Murder in Aix (The Maggie Newberry Mystery Series Book 5) (23 page)

Only the rich had
milk delivery in this day.

How perfect that the very symbol of wealth—a blatant heralding
of their superiority over others—would be the very thing that brought
them down.
As Michelle
took her seat in the bush, she could see a direct line to the front steps. She saw
the three empty bottles that sat there. The longer she looked at them the
angrier she became, and she had to force herself to remember that by this time tomorrow
nobody would ever order milk delivery at this address ever again. The thought
calmed her.

It wasn’t long
before she heard him. It seemed her ears picked up the sound from miles away,
but that was probably because she imagined him in her mind driving closer, ever
closer, in his delivery truck. When he finally turned down the long driveway in
the dark wee hours, it was all she could do not to crow with delight and
anticipation. She knew he would be too focused on his task to notice her, but even
so she held her breath as the truck stopped in front of her, blocking her view.
It took only seconds, but when the vehicle began to slowly back up the drive,
restoring her line of sight, she saw the one thing she had been seeing in her
dreams for weeks now.

Three full
bottles of milk stood on the slate steps by the front door.

Hesitating only a
moment to make sure no one in the house was yet awake, Michelle slipped from
the bushes toward the front steps. She was proud as she approached the waiting
bottles that her hands did not shake as she withdrew the plastic flask of
bleach from her coat.

Chapter Nineteen

Roger was on hand
in person early the next morning to escort Maggie to the detention section of
the
Palais de Justice
. He spoke very
little, but was absolutely courteous as she followed him in single file down
the corridor to the room where she would wait for Julia. In fact, the only real
difference that Maggie could detect in his behavior from the man who had
stomped into her house and attempted to take her dog was in the fact that he
had begun calling her
Maggie
again.

After he instructed
the police officer at the end of the hall to unlock the door to the meeting
room, he turned to her. “Officer Picard will be down in twenty minutes to
escort you out.”

“Okay. Thanks.”

He gave a curt
nod and left her. When she had settled herself into one of the two metal chairs
in the room, she willed herself to be calm and confident for Julia’s sake.

No matter what she looks like
.

In the end, she
was wise to have prepped for the worst. When the door opened, Maggie hauled
herself to her feet to greet her friend. Julia had lost weight, her hair was
long, her tiny gold hoop earrings were gone, and her face was a roadmap of
lines and sagging flesh.

Maggie went to
her and the two women embraced. Julia’s arms felt as frail as the bones of a
chicken. Maggie had to stop herself from squeezing too hard. When she pulled
away she saw dark bruises up and down Julia’s arms.

“Thanks for
seeing me, Julia.”

As frail as her
friend looked, Julia’s voice was strong and level, and for that Maggie was
hopeful.

“Look, I’m sorry
about hanging up on you the other week.”

“Do not
apologize. I can’t imagine what you’re going through in here.”

“Best not to
try.”

“I don’t know
what to say about…everything that’s going on with you, Jules.”

“Don’t say
anything. How’s that? The suicide, the confession…how about we just stick to
what friends do? I don’t want to talk about that other shit.”

“Okay.” Maggie
leaned over and picked up one of Julia’s hands and held it in hers. Julia
didn’t respond, but she didn’t resist either. “Can I ask you a few questions
about that night with Jacques?”

Julia looked at
Maggie as if she didn’t have the energy to register incredulity. Her eyes were
flat and nonexpressive. “If it makes you feel like you’re doing something,” she
said. “Shoot.”

Maggie fought
against reacting to Julia’s pessimism. She smiled encouragingly. “What did
y’all talk about that night?”

“He asked me
about my cookbook. He said he was coming into some money. He suggested we get
back together.”

“He said he was
coming into some money? Did you tell the cops this?”

“Of course. My
lawyer urged me to hold nothing back.”

“Great lawyer. So
was Jacques in a good mood at dinner?”

“I told you. He
wasn’t feeling well.”

“That’s right.
You said he told you that even before he came over.”

Julia didn’t
answer.

“You said he made
you feel sorry for him,” Maggie said.

“Did I?”

“Was there
anything that happened during the actual evening that made you feel
less
sorry for him?”

Julia ran a hand
through her hair, her face a mask of concentration as she tried to reconstruct
the night in her mind.

“No, not really.
I don’t know what I was expecting but…he hadn’t changed. He was still full of
himself. He totally believed we were getting back together.” She looked at
Maggie. “He mentioned his daughter, Michelle.”

“Mentioned how?”

“Said she was
hounding him for money, which wasn’t new, but that he would be able to be a
little more generous with her soon.”

“So he wasn’t a
total sod.”

“No, he was. But
you’re right. It was a strange thing for him to say.”

“Anything else?”

“Well, he talked
about visiting his Aunt Lily on Sunday. There was a big Sunday lunch at her
estate every week. He was always kind of derisive about going. About Florrie,
too, whom he called the “good” nephew. Is any of this helpful?”

“I don’t know yet.
In the back of my mind I can’t help but think the murder has to do somehow with
the inheritance. And Lily.”

Maggie watched
Julia’s shoulders sag inside her baggy prison jumper and she leaned out and
touched her arm gently. “Julia, I know it’s hell in here, but please don’t give
up.”

“You don’t know
what it’s like.”

“That’s true. But
confessing to something you didn’t do is not going to make things easier.”

“It will just
make them happen faster.”

“The law and all
its processes are going to happen at the pace they’re going to happen. You
can’t speed that up. Besides, that’s not why you confessed.”

“No.”
      

“It’s because of
Mathieu, isn’t it? Because you’re trying to protect him?”

“No!”

“Okay, but you
know, Jules, if it
was
Mathieu, it’s
not very loving of
him
to let you
take the fall for this.”

“You’re right,”
Julia said, crossing her arms across her chest. “Which is the best argument for
why it couldn’t be him.”

“Well, then who?”

“I don’t know.
Why not Annette? Nobody hated Jacques more than she did.”

“I thought of
that. The problem is, Jacques was going to inherit money in a very few months
and Annette would be able to sue him to get a good chunk of that.”

“I thought you
said Annette was the new heir?”

“She is, but she
didn’t know that at the time Jacques was killed. It wouldn’t have made sense to
kill him when he’s about to inherit. Especially since the general assumption
was that
Florrie
was next in line to
inherit.”

“Sometimes
killing doesn’t make sense. Sometimes it’s about exterminating someone so vile
that you can’t stand the thought of him breathing the same air that you do.”

“Whoa. Seriously,
Julia. You and Annette are neck and neck for how much the two of you hated
Jacques and I never really knew that before.”

“I wouldn’t be where
I am if not for him,” Julia said with weariness,

“That would only
be true if
you
killed him, Julia.
It’s the person who did kill Jacques who’s responsible for your being in here. Jacques
is dead. He can’t hurt you any more.”

“God, you’re
naive, Maggie. Or maybe you’ve just never been hurt by anyone. You’re lucky.”

“Just a little
bit longer, Jules.”

Julia’s face
became more animated as a thought came to her. “Listen, can you get a message
to Mathieu for me? They won’t let me contact him.”
       

Maggie frowned.
“Laurent has forbidden me to see him. But I suppose I could get Laurent to come
with me.”

“I’d appreciate
it, Maggie. Thank you.”

“What’s the
message?”

“Just that I love
him and I trust him and I beg him not to do anything rash.”

“Rash, like
what?”

“Just tell him,
Maggie.”

“Okay.”

Grace sat at the
Café L’etoile Verte
opposite the police
detention center and waited for Maggie to appear. What remained of the pale golden
leaves of every plane tree that lined the street in front of the restaurant
gave the appearance of a heavenly gateway
—
an avenue of ethereal light, especially
when the early morning sun slowly illuminated the street.
 
A Sunday morning, it was too early for any
real shopping to help while away the time, and in Grace’s experience, whenever
she stayed still for longer than five minutes in public she was usually
approached, whether physically or just with inquisitive, suggestive glances. In
some ways, those were even more invasive. She brought her coffee cup to her
lips and kept her gaze directed toward the front door. Even so, she could feel
them watching her.

She’d been told
before, countless times, of her physical likeness to the long-dead princess
Grace of Monaco.
You’d think there would
be at least two generations past those who wouldn’t even remember who she was,
let alone what she looked like
. But this was France, and worse, the south
of France. Memories were long here, especially when they involved beautiful
American actresses who claimed royal princes and thrones that should have gone
to French natives.

Grace watched
Maggie hesitate in the archway of the café terrace, scanning the outdoor tables
looking for her.
Good Lord, she looked
like she was about to drop that baby any minute now. No wonder she was
miserable.
Grace lifted her hand to get Maggie’s attention, and when she
did she could see out of the corner of her eye that heads at every single table
in her near vicinity turned toward her.
Were
they hoping to see what my husband looked like?
she thought with amusement.
Did any of them think they now stood a
chance with me, seeing that my date was only a very pregnant woman, also
clearly not French?

“Hey, Grace, what
are you having? I need to get off my feet. Oh, my God, that was intense.” Grace
watched Maggie turn to the waiter before she draped the shoulder strap of her
handbag on the back of the chair. “
Café
crème, s’il vous plait
.”
 

Grace smiled at
her, wondering if she had any idea of the public theatre she was a part of. She
was half tempted to turn to the surrounding tables—all men, of
course—and ask if they could hear okay or should she and her friend
amplify a little more for their comfort?

“How was she?”
Grace asked.

“About what you’d
expect. Not great. She asked me to give a message to Mathieu.”

“Will Laurent
allow you to do that?”

“I’ll have to do
it with him.” Maggie smiled briefly at the waiter as he set her coffee cup down
in front of her. “
Merci
. I’ve been
dying for this,” she said taking a quick sip of her coffee. “Sorry we didn’t
have time this morning for a cup at home.”

“No problem,
darling,” Grace said. “My phone reception is spotty. Do you know if Laurent got
Zou-zou up yet?”

“No, he had to go
out but he said Jean-Luc came over to mind her. Danielle’s at Lily’s today. It
sounds like it’s a death watch or something.”

“I hate to hear
that. So it’s Jean-Luc and Z today?”

“Oh, my God,
Grace, he’s crazy about that little girl! You have brought new life to his
world. And Danielle’s, of course.”

“Glad to be of
service. He must have come over awfully early on a Sunday morning.”

“Yeah, he must
have gotten there seconds after you and I left. Laurent said he heard him
bringing the milk in.”

“Zou-zou loves
them both.”

“Can’t have too
many people who love you,” Maggie said. “Unless, of course, they’re putting
your photos in weird wallpaper collages in their back bedroom or something.”

“Well put,
darling. And speaking of that, did you run into Roger in there?”

“No, he doesn’t
work on Sundays unless there’s a body that’s been discovered, and even then,
you know how lazy he is.”

Grace laughed.
“No, but I’m heartened to hear it sounds like he’s settled down a bit.”

“Yeah. I have no
idea what Laurent told him but it seems to have worked.”

“Laurent
definitely has a way about him.”

“That is true,”
Maggie said, rubbing her stomach.

“You feeling
alright, darling?”

“I am just so
ready to get out of this fat suit, I could scream. How about you?”

“I’m not the one
about to go into labor any minute. Oh, there’s my phone.” Grace picked it up
and looked at the screen. “The call failed,” she said. “But it was from
Danielle. Can we go some place in this adorably quaint and antiquated town
where I can get a damn phone call?”

“You sure you’re
okay?”

Grace tossed her
phone back in her purse and sighed. “I’m fine. I talked with Windsor last night
and he’s eager for me to come back with the baby.”

“Come back…?”

“Not like that.
He misses her. We’ve been gone a month.”

“Are you afraid
he won’t let her come back with you?”

Grace hesitated
and then shook her head. “No, not really.” She shrugged. “It’s Windsor.”

“Yeah,” Maggie
said. “A good guy.”

“Yes, yes, a good
guy. Get the waiter’s attention, will you, darling? I’m going to try my luck
with better phone reception out under the plane trees.” Grace stood up and
looked around. Sure enough, three tables with one to two ogling Frenchmen per
table grinned at her.