Little Death by the Sea Read Online Free Page A

gown
with a pointy, cone-cupped brassiere over the top of it. Her hair
looked like she’d gone swimming at some point in the evening. Her
make-up looked it too. Maggie watched the man with her, his bowtie
limp but still attached at the throat. He was handsome but not
young. She watched them until they disappeared around the corner.
On their way back from somebody’s yacht moored in the harbor, no
doubt, she thought. Most of Cannes’ parties happened on somebody’s
yacht moored in the harbor, or so she’d been told. Or had she read
that somewhere?
    She’d been in France for almost a week now.
Each day Roger either made an appearance at her hotel to assure her
that the recovery of Nicole was imminent, or sent messages of
similar content via Laurent. Laurent was a constant in her daily
routine in Cannes. Escorting her around Cannes and Cap d’Antibes,
climbing the hills with her in Monaco which led to the Grimaldi
palace, picking up the tab at frequent café stops, and always
listening intently—sympathetically—to her protestations that the
search was taking too long.
    She wasn’t sure what to think of Laurent. He
was kind and, in spite of his bad English, she could tell he was
intelligent too. Perhaps too much so. Maggie got the impression
that Laurent held many cards he wasn’t showing. Nonetheless, she
felt drawn to him and compelled to trust him. Besides, Laurent
obviously had, among his other many talents touted by Roger, a very
special way with people.
    And whereas the matter of Elise was, more or
less, out of their hands—and of course, in many ways always had
been—the case of her daughter, Nicole, was not. Maggie had booked
two seats back to Atlanta for tomorrow morning. The thought of
returning to Atlanta without the little girl produced a hard knot
in the pit of her stomach. Elise’s child, lost somewhere in France,
in the custody of her brutish father.
    Maggie clenched her hands. She had to find
Nicole. She had to find her and bring her home.
    Downstairs, Laurent was waiting for her. He
stood next to the Gray d’Albion check-in counter, flipping
through a Paris Express. She hesitated a moment on the staircase
when she saw him. His was a rough handsomeness. Weathered,
been-there. She liked it and she knew she liked him. And she was
sorry about that because the timing was wrong, wrong, wrong.
    She enjoyed his attentions to her even as he
frustrated her by his refusal to tell her what progress was being
made with Nicole.
    It was clear that he’d begun to grow on her
in a way that was pleasant and slightly worrisome.
    He looked up at her as she stood watching him
from the top of the stairs and his face brightened. Tossing the
magazine onto the counter, he bounded up the stairs to meet her,
his bulk looking immediately insubstantial and light.
    “You have more bags, oui ?” He gathered
up her pullman and carry-on bag in one movement and she thought for
a moment that he would snatch her up as well.
    “No. Just those. I...that’s all.” She felt
flustered for no reason that she could pinpoint.
    “ Tu avais un bonne nuit, oui ?” You had
a good night?
    “Yes, thank. So, now where to?” she asked, a
little breathlessly.
    “ Allons y, Mademoiselle .” He led the
way down the stairs. “I have the automobile, this way, so.” She
kept her sights on Laurent’s back as he pushed open the revolving
door before her and led her to a waiting yellow Citroen. He opened
the trunk and roughly piled her soft luggage into the back, then
looked up at her and smiled again.
    “It is not far, okay?” he said as he handed
her in, then squeezed himself into the driver’s seat. The motor
started with a jerk and the car pushed out into the early morning
Cannes traffic.
    Maggie turned to watch his profile as he sped
through the streets, whirling down alleyways, only to emerge
unscathed (as did, miraculously, the pedestrians) on the other
side.
    “ La voiture, il est votre?”
    He turned his head to look at her, his