Mayhem in Margaux (10 page)
Authors: Jean-Pierre Alaux,Noël Balen
Tags: #Amateur Sleuth, #cozy mystery, #whodunit, #wine novel, #France, #Bordeaux, #wine, #illegal immigration, #modern slavery, #Food, #gentleman detective, #French culture, #European fiction, #European mysteries, #gourmet, #Margaux
20
Margaux rose from her armchair, refusing her father’s help. Leaning on her crutches, she stared into his eyes.
“Take me there!”
They settled into the convertible and took the road all the way to the tip of the Médoc. Margaux quickly glanced at the side-view mirror, where the reassuring image of Grangebelle was disappearing. Benjamin was silent. She would leave for New York in a few days, and he probably wouldn’t see her again until the following summer, unless she decided to come for Christmas or there was an unexpected business trip. The telephone would be the only way they would talk. Once a week, according to the ritual from which they never deviated but which was becoming increasingly difficult to bear. The distance was beginning to weigh on him. Even if he acquiesced to her wishes and started using Skype, it wasn’t enough.
They climbed aboard the ferry at Verdon-sur-Mer and followed the silty waters of the Gironde, finally reaching the stormy waves of the ocean. The heat wave had finally broken. Margaux held out her face to the sea spray, eyes closed. Benjamin knew she was waiting for the fleeting and intense moment when she would open her eyes again and see it: the silhouette emerging from the waves, colossal and stately. The Cordouan lighthouse, a surreal stone apparition, was always her reward, the promise always kept. Not a year would go by that Benjamin did not make this pilgrimage with his daughter. They would not miss this outing, which was theirs alone, for anything in the world.
The ferry left them on the sandbar, which, at low tide, allowed one to walk the rest of the way to this Versailles of the seas, a column of light erected to the glory of a king and all the sea gods. Some considered this the most beautiful lighthouse in the world.
Benjamin was desperate to help Margaux as she slowly navigated the ground with her crutches, but she waved him off with a flick of her hand. Cordouan had to be earned. Finally, at the foot of the circular base, she caught her breath and then climbed the first steps that took them to the elaborate main entrance, flanked by columns and topped with a triangular pediment. Benjamin could see Margaux casting a worried look toward the staircase leading to the other floors. Then, with a determined look, she embarked on the ascent. Benjamin trudged behind, ready to catch her if she fell backward. Margaux made few stops, reserving the pleasure of visiting the staterooms on the way back down. The climb was long, tiresome, slow, and painful for his daughter, but when they reached the top, Benjamin could see the thrill on her face as she gazed at the rumbling ocean, both threatening and mysterious.
“I’ll never get tired of this, Papa. I hate the thought of leaving the world one day and never seeing this wonder again.”
“I don’t like it when you talk that way,” Benjamin mumbled. “We must live each moment as if we were eternal.”
“I was afraid we wouldn’t be able to come here this year. It’s probably what I would have missed the most.”
“A summer without Cordouan? I can’t even imagine it,” Benjamin said. “And yet it almost didn’t happen. You gave us quite a scare.”
“But don’t forget I’m a little bit American now. And over there, everything has a happy ending.”
“Once your leg has healed completely, our little family can have that happy ending. We were supposed to have a quiet, uneventful visit, but we were pushed into a drama that others had written without knowing that we would be key characters. There’s never any telling where God’s will leads us.”
“That’s an interesting way to look at it, Papa.”
“I sincerely believe that the author, Mr. Sarrazin, didn’t count on having us in his play, and he was the first to be surprised. Now he has all the time in the world to think about it.”
Margaux snuggled against her father for warmth.
“Where do you get this obsession to snoop around and find answers?” she whispered.
“I don’t know. It’s not so much an obsession. I’m just curious by nature.”
“Have you always been like that?”
“I think so, yes. In fact, it’s because of you that I developed this trait.”
“Because of me? How’s that?”
“Thanks to you, rather. One day, when you were about five or six, you asked me a question. I couldn’t give you an answer, and I couldn’t bear the look of disappointment on your face.”
“Do you remember what that question was?”
“You asked me how pebbles got into your shoes when you had no holes in them.”
Margaux smiled. “I don’t have any memory of that. I can understand how you’d have a hard time explaining such a thing. And do you have the answer now?”
“Frankly, I don’t have a one-size-fits-all answer. A pebble can make its way into a shoe in any number of ways. To get a definitive answer, you have to replicate what happened before the pebble invaded the shoe; the way you put the shoe on, whether the lace was tied correctly, the kind of terrain you were walking on, whether the leather was soft and yawned a bit, whether the shoe was the right size, whether you were just walking, or running and walking, or jumping and walking… There’s a whole range of factors.”
They made their way back down with heavy steps. It wrenched Benjamin’s heart each time they left the lighthouse and the majestic panorama of the rolling sea. It meant that his daughter’s visit would soon end. They stopped at the chapel whose twin windows let a golden light filter in. Columns crowned with Corinthian capitals reached up to the entablature. They bowed before Notre-Dame de Cordouan, and Margaux lit a candle. Benjamin watched as she gazed at the lavish bays and the royal coats of arms framed by clusters of grapes.
“Do you know if people get married in the lighthouse chapel?”
“I don’t think so. I’ve only heard of two or three celebrations, but just for the lighthouse keepers.”
“Too bad,” said Margaux, a wistful look on her face.
Benjamin felt his muscles stiffen. Please, he prayed, don’t let it happen until she’s found the one who deserves her.
“Why? Do you have plans along those lines?”
“Who knows? I will have to think about it someday.”
“You still have lots of time.”
“I don’t think I’ll get married in the United States. I know I’ve talked about staying there, but I’d rather make my life with someone who shares my culture, my beliefs, and my way of life.”
“Someone from Bordeaux?”
“Why not?”
“Or perhaps someone from Bergerac?” Benjamin teased without expecting a response. “Friendship between a man and a woman ‘is either virgin love or new love.’ I’ve always liked that quote.”
“Would you stop with your quotations? It’s annoying. Who said that anyway? I don’t know how you remember all those things or how you manage to conjure them up at any given time or place.”
“You should go back and read Jules Barbey d’Aurevilly instead of that gloomy crime fiction of yours.”
“I’ll read what I want, when I want, and where I want.”
Benjamin smiled thinking how true to her namesake she was, and like a wine, he must allow her to be herself. They continued walking down the stairs, making sure his daughter had each step. At the foot of the lighthouse, he wrapped his raincoat around Margaux to protect her against the west wind. He held onto her as they walked the length of the sandbar to the ferry that would take them back to land.
“That was brave of you to climb to the top and back down on your crutches. I confess that I wondered if you would make it, but I should have known better. Once you’ve made your mind up, there’s no changing it.”
“That’s true. I counted the steps, if only so I could tell the story after I’ve ditched these crutches. There are exactly three hundred and one of them.”
“I’m not sure about that,” Benjamin said.
“Three hundred and one, I’m telling you. You can go check if that makes you happy.”
“To be precise, there are three hundred and twenty-six. You forgot the twenty-five steps you have to climb to get to the base of the lighthouse. You counted from the big stone stairway.”
“Argh! Why do you always have to have to be right?”
“Because I’m more thick-headed than you are, my child.”
Margaux let her crutches drop and stood on one foot while she put her arms around her father’s neck and kissed him on the cheek. Benjamin held on tight to keep her from losing her balance.
“I love you too much, you stubborn old mule. And if that makes you happy, I’m glad to let you have the last word.”
Benjamin would have given up a lifetime of last words if it meant keeping her from flying off to the other side of the ocean again. But that wasn’t going to happen. So he sighed and treasured this moment, when his little girl was once again tucked in his protective arms.
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The Winemaker Detective Series
A total epicurean immersion in French countryside and gourmet attitude with two expert winemakers turned amateur sleuths gumshoeing around wine country. The following titles are currently available in English.
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Grand Cru Heist
After Benjamin Cooker’s world gets turned upside down one night in Paris, he retreats to the region around Tours to recover. There, he and his assistant Virgile turn PI to solve two murders and very particular heist. Who stole those bottles of grand cru classé?
Nightmare in Burgundy
The Winemaker Detective leaves his native Bordeaux for a dream wine tasting trip to Burgundy that turns into a troubling nightmare when he stumbles upon a mystery revolving around messages from another era. What do they mean? What dark secrets from the deep past are haunting the Clos de Vougeot?
Deadly Tasting
In a new Winemaker Detective adventure, a serial killer stalks Bordeaux. To understand the wine-related symbolism, the local police call on the famous wine critic Benjamin Cooker. The investigation leads them to the dark hours of France’s history, as the mystery thickens among the once-peaceful vineyards of Pomerol.
Cognac Conspiracies
The heirs to one of the oldest Cognac estates in France face a hostile takeover by foreign investors. Renowned wine expert Benjamin Cooker is called in to audit the books. In what he thought was a sleepy provincial town, he and his assistant Virgile have their loyalties tested.
About the Authors
Noël Balen (left) and Jean-Pierre Alaux (right).
(©David Nakache)
Jean-Pierre Alaux
and
Noël Balen
came up with the Winemaker Detective over a glass of wine, of course. Jean-Pierre Alaux is a magazine, radio, and television journalist when he is not writing novels in southwestern France. He is a genuine wine and food lover, and won the Antonin Carême prize for his cookbook
La Truffe sur le Soufflé
, which he wrote with the chef Alexis Pélissou. He is the grandson of a winemaker and exhibits a real passion for wine and winemaking. For him, there is no greater common denominator than wine. Coauthor of the series Noël Balen lives in Paris, where he shares his time between writing, making records, and lecturing on music. He plays bass, is a music critic, and has authored a number of books about musicians, in addition to his novel and short-story writing.
About the Translator
Sally Pane studied French at State University of New York Oswego and the Sorbonne before receiving her master’s degree in French literature from the University of Colorado, where she wrote
Camus and the Americas: A Thematic Analysis of Three Works Based on His Journaux de Voyage
. Her career includes more than twenty years of translating and teaching French and Italian at Berlitz and at University of Colorado Boulder. She has translated a number of titles in the Winemaker Detective series. In addition to her passion for French, she has studied Italian. She lives in Boulder, Colorado, with her husband.
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