Burgundy Page 12

  A noise from outside made her jump, and she realized she didn’t even have a stick. The door opened and Jean-Claude entered, a frown on his face. “What are you doing here?” he asked, and she explained that she was due at dinner at her grandmother’s soon, but had wanted to see if Lucy might have left any clues.

  “Madame Bré doesn’t like anyone coming here, not even me. She’s sentimental about this place.”

  “I apologize. Also, I’ve wanted to tell you that I’m sorry for your and Luc’s loss.” He nodded. “I’d hoped the house would speak to me and tell me who had frightened Lucy and Roland.”

  “They were stupid to come here. Roland had a rifle, for God’s sake. He could have shot whoever showed up instead of running. That’s what I would have done.”

  “Maybe he knew the person?” Max offered.

  “One of the rabatteurs could have passed this way.” He stopped. “Madame Bré told me you are with the NYPD in New York.” His smile was charming. “We don’t have crime in Burgundy. Maybe a theft once in a while.”

  “I have to be honest and say I can’t believe a place exists that is completely free of crime, but I’m open to being convinced. Lucy is an American, and unconscious in a hospital. If I were a detective, I would try to find out what happened to her, and to the man she worked with in your mother-in-law’s vineyard.”

  “Her injury was accidental, and I was under the impression that Yves’ death was ruled a suicide.”

  “The authorities have officially switched the cause of death to homicide.”

  “For them to change their minds, calling it a murder makes it easier for them to make drug raids on peoples’ homes,” Jean-Claude said. “As for Lucy, who would have a motive?”

  “Anybody wanting the money that her Uncle George offered?”

  “It’s not like he put a bounty on her, but he let it be known that she was mentally ill, and possibly dangerous.”

  “You’ve met him, I take it.”

  “The police chief sent him to me when he was demanding to know how she got shot. He’s better about it now that he knows it was an accidental shooting.”

  “I wonder if it was he who walked up to the cabin, causing Lucy and Roland to run. But of course he had to have been told about this place.”

  Jean-Claude’s face remained passive.

  She suddenly had a hunch. “Did you know the kids were at the cabin?”

  “I saw Roland here the day before the incident. I never saw Lucy.”

  Max recalled that that was the day she was in Paris with Tim. “You didn’t tell his parents?”

  “I told Yvette and she pleaded with me not to tell Alain. He and Roland fight a lot, and Alain has knocked him to the ground a couple of times.”

  “Aren’t you in a precarious position there?”

  He laughed. “You’re being discreet. I am. I’ve told her no way.”

  “But Alain…”

  “He told me he paid Yves to follow Yvette. He didn’t point his finger directly at me.”

  “Did you go to the party hoping to find out if it was true?”

  “Yes. Yves hinted that night that he had some information I might want, and when I asked what it was, he suggested we meet up the next day. ‘I’m looking for the highest bidder,’ he’d said, and I told him my cash flow was low.”

  “You have already explained how Yves played one friend against another.”

  “He was obsessed with Lucy. He was at his worst that night at the party when he saw her come in with Tim. I knew that was going to cause trouble. But she was desperate for the information about her father that Yves had promised her. I left before the inevitable blowup.”

  “Lucy babysat your son some while she was living with your mother-in-law. Did you two get along?”

  “She was great with Luc. But some of the people in the community thought she was using Anne. And I haven’t hidden my feelings about Anne’s crazy notion of adopting her.”

  They heard a high-pitched voice calling and Jean-Claude dashed out to the porch. “Papa!” Jean-Claude picked Luc up and brought him inside. “You said you were coming right back,” Luc said, trying to hold back tears.

  “You were afraid?” Jean-Claude asked, and the boy stoutly shook his head. He hopped down and ran over to his mother’s books. “Here’s Maman’s Babar!” he cried, extracting it from the shelf, and eyeing Max at the same time.

  “Let’s take it to the house,” Jean-Claude said. “Did you say bonsoir to Mlle. Maguire?”

  He gave her a quick smile. “She taught me jiu-jitsu.”

  “Oh, so she’s the one!” He was at the door. “Let’s go home,” he said. They waited for Max to walk out, and together they went up the path. It was dark now and drizzling. “Follow me. I know the way blindfolded,” he said.

  She thanked him, and he said, “I have the feeling that I’ve been through an interrogation. I never believed that detectives in real life were as pretty as the ones on American TV, but you’ve proven me wrong.”

  Rushing up the path, Max realized she was blushing and was grateful for the darkness.

  Chapter Eighteen

  The waiting room at the hospital was full and the staff overtaxed. Olivier displayed his ID and was given a nod. He spoke briefly with the guard at the door. Olivier and Max entered Lucy’s room. Her face had flushed slightly, but she remained immobile, eyes closed. Anne sat in the only chair, her head drooped over her chest. Slowly, as though sensing that someone was in the room, she lifted her head. “Bonjour,” she said. “I must have dozed off. Juliette will be here soon to relieve me.”

  “The Society of Nurturing Mothers,” Max said to Olivier.

  “We are more accustomed to nurturing our vines,” Anne said. “But everyone in our organization wants to help Lucy.”

  “Has the doctor been in?” Olivier asked.

  “Yes, but he says he can’t speak to us about her condition.”

  Olivier said, “Lucy’s step-uncle is staying in a hotel in Beaune and will be here later today.”

  “Has anyone checked his credentials?” Anne asked. “He could be a fraud.” She looked annoyed. “This is where Yves could have been a big help.”

  “Hank is doing research in the states,” Max said. “Yves was hired by the uncle, so he must have thought he was legit. Or not.”

  “Which, then?” Anne asked. “Now you’re questioning Yves, who is dead and can’t defend himself. I suppose it’s my right to ask if I am a suspect?”

  Olivier smiled at her. “In the beginning everyone is a suspect. But in your case, no, you are not suspected of anything but kind nurturance.”

  Taking her coat from the hook, she said to Max, “Your grandmother told me that you had a conversation with Jean-Claude down at the cabin.”

  “I was on a run. I hope you don’t mind that I went in. Jean-Claude came to check out who was trespassing.”

  “I’ll bet he did.”

  Olivier was surprised that Max blushed. When her eyes skittered over to him, he tried to give her warning with his. Max laughed, “Anne, did you ever consider becoming a prosecutor?”

  She smiled suddenly. “I did, but I don’t have the patience to pursue justice. I would have an opinion about who committed the crime, and that would be that. I don’t change my mind easily.”

  Olivier said, “Don’t make a quick judgment on this case, please.”

  Anne stopped in the doorway. “I’ll tell you who I would question. That weird boy, Roland. Lucy felt sorry for him, and refused to think he could be dangerous, but he’s in a walking coma. I never liked his attachment to Lucy, I have to say.”

  It was clear to Olivier that she didn’t condone many attachments. He was relieved to see Juliette enter the room with a cheerful smile. Anne said she had to continue with errands, and Olivier and Max waited as Juliette took the chair by
the bed. “I am knitting a hat for Lucy,” she said. “What is the latest?”

  Olivier explained that the uncle was due later in the day and that a decision would be made then, but he felt certain she would be taken to Paris. Juliette said, “When Lucy wakes up she will either find herself in the hands of that monster, or accused of murder. She has no reason to wake up.” Looking up at Max, she said, “I thought you and Olivier could stand an hour off-duty. Maman and I are planning to talk to the wedding caterer about last-minute details and would like to have you along.”

  Max made a face, and looked over at Olivier who thought, thus begins a new life of compromise. “Of course,” he said.

  Juliette looked at her watch, “I forgot to call your grandmother. I will step out and do that now. Max, will you come with me for a quick café? Do you mind, Olivier?”

  He wanted to say, I am always happy to have a few minutes alone, and nodded. He watched mother and daughter exit the room and thought, today I am sitting here in a hospital room; soon Max and I will marry, and in the meantime we are solving a crime that I wanted nothing to do with. This is going to be the rhythm of our life together. He sat in the chair, and the stillness made him feel how tired he truly was. He closed his eyes for a moment. A shadow had descended over his beloved Burgundy. Was he naïve to think that people who farmed the earth, who were one with the land, creating wines year after year, a process that had started thousands of years ago, could err to the point of murder? Had people given up on the notion of roots, and the importance of history in their own lives?

  Some of the problem in Burgundy, he knew, had to do with the absurd inheritance laws, including the taxes that caused many to sell out. Look at Hugo, who was willing to dole out large sums to protect his name and his relationship with his children. What had not been stated when they had spoken, was that Lucy had the right to the same inheritance as his four children. Perhaps that was why he was going to such great lengths, and expense, to maintain his secret. But maybe more disturbing than the land issues were the family behaviors. Alain and Yvette’s marriage was at risk of crumbling over their son’s antics and in fact, Olivier thought, they might have a bigger problem than they imagined. Yet he must not listen blindly to Anne, for she had become so embittered over her lifetime that she was too quick to point a finger.

  Suddenly, he had the eerie sensation that he was being watched. He slowly fluttered his eyes open and looked at the girl who lay there peacefully. Why, he wondered, did she have an obsession to find her father? She was the result of a fling, nothing more. Many children went through life with no father, why was this one so determined to discover her roots and force the issue? He was glad she had Tim, who seemed like a good guy; she could finish growing up under him—unless George somehow managed to maintain guardianship of her, for which he knew he would be blamed by the women around him. Lucy would be eighteen in a few days, officially an adult. And then, of course, there was his beloved Max, who had also only just tapped into her French roots when she brazenly introduced herself to her estranged grandmother. She was starting to accept the reality that she would be leaving her parents behind in New York. Only two nights ago she had said that Hank could not be uprooted from New York, which is when she explained that he went to his son’s gravesite, on average, four times a week.

  The door opened, and Isabelle entered quietly. “Max is waiting for you downstairs,” she said softly. “I will sit with Lucy.”

  “I must be called immediately if her uncle shows up.”

  “Of course. I have your mobile number here, and my phone is charged, for once. Max made sure of that. It should only take an hour or so for you two to plan the menu and select the wines.” Olivier knew instinctively that it would take much longer than that.

  He smiled at her. “Thank you for all you are doing.”

  “Pas de quoi.” She picked up the copy of Le Petit Prince that had been collectively read to Lucy. “She could do with some of Saint-Exupéry’s wisdom.”

  Olivier stood. “I felt overcome with sadness sitting here, realizing that there is so much instability right now for so many people.”

  “I think that’s an interesting way of saying there is an unnamed murderer in our midst.”

  “Indeed.”

  Chapter Nineteen

  Max was surprised to bump into Anne in the parking lot. “All the women are congregating?”

  “Mais, non!” Anne said. “It’s by chance.”

  “Olivier and I are going to decide on food and wine for the wedding,” Max said. “Join us if you like.”

  “I have ten minutes before my hair appointment, but thanks.” She looked at Max. “I was feeling a bit off in that hospital room,” she said. “It brings back too many memories.”

  “Olivier feels certain that George will move Lucy to Paris.”

  Anne’s lips formed a horizontal line. Max thought of the expression “my lips are sealed.”

  “Oh, here comes Olivier now,” exclaimed Anne, with a wink. “Time for you to be off. Isabelle and I are going to shop for proper wedding attire after my appointment.”

  With a nod to Anne, Olivier took Max’s hand and they started off in the opposite direction. “They all seem in a tizzy,” he said, “behaving as though the wedding is days away instead of two weeks. I imagine your father is hiding out somewhere.”

  “He was on the phone when I left the house, talking to a detective about Diane Kendrick. The medical examiner had listed her cause of death as aneurysm and she was cremated immediately, the day after she passed. The funeral home said very few people showed up.”

  “Did she own her apartment?”

  “I think it was a co-op, and the answer is yes.”

  He stopped, his hand in hers. “I meant to tell you, I had the strangest sensation in the hospital room that someone was watching me. I suppose I mean Lucy.”

  “I’ve had that too. Maybe Diane is hovering over us. Guiding us.”

  “Now we can assume to have Diane and Caroline both directing us from above. We can’t fail.”

  Max laughed and Olivier squeezed her hand, and said, “I also realized in that room that I’m grateful to you and Hank for working behind the scenes.”

  “Now I know some angels were hovering.”

  He rang the doorbell of an eighteenth-century building and they waited calmly. A beautifully dressed and coiffured woman opened the door, her red lips curving into a smile. After an hour Max felt that the dissection of food and wine options had dragged on for far too long. Olivier on the other hand, was in his element as they tasted wines and pored over the list. At the end of the meeting they had settled on twenty-five guests. The day following the wedding, they would take Hank and Juliette in to Paris to catch their plane, and they would stay in the city for a few days before flying to Melbourne to see Olivier’s brother and family.

  Just as they were wrapping up the meeting, Olivier’s cell phone rang. It was the prosecutor in Lyon saying that the investigation of Yves Laroche’s death was underway, and that Olivier was to be part of it. Immediately after that call, Lucy’s uncle George telephoned, and they set up a meeting at his hotel in forty-five minutes.

  Once out on the street, Max said they needed to set aside a day to look at apartments in Paris. Olivier agreed, but reminded her that his friends had offered them their apartment on rue de Meslay in the Third Arrondissement—which made sense, as they had decided to sell it and Olivier had first option to purchase.

  “But we’ll still look around,” Max said. “I sure hope Lucy wakes up.”

  “Well, we all do, but what brought that up?” Then he laughed. “Oh, you’re thinking about our bet! You want to have the final word on the apartment.”

  “Maybe I’ll go pour cold water on her,” Max said.

  “How kind.”

  Hank called Olivier’s cell and said he was in Beaune, as he was bored stiff o
ut in Auxey-Duresses. He had more information about Lucy’s mother and uncle, which he thought Olivier should know. Olivier glanced at his watch. “Max and I have time for a café and then we have a meeting with George.” Hank was there within ten minutes, which made Olivier think he had been lurking nearby. Olivier ordered a café for Max and himself and Hank ordered a bière blanche.

  It was another unseasonably warm day, and they sat facing the famous Hospices de Beaune, an extraordinary building designed by Flemish architect Jacques Wiscrère, which served as the heart of the small city. Olivier explained its origins: Founded in 1443, it had served as a free hospital for the poor until the late 1970s. Founder Nicolas Rolin had hoped charity would relieve him of his sins—one of which was his habit of collecting wives. Today the original hospital building, the Hotel-Dieu, was a museum, displaying superior examples of Gothic architecture and a veritable treasure trove of panel paintings, including intricately detailed portraits of Rolin and his wife.

  Hank got right down to business. “I mentioned that one of George’s patients died a year ago. The autopsy revealed that he had an abnormal amount of an antidepressant in his system. The family is suing. I would say George’s ship is sinking. He’s also engaged to a woman who has now moved into Diane’s co-op. Keeping it in the family, you know.”

  “This is depressing news,” Max said. “Is Lucy more of an advantage to him dead or alive, I wonder?”

  “Dead, as far as the apartment, her inheritance, which I’m sure he’s spending like crazy, and her being a pain in the ass is concerned, but alive if there’s another cache somewhere. He told me on the day that I had a little time alone with him that he paid the P.I. ten thousand euros to check into Lucy’s biological father. The ten-thousand-dollar question then is, does George know who that might be? He will cling to that guardianship rule, I know that.”