Read Online Mayhem in Margaux by Jean-Pierre Alaux, Noël Balen - Free Book Online
Authors: Jean-Pierre Alaux, Noël Balen
Tags: France, amateur sleuth, cozy mystery, Food, whodunit, Gourmet, wine novel, wine, French culture, Bordeaux, gentleman detective, European fiction, European mysteries, illegal immigration, modern slavery, Margaux
Ads: Link
Benjamin sighed, lifting his slightly flushed face toward the inky sky studded with stars.
“The spicy merguez sausage, tabouleh, olives, and chilled rosé,” Virgile said. “I feel like I’ve been on an exotic vacation in the Middle East.”
“Don’t try to cajole me into agreeing to a vacation, Virgile,” the winemaker said, his voice a tinge thick. “I’m well aware that you need a break, but this is no time to take off.”
“That’s not what I meant, boss.”
“If you really want to see the ocean, I have an idea, my boy. You can come with me to Cap Ferret tonight. I’m a bit plastered, I admit, and I’d rather not drive. Give me a ride in your Peugeot 403.”
“Now? At this hour? I’m not exactly sober myself.”
“I’ve been watching you, Virgile. You haven’t kept up with me.”
Benjamin walked unsteadily toward the Peugeot, cracked open the door, and flopped into the backseat.
“Come on. Show me what this car of yours made of!”
He stretched out his legs, clasped his hands behind his neck, gave a blissful smile, and immediately fell asleep.
9
Could anyone be hungry enough to eat such an ugly fish? Thick dull-colored flesh, large flat body, fleshy lips that looked almost human. The grey triggerfish seemed to come straight from the imagination of an animated film whose aim was scaring children. Benjamin examined it for a moment, turning it over and evaluating it with a look of disgust. He decided to throw it back into the sea. The two little striped bass, a mullet, and some small fish that they had already caught would be enough to fry up.
Ludovic was quiet, fixed on the red and white floater on his line. Benjamin usually loved these calm interludes when he didn’t need to talk, when the landscape was still asleep, and everything seemed renewed. But today, between the rolling of the fishing boat, which made his stomach churn, and a throbbing headache—vestiges of the previous night—the winemaker felt wan and spent.
“You don’t look too good,” Ludovic said.
“To tell the truth, I feel like my brain’s sloshing around in the kelp. I got my cup filled a few too many times last night.”
“When I found you snoozing in the back of that vintage car this morning, I almost didn’t wake you up. But hey, you’ve been promising me this fishing trip for a long time, and I figured it would do you some good.”
“It was quite an evening,” Benjamin said. “Good people who loved talking, singing, and sharing their food and drink. And what a spread it was—a feast, really. They made me feel right at home.”
“So where’s the car come from?”
“Oh, that’s Virgile’s new vehicle, the reason behind the expedition that led us to the festivities.”
The two of them decided it was time to head back. They dismantled their fishing rods, hung up the lines, and started returning to shore. But it was slow going. The motor began to sputter and spit black plumes of smoke. By the time they reached La Vigne, the boat was moving in fits and starts. They had to restart the motor several times before they could tie up at the dock. Ludovic was upset and anxious to get the boat serviced as soon as possible. The middle of August was a bad time for a breakdown.
After stopping at the market near the lighthouse, they arrived at La Planquette with a bag of pastries and fresh baguettes. When Benjamin pushed open the garden gate, he could hear Margaux laughing on the terrace. He walked around the corner and found her sitting at the table with Virgile. The two were drinking coffee.
“Papa, you never told me about Virgile’s sense of humor. If he ever decides to quit working for you, he could have a future as a comic!”
“Is that so?” Benjamin grumbled, making no effort to conceal his irritation.
“Hello, Mr. Cooker. Did you sleep well?” Virgile asked, lowering his eyes.
“I’m wondering what was so hilarious. I could hear you laughing all the way from the jetty.”
“Oh, it’s a
“The spicy merguez sausage, tabouleh, olives, and chilled rosé,” Virgile said. “I feel like I’ve been on an exotic vacation in the Middle East.”
“Don’t try to cajole me into agreeing to a vacation, Virgile,” the winemaker said, his voice a tinge thick. “I’m well aware that you need a break, but this is no time to take off.”
“That’s not what I meant, boss.”
“If you really want to see the ocean, I have an idea, my boy. You can come with me to Cap Ferret tonight. I’m a bit plastered, I admit, and I’d rather not drive. Give me a ride in your Peugeot 403.”
“Now? At this hour? I’m not exactly sober myself.”
“I’ve been watching you, Virgile. You haven’t kept up with me.”
Benjamin walked unsteadily toward the Peugeot, cracked open the door, and flopped into the backseat.
“Come on. Show me what this car of yours made of!”
He stretched out his legs, clasped his hands behind his neck, gave a blissful smile, and immediately fell asleep.
9
Could anyone be hungry enough to eat such an ugly fish? Thick dull-colored flesh, large flat body, fleshy lips that looked almost human. The grey triggerfish seemed to come straight from the imagination of an animated film whose aim was scaring children. Benjamin examined it for a moment, turning it over and evaluating it with a look of disgust. He decided to throw it back into the sea. The two little striped bass, a mullet, and some small fish that they had already caught would be enough to fry up.
Ludovic was quiet, fixed on the red and white floater on his line. Benjamin usually loved these calm interludes when he didn’t need to talk, when the landscape was still asleep, and everything seemed renewed. But today, between the rolling of the fishing boat, which made his stomach churn, and a throbbing headache—vestiges of the previous night—the winemaker felt wan and spent.
“You don’t look too good,” Ludovic said.
“To tell the truth, I feel like my brain’s sloshing around in the kelp. I got my cup filled a few too many times last night.”
“When I found you snoozing in the back of that vintage car this morning, I almost didn’t wake you up. But hey, you’ve been promising me this fishing trip for a long time, and I figured it would do you some good.”
“It was quite an evening,” Benjamin said. “Good people who loved talking, singing, and sharing their food and drink. And what a spread it was—a feast, really. They made me feel right at home.”
“So where’s the car come from?”
“Oh, that’s Virgile’s new vehicle, the reason behind the expedition that led us to the festivities.”
The two of them decided it was time to head back. They dismantled their fishing rods, hung up the lines, and started returning to shore. But it was slow going. The motor began to sputter and spit black plumes of smoke. By the time they reached La Vigne, the boat was moving in fits and starts. They had to restart the motor several times before they could tie up at the dock. Ludovic was upset and anxious to get the boat serviced as soon as possible. The middle of August was a bad time for a breakdown.
After stopping at the market near the lighthouse, they arrived at La Planquette with a bag of pastries and fresh baguettes. When Benjamin pushed open the garden gate, he could hear Margaux laughing on the terrace. He walked around the corner and found her sitting at the table with Virgile. The two were drinking coffee.
“Papa, you never told me about Virgile’s sense of humor. If he ever decides to quit working for you, he could have a future as a comic!”
“Is that so?” Benjamin grumbled, making no effort to conceal his irritation.
“Hello, Mr. Cooker. Did you sleep well?” Virgile asked, lowering his eyes.
“I’m wondering what was so hilarious. I could hear you laughing all the way from the jetty.”
“Oh, it’s a
Similar Books
