*****
Laurent switched the telephone to his other ear. He stood in Maggie’s small galley kitchen leaning against the stove, regarding the red plastic wall clock opposite him. He should have known the reason why she wasn’t returning his calls. He should have known the minute she found that damn sweater with Zouk’s name on the label.
“Non, merci, Roger,” he said into the phone. “I am glad you called me.”
“Well, I thought you’d want to know, old chap. Bit of a surprise for me, I can tell you, running into her like that.”
“Mmm-mm, yes, I can see that.” His tee shirt strained across his chest as he took in a long breath.
“Not sure what you’ll want to do about it,” Roger said. “She was dead keen to get to the bottom of this Nicole business, I can tell you. I’m afraid you’re in for it, squire.”
Laurent sighed. “I will handle it from here.”
“I know you will, old darling. Listen, I’m to Cap D’Antibes next month. I don’t suppose you’d be interested?”
“Ach, non, Roger. Not this time, mon ami.”
“Oh, well. Never hurts to ask. Take care of yourself, Laurent.”
“Adieu, Roger.”
Laurent hung up and turned to stare through the small kitchen window. The leaves from the cherry trees that lined the busy street below had just begun to fall. He rubbed a hand across his face as if to erase his very features. Ahhh, Maggie, he thought sadly.
Murder in the South of France, Book 1 of the Maggie Newberry Mysteries Page 38