Murder in Nice (35 page)

“
Can you hand me a juice
from the fridge?” she said, suddenly tired again.
Is it the baby making me feel so
lousy
? she wondered. Her good hand
involuntarily moved to rest on her still-flat abdomen.

“
Sure, sweetie,” Haley said
opening the fridge and then handing a juice bottle to Maggie. “Need
a glass?”

Maggie shook her head and drank it down from
the bottle. It was quenching and sweet and she felt instantly
revived. “I can’t believe I slept so long. Did Laurent call? What
time is it?”

“
Just a little after nine,”
Haley said. She picked up two large bowls full of Laurent’s
boeuf en daube
and moved
past Maggie to set them on the dining room table. “Do you feel like
a glass of wine?” she asked over her shoulder.

Actually, a glass of wine sounded pretty
good. It would probably put her right back to sleep but, come to
think of it, why not sleep? Why not sleep for hours and hours and
hours? She’d had a hell of a night and anything Laurent had to tell
her, he could tell her in the morning.

“
I’ll get it,” Maggie said.
“You sit down. You’re going to make me feel guilty, taking care of
the kids and then waiting on me.”

Haley laughed. “Well, all right,” she said,
settling down onto one of the dining room chairs.

Maggie walked to the door
of the
cave
on the
other side of the kitchen. “Any preferences?”

“
I like any of
Laurent’s.”

“
He has others down there,
too,” Maggie said. “He likes for us to drink wines other than just
the ones we make. A Côtes du Rhône, or a nice Rosé
maybe?”

“
Anything
but a Côtes du Rhône.”

Maggie laughed and snapped on the light over
the stairs leading to the basement. “You came to Provence and won’t
drink a Côtes du Rhône? I think it’s practically a mandate
here.”

“
Well, certain ones affect
me worse than others. I can’t stand a Château Saint Cosmo for
example. It gives me a terrible headache.”

“
Saint Cosmo? That’s a new
one on me. God, the French will make anyone a saint.” They both
laughed.

Maggie went to the
cave
intending to fetch a
bottle of whatever caught her eye, but something nagged at her in
the far recesses of her mind. Like a searing bolt from the depths
of her memory, an electric light briefly illuminated in her
head—flashing an idea, a memory—and then went dark again, leaving
behind a feeling of dread.

Must be the
basement
. She never stepped into it without
a feeling of dread creeping up her back. It was a small room with a
series of high, ground-level windows, and was the only room in the
house that was air conditioned, although Maggie was sure so deep in
the ground it was probably plenty cold enough all by
itself.

Laurent had erected shelving and racks on
both sides of the longest part of the room. She knew he had some
method of organization, but since he normally fetched the wines
from the cellar she had no idea what it was. She shivered and
looked at the long rows and triple-stacked shelves of bottles,
punt-side facing outward.

Laurent need never know
they drank a white with his
boeuf en
daube
, she thought. She started to pull a
bottle free from its slot, when she hesitated, aware that she was
still feeling unsettled. Driven by an urge she couldn’t immediately
understand, Maggie pried her smartphone out of her jeans pocket and
scrolled to the notes she kept on it. The second she realized what
she was doing, a light sweat popped out on her forehead.

“
You okay down there?
Didn’t miss a step, did you?” Haley called. Maggie could tell Haley
was no longer in the dining room. Her voice sounded like it was
coming from the kitchen now.

“
No, I’m fine,” Maggie
called back, hearing the artificial lightness in her own
voice.

In the time it took to
recognize what she was doing, Maggie
knew
—before she ever found the entry
on her phone—what her notes would say.

After her conversation with the concierge,
she’d jotted down the name of the wine that was sent up to Lanie
that night—the name of the bottle of Côtes du Rhône that had gone
missing from Lanie’s room.

The bottle that had killed her.

A Château de Saint Cosme.

Twenty-one

The proprietor of the restaurant led the way to a
table by the window. Laurent had been there once or twice before. A
few miles from Nice,
Le Matin
had a very evolved menu, but mainly it featured a
lack of the high prices typically found in a restaurant so close to
Nice.

He knew Ben was surprised when they pulled
off the A8 and into the unassuming little parking lot. He probably
thought Laurent intended to cut his throat for his earlier
behavior. Laurent shrugged as he picked up the menu.

People must eat.

The bistro was small and undiscovered, the
way Laurent preferred it. He ordered for both of them. Maggie’s
brother knew no French; it was easier this way. After the waiter
took their order, Laurent regarded Ben across the table. They had
spoken not a single word in the two-hour drive from Domaine
St-Buvard.

Ben watched him closely and then cleared his
throat. “I imagine you were surprised when I asked you to escort
me.”

Laurent raised an eyebrow but said
nothing.

The waiter brought a bottle of wine, which
Laurent approved without tasting. The server poured their glasses
and disappeared. Ben cleared his throat again, and this time
reached into his jacket pocket and extricated the same thick
envelope he had shown Laurent earlier. He touched the bandage
across his nose and laid the envelope on the table in front of
Laurent.

“
Before I forget or before
the police take all my personal belongings,” Ben said, his voice
nasal and thick, “I wanted to make sure you had these.” He fanned
out the sheaf of papers and photographs onto the starched white
tablecloth between them. “I won’t be needing them where I’m
going.”

Laurent didn’t speak.

“
I’m not going to apologize
for how things went down,” Ben said, staring out the window at the
parking lot. “You wouldn’t believe it anyway and there’s no point.
Suffice to say, things got out of hand.” He touched his bandaged
nose again and laughed. “Frankly, I think I went a little mad. It
actually feels a relief to just let everything…happen
now.”

The waiter brought their starters, two
plates of golden fried calamari with mini-bowls of red pepper and
feta dipping sauce.

“
You didn’t kill Lanie,”
Laurent said, reaching for his wine.

Ben sipped his own wine and Laurent was
impressed that the man was so relaxed.

“
I’ll tell you,” Ben said,
“but only if you promise not to turn around and drive us back to
St-Buvard once I do.”

“
I am surprised you think
me incapable of lying to you.”

“
Whatever happened to honor
among thieves?”

“
It’s a myth.”

They ate in silence. Laurent knew Ben would
tell him in his own time.

“
I love my wife,” Ben said.
“There’s probably nobody in the world who’s ever seen us together
who would believe that, but I do. And I am about to do the one
thing in my life that doesn’t make me want to retch. After two
years of feeling hunted, guilty and like the biggest prick on the
planet, can you imagine how great that feels?”

“
It
won’t
once you’re inside,” Laurent
remarked dryly.

“
I know,” Ben said quietly.
“But at this moment I know I’m doing the right thing. And I can’t
ever remember feeling better.”

The server came with
their
moules frites
and they focused on their meal without further conversation.
Laurent paid the bill, and picked up the envelope of incriminating
photos. As they walked to the car, Ben stopped to take in a big
breath of fresh air.

“
I think I’m always going
to remember this moment,” Ben said. “This moment on a perfect
summer night in the south of France where I did a noble
thing.”

Laurent grunted and slid into the driver’s
seat.

“
There are no other
copies,” Ben said as he buckled his seatbelt and Laurent pulled
back onto the A8, heading once more toward Nice. “I don’t know
whether it was seeing all the cute pictures of Jem on Facebook that
Maggie posted or hearing my parents gush about how his was the most
significant birth since Jesus, but Haley became obsessed with him
right after he was born.”

Laurent felt a tingling in the back of his
neck, as if he were forgetting something. Was it something Ben
said? He gripped the steering wheel tighter. Hadn’t everything
fallen into place now? He had Ben’s evidence against him, the
vineyard was saved…

“
I mean, I knew she was
doing Internet research,” Ben said as he watched the scenery fly
by, “but I thought it was about Provence, you know? I didn’t know
it was about you until we got to France. By then, she’d hired
private investigators to help find the bits she
couldn’t.”

“
To what end?” Laurent
asked.

“
Because of this whole
infertility business, she’s become obsessed about who does and
doesn’t deserve to have kids. She was convinced you were a bad
influence on Jemmy.”

“
Her intention was to have
Maggie raise Jemmy alone?”

“
I hate to say it because
it really makes her sound bat-shit crazy, but I think she had some
idea that
we
would
somehow end up with Jemmy.”

“
In order to do that,
wouldn’t she also need to get rid of Maggie?” There was that
feeling again, only now it was an agitated flush that crept up the
back of his neck and made him want to punch something.

“
Don’t be
ridiculous.”

Laurent slowed down, glancing at the sign
that indicated the next exit was ten kilometers away, Nice
twelve.

“
Your wife has already
killed once,” Laurent said. “Give me your cell phone.”

Ben handed him his phone.
“You’re wrong, Laurent. Haley thinks Maggie doesn’t
want
Jemmy. With you gone,
she thinks Maggie will be happy to give him up.”

“
Your wife is indeed
insane. The call went to voicemail.” Laurent swerved the car into
the median and climbed over the cement curb to reach the other side
of A8 heading west.

They were at least two hours from St-Buvard.
One, if he hurried.

*****

Maggie grabbed the bottle of wine. Her hands
were shaking so much she knew there was a very distinct possibility
she was going to drop it. She clutched the bottle to her chest.

Haley knew the name of the
wine bottle that had been used to club Lanie to death.
Not even the police knew that. Only Maggie, the
concierge—and Lanie’s murderer knew it.

“
What is taking so long,
Maggie?” Haley called from the top of the stairs.

Maggie saw Haley backlit
against the kitchen light. For a moment, Maggie was reminded of her
night in the abbey. The frigidity of the
cave
, the light coming from way up
high…the feeling of building dread.

Ben never really confessed.
He never actually said he did it.
He just
let me think he did
.

Every piece of evidence
Maggie had against Ben worked for Haley, too.
In some cases, better.

She took a deep breath and
began to climb up the stairs.
Haley took a
step backward, and Maggie prayed she wouldn’t see her hands
tremble.

All she has to do is shut
the door on me
. The thought of being
trapped again in darkness and the cold made Maggie run the last few
steps up the stairs.

“
I hope it’s the blood of
Christ or something for as long as you took picking it out,” Haley
said.

Maggie noticed Haley didn’t smile when she
said that. Did she normally smile at her own jokes?

“
I just can’t tell you how
much I appreciate your taking care of the kids,” Maggie said,
feeling a swelling of relief to be back in the well-lit
kitchen.

“
You already said that,”
Haley said, frowning. “I did it for the kids and, really, for
myself.”

What if Haley found out about Lanie’s
pregnancy? Wouldn’t that be all it took? Or the fact that Lanie was
trying to blackmail Ben?

Maggie stood in the kitchen facing Haley,
her breath coming in quick pants.

It’s true Ben doesn’t have an alibi for that
night…but of course neither does Haley.

“
What’s the matter with
you, Maggie? You look like you saw a ghost down there. Was it your
friend Connor?”

Maggie dropped the wine bottle and it
smashed into hundreds of shards across the hard tile floor of the
kitchen. The rich Bordeaux wine splashed onto her slacks.

“
Jesus, Maggie!” Haley
jumped away from the mess and grabbed a handful of the cloth towels
Laurent kept in a stack on the counter. “I can’t believe you just
did that.”