Chapter Seven

Seven

"I understand that you speak English fluently," Jeannette said, entering the room and taking a seat across from Claude Chirac.

He glared at her, groaned and waved a hand in dismissal of her. "Of course. Only Americans are oblivious to others. This is Europe."

"Oh, I didn't say I don't speak other languages. Though I'm afraid I'm still in the learning arena when it comes to French. I'm hoping to learn more daily. I love the country. It is beautiful and historic and most of the people here are as nice as can be."

The man leaned toward her. "I'm as nice as can be—unless I'm being hunted down like a dog and attacked viciously!"

"Interesting." Jeannette nodded her head as if she were weighing his words. "You do realize we have the black mask you were wearing to hide your identity. Of course," she lied, "they've already taken your fingerprints from the door where you attempted to break into Madame Matisse's bed-and-breakfast."

That took him a minute but he shook his head. "I reached the wrong house."

"What house were you trying to reach?"

"That of my friend!"

"And what is your friend's name?"

"That is none of your concern!" he informed her furiously. "What do you think you have on me? I opened the wrong door. And your boyfriend came after me like a savage dog! You pulled a gun on me. I will appear before a judge, and it is you who will pay for your actions."

"I really don't think so," Jeannette said sweetly. She decided to try another lie. "You see, we know you were already in the house. I mean, your argument is a good one—who doesn't show up at the wrong house now and then? But the door was locked—and you opened it." She smiled and leaned closer. "Just as you opened it before—when you came into the house in our absence to go through our belongings. Just what were you looking for?"

"I don't know what you're talking about!"

"Ah, you're forgetting the world that we live in! DNA, monsieur. DNA and fingerprints!"

"I wore gloves!" he exploded.

She sat back. She hadn't expected her lies to work so well.

"Then save yourself," she said softly. "Tell us what you were doing, what you were looking for. Whoever you were doing this for...they will not come to save you and you know it."

"I'm just a thief!" he exclaimed. "I am just a thief who was hoping to find something worth stealing."

"Then why come back?" Jeannette asked him. "If you went through our things and found nothing, why did you come back?"

He smiled and leaned forward. "You were back. Perhaps you carried your valuables with you, wallets, money... I didn't intend to hurt anyone. But you had a look about you...as if you might have money or rings or jewelry."

"Why are you lying?"

He sat back. "I am not lying. You have me. I was trying to rob you. That is all. I will not say another word. They may charge me with anything they like—they may lock me up from here to forever. I will not say another word."

"Okay."

Jeannette stood up to leave the room.

"I will not say another word!" he shouted.

"You just did. Whatever. I don't care. Bye. Enjoy."

She left Chirac and walked around to join Daniel and Gervais in the observation room.

"So?" she murmured.

"So, he's lying," Daniel said. "Hey, good lies on your part. Good thing he didn't know it would have been impossible for us to get forensic teams in there so quickly and have lab reports back. And he's admitted, on tape, that he was trying to break in and rob us."

"At the least," Gervais said, "a judge will now hold him."

"We need to find out everything about this man that we possibly can," Daniel said. "Gervais, he didn't pull a gun on me, but—"

"He was carrying a box cutter. The officers took it off him when they brought him in," Gervais told them.

Jeannette shook her head. "I don't think he's the one doing this. I think he's a pawn—and maybe Daniel should go at him now."

Daniel looked through the two-way glass. "I'll take a go at it, but I don't think this man is going to give in. I agree with Jeannette. I don't think he committed murder himself—he may not even know that he was working for a murderer. There are two possibilities. One, he was trying to find out more about the relationship between Jeannette and I because she could easily fit into the current victimology, or two, someone suspects who and what we are and just wants to know for sure."

Gervais nodded. "Obviously, with the new victims, this has been going on for some time. And I believe whoever is doing it does see themselves as being above the law, and perhaps above all other humanity."

Daniel nodded. "And while I'm no psychologist, this guy isn't it. He probably is a thief—just a guy looking to make a little money somewhere, somehow."

"But he does know something," Gervais said.

"Okay. I'll take a stab at him."

"We can try again later, too," Gervais said. "With what he's said, we will have forty-eight hours. Our holding capacities are not known for their elegance. Hours can weigh heavily. Try now—we will try again after he's worked with a toilet that's not the cleanest and a few other distractions."

Daniel nodded.

Jeannette stood with Gervais as Daniel headed on into the interrogation room. They watched and listened as Daniel took his turn with Claude Chirac.

Daniel sat and shrugged. "Last chance," he said.

"I said I'm not saying another word," Chirac told him.

"That's fine. I believe the judge may well decide to bring you up on murder charges," Daniel said with a shrug.

"Murder!" Chirac protested. "What? No, no, no! You are just a Scandinavian bully—"

"Scottish. Scottish bully," Daniel said. "And you're a murderer. A home-grown murderer if you like that better."

"I didn't murder anyone!" the man protested.

Daniel shrugged again. "Maybe the person who hired you—"

"I told you I'm just a thief!"

"And you are so obviously lying," Daniel said. "You see, you breaking into that house...well, you did it for a reason. You did it for the person committing the murders. That makes you guilty of conspiring to commit murder."

"I... No. You'll never make a charge like that stick to me!" Chirac protested.

"I guess you're a gambling man," Daniel said. He leaned closer to him. "And now you're wondering which way to hedge your bet. Do you tell us the truth, and hope we can make a murder charge stick on the person you did this for—someone who terrifies you because you know they are capable of murder because they have committed murder? You see, I think you're torn right now, because what lies before you is terrifying one way or another. Stick with your lie, walk out of this place and they just might kill you immediately, wondering what you've said—or what you might say. Or you could let us lock you up, and who knows how far it all extends. Can they reach you in police custody?"

He stood up and walked out, leaving Chirac sitting in silence.

He entered the observation room, and Jeannette smiled at him as she nodded. "I think he just might tell us something more after he's sat around for a bit!"

"Maybe. Maybe not," Daniel said. "But upping the possible charges gives him something to think about. He's still too stunned to realize we wouldn't have much on him, so..."

"All right," Gervais said. "You two go. Go back. You'll get at least four hours of sleep. And the gig is up. I can guarantee you the involved parties will know by now that you are law enforcement. Even if they don't respect the fact that you have jurisdiction here. But I am not sending you home alone after this—there will be a patrol car parked right in front of the house. No. There will be a patrol car parked in front and an officer with you inside. I will see you after your tour, as planned."

"And Claude may break by the afternoon," Daniel murmured.

Jeannette nodded grimly. She wasn't sure she liked the idea of that much security for two people who were law enforcement themselves, but she did feel the need to sleep.

They drove ahead of the officers Gervais was sending for their protection. When they headed into the house, a big man accompanied them, who grinned and assured them his real prowess was the ability to sense danger. He was a nice guy and made Jeannette laugh.

Yet, despite this reassurance, in the house, in her room, Jeannette lay awake. She was tempted to rise and walk into Daniel's room, a place where she might sleep in greater security. Maybe it wasn't so wrong to want to be closer to him.

Eventually, she did sleep, and woke to a tap on the door. It was Daniel, telling her the coffee was on, and they needed to move to make the early tour.

She leaped out of bed and was ready in about five minutes. She was grateful that either Daniel or the officer had already brewed coffee.

The brew had seldom tasted quite so good.

"We'll pack up quickly," Daniel said. "And—" he turned to their massive French guard "—thank you!" he told the man.

"Merci, merci beaucoup!" Jeannette added. Okay, so she wasn't fluent. She had made sure she knew please and thank you .

"Je t'en prie!" the fellow said. He nodded, waved and left them.

They packed up quickly and hurried on to the meeting point in front of the train station by the tourist office.

The bus was comfortable, and both their driver and guide were friendly and personable. The tour they were taking was given in English. Jeannette was impressed by the fact their bus was filled with people from all over—many from the States and Canada, but others from Spain, Norway, Finland and she assumed more, since she didn't get a chance to chat with everyone on the bus.

The region was famous for its champagne. It was fascinating and enjoyable to explore the House of Mumm and a few of the larger historic wineries. But she and Daniel were really waiting the whole time for their visits to a few of the smaller houses—those of Matisse, Deauville and Montague.

Montague was first. It was where they were scheduled to have their déjeuner , or lunch. And Jeannette quickly saw that Alphonse's assessment of Leticia Montague had been spot on. She and Daniel were first to get off the bus, and as they approached the welcome point, they could hear someone's angry voice chastising someone for something. The woman was speaking fast in French, and Jeannette looked at Daniel. The words being said were way too quick for Jeannette to begin to understand with her lack of fluency.

"Apparently, her people did not clean the room to her liking," Daniel told her.

But as they headed on in, the staff was standing respectfully by the side of the room where there were plates, glasses and carafes filled with the winery's offerings.

"Welcome, welcome, bienvenue to Chez Montague!"

It was the same woman speaking. Leticia Montague. She was in the center of the room, beautifully dressed in a medieval gown, thick brunette hair swept into a curling cascade. She was an attractive and poised woman in her early forties, Jeannette thought, all smiles for the tour.

Didn't she know that she could be heard when she screamed like a virago?

Apparently not. She went on to explain that the House of Montague had been producing some of the finest wines to be had anywhere since the late 1500s and thus her attire as she greeted them. She talked about the fact the house also created some of the finest Chardonnay, Pinot Noir and Pinot Meunier to be tasted anywhere. Their déjeuner , specially prepared by the House of Montague, was jambon de Reims and, if she did say so herself, the best biscuits roses , or famous pink biscuits, to be found in the whole of the country.

Jeannette and Daniel were seated with a couple from Portugal and three college students from Canada. They laughed and chatted about the tour while the wines and food were served. The couple were older, pleasant, but quiet. The girls were not.

"They told us that if you're touring the wine country, you should not be driving!" one of the young women, a blonde with bright blue eyes who had introduced herself as Clara Miller, told them.

"No, not a good idea at all!" Jeannette agreed. She glanced at Daniel, thinking the girls should be on high alert.

They had to be just about the same age as those who had met such horrible fates in the region.

"You need to be careful all the way around," Daniel said quietly.

The girl grew somber. "We've heard," she told them. "But we don't intend to be apart from one another for a single second."

"Excellent plan," Daniel said. "Stick with it."

"Well, it would be really cool if we were hanging around with you all the time!" one of her friends said, grinning. "Whoops, sorry!" she blurted, looking at Jeannette.

"That's cool," Jeannette assured her. "He's just my cousin."

Servers came by, explaining the champagne and wine selections as they poured for them.

One young woman seemed new at the job and nervous. As she was pouring, a bit of the bubbly spilled on the table in front of Jeannette.

"S'il vous pla?t, pardonnez-moi!" she begged instantly, far more distressed by a bit of a spill than she needed to be.

But Jeannette quickly saw why. Leticia Montague—in all her splendor—was rushing to the table. She was more careful now, simply telling the girl to get to the kitchen while she apologized to Jeannette.

"It is nothing," Jeannette assured her. "Nothing at all. Your waitress is simply charming and sweet and excellent. A little spill is nothing."

The woman offered her a smile, but Jeannette thought that beneath the curve of her lips, she was about to growl.

"We strive for perfection! A spill is not perfection," she said, sweeping on by the table.

"It's a good thing you ate already. She might have been ready to spit in your food!" Clara Miller said softly.

So the girl had seen something beneath the smile, too.

Jeannette looked at Daniel and arched a brow.

He spoke softly just for her. "Okay, we know the woman is a bitch. We were told, forewarned. That doesn't mean—"

"That she's a killer," Jeannette whispered in return. "And it doesn't mean she isn't!"

He nodded. "So, where is home for you?" he asked the girls.

"Clara is from Toronto. We grew up together, and, oh, sorry, I'm Emily Grant, and this is Red—sorry, Veronica Oglesby. We went to school over in Alberta, but now we're forming our own company in Toronto!"

"That's wonderful," Jeannette said. "A company that...?"

The girl introduced as Emily told her, "Tech! We're going to be the new social media giant. I mean, we grew up in an age when kids tried them all, saw what was bad about social media, what was good. We're all great with computers. We're going to give it a try, anyway."

"That sounds wonderful!" Jeannette assured her. "We'll be waiting to see. What do you think you're going to call it?"

"We haven't decided yet. We just know it won't be a letter from the alphabet!" Clara told them.

Madame Leticia Montague appeared again in the center of the room, thanking them all for their visit. She spoke so sweetly that Clara murmured to Jeannette, "It's like honey dripping from her lips!"

Jeannette smiled and nodded. It was time to move on.

Their next stop was the House of Deauville, where they were greeted by both Tomas and his wife, Giselle. Like Leticia Montague, Giselle Deauville was dressed in period clothing. She was an attractive woman of about fifty with dark eyes and dark hair swept up in a chignon. She explained that while the family had been working the vineyards for hundreds of years, it wasn't until the late 1700s that they were able to buy their land and become the best of the best, unique, catering only to the finest palates.

"Wow. A little full of herself, huh?" Clara murmured.

Jeannette grinned and continued to study the woman and her husband. Tomas Deauville was a man of medium height and build with a thatch of almost snow-white hair and blue eyes. He smiled as she spoke, saying only one word when she finished. "Bienvenue!"

The wine tasting was different here. There was no lunch, but each table offered a charcuterie board so that there was something to snack on as the wines were sampled.

Jeannette glanced at Daniel. He grinned.

They had both been careful to avoid "tasting" too much.

She grinned in return and studied their host and hostess once again. They were going from table to table, welcoming guests.

When they reached the table Jeannette and Daniel had chosen with their new friends, it was Giselle Deauville who did the talking again. Her English held a British rather than an American accent, but she was beyond fluent in the language.

"We so hope you enjoy yourselves and all that you have experienced in the House of Deauville!" she told them.

"Everything is lovely," the third of the girls, the pretty redhead so aptly named Veronica "Red" Oglesby, assured her. "I think this is my favorite!"

She indicated her glass of champagne.

Giselle Deauville looked at her husband. Jeannette thought he gave her a barely perceptible nod.

"That is wonderful! Of course, you and your friends are welcome back at any time! Tomas, darling, give her a card, please. Call. Perhaps we can arrange a more private tour!" she said sweetly.

She moved on.

Daniel quickly leaned toward the girls. "Don't," he said quietly. "Don't do anything that takes you away from the company of others!"

Clara looked bewildered. "The three of us will stay together. But these people... I mean, we're at the House of Deauville! They are surely just fine!"

"It doesn't matter where you are," Daniel said. "Please! Think of the murders that have taken place in the area. Don't trust anyone. Well, that would include us, and even then...just, watch out for one another."

"Don't take any chances!" Jeannette warned softly. "And...they're saying thank you now. Time to move on to our last stop!"

In the bus, Jeannette whispered to Daniel, "You got the same...vibe?"

"Something seemed off. She needed his approval. But...when we're with Gervais, we can find out if anything has jumped out of the woodwork from all the research the techs in three different countries have been doing. They may just be nice people—"

"Who are full of themselves."

He smiled. "The world is full of all kinds. You can be rich and renowned and nice and kind and decent as can be. And you can be rich and renowned and an ass. Just like you can be a regular Joe and as nice as can be—"

"And a regular Joe and an ass," Jeannette agreed. "But...you can be rich or regular or poor, innocent—or guilty as all hell."

"We're heading toward the end of the tour," Daniel noted.

"Madame Matisse. The nice one," Jeannette murmured.

"And more charcuterie, probably," Daniel said. "The trays have been great. But..."

"After today you don't want to see another one for a while?" she teased.

He made a face. "Or wine. Beer bloke here. Or—"

"Or a good Scotch?"

He shrugged and Jeannette grinned, leaning her head back and closing her eyes for a minute. She was tired.

"Do we talk to her now?" Jeannette asked. "Madame Matisse, I mean. Or when we go back with Gervais?"

"Let's see what she has to say to us."

Jeannette nodded. "Good plan."

They arrived at the Matisse winery. As they got out of the bus and headed into the tour, Clara came up to Jeannette and asked, "Hey, can we hang with you guys again at the tasting?"

"Well, of course," Jeannette said.

They saw how the winery functioned and headed on into the room reserved for the tasting.

Madame Matisse was there, ready to greet the arrivals. She went through the usual, welcoming everyone, explaining the family vineyards and admitting she married into the winery. She missed her dear husband, but she was proud to carry on in his name. "We hope that the Matisse brand of rare and exceptional quality will continue through the next centuries and beyond!"

Clara, Emily and Red, at the table with them as they'd requested, applauded loudly, as did the rest of the room.

"She's lovely!" Red announced.

"I'll bet she's the nicest," Emily agreed. She made a face. "That other lady was just pretending to be nice."

"But!" Clara told them, leaning forward, though it was unlikely she would be heard around the room as people at every table were chattering away with the servers who arrived at the tables, giving descriptions of each wine. "I have found most people to be very nice! I mean, sometimes, you know, the French get a reputation for being a bit..."

"Snotty!" Emily said. "But it's not true. Everyone here and in Paris has been kind to us and our French is really bad."

"In general, I believe in the best in people—around the world. But that's the thing—no matter what country we're in, we're all human beings. So, it's great to find out that people are nice—just remember bad eggs come in every ethnicity known to man," Daniel said.

"Most of the world over just want to live our lives, love our families—and travel and see the world!" Clara announced.

Emily nudged her. "Hush, now! The wine is coming!"

A server arrived to describe a very special champagne to them, and the pouring went around the table. Jeannette glanced at Daniel.

This was the last stop. And while the food was supplied and the "tastings" were small, several people on the tour were showing signs of the amount of alcohol they had managed to consume.

Their three new young friends were growing even more chatty, having a good time.

Maybe too good a time.

They're young, they're bright—they deserve to let loose a little! Jeannette thought.

But she couldn't help worrying about them. They fit in far too well with the victimology they had witnessed so far.

Just as the other vineyard owners had done, Madame Delphine Matisse made her way around the tables. She was charming with the girls, telling them how delighted she was to see them and asking them if they were staying in Paris or Reims or even elsewhere.

The girls were staying in Paris. They had taken an early train to get the bus that morning.

Madame Matisse nodded and said they must come back to Reims.

"We are famous for our vineyards, of course. But Reims itself...you must see the grandeur of the Palais du Tau, and, oh! The Basilique Saint-Remi, église Saint-Jacques de Reims! And not just the architectural splendor of our churches, we have an amazing planetarium, so many gardens... Ah, oui ! You must come back, and, always, you are invited for a sip of wine!" she told them.

Then her gaze fell on Jeannette and Daniel. She just gave them a nod, then turned back to the girls. "Call me, anytime. I also own a home that is listed on the tour sites that is quite comfortable, three bedrooms for privacy, kitchen...dining room, all nice and convenient. Ask this lovely couple—" she began, indicating Jeannette and Daniel.

"Not a couple! Cousins!" Clara interrupted.

"Ah, so that is why they needed two rooms," Delphine Matisse said dryly, staring at Jeannette and Daniel again with a little secret smile. "But—"

"It's a wonderful place to stay," Jeannette offered. "Comfortable home. You make your own coffee in the morning, and you're in the thick of the action—it's so easy to get to so many places."

"Oh, wonderful! We will come back!" Red promised. "And we will make sure we can stay in your home in the city and come back for delicious wine!"

Madame Matisse left them to deliver a sweeping thank-you speech to all those who had come and remind them that it was a beautiful region, they must come and stay and enjoy Reims and the great champagne as often as they could. "Of course, do not forget Paris," she added at the end, a little twinkle in her eyes that brought laughter to the crowd.

Then they filed back out to the bus. Once they were seated, Jeannette whispered to Daniel, "This may sound absurd, but I'm worried for this trio of young ladies."

"I know. We'll talk to Gervais and see if we can get him to post a protective detail on them."

"That would make me feel much better," Jeannette assured him.

They had spoken with many people on the tour, including the sweet but quiet Portuguese couple; as they returned to the bus's position by the train station, they said many goodbyes. But the three girls who had somewhat latched onto them remained to give them a special farewell.

They hugged Jeannette first—but saved their best hugs for Daniel. He looked at Jeannette over Clara's head, wincing. She grinned and mouthed, Can't help you, cousin!

But she did help him. She didn't want to hand out a business card so she walked over and told Clara, "Hey, let me get your phone number—you're all set for calls here, right? I'll call you and my number will be in your phone, and then you can call us if you think you need us for anything or if you find something incredible to do or...whatever! We can keep in touch."

"Yes, yes, of course, great!" Clara said. She rattled off numbers and Jeannette quickly put them into her phone and dialed.

"Got it!" Clara said.

"Oh, that's super!" Emily said.

"Yes, we can do something else together, great fun!" Red agreed. "Clara," she added, "back off! Our turn!"

They both hugged Daniel, too, leaving Jeannette to grin at his discomfort.

"Oh!" Clara said. "Are you going to be in Paris? I realize how close we are here, but still, getting here and back...we're talking about more than a few hours. Though I would love to come back. We've been invited to return! And the city is beautiful, the architecture, the churches! We didn't get to see anything—"

"Except a lot of wine!" Red said. She made a face. "It was delicious and fun—and I'm ready for bed now!"

"There is no way to do everything in Paris and Reims unless we all had weeks and weeks," Daniel said. "But we'll see some amazing sights!"

"Right! Together!" Clara said.

Almost as an afterthought, Clara hugged her again then Emily and Red did the same. And with their train back to Paris about to leave, they were finally off.

But even as the girls headed for the train, Jeannette pulled her phone out. They were due to meet with Gervais any minute, but she couldn't help getting the feeling the girls might well be in trouble. Gervais answered her call on the first ring, reminding her he was waiting for them at the house.

"Yes, I know, Gervais, but we need some help," she told him. She went on to quickly explain their conversations with the three girls—and how they had been especially noticed at one of the wine houses. It had made them uneasy and worried. She gave him their names and descriptions, and he promised he'd have them guarded.

"There were just a few comments made about them returning to visit... The trips on the tour were interesting. I'm glad we made them before officially meeting these people. They may just be friendly...though, to be honest, our waiter, Alphonse, rather had them pegged. Delphine Matisse did come off as being more down to earth, and I did hear some screaming at another winery. Which, of course, may mean nothing. But the girls we came to spend time with on the tour fit the victimology, so..."

"I understand. I will see to it. And you must come to meet me quickly. We need to move now," Gervais told her. "I'm going to want to get back to Paris. We have Claude Chirac in custody and can still hope for something from him. Our tech people have surveillance for us to see, and any information from the medical examiners may help us."

"On our way!" Jeannette promised.

"Are you expecting someone?" he asked suddenly.

"No, we've already gotten all our things out of the rooms."

"Hmm. Maybe the car is moving on. No matter. Get here."

"Right away."

She ended the call and looked at Daniel.

"You know, it is different," he reminded her.

"What do you mean?" she asked.

"That threesome is staying together—they won't be alone. I could be wrong, but whoever selected the victims we discovered preyed upon them when they were alone."

She nodded. "I can't help but feel we need to get back to Paris. And it may be a streak of paranoia, but I'm worried about those girls."

"Paranoia in this situation may be a good thing. But if Gervais said he'll discreetly guard them, he will see that it's done. You know that."

"Of course."

"And they will call."

"And we will. As soon as we've revisited the wineries with Gervais."

He had already turned to head back to Madame Matisse's bed-and-breakfast. But as they arrived, they saw another car.

"I don't suppose we need to head to our hostess's winery anymore. It appears she's beat us here," Daniel said dryly.

"To help?" Jeannette murmured.

"Or to protest her innocence as quickly as possible—and find out just exactly what we do know already?" Daniel asked.

"I guess we are about to find out."