Murder in Nice (7 page)

Maggie’s key was in her hand and in the lock
within seconds. “Who?” she asked, her voice tight with concern.

A man came to visit Annie? Annie was asleep.
Wasn’t she?

“
Well, I didn’t get a good
look.” Dee-Dee said, glancing down the hall as if contemplating
making a run for it.

Maggie stepped into the darkened room,
confirmed snores were coming from Annie in the bed, and returned to
the hallway. “What man?” she asked again. “Why would you care if a
man was in Desiree’s room?”

“
I’d care plenty if it was
Bob Randall,” Dee-Dee said in a taunting tone.

“
Bob Randall and Desiree
are an item?”

“
Not in any imaginable
universe,” Dee-Dee said. “But I’m sure she
wishes
they were.”

Maggie hesitated and then pulled the room
door shut. She turned to Dee-Dee and nodded toward the elevator.
“Why don’t we take this conversation downstairs so Mrs. Morrison
can sleep undisturbed? Say, the hotel bar?” Maggie forced herself
to smile and was rewarded by what appeared to be a genuine smile
back.

The waiter brought two glasses of white wine
and retreated to the mahogany-encased vestibule leading to the
kitchen. The bar at the Soho was elegant. A small plaque indicated
the hotel had been built in the late seventeen hundreds by an
intrepid pair of Brits sick of the English winters but wanting to
retain as many touches of home as possible. The bar looked like it
could be easily transplanted back to the interior of any one of
many elegant hotel bars in London.

“
I think we were all
surprised the police didn’t ask more questions,” Dee-Dee said,
sipping her wine. Maggie couldn’t help think that even the tiniest
hint of blush would do wonders in perking up the woman’s sallow
complexion.
Did she not have a mother?
Girlfriends? A mirror?

“
Bob said it was because
they didn’t have a decent translator and none of us speak French.
Except Desiree, of course.”

“
Lanie didn’t speak
French?”

“
No, she hated the French.
Regaled us all for hours with anti-France jokes. Some of them were
pretty funny.”

“
Is it strange that she
gave tours in France?”

“
Not at all.”

“
What about you? You’re not
here because you love France?”

“
Oh, hell, no.” Dee-Dee
laughed. “I’m here for the job. We could be in Helsinki for all I
care.”

“
Don’t you feel your
delivery will lack empathy or…depth if you’re not passionate about
the places you’re going to?”

“
Yeah, I can see how you’d
think that. Most people do. But this is a business, and more than
that, it’s entertainment. It’s got nothing to do with the
place.”

“
That’s too
bad.”

“
If you say so.”

“
When I came upon you in
the hallway, you seemed concerned that Bob Randall and Desiree
might be together in the room.”

“
Yeah, but now that I
really think about it, that’s ridiculous.”

“
Are you and Bob
together?”

“
I guess you picked up on
that, huh?” Dee-Dee simpered.

“
Did Lanie know about
it?”

Dee-Dee’s smile evaporated. “She knew,” she
said slowly, as if processing the information herself, “but it’s
not like she wanted him. Bob said they’d nearly gotten together a
couple of times but nothing happened.”

“
Did Bob want something to
happen?”

Dee-Dee snorted. “More
like
Lanie
wanted
something to happen.”

“
Because of the co-anchor
slot.”

“
Hey, that is
not
why Bob and I are
together.”

“
Sure. I believe
you.”

“
Besides, Lanie was with
someone.”

“
You mean her boyfriend,
Olivier?”

“
Now, you see, that was
always hard for me to believe that she and Olivier were together.
Have you met him? The camera guy? He is seriously hot. No, because
she and Jim hooked up at the beginning of the tour.”

Maggie’s face must have
looked confused because Dee-Dee added, “Jim Anderson? The old rich
dude? The old
married
rich dude?”

“
Lanie was sleeping with
him?”

“
Well, he
is
rich.”

If what Dee-Dee said was true, Maggie had to
admit it qualified as a pretty solid motive for Olivier.

“
Are you sure?” Maggie
asked.

“
Ask anybody. Three days
after we started the tour his old ball and chain throws a major
hissy at breakfast saying Lanie’s a whore and not to ever come near
her old man again. I’m not even kidding. It was serious gonzo
stuff. You can dress those old broads up but they’re still raw ore
underneath. Know what I mean?

Maggie looked away from the
table in confusion. “Jim Anderson’s
wife
…” she said, trying to piece it
together.

“
Janet.”

“
Janet confronted Lanie
publicly? A week ago?”

“
Yup.”

“
And threatened
her?”

“
What would
you
call,
‘
Go near my old man again and I’ll slit
your throat’
?”

Five

Laurent stood in the receiving lobby of the Arles
train station. The drive to the station took thirty minutes, yet he
remembered not a single minute of the trip—not even the two toll
booths he had to pass through from St-Buvard to Arles. He glanced
up at the overhead schedule boards. Maggie’s brother had called an
hour earlier. Grace had spoken with him.

Why do I get the feeling I
will not like this man?
he thought,
frowning, hands on his hips. A slight vibration in his hip pocket
alerted him to the call he’d been waiting for all afternoon. He
sighed heavily and answered it.

“
So,” he said, his voice
solemn, “have you decided?”

The brief hesitation before his friend
Michel spoke told Laurent all he needed to know. In fact, he might
as well hang up now. Because not only did Laurent know what Michel
had decided, he knew their friendship was over as a result of
it.

“
Laurent, my friend,”
Michel said, “you must understand how hard this decision was for me
to make.”

“
I understand of course,”
Laurent said, turning his attention to the long receiving hall that
led to the train platforms. One had just gotten in, although not
yet the one from Nice. A woman and her two young children were
hurrying past.

“
Estelle would kill me to
even think of such a thing.”

“
Did you tell Estelle about
my offer?”

Another hesitation. “I did, yes. It affects
the whole family, Laurent. I can’t make this kind of decision on my
own.”

“
Of course not,” Laurent
replied drily. “I have another call coming in, Michel. I will talk
with you again soon.” Laurent disconnected and tucked the phone
back into his pocket.

Merde
. He wasn’t surprised, but he had held out hope that he might
be. And now he was coming to the end. Michel, Geoff, Jacques and
Robert. There was Jean-Luc, of course. But he wasn’t enough. And
Jean-Luc had married into money. He could afford to torch his whole
vineyard if necessary.

Laurent thought of Maggie’s excitement about
the upcoming trip back to the States this Thanksgiving. Unless he
imagined it, she talked of little else.

No, he was glad for Jean-Luc’s new financial
comfort but he had no such luxury himself.

He rubbed a hand across his face. He would
think of another way. He was sure there was another option. He just
hadn’t thought of it yet. He shook out a cigarette from his
crumpled pack and put it between his lips. Perhaps now was not the
best time to quit.

It was good fortune that Grace was still
here, he thought. He did not feel very sociable at the moment and
the effort to entertain Maggie’s relations was not one he felt
necessary to expend. If her brother had been interested in knowing
him better, he’d had five years to reach out. Coming here now was
at best an act of boredom.

And at worst, suspicious.

His eye caught the slender form of a woman
walking quickly from the train platforms toward him.

She walks fast, like
Maggie
, he thought. Very American in that
way. He also noted that she was trim, with full breasts and long
blonde hair. His face was impassive as he studied her. He saw her
hand go up in a wave as she recognized him. Laurent’s gaze shifted
to the tall man walking behind her. Laurent had seen photographs of
Maggie’s older brother—and had heard the stories. Ruthless. Cold.
Arrogant.

Just like every mark Laurent had ever had on
the Côte d’Azur in the old days he thought as he watched Ben
Newberry approach. The arrogant ones were always the easiest to
rob. They suspected everyone of trying to take advantage of them
except the one whose job it was to do precisely that. A small smile
curved on Laurent’s lips. There had been satisfaction in feeling
their trust in him.

It made the inevitable con all the
sweeter.

“
Yoo hoo! Laurent, right?”
the woman called to him from fifty feet away. Laurent would never
get used to the American habit of yelling out to people in
conversation. It was a personal blessing to him that Maggie had
stopped doing it years ago.

He crushed his cigarette under his heel and
went to join the couple. Ben Newberry was allowing his wife to
carry a heavy shoulder bag as well as drag a good-sized Pullman
behind her, while he pulled a small roller bag. If he didn’t know
anything about this man and hadn’t heard a single one of Maggie’s
stories, he would know the full make of him in just these first
five seconds.

It was going to be a long week.

“
Oui
, I am Laurent,” he said, reaching out to shake hands with
Haley before taking her bags from her. “The trip wasn’t too bad, I
hope? Sometimes it gets crowded early in the week.”

“
We really appreciate you
coming to pick us up, Laurent,” Haley said, looking like she didn’t
know what to do with her hands now that her burdens were
removed.

“
Bien
sûr
,” he said. He nodded to Ben. “The car
is just there.” Then he turned his back and led the way.

“
Maggie didn’t exaggerate
how big you are,” Ben said. “What are you? Six three?”

“
Close enough,” Laurent
said over his shoulder as he led them to the parking lot. It was
after eight in the evening. For Laurent, it was barely dinnertime
but he knew most Americans ate early. “Have you eaten?” he asked as
the piled their luggage in the back of his Renault.

“
No, and we’re starving,”
Haley said. “We snacked on the train.”

“
Bon
,” Laurent said opening the front seat passenger door for
Haley. His quick assessing glance took in her blonde hair, pale
completion and, although she’d made an effort to hide it with
makeup, a black eye. “We will dine at Domaine St-Buvard,” he
said.

Ben took his wife’s hand and pulled her away
from the car. “Haley will be more comfortable in the back seat,” he
said. “I usually sit in front because of my longer legs.”

Perhaps he wouldn’t have done it if he
hadn’t gotten Michel’s phone call just minutes before they arrived.
Perhaps if he’d had a better night’s sleep—he never slept well when
Maggie was not in his bed. But for whatever the reason, he was in
no mood to be preempted by a guest who did not know how to behave
as a guest.

Laurent put two fingers against Ben’s chest
and pushed. The man grunted in surprise and took a step back.

“
You will adjust,
je suis sûr
,” Laurent
said, before turning and taking Haley’s elbow and guiding her into
the front seat.

*****

What the hell was her
problem?
Randall thought in frustration.
She
knew
he wanted
to be discreet. It was probably his very desire for secrecy that
was the reason Desiree insisted they be seen at every café along
the Côte d’Azur.

“
We were together and
that’s all anybody needs to know,” he said to Desiree as she
watched him over her untouched glass of Pinot. “As long as you
don’t talk too much, these French cops are about as backwater as
you can get.”

“
Why must you be so
offensive?” she said, frowning at him. “You are as bad as the
American slut.”

“
And why must you rise to
the bait every time someone says
freedom
fries
? If
anybody
should worry about what the
cops think, it’s you, Desiree. Everyone knows you hated her. And
more than a few know you were alone with her that
night.”

Desiree took a long drag on her
cigarette.

She knows I hate how she
tastes after she smokes
.

She blew a puff of smoke in his direction.
“As were you.”