Murder in Aix (The Maggie Newberry Mystery Series Book 5) Read Online Free PDF Page A

in her
hand, a small plate of crudités on the coffee table before her. “Delighted, but
surprised. Why didn’t you tell me you were coming? And where are Taylor and
Windsor? Can you stay?”
    From the minute
her dearest of all friends had crossed into her home, bringing with her the
ever-present whiff of Chanel No. 19 and a sense that her namesake, Grace Kelly,
was trans channeling, Maggie knew something wasn’t right. It wasn’t just that
Grace was here from Indianapolis without any advance notice at all. It wasn’t
the fact she had come alone, except for baby Zou-zou. It wasn’t even the fact
her excuses for the absence of her husband and other child were so vague. It
was Grace, herself.
    Grace Van Sant
was rich and always had been. That kind of money for that length of time formed
a person. It shaped the way they looked at the world, gave them a languor they
could transfer to just about any situation they found themselves in.
    Grace and Windsor
had been living in Provence for three years before Laurent and Maggie arrived.
Unlike Maggie, Grace had handled the language, the village, the food and the
clothes as if she had been born to them. Everything was easy for Grace, Maggie
had long believed. And she lived and moved like her name—smoothly,
elegant, perfectly.
    Which was why it
was so disconcerting to see her now. The hand that held her sherry glass shook.
She licked her lips repeatedly. She patted her hair as if not sure it was just
right. And Grace was always just
right. She constantly pulled out her cellphone to check the time. Or was it to see who hadn’t called?
    No, there was
something definitely wrong and Maggie had a sinking feeling, a sinking,
hard-to-believe feeling, she knew what it was.
    “I told you I’d
come for the birth,” Grace said, smoothing out the nonexistent wrinkles in her Dolce
& Gabbana slacks.
    “That’s not for a
month or more,” Maggie pointed out to her. “And I thought you’d let me know
when and where so Laurent could come to the train station and pick you up.”
    “Yes, well, now
I’ve saved him the bother.”
    “Is everything
alright, Grace?”
    “What? Don’t be
silly, darling! I come back to France for the first time in nearly two years
and you think something’s wrong? I’m not sure how to take that.”
    Maggie frowned,
unconvinced, but Laurent entered the salon holding Zou-zou and deposited the
baby into Maggie’s arms.
    “Lunch is ready
soon, yes?” he said to them.
    “Oh, that sounds
divine, Laurent,” Grace said, reaching out to take his hand as he moved to go
back to the kitchen. “I can’t tell you how glad I am to be here.”
    Laurent gave her
arm an absentminded pat. “ Bien sûr ,”
he said over his shoulder. Of course.
    Lunch was its
usual Laurent-spectacular. It was mid September, but many days were already too
cool for eating out-of-doors, and Laurent deemed this was one of them. He had
Maggie set the long, oaken farm table he had inherited with the house while
Grace put the baby down for her nap. When she returned, he handed her a glass
of wine and motioned for her to take her seat at the table.
    “One of yours?”
she asked, sniffing the bouquet.
    “ Non ,” he said. “Much better. Well.” He
stopped and glanced at Maggie for a moment. “Perhaps not much better.”
    “Laurent’s stuff
is really good,” Maggie said. “His last harvest was so, so good. Flinty and dry
but a little sweet.”
    Grace took a
healthy sip and sank down into her dining chair. “You’re getting pretty good,
yourself,” she said to Maggie. “Learning the lingo after all this time?”
    Laurent grunted
and returned to the kitchen, but Maggie knew he was pleased with the interest
she had taken in the vineyard and the effort she had made to learn what he did.
    “Well, you know
what they say,” Maggie said seating herself. “ Petit à petit …”
    “ L’oiseau fait son nid .” Little
by little, the bird builds its nest . Grace nodded. “You guys look