The Complete Maggie Newberry Provençal Mysteries 1-4 Read online

  Maggie smiled to herself as she rummaged in the bottom of her clothes closet. She loved the 'cherie' bit.

  "In a minute!" she called. She raised herself onto her knees and arched her back. The cops had been through every inch of her apartment with a flea-comb, and although not the tidiest of people, they hadn't ransacked the place either. The chance of finding a clue behind a team of thorough experts was pretty slim, but then, she couldn't think of anything else to do. She tossed a woolen sweater onto a heap on the floor of her bedroom that she had mentally marked "winter stuff". She wasn't sure why she should bother packing it away now, after all, chilly weather was only a mere four months away. On the other hand, she wanted to make room for Laurent and his lean wardrobe. This was a chance to pry open a part of her life and slip him into it, to let him know she was willing to share her underwear drawer with him. (Well, certainly he couldn't take it as a lack of love if she arranged it so they both had their own separate underwear drawers.)

  "It is getting cold, Maggie!" There was an extra sharpness to his voice and Maggie noted that few things could flap the man except where it involved his stomach and the making, presenting and consuming of food.

  "Coming! Coming!" She hopped up and raked the multiple dust buffaloes from her knees. In an instant, she saw the cardigan. Wedged under a pair of spectator pumps that she hadn't worn in years, it was a thin cashmere gray cardigan and Elise had been wearing it the night she dropped back into Maggie's life.

  Quickly, she scooped up the sweater and met Laurent in the dining room. He was already seated.

  "I'm sorry, Laurent, but I think I've found something. It's Elise's sweater." She tossed the sweater down next to her and sat in her chair. "MMM-mm! Qu'est-ce que-c'est?"

  The aroma of garlic and sizzling peppers wafted delicately through the apartment.

  "Peppers and a little...how can you say...?"

  "I have no idea." Maggie settled into her chair, marveling over the steaming and colorful plateful of peppers and thin slices of rosy lamb cutlets. "God, Laurent, maybe you should be a chef somewhere? This is wonderful!"

  "Pfut! In France, tout le monde they cook comme ça. Everyone cooks."

  "Yeah, but it's rarer over here. I'm serious, would that be something you'd want to do?"

  "Peut-etre." he said dismissively, tucking into his own meal.

  Maggie couldn't always fill in all the blanks about Laurent. She watched him now, enjoying his own cooking, his eyes flitting up from time to time to smile at her but concentrating, for the most part, on his meal. He was intense and passionate in bed, but remarkably phlegmatic otherwise. She was even aware that sometimes his words of sympathy or commiseration about Elise sounded rehearsed to her, almost false. It was, of course, his inability to express himself in English with any real depth or focus, she told herself. Still, it needled away at her in some part of her mind that resisted glossing, like an artist's hesitation to accept pretty pictures painted on stressed, twice-used canvasses. She hadn't even examined too closely why she felt she had loved him so quickly, why she felt she needed to be with him, wanted him. It was as if thinking about it might reveal something to her that would make her continue to love him when she knew she shouldn't at all.

  "So what did you do all day?" She took a savoring mouthful and even closed her eyes to enjoy it more fully.

  "I arranged my socks and shirts and cut and cleaned the peppers...and oh, I talked with your papa and when you are working tomorrow, I will go with him to his club."

  "Really?" Maggie stopped chewing.

  "Is it a surprise to you?"

  "Well, Dad never brings my friends to his club. I mean, I don't think he's even brought Brownie. He must've really taken to you."

  "Taken to...?"

  "Never mind. That's great." Maggie looked at Laurent strangely. What in him had resonated with her father?

  "And who did you talk with today besides our neighbors?"

  Smiling inwardly at the "our neighbors" reference, Maggie pushed a red pepper with her fork. The butter made a trail across her plate.

  "I talked to the delivery guy, you know, the one that that guy Bill said he saw? And he didn't know anything, or maybe he did but I couldn't really get through to him, I don't think. He's...not retarded, exactly, but a little..."

  "He is your killer, you are thinking?"

  "No, no. He's just some poor guy who might have been here at the time." She shrugged. "But, at any rate, he wasn't much help. And then I went around to talk to the night watchman but he was asleep, because, of course, he works nights, and his wife wouldn't let me wake him to ask him questions. So, I thought--"

  "We will go and talk with him together."

  "Yeah, that'd be great. Thanks." Behind him, she could still see the wreath of blue cigarette smoke from his Gitanes enveloping the bouquet of daisies and carnations he'd brought home.

  "You know, I'm convinced Gerard did it." She spoke quietly, not looking up from her plate.

  "Perhaps he did."

  "The cops don't think so." She looked at him. "Or else why haven't they made an arrest?"

  Laurent cleared his throat.

  "Well, maybe they think--"

  "I'll tell you, though, he had the motive and the opportunity, you know? This wasn't random. Gerard knew where she was. He must've changed his mind about letting her go and then, when she wouldn't go with him, they fought and he killed her. It makes so much sense to me. I don't see why the cops don't arrest him."

  "Oh! You have the parcel for you!" Laurent replaced his napkin and stood up. He looked around the living room without moving.

  "I got the mail, there was nothing--" she said, frowning.

  "Not the mail. When you said the police, I am remembering--"

  "The cops brought something?" Maggie stood up too and wandered into the living room.

  "Ah! Voila!" Laurent moved directly to the small box sitting underneath a carton of cigarettes on the coffee table. He handed it to her.

  Maggie took the package in her hands. Her name, but not her address was hand-printed on the outside. It was tied with twine which pulled apart when she tugged at it.

  "Is important?"

  Maggie pulled the paper off to reveal a small packet of stationary. A note, folded over, was jammed in between the pages. She opened it with the fingers of one hand, aware that Laurent was reading over her shoulder:

  This should be the last of it. Only prints on it belong to your sister.

  Sorry there isn't any more at this time.

  Detective John B. Burton

  Maggie opened the stationary pad to the first page.

  "It's a letter," she murmured. "Elise was writing someone named 'Michele'." She flipped a few pages. "It's not finished."

  "Est-ce que tu la connais?"

  "Huh?"

  "Do you know this 'Michele'?"

  She shook her head.

  "It's written in French, though." She handed the pad to him. "What's she say?"

  Laurent scanned the tiny, controlled hand on the page. The writing looked cramped and pent up as if Elise knew she had a lot to say and only a small space or time to say it.

  "She says--"

  "Don't paraphrase it, Laurent, I need to know word for word what she says to this 'Michele.'" Maggie tugged at Laurent's shirt and directed him back to the table.

  ""Maggee, the dinner will be cold," Laurent protested, although allowing himself to be maneuvered to his seat.

  "It'll just take a second. Come on, it's short. What does she say?"

  Laurent sighed and squinted at the letter.

  "Dear Michelle," he read aloud. "I have been missing you very much and hope that this letter finds you well and happy. I am with my sister now and I believe she will take good care of me. I wish you could meet her, Michelle. She is very..." Laurent looked up at Maggie. "I am not knowing this word in English." He shrugged.

  "What word? Show me the word." Maggie jumped up and stood over his shoulder. He pointed to the word.
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br />   "I think, peut-etre, it means, ohh, exotique? n'est-ce pas? Or, different?"

  "She thought I was exotic?” Maggie looked out onto Peachtree Street.

  "But, she has the good heart and I am glad to see her face, oh, she says 'her dear face,' I'm thinking," Laurent said. "...and I am glad to see her dear face again." He stopped reading and put the letter down. He touched her. "C'est fini, ma petite," he said.

  Maggie picked up the letter carefully and returned to her seat. She read the words in French, not understanding them, and felt a tiny prism of awe at Elise's obvious comfort with them.

  "Who is this woman? she asked suddenly, looking up at Laurent. "Who is this Michelle..." She flipped the envelope over and read, "...Zouk? That Elise would write her? Will the police contact her, I wonder?"

  Laurent shrugged and replaced his napkin in his lap.

  "Perhaps she is an old friend? The address is for Paris, I think?"

  Maggie nodded absentmindedly, still holding the letter in front of her. Laurent resumed his meal alone.

  All at once, she jumped up and then crouched under the dining room table.

  "Laurent!" she shouted. "Take a look at this!"

  Within seconds she was kneeling by his side as he sat at the table, the wadded up remains of Elise's gray sweater clutched in her hands.

  "Mageee, please--"

  "No, look!" She thrust the filthy cardigan into his lap and peeled back the label at the neck with her fingers. In large silver script, the words Chez Zouk, shouted up at them.

  "This Michelle must have a boutique or something," she said. "Elise bought her clothes from her, don't you see?"

  Laurent touched the label and then looked at Maggie.

  "C'est important?"

  "Well, I..." Maggie slumped back onto her heels, pulling the sweater across her knees as she did so. "I think so. I mean, it's a connection, right?"

  Laurent nodded, chewing his lamb slowly and watching her.

  "I've got an address," Maggie said quietly, thinking hard. "And I've got a name of a friend. Maybe even one that's not a drug addict or a total loser." Maggie stroked the soft sweater.

  She looked up at Laurent.

  "I need to go to Paris," she said.

  Chapter 11

  1

  "We hope you know that we're all thinking of you and that we’re so terribly, terribly sorry about your sister." Gerry spoke softly from the head of the conference room table supported by muted murmurs from the rest of the office workers.

  "Thank you," Maggie said, letting her eyes fill without embarrassment.

  "We sent flowers to your parents," Dierdre said, clearly uncomfortable, looking down at her doodling as she spoke. "Since we didn't know when the funeral was going to be."

  Maggie cleared her throat and smiled shakily at her co-workers. "It's going to be a memorial service. Just for...just for family. And thank you again for your caring."

  Dierdre handed Maggie a condolence card, showing a seagull soaring over an ocean wave.

  "We all signed it," she said, still not looking at Maggie.

  Maggie felt sorry for Dierdre. It’s hard, she thought, if you've never had anybody close to you die, you really don't have a clue as to how to act.

  "Thanks, Dierdre, thanks all. That was kind."

  "Right," Gerry said, clearing his own throat. "And now on to business." He gestured to Dierdre to begin reading the traffic sheet.

  Relieved to be on safer ground, Dierdre's voice became perky and confident.

  "The EMI brochure needs copy by the end of the week." She looked up at Maggie, as did Gerry. Maggie nodded her head.

  "I'm already started on it," she said.

  "And the layout...Gerry, I've got the layout as due at the same time because of the tight deadline on this. We can't really wait for the copy to get done before we start on it."

  "Pokey?" Gerry directed his attention to his art director. "Will that be a problem?"

  Pokey tossed the schedule down in front of him.

  "Not if I have any interest in enjoying my weekend or having a life outside this office, I guess it won't," he said stiffly.

  "Good." Gerry nodded back at Dierdre to continue.

  Pokey scowled into his hands, not eager to push his complaints but not content with what he'd said either.

  "I have a problem." The voice, reedy yet masculine, was Patti Stump's. She sat to Gerry’s right, her outfit an outlandish ensemble of blaring reds and oranges, looking as if it had been deliberately designed to offend.

  "Yes, Patti?" His voice was tight. He seemed to be concentrating on correcting some typo on the schedule in front of him.

  "My problem is the new budget on the Calloway Toys commercial--"

  "I haven't gotten to that yet," Dierdre started.

  "Well, I've gotten to it right now," Patti hissed at her. "Gerry, the new budget cuts the frequency nearly in half. Without the back-to-backs I'd set up--"

  "Who's the a.e. on this?" Gerry looked around the table.

  "Uh, that's Linda," Dierdre said. "She's with a client,"

  "All right, we'll discuss it when she's back in the office. Next, Dierdre?"

  "That's bullshit, Gerry!" Patti slammed her fountain pen down onto the table. "My new budget is due in Linda's in-box at two o'clock today. I've got television stations I'm having to renege on...I gave people my word! I'm having to lose discounts that I'd already figured into the budget...discounts that the client was counting on--"

  "Patti, I'm afraid you'll just have to redo your schedule with the new moneys." Gerry turned and stared at her, his face reddening, showing that he wasn't as comfortable as he wanted to appear. "And bullshit though it may be, it is also the nature of the business." He looked at Dierdre who looked at Patti. Patti gathered up her schedule and pens and stormed out of the meeting.

  "Shall we continue?" Gerry spoke wearily.

  2

  "She's in love with you?" Maggie had to sit down for this one.

  "That's what she said."

  "She told you this?"

  "Yes, Maggie, she did. Loudly and without any mistake, please, don't sit on my desk, thank you."

  "And what are you going to do about it?" Maggie removed herself to the armchair that faced Gerry’s desk.

  "Do about it? Oh, you mean about returning her affections?"

  "Don't be an ass, Gerry. Obviously you can't pretend she didn't say it. Or...or is that exactly what you intend to do?"

  "Why can't I pretend she didn't say it?"

  "Gerry, you're her boss!"

  "Will you just say what you mean? Am I supposed to fire her? Put her in therapy? Set her up with one of my friends? Sleep with her? Exactly how am I supposed to respond to this crap?" He stood up, running his fingers through his hair. "Darla was amused."

  "Well, with anyone else it might be funny, but Stump? Let's face it, Gerry, it's like having a bad-tempered Minnie Pearl with the hots for you."

  "Nice image, thanks, Maggie. What, precisely, do you recommend I do?"

  "I recommend you have a talk with her." She saw his look of distaste. "Gosh, Gerry, no one ever said owning your own agency was going to be all skittles and beer, you know?"

  "I think it would be embarrassing to be thrown out of someone's office wearing a skirt as short as you're wearing so I'd watch the general level of condescension, okay? Besides, I think it may be a moot point."

  "How so?"

  "I think I may not be the owner of this agency much longer."

  "Oh? Thinking about firing yourself, are you?"

  "I'm serious, Maggie. I think I want to leave."

  "Leave? Leave for where? Another shop? Are you kidding? What are you talking about?"

  "I don't want this getting out to anyone, okay? I'm talking to Darla about leaving everything. I mean everything. The agency, the city, the state, the country. Just dropping out. I'm about fed up with everything...everything."

  "Gar--" Maggie stared at him.

  "I mean it. What wit
h murders and maniacs roaming the streets, I'm worried half to death about Haley and Darla and I don't seem to have much of a handle on what's going on here and--"

  "Gerry, listen." Maggie stood up and moved back over to his side of the desk. She leaned against it and touched his shoulder. "Don't you think things are just building up? I mean, when they catch this guy...look, you're just overwhelmed right now, it'll all sort itself out." This was not the time to spring Paris on him, Maggie thought.

  "I don't think so, Maggie. I really don't. I think I have to do something to get it sorted out. I'm just not happy."

  "So you're going to leave the country?"

  Gerry scooped up some errant paper clips and tossed them into one of his desk drawers. He smoothed down a legal pad pushing out from a stack of folders.

  "Where?" she asked.

  Gerry shrugged. "I've been thinking about New Zealand. It's got clean air and no drugs and, like, one murder per decade, and no guns...I think it would be good for Haley."

  "New Zealand?"

  "It's still in the just-talking stage, at this point," he said, not looking at her.

  "Have you ever been to New Zealand?"

  "Look, don't patronize me, okay? You know very well I've never been there."

  "Well, I'm just saying--"

  "I know what you're saying, Maggie, and I appreciate it, okay? But I don't want to talk this one out with you, understand? I just don't."

  Maggie sighed and moved back to the other side of the desk.

  "And the Stump Lady?"

  Gerry covered his eyes and moaned.

  "Can't I just let it ride? What possible harm can it do? She'll lose interest after awhile and I just flat do not want to deal with it."

  He looked up at her and she nodded.

  "Okay." She shrugged. "She's so daft, she'll probably be hooked on Pokey by next week. I wouldn't worry about it, Gar. In fact," she pushed herself out of the chair and walked to the door of his office. "I wouldn't worry about anything if you can help it." She smiled at him and then exited, closing the door behind her.

  As she walked to her office, she heard her name being paged over the public address system. Hurrying back to her desk, she snatched up the phone.