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

tell you.” The worst kind of ordinary.
    “Then he made the big mistake. He seduced a lonely Swedish woman fond of visiting a spa near Nice. She happened to be the company president’s wife. That was the beginning of the end for him. The English gave him a closer look and found out that he was up to his eyeballs in shady business. He was forced to resign—no golden parachute, no nothing. But he landed on his feet. One of his old leftist pals heads up a large Swiss-based insurance company, Helvetica-Sûr, and hired him.”
    “That still doesn’t explain how he wound up in a vineyard in Bordeaux,” Benjamin insisted.
    “The insurance company figured it was best to have him lie low for a while, at least until his problems in Nice died down. When the company invested in the vineyard, as they all do these days, they figured it was a good place to park him until he could take up where he left off. The assignment was supposed to be temporary. Their long-term goal was to have him take care of the big clients. And there’s no disputing that he excelled at that. He just got burned because he bedded the wrong woman.”
    Barbaroux went quiet. Benjamin couldn’t even speak. He was remembering how Rinetti had looked at his daughter, how he had so casually whispered in her ear.
    “You still there?” the inspector asked.
    Benjamin shook himself. “Given what you’ve just told me, it’s possible that his car was sabotaged by someone who had nothing to do with the vineyard. A person from his former life may have wanted to settle a score.”
    “You’re right. That is a possibility. At any rate, I contacted the police departments in Nice and nearby communities to see what they can find. And I’m looking into every employee and former employee at the château. How is your daughter doing?”
    “She’s better, Inspector,” Benjamin responded. “And she’s in a safe place.”
    Benjamin felt the anger surge again as he ended the call. “And to think that Margaux could have fallen into the scoundrel’s clutches,” he muttered.

8
    Benjamin was stunned by the amount of work Virgile had done in less than two hours. He congratulated him with an affectionate pat on the back.
    “I hope you at least took time to eat.”
    “I had a glass of Lillet blanc with olives—pitted, to save time.”
    “I didn’t think you were going to do everything on my list. I was joking.”
    “I knew that, boss. But better to get it out of the way. And to be honest, at least it’s almost cool here. I prefer doing this to inspecting the Léognan vineyards.”
    “They’re predicting ninety-seven degrees tomorrow. I’m with you. I’d rather be here than there.” Benjamin took out a handkerchief and mopped his forehead. Then he draped the hankie over the back of a chair to let it dry out.
    “It sounds like the heat wave is claiming victims all over France,” Virgile said. “Jacqueline told me that they found an old man dead in the building next door. His apartment didn’t have any air conditioning. He’d been gone for three days before a niece showed up to check on him. How many other elderly people are in the same boat? No air conditioning or forced to choose being staying cool and having food to eat. It’s terrible.”
    “If the weather doesn’t break soon, I’m afraid we’re headed for a national disaster.”
    “Still, it’s strange. There are countries that are hotter than ours where old people don’t die because of the temperature. Take Ethiopia, for example, and Mexico.”
    “That’s not exactly true, Virgile. Anyone who’s exposed to extreme heat is vulnerable. But people who live in very hot climates do adapt to an extent. Their blood concentrations of water and salt, for example, adjust to allow greater cooling. And the people in these regions have adjusted their lifestyles, doing their hard work during the coolest parts of the day, sleeping in the afternoon and staying awake long into the night. In this sense, the great