Murder in the Latin Quarter Read online

  Murder in the Latin Quarter

  Book 7 of the Maggie Newberry Mysteries

  Susan Kiernan-Lewis

  San Marco Press

  Contents

  Description

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  Chapter 38

  Chapter 39

  Chapter 40

  Chapter 41

  Chapter 42

  Chapter 43

  Chapter 44

  Chapter 45

  Chapter 46

  Chapter 47

  Chapter 48

  Chapter 49

  Chapter 50

  Chapter 51

  Chapter 52

  Chapter 53

  Chapter 54

  Chapter 55

  Chapter 56

  What’s Next

  About the Author

  Murder in the Latin Quarter

  Book 7 of the Maggie Newberry Mysteries

  * * *

  Copyright 2016 by Susan Kiernan-Lewis. All rights reserved.

  Maggie’s much anticipated Paris holiday takes a dark turn when she ventures into the city’s famed Latin Quarter to visit Laurent’s ailing aunt—only to find a very healthy aunt and a very dead body.

  Does the murder have something to do with Aunt Delphine? Was she the intended victim? With her new baby daughter in tow, Maggie struggles to find the answers. In the process she learns more about Laurent’s family—and stumbles across a terrible secret that would tempt anybody to commit murder.

  Can Maggie find the murderer without destroying the Dernier family name? And can she do it before the killer catches her in a dark, lonely alley in the Latin Quarter?

  Books by Susan Kiernan-Lewis

  The Maggie Newberry Mysteries

  Murder in the South of France

  Murder à la Carte

  Murder in Provence

  Murder in Paris

  Murder in Aix

  Murder in Nice

  Murder in the Latin Quarter

  Murder in the Abbey

  The French Women’s Diet

  * * *

  The Irish End Games

  Free Falling

  Going Gone

  Heading Home

  Blind Sided

  Rising Tides

  Cold Comfort

  Never Never

  Mia Kazmaroff Romantic Suspense

  Reckless

  Shameless

  Breathless

  Heartless

  * * *

  Finding Infinity (Romance)

  1

  There’s something about the way the air smells in Paris, Maggie thought, taking in a deep breath. Not exactly lavender and fresh baked bread, but not far off either. She immediately started coughing until her eyes watered.

  “Quit breathing so deeply,” her best friend Grace said. “Paris is having a garbage strike, for God’s sake.”

  Maggie nodded and rearranged her six month old daughter in her arms. Little Mila Grace blinked her cornflower blue eyes at Maggie and gave her a toothless grin.

  “Mommy’s choking,” Maggie said as she laughed and coughed again. “If I croak, you can tell your papa I died happy.”

  “Laurent wouldn’t believe it,” Grace said as she wiped the ice cream from her five-year-old daughter’s face. They were sitting on a bench by the Seine. “He hates Paris, doesn’t he?”

  “Pretty much.”

  “It makes no sense.” Grace wrinkled her nose. She was a stately blonde with a flawless complexion and perfect bow-shaped lips—a beauty in any language. “He was born here.”

  “That’s part of the problem,” Maggie said. “You know Laurent. He’s got so many secrets, God knows what horrors he’s hiding about his life here when he was a kid.”

  “He really doesn’t talk to you about his childhood?”

  “Not a syllable. Really reinforces the whole mystery guy thing, let me tell you.”

  “Well, I’m glad you and the baby came up for the week,” Grace said. “I can’t wait for you to meet André.”

  Maggie was glad to see Grace embracing her new life. After two long years of indecision and heartbreak over the dissolution of her marriage, it was time to move on.

  The spring was cooler than usual although every bit as wet. From where she sat with her back to the Seine, Maggie could see the line of immaculate upper class apartments in front of her like a carefully crafted barrier of style and heritage.

  She had been only too happy to escape her country life in Provence for Paris—even if just for a week. A two and a half year old toddler and a six month old baby kept her busy all of the time back in St-Buvard. She smiled at how she’d accused Laurent of getting her pregnant just so she’d stop complaining about having nothing to do. God knows, between the grape harvest and her two little ones she couldn’t remember a time when she had nothing to do. She’d jumped at the chance for a week in Paris with Grace—and her built-in childcare. Except for missing Jemmy, Maggie was very much enjoying the break.

  “Dinner Thursday?” Grace said.

  “Don’t we pretty much have dinner every day?”

  “Silly. I mean with André.”

  Maggie gazed down at the baby in her arms. Before she could respond, Grace said:

  “No, Maggie. Just us. Darling Mila will be happy as two clams in a daiquiri with Beatrice and Zouzou.”

  “You just made that up about the clams and the daiquiri.”

  “I did.”

  “Well, it sounds disgusting. But I guess I can untether for the duration of a single meal.” She looked at Mila. “Is that okay with you, puppy? If Mommy goes off with the grown ups?”

  “Careful, darling,” Grace said. “I don’t have a cast iron stomach. Come on, let’s get these two lambs back to the apartment. I feel a nap calling.”

  Maggie laughed and then dug out her vibrating cellphone.

  “What time is it?” she asked. The screen showed a picture of her mother. With the time difference in Atlanta, Maggie always felt a tremor of fear if her folks called at an abnormally late hour.

  “Two o’clock here,” Grace said, “so nine in the morning in the US. Aren’t you going to answer it?”

  Maggie shook her head. “I’ll call her back later.”

  Grace stood up and began scouting the sidewalk for a trash receptacle. “Something going on back home?” she asked.

  “My mom wants me to bring the kids to Atlanta for the summer.”

  “Oh?” Grace waited for Maggie to climb to her feet and resettle Mila in her carrying sling. “Didn’t they come over when Mila was born?”

  “They did, yes.”

  “Does Laurent not want you to go?”

  “That’s just it. He says it’ll be good for me to get away.”

  “Well,
he’s not wrong there, darling. You know how the provinces wear on you. I can’t believe you’re hesitating. When was the last time you were stateside?”

  “Right after Jemmy was born. Almost three years now.”

  “So what’s the problem?”

  “I have a bad feeling about leaving.”

  “Oh, please. You mean like you’re worried about the airplane falling out of the sky?”

  Maggie took a long breath. “No, I’m afraid I won’t want to come back.”

  * * *

  The housekeeper stood in the doorway of the kitchen and watched the old woman sitting in the living room. Was Madame breathing heavier than usual? Amelie felt a thin sheen of perspiration coat both her palms and she quickly wiped them against her apron. She could see Madame’s eyes were closed even from here.

  “Madame Normand?” Amelie said in a calm voice. “Are you all right?”

  No answer.

  A thrill of excitement needled between Amelie’s shoulder blades.

  “Madame?”

  Amelie took two steps into the room. The thick carpeting underfoot eliminated any sound her heavy brogues made. The teacup was on the table with most of its contents drunk.

  Amelie leaned across the old woman and carefully picked up the cup and saucer, her eyes never leaving Madame’s face. Not a hint of a sound came from the old woman. Not a snore, not a purr.

  Amelie crept back out of the room and down the hall to the kitchen. She noticed her hands trembled as she placed the cup and saucer in the sink and began to run water over them. As her hands worked to sudse and rinse the china, she looked out the window over the sink. She could just see the spires of Notre-Dame from here but she felt the menace of its gargoyles as if they were perched on the apartment window ledge.

  She knew this wasn’t the same apartment. Of course not. Madame hadn’t been wealthy then.

  She dried the cup and saucer and carefully replaced it in the cabinet with the others. Then she took the vial from her apron pocket and poured its contents down the drain.

  How soon before she could safely call for the ambulance? It would look bad to wait too long.

  2

  The minute Maggie and Grace opened the door, Grace’s nanny Beatrice met them with arms held open to hug Zouzou and take the baby. A pretty girl in her mid-twenties, Beatrice had come to Paris from Le Havre on the western coast of France determined to be a professional au pair. Her fascination and love for little children beamed out of her.

  “Bonjour mes p’tits choux! Ça va?” she gushed as she alternately kissed Mila and Zouzou’s head. “Did Maman buy you ice cream?”

  “Mais oui!” Zouzou said as she slipped her hand into Beatrice’s. “And she said you’d read to us.”

  “But of course,” Beatrice said with a laugh. She winked at Grace and Maggie and turned to disappear into the bedroom with the two children.

  “Wow,” Maggie said. “She really loves kids.”

  Maggie tried to remember her life before two children under the age of three dominated it. Did she really used to put her feet up and read a book? Or go to the bathroom or get dressed without an audience?

  “Yes, and thank God for it,” Grace said as she draped her raincoat on an armchair in the living room. “Drinkie, darling?”

  “It’s not even three o’clock.”

  Grace moved to the drinks cart by the fireplace. Her Left Bank apartment had been renovated in the late seventies preserving all the authentic and original details of a classic Parisian apartment, including carved moldings, curved doors, two working fireplaces, a series of gilt-framed mirrors, yards of glossy herringbone parquet throughout and—most amazing of all—built-in closets.

  Grace’s was the only apartment on her floor and with ongoing renovations being performed on the bottom two floors, she had the luxury of having the whole building to herself. While she was only renting, Grace was starting to talk more and more about making the owner an offer.

  “So that’s a no?” Grace said as she poured herself a whiskey and returned to the living room where she sat and kicked off her shoes.

  Maggie had only been in Paris a day and already she knew something was off with Grace—and it wasn’t just that she was in love.

  “Heard from Windsor lately?” Maggie asked.

  Grace made a face and took a long swallow of her drink.

  “Turns out he doesn’t know how to spell the word amicable,” she said sourly.

  “Really? Over what? Alimony?” Maggie knew Windsor well. He was generous to a fault and until his marriage had come crashing down on his head, devoted to Grace.

  “Child custody if you can believe it,” Grace said. She wore an original Valentino dress in deep green, its lines simple and streamlined on her slim body.

  “Don’t you have shared custody of Taylor and Zouzou?”

  “Yes, but now he wants full custody. Bastard.”

  Maggie frowned. “That doesn’t sound like Windsor.”

  “You don’t know him as well as you think you do. It sounds exactly like him. And all because I suggested splitting Z and Taylor with him.”

  “What does that mean? Splitting them?”

  “Well, I don’t have Taylor, do I? She’s in Indianapolis with her father and happy to stay there.”

  “So you asked for full custody of Zouzou and you offered to give up custody of Taylor?”

  “And he’s responded by trying to take Zouzou away from me!”

  Maggie’s head swam.

  “I don’t know, Grace. It might have sounded like you were trying to…abandon Taylor,” she said carefully.

  “That’s absurd. Although, honestly, she refuses to come over here.”

  “She’s only nine, Grace. Can’t you go see her?”

  “How can I, darling? You know how busy I am trying to get the business off the ground!”

  Grace’s online children’s boutique had shown signs of promise at one point early on but Grace hadn’t seemed too interested in it lately.

  Not since she’d met André.

  “Well, it’s an online business,” Maggie said reasonably. “Surely you can take your laptop and visit Taylor in the States this summer?”

  “You sound like Windsor,” Grace said, finishing off her drink. “My vendors are all in Paris and require face-to-face interaction. You know how business is done over here. I can’t leave.”

  “And so Windsor wants full custody of both Taylor and Zouzou?”

  “Can you imagine? He’s hinting I’m not fit.”

  “That’s ridiculous,” Maggie said, leaning forward in agitation. “You’re a wonderful mother!”

  “Thank you, darling. Can we please talk about something else? How about we go out tomorrow morning and get you something to wear to dinner on Tuesday that’s a little less provincial?”

  * * *

  That night after dinner, Maggie took Mila into the bedroom to Skype Laurent and little Jemmy. She had been looking forward to it all day. She was rarely separated from Jemmy and she missed him keenly.

  “Maman!” he squealed as soon as the Skype screen opened up.

  “Hello, sweetie. How is my big boy?”

  “We are fine,” Laurent said from behind Jemmy. The little boy squirmed on his father’s lap, distracted. He didn’t speak much yet but he was a lively, bright-eyed child who didn’t miss a thing.

  Laurent frowned. “Mila is sunburned, no?”

  Maggie shifted the baby in her arms. “She is not sunburned, no,” she said. “She got lots of fresh air today and a little bit of sun. You’re one to talk, Laurent. I’ll bet you rode the tractor today with Jemmy on your lap, didn’t you?”

  Laurent shrugged but a smile tugged at his lips as if in memory of the day. “Peut-être,” he said.

  “Exactly. We sat near the Café de Flore this morning. Didn’t you used to live near there as a kid?”

  “Non.”

  “Come on, Laurent. You can tell me your neighborhood, can’t you? I want to take a sel
fie with me and Mila in front of it.”

  “Don’t be ridicule.”

  “What’s ridiculous about wanting to see where you used to live?”

  “There is nobody there now.”

  “That’s not the point. Why do you think we have museums and statues and stuff? Because it’s cool to go back to places and remember what happened there.”

  “I have no wish to remember.”

  “I can’t believe Paris is your hometown and you never want to come here. Do you know how cool it is to be from Paris?”

  “Tomorrow, put a hat on the baby, si?” Laurent said. “She is fair like you.” He tossed Jemmy’s hair. “Now, Monsieur Jemmy is like his papa, non? We were made for the Foreign Legion.”

  “He’s not even three years old, Laurent,” Maggie said. “He needs a hat too. In fact, it wouldn’t hurt you to wear one.” Mila squirmed and let out a fretful whimper.

  “Ma petite is ready for bed,” Laurent said. “We will let you go. Goodnight, chérie,” he said, smiling fondly at them both.

  “Night, Laurent. Sleep well, darling Jemmy,” Maggie said. “Last separation until he’s college age, okay? Hurts too much.”

  “Je t’aime, Maggie.” He kissed his fingers and smiled.

  “Love you too, Laurent,” she said returning his smile.

  There was a tap at the door and Beatrice stuck her head in.

  “I have just put Zouzou to bed,” she said. “Shall I take Mila too?”

  “No,” Maggie said. “I’ll do it. Can you tell Grace to wait on me for that nightcap? Shouldn’t take too long.”

  * * *

  Michelle Normand sat at the café and drummed her fingers against the tabletop. The rain was coming down in a relentless deluge or she wouldn’t be sitting here. She glanced at the interior of the café but the waiter was still engaged. As soon as he saw her he’d know she wasn’t waiting to order. She hated that he’d know without even asking her, without even stepping out of the restaurant. And his face would tell her what his words didn’t need to.