Mayhem in Margaux by Jean-Pierre Alaux, Noël Balen Read Free Book Online

so?”
    “I told them that you’ve always had excellent ideas. Maman was furious. She said that neither of us have ever listened to her, and between a stubborn husband and a capricious daughter, she would never have the last word. I let the storm pass, and five minutes later—you know her—she seemed agreeable. I think she’s actually relieved that I’ll be closer. She’ll be able to keep an eye on me.”
    “I am sure she’s already prepared a wonderful room for you and everything’s ready for your arrival. Here, sign the discharge papers.”
    “The doctor has already come by and given me my instructions. He groaned a bit and said I’d be better off if I stayed in the hospital’s rehab unit, but I think he understood. And, of course, I’ll need to see the orthopedic surgeon for a follow-up.”
    “I’ll send the doctor a case of good wine. That will make him happy,” Benjamin said, picking up Margaux’s bag. “Okay, off we go. I still have some work to do today, with the heat wave and all, so I’ve got a taxi waiting outside to whisk you to La Planquette. I’ve also hired a nurse to ride with you and help you settle in your room.”
    The nurse poked her head through the half-open door, and together they helped Margaux through the hospital and into the waiting taxi. Benjamin kissed his daughter’s forehead and promised to join everyone at La Planquette later. He walked over to his Mercedes, and as soon as he slipped behind the wheel, he felt his cell phone vibrate in his pocket. He heard the raspy voice of Inspector Barbaroux when he put it to his ear.
    “So, Mr. Cooker, I see you’re not wasting any time!”
    “News travels fast. I guess you stopped by at Gayraud-Valrose?”
    “Right after your visit,” Barbaroux said. “I told you to leave it alone, and now you’re one move ahead of me!” The inspector laughed, but it sounded forced. Benjamin could tell he was irritated.
    “It’s not a chess game, Inspector.”
    “Who’s talking about chess? We’d do better if we worked together.”
    “Do you have any news?”
    “Do you?”
    “If we keep up this little game, we’ll just go around in circles,” Benjamin said. Now he was getting annoyed.
    “So let’s put our cards on the table. That way we’ll both win.”
    “I spoke with Stéphane Sarrazin,” Benjamin said, quickly summarizing the interview with the cellar master, keeping his impressions of the man’s singular personality to himself. He was not inclined to reveal his gut instincts to someone whose profession encouraged suspicion.
    “Bottom line,” Barbaroux interrupted, “you haven’t made any more progress than I have. I got more or less the same information going through other channels. And it would seem to make all those disgruntled workers potential suspects, wouldn’t it?”
    “At any rate, it will be difficult for me get onto the Gayraud-Valrose property for any length of time, as I have no official role in the investigation, and I’ve never done any work for them. I’m familiar with their production, but my only tie with the estate is the fact that my daughter almost died because of their new manager. Well, because of someone who wanted to do away with him.”
    “By the way, Mr. Cooker, it seems that you are not in the good graces of Gayraud-Valrose.”
    “Why do you say that?”
    “Naturally, the subject of your daughter came up when I was asking about Rinetti and the accident. In the course of the conversation, I heard some opinions about you.”
    “Opinions?”
    “Yes. Commonly held, by the way.”
    “Come on, Inspector. Spill the beans. I can sense that you’re dying to tell me.”
    “I got the impression that you roasted them in your last guide.”
    “I stand by every word in my review. Their tannins should have been more carefully extracted.”
    Barbaroux had been studying oenology for more than a year. He had signed up for a tasting course and had never missed a class. In addition, he was beginning to