Treachery in Bordeaux (The Winemaker Detective Series) Read Online Free PDF Page A

spicy flavors of green pepper and cinnamon. The smoke, which was not too ample, rose up, round and light. The tobacco was not strong, but developed an aromatic richness in which he could easily discern honey, caramel and cacao. Benjamin remained in the same position for over half an hour, his mind elsewhere. Then he returned to his pen.
    “Blaye is called Bordeaux’s first rampart. Much is said about this rocky headland. Many popular legends and a few invented stories surround it. Some say that its name comes from the Latin belli via (translation: war road); others affirm that a Gallic warrior named Blavos ( Blavius in Latin) founded it; people also talk about Blavia , a Celtic word that landed here on the battle path. In any case, Blaye’s history is above all …”
    Benjamin started yawing. The muscles in his back were sore, and his eyes were stinging. He set down his pen without capping it, crushed out his half-smoked Havana in the ashtray, turned out his lamp and joined Elisabeth, who, snuggled in the warmth of the comforter, grumbled when she felt his cold body.

4
    A FTER ANSWERING SOME LETTERS from some persnickety readers, filling out a check for the antique dealer in Blaye, checking with his secretary to make sure that the invoice registry was updated and planning several meetings for fall with Beaujolais estate owners, Benjamin Cooker left his office on the Allée de Tourny and walked to the laboratory he had set up on the Cours du Chapeau Rouge. Virgile was early and had introduced himself to the staff. By the time his employer came in, the assistant was already deep in discussion with Alexandrine de la Palussière, who was in charge of biological testing.
    “I see you did not waste any time getting to know each other,” Cooker commented, catching his breath.
    “Hello, Mr. Cooker. You didn’t take the elevator?” asked the young woman.
    Virgile Lanssien shook Cooker’s hand, taking care to control his grip.
    “Don’t worry, Alexandrine, I’ll survive,” the winemaker said, still panting, his hands on his lower back. “It will be my only workout for the entire month.”
    Alexandrine de la Palussière was one of those discreetly elegant Bordeaux women who always wear clamdiggers to show off their tanned calves. She was a stylish woman around 30, of average height and delicate, with a small upturned nose, green eyes and bob-cut auburn hair held back with a clear mother-of-pearl headband. She was wearing a white blouse with the first two buttons astutely undone and a pair of beige leather flats. She was the last child in a line of fallen aristocrats and was not afraid to depart from the rules of her rank by pursuing advanced studies and working like a common mortal. In times past, her family had owned several acres of vineyards in the Haut Médoc, dominated by an enormous château. Her grandfather had ended up squandering this inheritance in Biarritz casinos and the posh bedrooms of high-class prostitutes. Unlike some penniless petty nobles who clung to appearances, this young woman bore no resemblance to the “dying race” that could still be found in Bordeaux. She was bright, pragmatic and unpretentious, satisfied to contribute her scientific knowledge to the world of wine that had for so long enriched and nourished her family.
    “Where do things stand, Alexandrine?” Cooker asked calmly, once his breathing had returned to normal.
    “I need five to eight days to get a reliable colony count.”
    “That is way too long!”
    “But that is the time needed to correctly isolate the yeast and take a count.”
    “You have gotten me used to miracles. We need to find a quicker solution. Even some sort of emergency response, if possible!”
    “I can’t make any promises, but we could possibly get quicker results by combining plating with a direct colony hybridization. We’ll need to use a specific sporulating Brettanomyces probe coupled with peroxidase. After membrane filtration and culture, in 48