Murder in Aix (The Maggie Newberry Mystery Series Book 5)

by Kiernan-Lewis, Susan

  “I’m glad.”

  “This is really hard on him, too. Even with a girlfriend to dry his tears.”

  “Of course.”

  “I should’ve done it days ago. He said Laurent called him last week.”

  “Really?” Maggie frowned. Laurent hadn’t mentioned it to her.

  “He was able to give a good report on Zou-zou which, of course, Win was starved to hear. He loves her so much.”

  Maggie thought she could see a glimmer of tears in Grace’s eyes but it was gone before she could be sure.

  “But mostly it seems he let Win know that there are no divided camps over what we’re doing. The Derniers, he said, aren’t taking sides. They are loving and supporting the badly screwed up Van Sants equally.”

  “But probably not those exact words,” Maggie said, smiling.

  Grace replaced her credit card and snapped her wallet shut. “Ready, darling? I promised Danielle I’d be back to collect Z before supper.”

  “We can pick her up on the way home,” Maggie said, collecting her purchases from the floor next to her chair. Knowing that Win had spoken to both Grace and Laurent made Maggie feel, irrationally, that they were all one big loving group again. It may not fix things or bring Grace and Windsor back together, but at least they weren’t pretending they had never been friends in the first place.

  As she stepped out of the restaurant, the bright sunshine in the fall day made Maggie blink. She shivered inside her light jacket against the brisk breeze. Autumn was definitely here.

  Would Julia be free by Thanksgiving? By Christmas?

  Because of Maggie’s size—she was eight months and two weeks now—she was grateful to be able to hand the car keys over to Grace. It amazed her how she had gone from comfortably driving without a problem to not at all in just a few days.

  Maggie settled into the passenger seat of her Renault as they drove out of the city and allowed herself to enjoy her surroundings. Aix was so much more visual than the other cities in Provence. Maybe that was due to all the majestic fountains—one on each corner of the city it felt like—but it was also the way Aix-en-Provence seemed to be able to blend the old and the quaint buildings with the new and the streamlined architecture. Somehow it worked. Maggie always thought that if she and Laurent ever moved in from the country, she would want to live in Aix. The thought made her smile because the very idea of Laurent leaving his vineyard—and his sometimes leaky but definitely beloved one hundred year old mas in the country—was hard to imagine.

  “You okay over there?” Grace asked. Maggie noticed that Grace was squinting through her sunglasses and it occurred to her that Grace might need glasses. The thought of them all getting older, day by day, brought a shadow into the sunny pleasant day.

  “I’ll be better when this little bugger is in a car seat in the backseat,” Maggie said, rubbing her tummy.

  “Yes, well, be careful what you wish for,” Grace said. “Next thing you know he’ll be walking, and then asking to borrow the car. I turn here, right?”

  Maggie directed her out of the city and onto the D7n, the highway that dissects that part of Provence, separating Aix from Avignon and Arles. She fell asleep on the drive back, awakening only with the press of the newest Dernier-to-be on her bladder. She looked around and saw they were still a good thirty minutes from home.

  “I need to make a pit stop,” she said, rubbing her eyes. Pregnancy naps were so hard to wake up from. They were like a functioning coma that you could lapse into at any moment of the day. Once when she was standing in line with Laurent at the boulangerie in Arles, he swore she nodded off.

  “We’re not really close to anything,” Grace said, looking over at her as if trying to gauge just how desperate she was.

  “There’s a place off the road up here,” Maggie said. “It’s actually a pretty decent little restaurant. In fact, Florrie Tatois owns it.”

  “You’re kidding. Really?”

  “Well, not really a restaurant. More like a bar with not bad food.”

  “No, I meant out here in the middle of nowhere?”

  “Yeah, you have to know it’s here. You can’t see it from the highway. Laurent goes there now and then. I think his vintner buddies meet there sometimes. There’s the turn off. Don’t miss it, Grace.”

  “Got it, darling. No worries. The sparkling toilet facilities of a dilapidated French country bar in the middle of nowhere await you. Oh! I see it. Looks abandoned.”

  “That’s the décor. Just park.”

  Grace pulled into the parking area next to an older model Citroen. Maggie was out the door and walking into the bar before Grace had her seatbelt off. She glanced around the main dining area and saw two men at the bar, neither of them Florrie, and nobody behind the counter. A couple sat in the dining room, but they appeared to be drinking more than eating. Maggie hurried down the narrow hall to the toilets. She could hear Grace coming in the front door as she did.

  Like most French toilets in the country, the facilities at Florrie’s place, while cleaner than she had any right to expect, were old and dark. Maggie always thought these sorts of places boasted the original plumbing and that made her feel a little nervous, like she was about to fall into a deep dark hole of human waste, and probably undiscovered corpses.

  She quickly relieved herself and decided to skip the hand washing exercise. There didn’t seem to be any soap or paper towels in any event. A quick look into the ancient, wavy mirror confirmed what she had already guessed; she had better deliver this baby pronto if she didn’t want to be drafted into a traveling carnival as the circus fat lady.

  Amusing herself with silly thoughts, Maggie wasn’t watching where she was going as she pushed the door open into the hallway.

  “Ready for a few more tricks, bitch?”

  The woman stood directly in front of her, wearing a short skirt and a shorter top that showed a wide expanse of her bare midriff. Maggie couldn’t see the expression on her face in the darkened hallway, but she had no trouble recognizing Michelle standing between her and the door to the dining room at the end of the hall. She also had no difficulty in making out the heavy cricket bat that Michelle held tightly in both hands.

  Chapter Sixteen

  There was no way Michelle wasn’t full-on crazy. That was the first thought that ran through Maggie’s head, and it was one that gave her a whole lot less comfort than if she hadn’t thought anything at all. She licked her lips and wondered what she could say that wouldn’t trigger Michelle to strike.

  “You came to my apartment and lied to me,” Michelle hissed. “You think I’m stupid? You think I’m crazy?” Maggie could see Michelle was actually spraying foam from her lips as she talked. An inane thought floated into Maggie’s head that Michelle was literally foaming at the mouth.

  “How did you find me?” she asked, hoping that engaging the insane woman was at least a possible way to forestall the attack.

  “I followed you. You think that’s hard? You really must think I’m stupid, don’t you?” Michelle swung the bat hard and slammed it into the wall in the narrow hall.

  Maggie screamed.

  “I watched you and your friend buy everything in Aix and then eat a three-course lunch before getting in your car to go home to your country estate. I know how rich you are. Americans think they can buy their way through the world.”

  Maggie’s brain couldn’t decipher all of Michelle’s rant. The contorted French and the rage made that impossible. Obviously Michelle had been watching her and Grace in their shopping today and followed her here. If Maggie hadn’t slept all the way from Aix she might have noticed someone behind them, but probably not. It hadn’t occurred to her to be afraid or careful. It hadn’t occurred to her that someone was watching her, that someone wanted to hurt her.

  But by the way Michelle was edging up closer for the kill shot, it was clear that the next swing would be into Maggie’s body. As she got closer, Maggie could see Michelle’s eyes were wild and unfocused and Maggie reali
zed she was probably on some kind of medication—or off it. Grace appeared from behind Michelle and promptly did the only sensible thing anyone could do in the situation.

  She started screaming.

  Michelle jumped at the sound but didn’t turn around. She didn’t need to. She was the one with the weapon.

  “Look, Michelle,” Maggie said, “I don’t think you’re stupid, so I know you know how this goes. As much as you want to hurt me, you do this and you’ll hurt yourself far worse.”

  “Shut up!” Michelle roared. She raised the bat over her head, as if smashing Maggie’s body was no longer enough. “Nothing hurts more than this! Nothing!”

  Maggie could hear Grace’s screams bouncing off the narrow walls, but she couldn’t wait any longer. Knowing she would trigger the attack but not knowing what else she could do, Maggie turned back toward the toilet and darted inside, pulling the heavy door behind her. She fumbled at the doorknob but there was no lock. The impact of the bat hitting the door sent painful vibrating shock waves up the arm that was still holding the door handle. Maggie threw her body against the door to keep it shut but she knew, even as large as she was, that Michelle was younger and stronger.

  And she was crazy.

  The second crash as the bat hit the door made her ears ring and her shoulders lurch away with the impact. The floor of the toilet was wet, and when she jerked she slipped. Grabbing desperately for the sink to keep from falling, Maggie heard the door opening behind her and Michelle’s insane crow of victory. Looking wildly around the room for anything that could be used as a weapon, Maggie waited for the blow she knew was coming.

  But it never came.

  She turned around to see Michelle standing in the doorway facing her, arms by her sides, the bat falling to the ground. At first, Maggie thought Michelle was having some kind of fit. Maggie scrambled to grab the bat and held it in front of her with both hands like a sword. It was then that she realized she had been screaming the whole time.

  With a convulsive jerk, Michelle, who was howling threats and profanity at the person holding her, disappeared from the opening of the toilet and Maggie saw that she was tightly in the grip of her cousin, Florrie, who was wrestling her down the hall. Grace entered the bathroom and Maggie dropped the bat as Grace drew her into a tight embrace. They both stood quietly, their hearts pounding in their ears, their breaths coming in ragged pants.

  Finally Grace pulled away and looked into Maggie’s eyes. “You okay?”

  “I need a drink, ”Maggie said, her voice shaky.

  “Is that wise?”

  “Water will do.”

  They left the toilet arm-in-arm and slowly walked down the hall to the dining room, which had been vacated by the few patrons who had been there. Florrie stood next to Michelle. She was unrestrained but he was still near enough to grab her again if he had to. They both turned to Grace and Maggie as they entered.

  “You bitch!” Michelle said. “This isn’t the end.”

  “Be quiet, Michelle,” Florrie said with what looked like exasperation to Maggie. She noticed he had deep scratch marks down his face. He had obviously paid a price for coming to her aid.

  “Don’t you tell me to be quiet, you putain,” Michelle said, whirling back to face Florrie. “I am not surprised that you take her side. You are not a man but a worm to steal my money from me.”

  Grace approached the bar and pulled a glass from the shelf under the counter. She watched the two without speaking as she filled the glass with water and returned to Maggie.

  “What are you talking about?” Florrie said. “What money do you think I’ve stolen from you?”

  “My inheritance! Aunt Lily intended that money to go to my father. To me!”

  “And you think that money goes to me now?” Florrie shook his head as if unable to encompass how mad that idea was.

  That stopped Michelle. She glanced at Maggie as if tempted to pick up a chair and go after her, but the thought that Florrie was possibly not the heir after all was apparently too great. “You lie,” she said, her eyes searching his face in an attempt to determine whether he was or not.

  “I’m not next in line, Michelle,” Florrie said, his voice a warning growl. “I am not Lily’s heir.”

  “Everyone knows you are. If not you, then who?”

  Florrie turned toward the bar and reached for a bottle of pastis.

  “It is you!” Michelle said, her voice becoming shrill.

  “It isn’t.” The voice that answered wasn’t Florrie’s. All four people in the bar turned to face the source, and saw that Annette had entered unnoticed through the front door. She stood now, her purse over her arm, a ridiculous bouquet of flowers in her hand. Maggie thought she had aged ten years since she last saw her.

  “Maman! What are you doing here?” Michelle frowned and looked from Florrie to her mother and back again. She appeared to have totally forgotten that Maggie and Grace were even there. “Why are you here?”

  “I am here because I had an appointment with your cousin. It’s you who shouldn’t be here.” Annette glanced in the direction of Maggie. “What has happened?”

  Michelle clenched her fists and stared at Maggie with loathing. “I saw them in town,” she said. “I followed them here.”

  “I told you I would deal with her,” Annette said quietly. “What happened, Florrie?”

  Florrie poured his glass and drank it before clapping the glass to the counter. “Michelle tried to kill Madame Dernier,” he said. “With a bat.”

  “Dear God,” Annette said and looked at Michelle. “What is wrong with you?”

  “Me? What about him?” She pointed to Florrie and Maggie could see her other hand open and close spasmodically into a fist in her agitation. “You said yourself he has stolen the inheritance of an orphan!”

  Florrie looked at Annette. “What is this she keeps saying about my stealing her inheritance? Is it possible she doesn’t know?”

  Annette glanced at Maggie. “We will not have this discussion in front of strangers.”

  “Oh, hell, no,” Maggie said. “I’m not leaving.”

  Grace pulled Maggie gently by the shoulders toward the door. “Come on, Lucy,” she said under breath. “Before you start competing with Michelle for who’s craziest.”

  “Do what in front of strangers?” Michelle asked, taking two steps toward her mother. “What do you and Florrie know that I do not?”

  “Tell her, Annette,” Florrie said. “Tell her the truth.”

  “I was going to tell you,” Annette said in a soothing voice. Maggie could see the girl was getting even more flustered. She licked her lips continually and stared at her mother.

  “Tell me what?”

  “I am Lily’s heir,” Annette said. “It was unexpected…for all of us,” she said hurriedly as she watched Michelle’s face contort into incomprehension.

  “I’ll say,” Florrie said with disgust. “I have attended Lily’s affairs for nearly ten years. I have visited her every Sunday for the last five…”

  “What are you saying?” Michelle glanced at Florrie, as if reluctant to let him go in her stream of comfortable vitriol, and then at her mother. Maggie could see the wheels moving in her brain as she tried to figure out if this was a good thing or a bad thing. Since Annette was not an old woman, the time when Michelle would inherit from her—if there was anything left by then—would be many years hence. Michelle seemed to come to the same conclusion at about the same time.

  “You lied to me!” she snarled at her mother. “You said you were broke and you couldn’t help me.”

  “I am broke,” her mother said. “Your Aunt Lily still lives.”

  “Not for much longer. You’ll be rich by the weekend!”

  “Michelle, please stop yourself from saying these vile things.”

  “Vile? It is you who is vile! You disgust me!” She ran up to her mother and slapped the flowers out of her hands to the floor. “Did he give you these?” she shouted. “Is he wooing the new
heiress? Is that why he’s wearing a new shirt?” She turned to look at Florrie who, Maggie had to admit, was beginning to look decidedly guilty. Was Florrie with Annette?

  “Mon chou,” Annette said pleadingly to her.

  “Oh, stop, Maman,” Michelle said pushing past her to the door. “Marry him or drop dead. I don’t care which!” She stormed out the door, followed by the piercing squeal of a car’s engine as it roared to life, then slowly diminished as she sped away.

  Annette turned to Maggie, her face a mask of composure, her lip pulled back in a sneer. “I would not think of reporting this so-called attack to the police if I were you,” she said.

  “Oh, really?” Maggie said, her breath coming in sharp pants.

  “Come on, Lucy,” Grace said. “Time to go.”

  “I would listen to your friend, Madame,” Annette said, stepping around the tangle of broken stems underfoot. “If you know what’s good for your other friend.” She turned her back on Maggie as if the conversation were over. Maggie hesitated for only a moment before grabbing Grace’s arm and staggering to the door. Once out, she leaned heavily against the bumper of the Renault, her hand on her stomach.

  “Sweetie, are you okay?” Grace came around to touch her shoulder.

  “You know what? I don’t think I am.”

  “Shit, darling, you’re not allowed to go into labor on my watch. Laurent and I made a pact.”

  “Sorry, Grace. I think you’re up.” Maggie’s face twisted into a grimace of pain as she waited the contraction out.

  “Holy crap, Maggie, are you serious? Get in the car! Get in the car!”

  An hour later, Maggie sat in a wheelchair in the hospital in Aix waiting for Laurent to come and take her home. Grace sat next to her flipping through a waiting room magazine.

  “You know, I’ve forgotten almost all the French I ever knew,” Grace said idly. “Trust me, all it takes is one year in Indiana to erase any and all vestige of a foreign language from your mind.”

  “I think it has more to do with your mind than it does Indiana,” Maggie said. “Have you even heard of Braxton-Hicks?”