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

groveling—around on one’s hands and knees—in
the dirt and the muck no less. She watched the butter bubble and foam as it
skidded its way around the perimeter of the pan, then she dropped in the Death
Trumpets, the little bowl of crushed garlic and the diced pepper. She gave the
handle of the pan a firm shake to redistribute the contents.
    She could hear
noises coming from the hall of her apartment building, and a quick glance at
the kitchen clock confirmed it was time for the office workers to trudge up the
stairs to their little sanctuaries within. What she had said to Maggie
notwithstanding, she didn’t know very many of her neighbors. They were happy to
keep to themselves, as she was. She had chosen this apartment—deep in the
heart of Old Town—during her first week in Aix. She was visiting a
boyfriend who had moved here for business, and had long since moved on, and had
fallen in love with the town. A small inheritance from her mother had allowed
her to pack up her rented London flat and make the transition. She knew she
left nobody behind in England. She often found herself wondering why that
didn’t bother her more.
    She took the pan
off the heat, setting it on a back burner, and walked to her front window,
which overlooked the Rue Constantin. She opened the window to let the cold late
afternoon air suffuse the little living room in her apartment. She spent so
much time in the kitchen it often wasn’t until she was nearly ready to suffocate
from the heat and the smells of grilled, fried or baked mushrooms that she
remembered to seek out a restoring breath of fresh air. She stood for a moment
in the window, staring down into the street and watching the students, shoppers
and workers, even a few tourists this late in the season, as they moved up and
down the street below her.
    And then she saw
him. It was a wonder she hadn’t seen him first. Unlike the constantly moving
humanity, he stood silent and immobile, leaning against the single lamppost and
smoking. And looking up at her window. Fighting the urge to retreat back
inside, Julia forced herself to watch him as he watched her. It had been six
months since she had last seen him. Six months since she had thrown him out,
her face flushed and stinging from his neat backhand during their argument. Six
months since she had closed the apartment door behind him and begun her life in
Aix without him.
    Six terrible
months.
    Six wonderful
months.
    She could see he
was smiling now. It was that same old smile. The one that used to affect her
so. The one that made her tummy flip-flop in anticipation of the moment he
would take her into his arms and drill her with that all-possessing focus of
his. The one that assured her she was the only one. No one else. Until, of
course, there was.
    Julia turned away
from the sight of Jacques standing there and reminded herself that it wasn’t
just the slap, the lies and the other girl. A
girl! No more than seventeen. How could she complete with that? Smooth
skin, clear eyes, and eager heart. The child wore a midriff-baring top as
easily and unselfconsciously as Julia did her flannel granny nightie.
    No, it wasn’t the
lies and the infidelity. It was the undeniable, unassailable and relentlessly
unavoidable evidence that Julia would never be young again—no matter how
young she felt on the inside.
    A man who took that away from you , she thought as she dropped her apron
onto the couch and ran a hand through her short curly hair, well, he should die a slow and horrid death .
     

 
     
     
    Chapter Three
     
    Sometimes Maggie swore
she could smell the Mistral , that icy-cold wind
that comes down the Rhône River Valley from the Alps to jolt the sun lovers of
Provence back to their senses. As she sat with her laptop on the terrace of the
beautiful stone mas she shared with
Laurent, she found herself pulling her cotton cardigan tighter around her. Petit
Four, her little hybrid poodle mix, was curled up next to her on the cushion