Murder in Aix (The Maggie Newberry Mystery Series Book 5) (10 page)

She watched the
pair turn off of the
Cours,
and when
she got to the corner she was just in time to see them enter an apartment building.
She glanced around and spotted a bistro across the street. She would have felt
too exposed in an outdoor café and was glad for the extra cover. As soon as she
took a seat at a table by the window, however, she saw the man she thought was
Michelle’s companion burst out of the apartment building, his face like
thunder.
Uh-oh. Lovers’ tiff.

That probably
wouldn’t bode well for Michelle’s mood during Maggie’s questioning.

Maggie waved away
the approaching waiter and pulled herself out of the table. She wasn’t sure exactly
what she intended to do. She only knew she had to talk to Michelle because
Roger wouldn’t—or if he had he wasn’t sharing. And as much as she wasn’t
looking forward to the next fifteen minutes—her arms had yet to scab over
from her last meeting with the girl—all she really had to do was bring Julia’s
tear-stained and stricken face to mind to galvanize her into taking the next
step.

And right now,
the next step was crossing the street and punching the button to Michelle’s
apartment. Right after she used the bistro’s facilities.

That bastard! Did he really think she was so stupid she
didn’t see what he was trying to pull?
Michelle snatched up her cellphone and punched in her mother’s number. As she
listened to it ring, she padded into the kitchen and jerked open the
refrigerator and extricated a Diet Coke. Her eyes glanced at the boning knife
on her kitchen counter.
The worm was
lucky we were in the bedroom when he got the call from his wife. Otherwise
…

“Michelle?”

“Oh,
Maman
. You are not going to believe what
he’s done now.”

“Who? David?”

“He is still
screwing his wife! He virtually admitted as much to me. You were right. You
were right all along.”

“Where are you,
ch
é
rie
?
Are you home? I will come at once.”

“No, don’t
bother. I am not staying here. I need to go out. I just wanted to tell you that
I ended it finally.”

“That is good,
ch
é
rie
.
I know it hurts now but it is for the best. Are you sure you don’t want me to
come?”

“
Non, Maman
,” Michelle said, her eyes
still on the boning knife. “I don’t want to see anyone right now. Oh, fuck. I
have to go. Some idiot is buzzing me from downstairs.”

Chapter
Nine

“I wouldn’t for
the world disturb you during your time of grief, except I thought you might
want to know several hundred thousand euros were found in Madame Patrick’s
apartment, and I know for a fact they aren’t Julia’s.”

Maggie had
rehearsed the line so many times on the walk over to Michelle’s apartment that
she prayed it didn’t come across wooden and mechanical. The girl already didn’t
trust her. On the other hand, it was entirely possible—and she was
counting on this—that
what
she
had to say would distract Michelle from
how
she said it.

Maggie forced
herself not to look at the wicked looking kitchen knife that Michelle came to
the door holding.
Expecting the return of
her boyfriend, maybe
? She took a long breath and willed herself to look
confident and sure of herself.

Michelle stood
looking at her. “Say that again,” she said finally, her lip curled in a snarl.
“In English, this time.”

“A small fortune
in cash was recovered in—”

“Who recovered
it? The police?”

Maggie tamped
down the smile that wanted to burst through.

 
She
had her.

“No, I found it
after you left. Is it yours, then?”

Michelle took a
step back into her apartment, which was all the invitation Maggie needed. She
stepped forward.

“I didn’t bring
it with me today,” Maggie said, “because I fear the rampant pickpockets in Aix.
I, myself, have been a victim on two separate—”

“Yes, it is
mine,” Michelle said, practically licking her lips when she spoke.
  

“Very good. I’m
glad to hear it. And I also wanted to take this opportunity to tell you that I
am not, in fact, a friend of Julia Patrick’s. Far from it. I am an animal
lover, only, intent on the care and—”

“What were you
doing at my Aunt Lily’s home yesterday?”

Maggie was ready
for that one. “That was a total coincidence,” she said. “I am only a friend of
a friend of your aunt’s. My neighbor, as it happens—”

“Yes, yes,
whatever. When can you bring me my money?”

“Immediately,
Mademoiselle Tatois. I would be only too happy to do so. But as you can see, my
burden is great and I was wondering if I could trouble you for a glass of water
before I—”

Michelle emitted
a snort of impatience and whirled on her heel. For a moment, Maggie wasn’t
positive she wouldn’t come back with an even bigger knife, but when she
returned she had a large plastic cup in her hand. Maggie took it gratefully and
drank as slowly as she could, careful not to observe the girl over the cup as
she did. Eventually, she was rewarded when Michelle slumped to a sitting
position on the couch, and Maggie took the opportunity to sit, too.

“Thank you so
much,” Maggie said. “I have been tracking Monsieur Tatois for several months
now and he—”

“
Tracking
him?”

“Well, my
organization,” Maggie said, placing the cup on the coffee table in front of
her. “We are an anti-cruelty to animals organization, which is why I knew that
Madame Patrick possessed a lovebird that would need rescuing. We have been
watching the two of them for quite awhile.”

Was the girl really crazy enough to buy this nonsense?
Maggie dearly hoped so.

“My father abused
animals?”

“Oh, my heavens,
yes! Very much so! Dogs, cats…that bird I rescued. Pigeons in the park. He has
been on our watch list for a long time now.”

“Well,” Michelle
said crossing her arms and glaring at Maggie. “I am not surprised. The man was
despicable. It is well that he should have been monitored for his disgusting
behavior.”

“Monitored, yes.”
Maggie said. “My organization was very close to gathering the necessary
evidence to ensure that Monsieur Tatois never bothered another one of God’s
gentle creatures again.”

“So
you
killed him?”

“What? No! That’s
not what I meant. We believed we could be the authors of his incarceration with
the state. It is against the law, you know, to abuse animals.”

“Why did it take
your organization…what is the name of it again?”

“Uh, the Anti-Abuse
of Animals League.”

“Why has it taken
you so long to move against my father? And in the meanwhile, he has committed
untold damage. Not just to stupid animals but to
people
! Did you know he was arrested last winter for the attempted
rape of one of your countrywomen?”

Michelle shook her
head vigorously.

“I can see you do
not
know! Yes, it is true. My father
was a disgusting pig who deserved to die the painful, ignoble death he
did—emptying his bowels on the Venetian tile of his foyer. A foyer, by
the way, that he stole from my mother when he took our home from us. A home I
grew up in…”

Maggie could see
Michelle momentarily warring with herself about something before she reversed
course.
Was this the psychosis she was
seeing, or was Michelle really attempting to curb her words?

“The husband of
the woman my father attacked? His name is David Armstrong. He works here in Aix
at an American software company. He threatened to kill my father.”

“Well, I imagine
he was very upset.”

“He said it on
numerous occasions. And I am not the only one to hear him.”

“A software
company?”
 
Maggie frowned as if
confused, hoping the girl would elucidate.

“X-Trad
Corporation. They are based here. The police are dolts not to have questioned
him.”
                      

“They haven’t
questioned him?”

“He says not.”

Maggie worked to
keep the look of enlightenment from appearing on her face.
It appears the errant boyfriend was taking a pair of pinking shears
between the shoulder blades
.

There was one
very important item on the list of things Maggie wanted to know, and she wasn’t
exactly sure how to get that information from Michelle.

“At least,” she
said, hoping this didn’t get her thrown out—by way of the window— “you
will have the satisfaction of Monsieur Tatois’s estate to assuage your shame of
having such a vile father.”

“Estate?”
Michelle looked perplexed.

“You are his only
heir, I presume?”

The laugh that
erupted from Michelle’s face was like the cawing of a depraved crow, ugly and
strident.

“He had nothing
and left me nothing! The bastard couldn’t even die when he should! Just three
more months…” But now Michelle
did
stop herself and eyed Maggie with distrust, as if she had been tricked into
saying as much as she had.

“It doesn’t
matter,” Michelle said firmly. She stood up, ready to see Michelle out. “All
that matters is that the English whore who destroyed my family will pay for it
with her life. It’s my one constant. My one joy.” She held the door open and
waited for Maggie to struggle to her feet and walk into the hall, slamming the
door before Maggie could say another word.

On the drive
home, Maggie tried to process what she had learned. Maggie could
swear—unless the girl really was certifiably crazy—that Michelle
had really thought for one moment that Maggie’s fictitious organization had put
a hit out on her father. And if she thought
that
,
even for a second, then
she
didn’t
kill him. It was truly annoying to go to this kind of trouble only to have it
result in the
clearing
of one your
prime (and favorite) suspects. Maggie reminded herself that eliminating potential
suspects was crucial to finding the murderer. And possibly, she thought with
some optimism, Michelle was so crazy that she really
did
kill him and just couldn’t remember it.

As Maggie pulled
onto the long drive that led to
Domaine-St-Buvard
,
she found herself wondering what Michelle meant when she said,
He didn’t even die when he should
? Was
that a reference to an inheritance that was coming to
Jacques,
and therefore, eventually, Michelle? And what did she mean
by
just three more months
? What was
going to happen in three months? Maggie’s head was definitely starting to ache,
and she was relieved to turn off the car and just sit in the silence for a
moment before moving into the house. As she stared out over the horizon of
Laurent’s vineyard in an attempt to clear her mind, it occurred to her—as
it had several times on the drive home—that she needed to talk to David
Montgomery. She frowned. Technically, he was a “stranger.” And she had promised
Laurent she wouldn’t talk to strangers. Damn. She
had
to talk to him. What if he was the murderer? Was it believable
that someone could repeatedly threaten to kill someone, and then when that
person was murdered, not be questioned at all?
 
Obviously,
yes. Especially if Roger Bedard was in charge.

She took a long
breath and released her seatbelt. Plenty of time to noodle the details of how she
could talk to Montgomery later.
Maybe
Grace?
Grace
hadn’t promised
Laurent she wouldn’t talk to strangers. Grace also wasn’t, at the moment,
speaking to Maggie, but that was just a detail to be sorted out.

She walked up the
slate walk to the massive front door of the ancient
mas
. She hadn’t touched the doorknob before it wrenched open.
Laurent stood there with Zou-zou in his arms.

“Finally! You are
here,” he said as he pushed the child into Maggie’s arms, making her drop her
purse.

“What? No,
Laurent,” Maggie said, hoisting the child onto one hip as Laurent picked up her
purse and tucked it under one of her arms. “I don’t have time for this.”

“Is your
cellphone turned off?” he asked, edging past her toward the driveway. “We’ve
been waiting for you. I’ll call if I have any news.” He trotted to the car in
the drive and was in and backing it down the long driveway before Maggie could
respond.

She turned when
she caught movement out of the corner of her eye at the front door. Danielle
stood there and held out her arms for the child. She wasn’t smiling.

“Danielle, what
is it?” Maggie handed Zou-zou to her. “Has something happened?”

“It is Madame Van
Sant,” Danielle said, kissing the baby’s forehead, her eyes distant and sad.
“She is gone.”
 

There weren’t many
places to go. Not in St-Buvard. And of those few places, Grace knew them all
better than most. Hadn’t she nearly died here not three years ago, herself
nearly as pregnant as Maggie was now?

She turned up the
collar to her jacket when she felt the first few drops of rain. She knew she
should have headed for the hotel bar. Not that that wouldn’t be the first place
they would think to look for her. But she couldn’t bear the feeling of being
hemmed in. It was partly the reason she had fled in the first place.

She signaled the
waiter for another bottle of champagne. So stupid to drink champagne of all
things, especially when the last thing she was doing was celebrating. But it
was her signature drink, rain or shine, in good times and bad. What she really needed,
she thought ruefully, was a Rusty Nail.

Why not make them worry?
She could do nothing about all the damage she was causing.
Not a single thing. She couldn’t spare Zou-zou her inevitable tears. She
couldn’t erase the disgust and anger from her best friend’s face. She couldn’t
stop the hurt she was causing Win. Or herself. So why care about running away?
Her friends were civilized. Maggie was already mad at her, so that was a wash.
Laurent was too very Laurent to say a cross word to her. And Danielle clearly
wanted to adopt Zou-zou and would hardly regret her absence.

The desire to
break free had been overwhelming. She smiled bitterly, thinking of the
three-mile walk to the village—the last half-mile in the rain, ruining
her best shoes in the process.
I would
have crawled it to get away
.

I am such a bad person
, she thought as she allowed the boy to open her bottle and
pour her glass.
A bad mother—that
goes without saying. A terrible wife. A bad friend. Was there ever something I
was good at? Before I started destroying all these people’s lives? Daddy never
even looked in my direction
.
Smart
man. He must have known how much grief I would cause.

“This is not a
very good hiding place.”

She was glad it
was him and not Maggie. She didn’t have the energy or the wit to fight.

“Maybe I wanted
to be found,” she said.

“
Je sais
.” He sat down opposite her and
she watched the waiter scurry to bring him a clean glass. She watched him over
her glass, grateful she hadn’t started weeping before he showed up. It had been
close.