Free Murder in Aix (The Maggie Newberry Mystery Series Book 5) by Susan Kiernan-Lewis Page A

them myself.”
    “The toxicology
report says the agaricus mushrooms
were found in his stomach in addition to other kind of mushrooms.”
    “But I didn’t put
them there!”
    “They said they
found traces of agaricus on your
clothes.”
    “Well, they would.
I come across all kinds of mushrooms when I forage. There’s bound to be spores
or whatnot on my shoes or my pants cuffs. But I don’t collect poisonous ones!
What about my kitchen? They haven’t found anything there, have they?”
    “Both your
kitchen and your car were open to the world for several hours after your
arrest. Anybody could’ve come in and planted poisonous mushrooms.”
    Julia stared at
Maggie with her mouth open. “Are you…are you telling me they found agaricus mushrooms in my kitchen?”
    Damn Roger and damn that stupid attorney! Were they not informing
her of anything?
    “No.” Maggie took
a long breath. “In the trunk of your car.”
    “Then I’m dead.” Julia
spoke simply. She turned and looked at the wall and blinked.
    “No, you’re not
dead. You didn’t kill him and someone is trying to make it look like you did.
Probably the same someone who did kill him.”
    Julia acted as if
she hadn’t heard. “I cannot believe this is happening to me.”
    “Julia, please
have a little faith. I’m not going to let whomever is doing this get away with
it. I promise you. Listen to me!” Maggie turned Julia’s face to her and looked
into her eyes. “Have a little faith in me .”
    The tears in Julia’s
eyes welled up again and Maggie saw the numbness begin to ebb away, revealing
the depth of her tortured feelings.
    “Help me,
Maggie,” she said, her eyes frantic and fearful. “Please help me.”
    “I will, Jules. I
promise.”
     
    An hour later,
Maggie pulled into the driveway of Domaine
St-Buvard . The rain had held off but the cool wind, a precursor to the
coming winter, whipped the dead leaves on her front porch in a whirling
maelstrom. The perimeter of the drive was lined with cars, and while the
harvest hadn’t officially begun, she knew Laurent was only hours—if
that—from making the decision of when to pick.
    Perfect timing, she thought with resignation, as usual .
It was still only late afternoon so she expected Laurent to be out in his
vineyard. She wondered for a moment if she should have swung by Danielle’s to
see if Zou-zou had been deposited there for the day. Danielle was childless,
and had been only too happy to act as stand-in Grandmère . Maggie double-checked her cellphone but there had been
no text from Laurent. Not that that was unusual. Laurent, although not exactly
anti-technology, was at the best resistant to it. Half the time he left his
cellphone behind at restaurants, or in taxicabs and public restrooms. He would
have at least called, she reasoned, if she was needed to collect the baby. That
just left Grace. Feeling a needle of guilt for having left her alone all day,
Maggie collected the packages from her market shopping in town—bread, to
be sure, and a large bag of macarons from Bechard, just because—and hurried into the mas .
    As soon as she
stepped across the threshold, she was struck by how quiet it was. Even little
Petit Four, usually so quick to greet her, was nowhere to be seen.
    She moved quickly
up the stairs and tapped on Grace’s bedroom door. Not hearing an answer, she
hesitated and then pushed the door open. Grace watched her solemnly from the
bed. Little Petit Four was snuggled up on the bed with her.
    “Hey, I didn’t
mean to wake you,” Maggie said. “But if you’re up for it, I’ve got a job for
Lucy and Ethel.” She came into the room and held up the bag of macarons .
    Grace eased
herself to a sitting position on the bed and smiled sleepily at her. She
reached out for the bag and Maggie handed it to her.
    “You not been up
yet?” Maggie asked cautiously. She went to the window to open the curtains but
Grace moaned.
    “No light yet,
darling,” she said, biting into one