Murder in Nice

by Kiernan-Lewis, Susan

  This next part was not going to be easy.

  They followed Massar down a long hall of offices. Maggie was surprised to see Massar’s name on one of the doors. It made sense, she reasoned, for the police to share real estate with the bodies they collected from the city. It was certainly tidier and more convenient that way. Something about his office door bothered her, but she pushed the feeling to the back of her mind. She needed to be present in every sense of the word for Annie.

  Massar led them into an elevator, which took them two floors below the main entrance. There, the temperature dropped significantly. Maggie had the sense that they were literally entering a catacombs of graves buried deep beneath the city’s vibrant and pulsing core. Perhaps Annie did too, for her hand clutched tightly at Maggie’s.

  Massar opened a door to a large room, for which Maggie was grateful. She was already having trouble breathing just thinking of how far below the surface they were. She didn’t think she could handle a small room at this point.

  A table was set off to the side against the wall, a draped body on it and a large overhead lamp poised over it. Massar strode to the table and waited for Maggie and Annie to catch up to him. He turned on the light and, once they were standing next to him, jerked back the drape to reveal the corpse. Annie sank to the floor without a sound and Maggie, momentarily stunned, failed to move fast enough to catch her. Massar whipped the drape back over Lanie and knelt next to Annie. Maggie took a step back and felt her stomach lurch.

  In the background of her mind she heard Massar talking to Annie in French. The words didn’t matter. The voice was kind. Maggie stared at the draped body and a series of images burst into her head: Lanie in her cheerleading outfit; Lanie lip-syncing to a Backstreet Boys song in her mother’s living room; Lanie drinking her first beer and laughing when most of it ended up down her shirt front.

  And underneath it all was the niggling memory of what she’d seen on the walk down to this terrible place—the door with Massar’s name on it and the plaque under it that read Enquêteur Homicides.

  Homicide detective.

  Three

  “They think she was murdered,” Maggie said to Grace on the phone that evening after she and Annie had checked into the Soho—Annie had begged her to stay with her. After her afternoon, Annie promptly took two sleeping pills and went to bed. Maggie spoke on the phone from the balcony, the door open in case Annie needed her.

  “You’re kidding. Why?”

  “I don’t know but I intend to find out.”

  “Does Lanie’s mother know yet?”

  “No. She’s so upset about it all that she hasn’t really asked any questions about how Lanie died. Just the fact that she did is occupying all her mental abilities at the moment.”

  “I can imagine.”

  “I know. Me too. It’s awful, Grace. Just terrible to think of one of our own little dears…”

  “I know, dearest, so shut up. I don’t want to think of it.”

  “But the point is, the cops are looking at this as a homicide. If Annie asks them, they’ll have to give her answers.”

  “Because that strategy has worked out so well for us in the past.”

  “Problem is, I don’t think she wants to ask too many questions.”

  “Well, she probably would if she was told the truth about how Lanie died, don’t you think?”

  “Maybe. But I’m not sure she can take much more. And telling her that her daughter is not only dead but was murdered definitely qualifies as much more.”

  The sound of the hair dryer falling to the carpeted floor made Maggie whirl around to see Annie standing not four feet from her, her eyes wide with horror, mouth open.

  “Oh, shit,” Maggie said into the phone.

  *****

  The café faced the Quai des Etats-Unis and the brilliant blue of the sea beyond. Only in Nice did the café chairs face the street rather than the table, Maggie noted as she poured her bottled water into a glass. It was the dinner hour but neither she nor Annie had done anything but pick at their meals—omelets with pommes frites and the omnipresent bowls of citrus olives.

  “I didn’t know how to tell you,” Maggie said. “I thought you’d had enough for one day.”

  Annie looked like she’d aged twenty years since Maggie had seen her last. She wasn’t sure part of that hadn’t happened just since she picked her up at the airport today. After her unsuccessful attempt at napping, Annie had agreed to go out with Maggie to talk about what the new information meant.

  “You think Lanie was murdered.”

  “It’s the only obvious explanation as to why her case is being handled by a homicide detective,” Maggie admitted. “You haven’t talked to anyone about how she died?”

  Annie looked around the street helplessly, as if expecting to find someone to answer the question for her. She looked at her hands in her lap. “No. I heard all that mattered. I came.”

  “I understand,” Maggie said. “Of course. But now that you know it was not an accident…” She waited until she thought Annie could handle the rest of her sentence before proceeding. “You’ll want to talk to Inspecteur Massar about what he knows.”

  “Of course. Although…” Annie looked up and squinted in the direction of the Mediterranean. “It won’t bring her back.”

  “No,” Maggie said slowly. “That’s true.”

  “Will you go with me?”

  “Of course.”

  “Will you call him for me and ask him to see me?”

  “First thing tomorrow.”

  “Will it make a difference in my being able to…take her home, do you know?”

  Maggie leaned across the table and took Annie’s hand and squeezed it.

  “Let’s take it one step at a time, Annie. Okay?”

  Annie nodded bravely, her eyes straying once more to the impossibly beautiful, intensely blue sea that seemed to fill the horizon.

  That night, Maggie was relieved to see that Annie was exhausted enough to finally sleep. Once she was sure Annie was asleep, Maggie slipped into the hallway of the hotel. She’d gotten Ben’s room number from the concierge when she’d checked in. His room faced the front of the hotel, one flight up.

  Maggie took the elevator and quickly found his room. She knocked and heard all conversation in the room cease when she did. Light footsteps moved to the door and it opened just a crack. Maggie recognized her sister-in-law, Haley, peering out at her.

  “Maggie!” The door jerked fully open and Haley stepped into the hall, her arms instantly around Maggie. “We wondered if we’d see you tonight. Come in, come in.”

  Her brother’s wife was a statuesque blonde. Even at thirty-six, Maggie still saw the bouncy cheerleader in Haley. The athletic thighs that had bounded to the tops of human pyramids now regularly lunged across the clay courts of Atlanta’s ALTA tennis tournaments.

  “Hey, Haley,” Maggie said. “I just wanted to touch base with you. I haven’t had a chance before now.”

  Over Haley’s shoulder, Maggie saw her brother lounging on the couch in the inner room. He didn’t bother getting up or removing his legs from the coffee table. She saw an open wine bottle on the table.

  “How is Lanie’s mother?” Haley asked, her hand still on Maggie’s arm. “She must be devastated.”

  “She is, yeah. She finally went to sleep.” Maggie stepped into the living area of the room and her brother lifted a glass to her as she entered. She wondered for a moment if he might be drunk.

  “Bonsoir, little sis,” Ben said. “Welcome to Nice. The shittiest city in paradise.”

  “Don’t listen to him,” Haley said. “We’re all just so shaken up about this.”

  “Did you know she was murdered?” Maggie said to her brother. She hadn’t seen him in over two years and was surprised to see that he’d aged. In her mind, he always remained the same: tall, athletic, thick brown hair and riveting blue eyes. Handsome, of course. All the Newberry men were good-looking in that bland, Anglo-Saxon way. Now th
at she really looked at Ben, his mouth seemed to have taken on a permanent twist to it. Like a sneer that just stayed.

  “Who said it was murder?” Ben said, slurring his words and putting to rest any doubt Maggie had about his condition.

  “I found out today that the city’s homicide department is handling her death.”

  “Well, there you are. My sister, the supersleuth. Dad would be proud,” Ben said sarcastically.

  “We’re all so upset,” Haley said. “The police talked to us, not that I had anything to say. I’d taken a sleeping pill and gone to bed early with one of my headaches.”

  “Yeah, thanks bunches by the way for the iron-clad alibi, Haley,” Ben said. “Good to know you can be counted on to be unconscious when it counts.”

  “They don’t suspect you, Ben,” Haley said, her voice tinged with the slightest of plaintive whines.

  “Okay, well, anyway, I just wanted to check in,” Maggie said, turning away. “And to tell you guys to go on to Domaine St-Buvard without me. I’ll follow along tomorrow or the next day.”

  “You’re staying in Nice?” Haley asked. “Whatever for?”

  “God, don’t encourage her, Haley,” Ben said from the couch. “Will what’s-his-name pick us up? I know how the French are when it comes to time. I’m not waiting in a circa World War II train station for him to finally remember what time it is.”

  “Ben, stop it,” Haley said. “You’re embarrassing me.”

  “What else is new,” Ben said in a low voice as Maggie slipped out into the hallway.

  “I am so sorry, Maggie,” Haley said. “He has been under unbelievable strain lately for a couple of different reasons. Please don’t listen to him.”

  “Don’t worry, Haley,” Maggie said, leaning in to kiss her sister-in-law’s cheek. “I never have.”

  *****

  The next morning, Annie insisted on meeting the rest of the tour group at breakfast.

  “These were Lanie’s colleagues,” she said as Maggie locked their hotel room door. “And her boyfriend, Olivier. He was on the tour too. Oh, he must be devastated.”

  “Lanie was traveling with her boyfriend?”

  “Well, they didn’t room together, but they were definitely an item. He’s the videographer on the tour. Olivier Tatois. I met him briefly last winter when he came to Atlanta with Lanie.”

  They took the elevator downstairs to the hotel breakfast room. Maggie wasn’t at all sure what to expect, but she could tell Annie was eager to meet these people.

  When you’ve lost everything, even the faintest wisps of the person you lost counted for something, Maggie thought sadly. Perhaps Annie was hoping to get a little piece of her daughter back in the memories and joint affection of these people. The minute they walked into the room, Maggie sensed that was not going to be possible.

  She recognized Bob Randall immediately. His travel show was syndicated, and had been for several years. He was considered the ultimate authority in European travel-on-a-budget for the average American. His affable downhome style translated well in his television series, and while he’d been doing it for at least a decade Maggie was surprised to see he didn’t look a day older than when he’d first started.

  A tall man, Randall broke away from the group gathered around a large round table and strode to where Maggie and Annie stood hesitating in the café entrance.

  “Mrs. Morrison,” he said, his hand outstretched to take Annie’s. “I am so sorry to meet you under these circumstances. Every one of us here loved Lanie dearly.”

  Annie’s eyes fill with tears. “Thank you, Mr. Randall,” she said hoarsely.

  “Please call me Bob, and come meet the others on our tour.” He tucked Annie’s arm in his and pulled her away from Maggie toward the table. Maggie followed. She noticed her brother and Haley remained seated. Haley smiled wanly at her but Ben scowled into his coffee and did not look up.

  “Everyone, this is Lanie’s mother…”

  “Annie,” Annie said softly as she nodded at the two couples and two single women at the table.

  “Annie,” Randall said. “Move over, Anderson,” he said to the distinguished looking man seated next to a hatchet-faced woman in her mid-fifties with a brand new face-lift. “Annie, this is Jim and Janet Anderson. They were playing the part of the tourists for our little experiment. And there’s Ben and Haley Newberry across there. You may have already met them.” Maggie noticed Ben still didn’t look up.

  “To my left is Mademoiselle Desiree Badeaux, and to her left, Miss Dee-Dee Bell, both of whom worked with your daughter on this tour.”

  “Competed, he means,” Dee-Dee said as she smiled at Annie. She looked a little plain to Maggie, even dumpy. “We were all going after the same prize. I really admired your daughter, Mrs. Morrison. She was a total ballbuster, but I mean that in the nicest way.”

  Maggie noticed Annie’s look of confusion as she turned from Dee-Dee to the French woman next to her that Randall had introduced as Mademoiselle Desiree Badeaux, although Maggie did think it had been many years since the woman could honestly claim that title.

  “Madame,” Desiree said, nodding curtly at Annie. Pencil thin and wearing a bone-hugging knit dress, Desiree clearly cared very much about her appearance. Maggie guessed she was mid- forties. Her dark hair was bobbed and offset high cheekbones and full lips.

  “We are all just so upset at what happened to our darling Lanie,” Randall said. “My mind is still blown. I cannot adjust to what happened.” He grinned as if this were an endearing trait they should all enjoy knowing. Maggie winced. Celebrities were a special case unto themselves, she thought.

  He pulled a chair out for Annie and Maggie slipped into a free one next to Haley.

  “Thank you all,” Annie said as Randall poured her a cup of coffee from a pot on the table. “I wanted to meet you because you were all important to Lanie.” She looked around the table, her eyes resting on Maggie as her touchstone.

  “I was hoping to see Olivier this morning,” she said, an attempt at a smile trembling on her lips.

  “Oh, my gosh, didn’t you hear?” Dee-Dee stopped in the middle of applying lip gloss. “He’s gone.”

  “Gone? Gone where?” Annie looked at Maggie as if she might possibly know.

  “They arrested him, I heard,” Dee-Dee said, snapping her purse shut loudly. “He found the body, you know.”

  What an ass you are, Maggie couldn’t help think.

  “Arrested Olivier?” Annie looked around the table, bewildered. “But Olivier loved Lanie. That’s impossible.”

  “Well, you know the French,” Dee-Dee said with a grimace. “Cherchez la femme. Or in this case, I guess it would be l’homme. Anyway, they wouldn’t have taken him away if they didn’t know something we don’t know.”

  Maggie watched Desiree’s reaction to Dee-Dee’s words. The look that Desiree gave Dee-Dee was one of undiluted loathing.

  “That can’t be,” Annie said to the group. “I know Olivier. He would never hurt Lanie.”

  “Love makes you do strange things,” Dee-Dee said.

  “What would you know of love?” Desiree sneered. “From what you see on television soap operas?”

  “You French think you own the whole love and passion thing,” Dee-Dee said, turning in her seat to face the Frenchwoman.

  “I imagine anyone might own it more than a woman who has never known a man’s touch,” Desiree said.

  Whoa! Score one for Team France, Maggie thought as Dee-Dee’s face blushed deep red.

  “All right, ladies,” Randall said. “We have company. Let’s try not to bicker, shall we?” He turned to Annie. “And yes, losing Olivier will put a considerable crimp in our taping abilities for the remainder of the tour but I feel sure we—”

  Maggie spoke up. “You’re continuing the tour?” She glanced at her brother and Haley. “I was told you were canceling it.”

  “Of course we’re continuing the tour,” he said. “I mean, it’s horrifying and all that but I
’ve got a production schedule back home and we need to get this co-anchor question decided.”

  “When are you leaving?” Maggie asked.

  Randall shrugged. “The police have Olivier as their man and they see no reason why the rest of us need to remain in Nice. We leave for Cannes early tomorrow morning. Desiree will be presenting on our first stop on the Côte d’Azur. I’m not counting Nice as part of the test because of Lanie dying and all.”

  Maggie saw Annie swallow hard. God! These people were insensitive. She looked at her brother but he was studiously working not to look at her.

  “I understand Ben and Haley Newberry are dropping out of the tour?” Maggie said.

  Ben snapped his head up when she spoke.

  “Yes, unfortunately,” Randall said. “They have other business in France. They were never scheduled for the coastal part of the tour in any case. Just Provence to Nice.”

  Oh, really? Her brother returned her steady gaze. Caught in a bold-faced lie in front of half a dozen people and he stared at her as coolly as if it had never happened.

  “I’m sorry,” Randall said, looking at Maggie now. “I didn’t catch your name. You are a relative of Lanie’s?”

  “A friend of the family,” Maggie said. She couldn’t resist glancing back at Ben when she said that and was rewarded with a look of disgust as he rolled his eyes and directed his attention back to his coffee.

  *****

  “Mademoiselle Morrison drowned to death in her bath,” Inspector Massar said, intoning the words as if passing sentence. He spoke no English, and as Maggie sat in front of him, Annie at her side, she couldn’t help but be amazed that she had come so far in her linguistic abilities that she was actually serving as translator.

  But how the hell was she going to translate that?

  “Then why do you believe she was murdered?”

  “The body suffered blunt force trauma to the upper cranium,” he said, pointing to his own head. Annie followed his hand motions with her eyes. Maggie was grateful she couldn’t understand what he was saying.