Free Murder à la Carte by Susan Kiernan-Lewis Page B

do we know what we’re doing?”
    “Probably not.”
    A crashing sound came from the room upstairs directly above their heads.
    “Most assuredly not,” Grace said, sighing, as she moved away from her husband and bent to pick up the sponge that Taylor had dropped. Her head swam just a bit and she righted herself by touching the floor with a hand until the moment passed. Windsor began wadding up paper towels to sop up the worst of it.
    “Two follicles, huh?” he said, without looking up.
     She pointed the sponge at him. “Don’t even think about twins,” she said, and this time they didn’t laugh.
     
    2
    The grapes were nearly all picked now. One more morning should do it, and for that only half the usual pickers would show up. Today’s workers had departed an hour ago. Maggie stood in the late afternoon sun with Laurent and enjoyed the strong aroma of lavender and roasted chestnuts in the air. The paths between the vines were lightly stained with red where the too-ripe grapes had fallen and then been trodden.
    The Provence sky seemed higher and broader to Maggie than the Georgia or Florida skies she was used to. She had the sensation of standing on the edge of the world while the intense blueness of the sky reached down to the horizon.
    “Good harvest?” Maggie held Laurent’s hand as they walked. They’d taken to enjoying early evening walks around their house and the surrounding little wood. But because of the activity in the vineyard up to now, this was their first joint survey of the vines.
    Laurent nodded. “Not bad,” he said. "Pas mal." His eyes were also on the horizon as if calculating how many more hectares of land he might need to have an even bigger, more impressive harvest next year.
    “Hard part ahead, I guess,” she said, following his gaze.
    He looked down at her and smiled. “Best part, chérie, “ he said.
    “It means a lot to you, doesn’t it?” She dropped his hand and instead moved closer to him, snuggling under his arm as they walked. “That next year’s harvest is the best.”
    He kissed her on the top of her dark head.
    “But, you know, Laurent, anything can go wrong. If the weather’s bad, or the mistral rips up vines or―”
    “Maggie, Maggie,” Laurent said. “You are not to be worrying.”
    “Because it’s just the experience, right? That’s what’s important. Not the results. Right?” She looked up at him and then out to the stark, blackened vine stakes as they dotted the slowly sloping hillside.
    “ Bien sûr, ” he said, giving her shoulder a brief squeeze with his hand.
    They walked in silence to the end of the field and then turned to see their farmhouse. It looked very impressive from this distance, Maggie thought. Big and sturdy and wistful somehow. She turned and surveyed the vineyard and wondered where the cypress tree had been that Laurent’s uncle had taken down.
    “You are ready for the dinner tonight?” Laurent asked as he knelt to handle yet another grapeless vine.
    Maggie nodded absently. Two evenings of entertainment in two nights would normally have been grounds for a serious disagreement between them. But she so enjoyed Connor and Grace that she wasn’t looking at the evening as a chance to impress anyone or show off Laurent’s cooking or even worry about whether her guests would see dust-elephants where she thought she had just dusted. Besides, she didn’t feel she knew Windsor very well and this would give her a chance to get better acquainted. Most pleasantly of all, Connor had said that, regretfully, the lovely Lydie would not be able to attend.
    “I am thinking the Marceaus were un peu tense last night, didn’t you think so?” Laurent was still squatting in the dust, examining the vine he held in his hand.
    Maggie watched him closely. She enjoyed seeing his pleasure in their new adventure, even if the whole thing did make her a little uneasy. He stood up and shook loose a Gitane from a compact blue package. He had long ago