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

of
the bench where she sat. From here she could just see the form of her
husband—always the tallest figure in any grouping—walking the
perimeter of his vineyard with the men he had hired to bring in this year’s
harvest. She loved to watch Laurent, especially when he was unaware of her. At
more than six foot four, she often thought his natural grace of movement belied
his size. She watched him now as he moved easily between the carefully trussed
vines, pointing out this one or that to his audience.
    Maggie put a hand on her stomach and directed her attention back to her
laptop screen. In the time it took to bury one uncle—hers, this time, not
his—and make a baby, she and Laurent had somehow managed to pull off the
impossible. They—particularly one malcontented American expatriate—
had taken their marriage firmly by the horns and turned it all around. Her
resentment of Laurent’s focus on his vineyard evaporated when she realized how
important his happiness, however it was derived, was to her. Then she realized
how important she was to his happiness. That, and a two-book deal
for a mystery series that came out of left field, had enabled Maggie to put
Laurent’s passion about his grapes into perspective—and to kick start her
own passion.
    Her editor had sent a series of changes on the first draft of her book. And
while at first she almost had to sit down and put her head between her knees to
keep from passing out, with time and the sturdy good sense from her
straight-thinking husband, she soon accepted that strong revision was par for
the course for most writers—even experienced ones. That, and soothing and
encouraging phone conversations from both her agent and editor, soon had her
breathing normally again. Even so, her editor had seen the need for a lot of
changes to Maggie’s first draft of a murder mystery set in Paris during Paris
Fashion Week.
    A lot of changes.
    Maggie scrolled down the manuscript on her computer and found herself
nodding more often than frowning at what the editor had pointed out. She knew
her editor was just making sure the book was the best it could be. After all,
it was Maggie’s name on the jacket cover. She’d told Laurent, “Before I got
this email from my editor, I thought I could write.” As usual, Laurent was not
in an indulgent mood and she had received a Gallic snort in response that could
only be interpreted as knock it off and
get to work . She smiled at the memory.
    A motion glimpsed out of the corner of her eye made her look up in the
direction of Laurent again and she was surprised to see him striding
purposefully back toward the terrace where she sat. It was nowhere near lunchtime,
and she was sure he meant to spend the morning in the vineyards. Before Laurent
was halfway back to the house, Petit Four jumped down from the bench barking
and ran to the double French doors that led back to the house.
    Between Laurent and the dog, it was pretty clear someone was either at the
front door or was rappelling down the walls into the upper bedrooms. Maggie got
up and went into the house. Now how had
Laurent known someone was here , she wondered. She had gotten used to his knack
for hearing and seeing things that only bats and some carefully attuned dogs
could hear, but she still marveled at the ability. As she reached the heavy
front door to the mas , Maggie was
already out of breath. Her pregnancy left her wilted and tired these days from
the simplest exertions.
      She pulled open the door and was stunned
to find her best friend Grace Van Sant standing on Maggie’s ancient slate
threshold, a Louis Vuitton bag at her feet, a pair of Prada sunglasses on her
nose, and her two-year-old towhead on her hip.
    “Surprise,
darling,” Grace said, her voice trembling just a little. “We’re here.”
     
    “I am surprised,
is all, Grace,” Maggie said after all the hugs and luggage had been dealt with,
Grace comfortably scooted into the main lounge, a glass of Côte de Rhone