Murder in Aix (The Maggie Newberry Mystery Series Book 5) (7 page)

“Interesting
fact,” Roger said, oblivious to Maggie’s reaction. “Did you know women tend to use
poison as their weapon of choice when committing murder?”

“Wow. Thank you,
Hercules Poirot.”

 
“I’m afraid your sarcasm will not change
the facts for your friend, Maggie.”

“And in light of
this evidence, you decided to arrest Julia because…?” Maggie felt a tingle of
heat spread across her face and upper lip as she waited for Roger to answer
her.

He shrugged. “Because
she served him an omelet made with poisoned mushrooms the night he died. I’m
sorry, Maggie. I knew you were hoping for something else.”

“Did Julia
admit
to making him a mushroom omelet?”

“She did.”

Crap.
“But that isn’t proof that the
poisonous
mushrooms came from her omelet.”

Roger smiled
sadly at Maggie as if disappointed in her. “She served him a mushroom omelet.
He died of poisoned mushrooms. I feel pretty sure that will be enough to
convict. The Chief Prosecutor shares my confidence.”

“Were there
non
poisonous mushrooms in his stomach?”

Roger frowned.
“That is irrelevant.”

“But of course it
isn’t, not at all. If Julia served him an omelet with
non
-tainted mushrooms and someone else—”

“Oh, how I have missed
your theories, Maggie,” Roger said with no trace of amusement or pleasure on
his face. “They are like watching a very interesting detective show. No basis
in fact but endlessly entertaining.”

“I guess this
conviction would be a pretty big feather in your cap.”

“No feathers
involved. Just doing my job.”

“Is Julia saying
she didn’t do it?”

“Of course.”

“Can you at least
arrange for me to see her?”

Their food
arrived and Roger waited until the waiter had left before answering.

“Is your husband
okay with your going to the prison to see her? It is not a nice place,
especially in your condition.”

“Yes, he’s fine
with it, thanks. When?”

Roger shrugged.
“Follow me back to the office. If she is not with her attorney you may see her
for a few minutes.”

Annette grabbed
the buzzing cellphone and slipped out of bed with it. She gave a quick glance
to the large, somnolent form entangled in the bed sheets behind her before she
stepped into the bath and pulled the door shut.

“
Maman?
Are you there?”

“Yes, Michelle,” Annette
whispered, turning on the water in the sink to cover her voice. “I am here.
What did the police say?”

A sound of
impatience and disgust came over the phone connection. “It was as you said,”
Michelle said. “They took my statement and released me. It was nothing. Who did
you talk to?”

Annette sighed
heavily and sat down on the closed toilet. She noticed her hands were shaking.
“It doesn’t matter. A friend.”

“A very
good
friend,
Maman
,” Michelle said, her voice heavy with sarcasm, “to allow me
to walk free this morning with not even a fine after I admitted to destroying
the English whore’s apartment.”

“You admitted
it?” Annette gasped, a hand flying to her throat.
The stupid girl! Was she trying to end up in jail?

“Why not? It was
clear that I had an angel looking out for me. The police are so stupid.”

“Michelle, be
quiet!” Annette was on her feet in her agitation. The sudden appearance of her
reflection in the mirror made her jerk her head in that direction. Not a good
move. The woman looking back at her was haggard and wan, worn and
old
. She turned her head away. “Even my connections
have limits. As do I! Why did you do such a crazy thing?” As soon as the words
were out of her mouth, Annette regretted them. Her daughter was very sensitive
to certain labels.

“Really,
Maman
? You think it insane to punish the
woman who ruined your life? Ruined
our
lives? I am only sorry it wasn’t the
putain’s
face
I was smashing with the axe.”

“She is paying,
Michelle,” Annette said. “She will pay—with her life. That is enough.”

Her daughter
laughed, and the sound made Annette’s skin tingle and creep. She had heard that
sound before. That terrible sound, before terrible things…happened.

“It is never
enough,
Maman
. You of all people
should know that.”

Chapter
Seven

The
cellule de prison
where Julia was being
held was like any detainment center at any police facility in a midsize city.
Located at the top of the
Palais de
Justice
on Rue Mejanes was an ugly five-story building built in the last
twenty years. The set of four minimum security holding cells looked as bleak
and basic as Maggie would have imagined they’d be. Roger had handed her off
with a brief handshake to a uniformed officer, who had her empty her pockets
and took her purse after itemizing its contents. It was just as well that she
hadn’t been able to retrieve any of Julia’s clothes from the
apartment—the idea that she might be able to give Julia anything was
laughable.

The officer
escorted her down a long, irregularly lit hallway that led to a waiting room,
where another officer briefly patted her down and then unlocked the door that
led to the holding cells. With all the locked doors she was walking through, it
was pretty clear that any sort of unauthorized entering—or
exiting—would be impossible. She was taken to a stark, bare room with two
windows—both high up and barred—furnished only with a single metal
table, bolted to the cement floor.

The thought of Julia
having already spent two full days in this place brought tears to Maggie’s eyes
but she brushed them away. She glanced at the two silently malevolent video cameras
that hung in opposite corners of the room. If
she
felt like crying, it was easy to imagine Julia was going to be
in much worse shape than she’d feared.

When the door
finally unlatched with a jarring clang, Maggie whirled around to face the
entrance. For Julia’s sake, Maggie tried not to cry. But when her friend
entered, Maggie instantly broke into tears.

Julia wore a
baggy orange jumpsuit that made her look smaller and more vulnerable than she
normally did. Her gamin cap of curls was limp and unwashed, and even from across
the room Maggie could see the encroaching line of gray at her part. When Julia saw
her, she covered her face with her hands. Maggie ran to her and pulled her into
her arms, holding her tightly, feeling her bones through the jumpsuit. The
guard left the room and clanged the heavy door shut behind her.

For a moment, the
two friends stood together without speaking, the sounds of Julia’s ragged
weeping echoing off the bare walls of the room. Maggie’s own tears had quickly
given away to a steely anger the moment she touched Julia.
That anyone could have the power to reduce a person to this!
Only
yesterday, Julia had been vibrant and beautiful, impish and in control. She
wasn’t the same person today, so broken and lost.

Maggie drew Julia
to the table and urged her to sit on it with her. She had nothing with which to
wipe her friend’s tears so she used her fingers to wipe them away, then held Julia’s
hands tightly in her own.

“This won’t last,
Jules. I swear it won’t last much longer.”

Julia withdrew a hand
and wiped at her tears, but more took their place. Her face was lined and
slack.

“Are you eating?”
Maggie knew it was a stupid question but she didn’t know what else to say. Julia
had no control over what was happening to her, but she could at least keep her
strength up.

Julia shook her
head. “I can’t,” she said, her voice a whimper.

Maggie rubbed a hand
up her friend’s arm. Never before had she so accurately seen a representation
of someone who was literally a shadow of her former self. The transformation
had happened so quickly and so severely Maggie was having trouble recognizing
the friend she had known so well for the last several months. If it weren’t for
the head of curls, even the graying deflated curls, she might not have
recognized her.

“This won’t
last,” Maggie said again, although her stomach twisted when she said it.
Honestly, she had no idea if the current situation would last or not. Roger had
told her at lunch that because Julia was English, she was considered a flight
risk and wouldn’t be eligible for bail.
It
might very well last
, she thought miserably, looking at her friend.
It might, in fact, go on for months and
months.

“My attorney is
not optimistic.”

“We’ll get you
another one.”

“I don’t think it
will help.”

“Has the British
consulate been in to see you?”

“They are who
arranged for the useless attorney.”

“Is there anything
I can get for you?” Maggie felt so helpless. She felt guilty too, for the fact
that she would be able to walk out of that claustrophobic, unhappy room when it
was time.

“I didn’t kill
him, Maggie,” Julia said, her face pinched and searching. She squeezed Maggie’s
hands and Maggie resisted the urge to pull away. “I swear I didn’t kill him. I
mean, there were plenty of times that I wanted to and, honestly, even now I’m
not sorry he’s dead—”

“Jules, don’t talk,”
Maggie murmured. “The room is monitored.”

“I mean, I spent
about five minutes astounded that he was gone and then the rest of the time,
absolutely delighted.”

“Julia, shut up,”
Maggie said fiercely. “Are you saying this shit to your counsel? Or the police?”

“I don’t know,” Julia
said miserably. “I’m not used to watching my words. I am an artist. I express
myself.”

“Well, don’t. At
least not while you’re in here. It’s all very well not to like someone, but
when they fall down dead and people are pointing a finger at you don’t talk
about how much you didn’t like them. Okay?”

“They say I
poisoned him.”

“I know.”

“And that the
mushroom omelet I made is what killed him, but that’s impossible.”

“How so? It would
be really helpful to your defense if you can answer that with something
tangible.”

“I made it with
Death Trumpets, not
agaricus.”

“Is there another
name for Death Trumpets that doesn’t sound quite so indicting?” Maggie asked in
frustration. “I mean, are you going around telling people you fed him
Death Trumpets
?”

“Well, I
did
feed him Death Trumpets,” Julia
said, her eyes wide and innocent. “I ate them myself.”

“The toxicology
report says the
agaricus
mushrooms
were found in his stomach in addition to other kind of mushrooms.”

“But I didn’t put
them there!”

“They said they
found traces of
agaricus
on your
clothes.”

“Well, they would.
I come across all kinds of mushrooms when I forage. There’s bound to be spores
or whatnot on my shoes or my pants cuffs. But I don’t collect poisonous ones!
What about my kitchen? They haven’t found anything there, have they?”

“Both your
kitchen and your car were open to the world for several hours after your
arrest. Anybody could’ve come in and planted poisonous mushrooms.”

Julia stared at
Maggie with her mouth open. “Are you…are you telling me they found
agaricus
mushrooms in my kitchen?”

Damn Roger and damn that stupid attorney! Were they not informing
her of anything?

“No.” Maggie took
a long breath. “In the trunk of your car.”

“Then I’m dead.” Julia
spoke simply. She turned and looked at the wall and blinked.

“No, you’re not
dead. You didn’t kill him and someone is trying to make it look like you did.
Probably the same someone who did kill him.”

Julia acted as if
she hadn’t heard. “I cannot believe this is happening to me.”

“Julia, please
have a little faith. I’m not going to let whomever is doing this get away with
it. I promise you. Listen to me!” Maggie turned Julia’s face to her and looked
into her eyes. “Have a little faith in
me
.”

The tears in Julia’s
eyes welled up again and Maggie saw the numbness begin to ebb away, revealing
the depth of her tortured feelings.

“Help me,
Maggie,” she said, her eyes frantic and fearful. “Please help me.”

“I will, Jules. I
promise.”

An hour later,
Maggie pulled into the driveway of
Domaine
St-Buvard
. The rain had held off but the cool wind, a precursor to the
coming winter, whipped the dead leaves on her front porch in a whirling
maelstrom. The perimeter of the drive was lined with cars, and while the
harvest hadn’t officially begun, she knew Laurent was only hours—if
that—from making the decision of when to pick.

Perfect timing,
she thought with resignation,
as usual
.
It was still only late afternoon so she expected Laurent to be out in his
vineyard. She wondered for a moment if she should have swung by Danielle’s to
see if Zou-zou had been deposited there for the day. Danielle was childless,
and had been only too happy to act as stand-in
Grandmère
. Maggie double-checked her cellphone but there had been
no text from Laurent. Not that that was unusual. Laurent, although not exactly
anti-technology, was at the best resistant to it. Half the time he left his
cellphone behind at restaurants, or in taxicabs and public restrooms. He would
have at least called, she reasoned, if she was needed to collect the baby. That
just left Grace. Feeling a needle of guilt for having left her alone all day,
Maggie collected the packages from her market shopping in town—bread, to
be sure, and a large bag of
macarons
from Bechard, just because—and hurried into the
mas
.

As soon as she
stepped across the threshold, she was struck by how quiet it was. Even little
Petit Four, usually so quick to greet her, was nowhere to be seen.

She moved quickly
up the stairs and tapped on Grace’s bedroom door. Not hearing an answer, she
hesitated and then pushed the door open. Grace watched her solemnly from the
bed. Little Petit Four was snuggled up on the bed with her.

“Hey, I didn’t
mean to wake you,” Maggie said. “But if you’re up for it, I’ve got a job for
Lucy and Ethel.” She came into the room and held up the bag of
macarons
.

Grace eased
herself to a sitting position on the bed and smiled sleepily at her. She
reached out for the bag and Maggie handed it to her.

“You not been up
yet?” Maggie asked cautiously. She went to the window to open the curtains but
Grace moaned.

“No light yet,
darling,” she said, biting into one of the cream
macarons
and settling the bag on the bedside table. “I’m not
feeling quite myself this morning.”

“It’s like three
o’clock in the afternoon, Grace,” Maggie said, frowning.

Grace leaned back
into her pillows. Even without a stitch of makeup on she was effortlessly
beautiful, Maggie thought.
Even sad and
eating cookies in bed in the middle of the afternoon.

 
“Danielle and I are going to Jacques’s
aunt’s house to give our condolences,” Maggie said.

“You know his
aunt?”

“No, but Danielle
does.”

“So you’re using
Danielle to question the aunt.”

“I’ll have you
know she is delighted for me to accompany her.”

“So you can ditch
her as soon as you’re through the door and start rooting around in the aunt’s
attic looking for clues? I
know
you,
Maggie.”

“Your point?”

“Does Laurent
know?”

“That’s the
second time you’ve asked me if I’m going behind Laurent’s back. Maybe you
should focus on your own marital dirty laundry.”

“Oh, touché,
darling. You really got me there. Did you ever think I might be trying to
help
you avoid the pitfalls that have
brought me to such a sad state of affairs?”

“Oh, give me a
break, Grace. Like you ever felt you had to hide anything from Windsor. Has he
ever
said
no
to you?”

Grace smiled
sadly. “Almost never.”

“So, what
was
the problem?”

“Like most
complicated situations, Maggie, I’m afraid it can’t be summed up in an easily
digestible sound byte.”

“Did you or did
you not leave him? Or are you telling me he threw
you
out?”

“He’s found
someone else, alright? Are you happy now?”

“I don’t believe
it.”

“Well, it’s
true.”

“Was this before
or after you gave up on the marriage?”

“Are you saying I
drove him into the arms of another woman? Really original, Maggie. And
supportive. Thanks a lot.”

“Well, did you?”

“Look, we haven’t
been getting along for a while now.”

“Have you gone to
counseling?”

“Like that
helps.”

“Do you
want
to work it out?”

“I don’t know. Maybe
not.”

“Grace, you have
kids!”