It wasn’t a crime. You created the formula for l’Etoile and you can do with it as you please.”
They sold him the formula for their most popular champagne?
Olivier had seen a note on a sheet of paper in Léa’s handwriting that said, “Speak to Bernard about Dupuis.” She surely knew. Would she have confronted him on Chloé’s wedding night? Would Bernard have the rage and the strength to kill? They were there in the salon with the people who had stayed to the end.
“Where were you on Chloé’s wedding night at two in the morning? Why were you still at the party?”
Caroline piped up, “I have witnesses. I was sitting in the tent watching the drunken young people dance.”
Bernard sounded more lugubrious than usual, “As I told your detective, Monsieur Zeroual. I was in my car in the parking area.”
“Monsieur Dupuis said that he had his driver return him to the wedding to find his wife’s handbag. Was he there to meet with you? To find out what Monsieur Keller was bidding for de Saint-Pern?”
Bernard nodded. Bernard and Caroline weren’t going to go anywhere, Olivier knew, and he decided to leave them to their own arguments. There would be a trial that would involve Dupuis and the Martins, he would see to that, but he couldn’t deal with it now. A headache was creeping up on him, and he thought he’d go to his parents and finish going through the boxes of papers. He abruptly excused himself, and once in his car, checked for messages on his cell phone. No one had called. There was no way Véronique hadn’t received his messages, and now her silence told him that she was angry. So be it.
Chapter Twenty-five
Abdel had peeled out from the parking place, and now was listening to his GPS as he drove to the home of Delphine Lecroix. Who gave a flying rip about her anyhow, Max thought. Olivier wanted us out of his hair and now has two of us interviewing someone Hans Keller claims he slept with.
Okay, okay, she thought, two men in the past twelve hours have had you riding on some celestial waves, one incredibly sensual, and the other the warm nurturing uncle—and each time the wave has dashed you to the ground.
Max had gone cold when she heard that Véronique was planning to come to Olivier’s. And what made it worse was that now that she had lied for so long about understanding French, she couldn’t let Olivier know that she knew that his girlfriend was about to descend, not after the uncle debacle. Plus Olivier had sent her away to work with an intense Arab who had said he didn’t want her around anymore than she wanted to go with him. She put on her sunglasses and knew she looked like she was pouting. Which she was.
“Sometimes Monsieur Chaumont has to have his space. He seems pretty upset that this case doesn’t seem to be progressing.”
“You don’t need to defend him to me. And the case is progressing but in increments. It takes patience.”
“The French are short on that.” He smiled, “You know, I was surprised that he went to the autopsy. That’s not done here. At least I’ve never heard of anyone doing tha
t.”
Max sat up. This guy didn’t seem upset in the least that she was with him. She explained that she had been to several in New York because it expedited things. He was interested and she explained everything that had happened in the medical examiner’s office. They had the windows of the car down and all of a sudden it didn’t feel like the worst move to be here going to an interview with Abdel.
“So tell me about Véronique Verize,” she said. “I recognized her name in your conversation a few minutes ago.”
“Oh, I can’t say I know her. I mostly see her on magazine covers. My idea of beauty is different perhaps from other people.”
“In what way?”
“I like to see the character of the person on the face. My grandmother taught me that. Don’t look at the surface, she says. Look within.”
They entered the town of Aÿ, and Abdel pulled up in front of a modest house. “I should have asked Chloé to give me the rundown on Delphine,” Max said. “But I haven’t had much time with her.”
“You’ve been very busy solving this big crime.”
Was there a note of sarcasm embedded in that comment, or was she just being too sensitive? “Abdel, Olivier has accused me of hustling his job, and so has Girard. Please don’t tell me that you’re going to follow suit.”
“I don’t know if I was going to say that.”
“You were.”
He suddenly laughed and his twinkly eyes and big white teeth made her laugh, too. “Look, we are the two banned detectives who are sent out into the hinterlands to accuse some young, unsuspecting woman of homicide. It should take us about five minutes and then we’ll go have something fabulous to eat. Like something Algerian.”
Champagne: The Farewell Page 22