Read Online Mayhem in Margaux by Jean-Pierre Alaux, Noël Balen - Free Book Online Page B
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
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Ep-who-knows, and Pfaff-choom.”
“Make an effort, boy. Use those neurons of yours: that would be Rorschwihr, Epfig, and Pfaffenheim. And please don’t forget Westhoffen and Kaysersberg. Someday I will take you there, and you will see that it’s serious wine country.”
Benjamin and Virgile slipped into a world that was theirs alone whenever they discussed bottles, labels, vintages, and the infinite range of aromas and textures. There, all worries and disagreements vanished. Grievances dissolved in the heady vapors of wine. Virgile knew this perfectly well, and he was cleverly and delicately bringing about a reconciliation with his employer. The image of Margaux, which had interfered with their usual camaraderie, slowly faded. Soon they were discussing grape varieties, alluvial deposits, fermentation, and wines to age.
Despite the brutal sun bleaching the earth, the morning unfolded in almost unhoped-for serenity. Even though they were working hard in the heat, their minds were at peace. They were able to accomplish an impressive amount of work in just a few hours. Shortly after noon, however, Benjamin grew weary of walking the rows of vines and suggested that they take a break and have a quick lunch on the terrace of the Régent.
They drove back to the city. Before going to the restaurant, Benjamin wanted to stop at the office to check the mail, which usually included invoices, expert consultations, activity reports, advertisements, and thank-you notes. Benjamin made a quick inventory of the correspondence and noticed a small blue envelope. Jacqueline, who had left for lunch, had unsealed it, which was customary. Benjamin slipped his fingers into the envelope and pulled out a white card. On it, the sender had pasted letters cut out of a magazine. They formed a crude and possibly hastily assembled message:
DO YOU WANT TO NO
ABOUT THE CHATEAU?
GO SEA THE SHEPE
AND YOU WILL UNDERSTAND
“What does that mean?” Virgile asked, looking over his employer’s shoulder.
“First of all, it means the fellow who sent this can’t spell. Next, he knows us or has spotted us. And finally, he wants to tell us something and has a taste for mystery.”
“You’re going to enjoy this, aren’t you?”
“It is intriguing. And it’s the perfect opportunity to drive your Peugeot,” Benjamin said, taking the keys right out of Virgile’s hand.
“We’re not going to eat at the Régent, then?”
“A sandwich will have to do. Unless you prefer some pitted olives.”
10
Benjamin drove slowly as they headed out of town. He inhaled the aroma of the leather upholstery, listened to the engine purr, and gauged the responsiveness of the manual transmission. The memory of his grandfather Eugène was so palpable, it wouldn’t have surprised him if he had looked in the rearview mirror and seen him sitting in the backseat, his nose sticking out the open window, his mustache in the breeze. The scenery rolled past, and warm air and sun streamed in through the open sunroof.
“This is happiness, Virgile! But don’t forget your maintenance. I think the springs need a bit of grease.”
“I’ll have Stofa take care of it when we pick up your convertible. By the way, you could ask him to service your own car. I think it’s been awhile.”
“Excellent idea, my boy. I trust you’ll make that happen.”
“He’ll do a good job, as always.”
Benjamin tapped the horn lightly as he drove by a cyclist.
“You still haven’t told me exactly what we’ll be doing in the Médoc, boss.”
“Someone sent us an invitation to go see the sheep. So that’s where we’re headed.”
“Sheep at the Château Gayraud-Valrose. Excuse me, but that sounds like a joke. Apart from the Pauillac lamb that often ends up on your plate, I have never seen anything resembling a sheep in the Margaux appellation.”
“Of course not, Virgile. But whether this is a prank or a ploy, we have to see what the message means. Someone is giving us a lead. We need
“Make an effort, boy. Use those neurons of yours: that would be Rorschwihr, Epfig, and Pfaffenheim. And please don’t forget Westhoffen and Kaysersberg. Someday I will take you there, and you will see that it’s serious wine country.”
Benjamin and Virgile slipped into a world that was theirs alone whenever they discussed bottles, labels, vintages, and the infinite range of aromas and textures. There, all worries and disagreements vanished. Grievances dissolved in the heady vapors of wine. Virgile knew this perfectly well, and he was cleverly and delicately bringing about a reconciliation with his employer. The image of Margaux, which had interfered with their usual camaraderie, slowly faded. Soon they were discussing grape varieties, alluvial deposits, fermentation, and wines to age.
Despite the brutal sun bleaching the earth, the morning unfolded in almost unhoped-for serenity. Even though they were working hard in the heat, their minds were at peace. They were able to accomplish an impressive amount of work in just a few hours. Shortly after noon, however, Benjamin grew weary of walking the rows of vines and suggested that they take a break and have a quick lunch on the terrace of the Régent.
They drove back to the city. Before going to the restaurant, Benjamin wanted to stop at the office to check the mail, which usually included invoices, expert consultations, activity reports, advertisements, and thank-you notes. Benjamin made a quick inventory of the correspondence and noticed a small blue envelope. Jacqueline, who had left for lunch, had unsealed it, which was customary. Benjamin slipped his fingers into the envelope and pulled out a white card. On it, the sender had pasted letters cut out of a magazine. They formed a crude and possibly hastily assembled message:
DO YOU WANT TO NO
ABOUT THE CHATEAU?
GO SEA THE SHEPE
AND YOU WILL UNDERSTAND
“What does that mean?” Virgile asked, looking over his employer’s shoulder.
“First of all, it means the fellow who sent this can’t spell. Next, he knows us or has spotted us. And finally, he wants to tell us something and has a taste for mystery.”
“You’re going to enjoy this, aren’t you?”
“It is intriguing. And it’s the perfect opportunity to drive your Peugeot,” Benjamin said, taking the keys right out of Virgile’s hand.
“We’re not going to eat at the Régent, then?”
“A sandwich will have to do. Unless you prefer some pitted olives.”
10
Benjamin drove slowly as they headed out of town. He inhaled the aroma of the leather upholstery, listened to the engine purr, and gauged the responsiveness of the manual transmission. The memory of his grandfather Eugène was so palpable, it wouldn’t have surprised him if he had looked in the rearview mirror and seen him sitting in the backseat, his nose sticking out the open window, his mustache in the breeze. The scenery rolled past, and warm air and sun streamed in through the open sunroof.
“This is happiness, Virgile! But don’t forget your maintenance. I think the springs need a bit of grease.”
“I’ll have Stofa take care of it when we pick up your convertible. By the way, you could ask him to service your own car. I think it’s been awhile.”
“Excellent idea, my boy. I trust you’ll make that happen.”
“He’ll do a good job, as always.”
Benjamin tapped the horn lightly as he drove by a cyclist.
“You still haven’t told me exactly what we’ll be doing in the Médoc, boss.”
“Someone sent us an invitation to go see the sheep. So that’s where we’re headed.”
“Sheep at the Château Gayraud-Valrose. Excuse me, but that sounds like a joke. Apart from the Pauillac lamb that often ends up on your plate, I have never seen anything resembling a sheep in the Margaux appellation.”
“Of course not, Virgile. But whether this is a prank or a ploy, we have to see what the message means. Someone is giving us a lead. We need
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