Chapter Twenty-One
Twenty-One
The empty place setting that evening was a stark reminder of who was missing from the table. Instead of his usual elaborate tablescape, Baxter had laid a simple linen runner scattered with petals, with a single candle in the center.
Sylvie stared bleakly at the flame. “I can’t believe he’s gone.” She was wearing a black shift dress; the hem and capped sleeves trimmed with satin.
“I know.” Francesca picked up her water glass with an unsteady hand. “I keep expecting him to walk in.”
“Be a bit of a shock if he did!” Damian’s laugh died away almost before it began. It was replaced with Kaitlyn’s quiet crying.
“Shh.” Jade rubbed Kaitlyn’s back. “Try to stay calm. It’s not good for the baby.”
“I know, it’s just …” Kaitlyn held both her hands over her flat stomach and sobbed even louder.
“Sylvie will make sure you and the baby are provided for.” Jade turned her gaze on the older woman. “Won’t you?”
“Well, I—”
“It’s what your dad would have wanted.” Jade nudged Carter. “Isn’t it?”
Carter was backed into a corner. “I guess so.”
Throughout this exchange, Baxter had been watching Kaitlyn intently. Her expression didn’t waver. She was wasted on the beauty industry, he thought; she was a born actress. He served the appetizers, presenting Kaitlyn with a platter of thinly sliced watermelon in place of the carpaccio.
She was less than impressed. “Why haven’t I got what they’ve got?” She looked around the table, momentarily distracted from her grief.
“The recommendation is that pregnant women should avoid raw or undercooked meat, madam.” Baxter paused. “Forgive my impertinence, but I assumed you would prefer to follow guidelines.”
She flushed. “Of course. I’d never do anything to harm Alec’s child.” Her eyes flicked to Carter when she said this.
Carter didn’t look up, but his eyes narrowed. He muttered to Jade, “Other than take half my fucking inheritance.” It was perhaps louder than he’d intended, and there was a moment’s pause before the clink of flatware continued.
“Sylvie, darling,” Francesca said, “did the police say when the postmortem would be?”
“Several days, apparently. The chief of police said they are doing everything they can to locate the gang of thieves and bring them in.”
Baxter caught a movement out of the corner of his eye—a flash of fox-red hair, darting from the door to the sectional—and even though they had planned this, his pulse quickened.
Right now, Miriam was going through the guests’ bedrooms, and Red had been tasked with checking the women’s handbags and the pockets of the men’s jackets.
As Baxter watched, her slim arm snaked around the cushions toward Francesca’s bag.
“Red.” Damian’s laconic tone cut into Baxter’s thoughts, and he looked up in alarm, but Damian was tapping his wine glass. “If you’re not too busy,” he added sarcastically. Baxter exhaled.
“My apologies, sir.” As Baxter was pouring the Bordeaux, Francesca’s bag disappeared from sight.
He swallowed. This was all very much out of his comfort zone.
He served wine to each guest in turn, and by the time he returned to his starting position, Francesca’s bag was back on the arm of the sofa. Baxter had to admit: The girl was good.
Just as Baxter was starting to relax, Jade pushed back her chair. Baxter thought quickly. Miriam was ostensibly carrying out a turndown service in the guests’ rooms, but if she were to be caught going through luggage …
It didn’t bear thinking about. He stepped smoothly toward Jade. “May I get something for you, madam?”
“I’m just popping back to my room.”
“Please, allow me.”
Jade gave an amused smile. “I know you’re a man of many talents, Baxter, but I don’t think you can take a piss for me.” Damian burst out laughing, and even Kaitlyn gave a weak smile.
“I do apologize.” Baxter began noisily clearing plates, hoping Miriam would hear the clatter and be on her guard.
“Steady on, old chap!” Damian shook his head at the others. “I think the butler’s been on the cocktails!”
As Baxter took Francesca’s plate, she touched his sleeve gently. “It must have been a dreadful experience for you, pulling Alec’s body from the water like that.”
“A dreadful experience for everyone,” Baxter demurred.
He looked around the table, seeking out the tells.
At least one person at the table had not been shocked by the discovery of Alec Prescott in the swimming pool.
But who? Kaitlyn’s tears could be fueled by guilt rather than grief, and Sylvie’s performative mourning was a little disingenuous given the state of her relationship with Alec when he’d been alive.
Carter was in shock, and Francesca and Jade were trying to keep the peace.
Only Damian seemed entirely unmoved by the death of his friend and business partner.
As Baxter carried the plates to the console table he was using as a clearing station, he glanced behind the sectional.
Red was sitting with her legs crossed, like a misplaced gnome.
She mouthed something at him—Burst? Pass?
—then gestured vigorously toward the table.
Baxter followed her gaze. Jade had left her clutch next to her plate.
Purse! He glanced toward the door. How long did he have?
He moved unobtrusively around the table, topping up water glasses and pouring more wine for Damian, who had already finished his first glass.
“The sunset is going to be spectacular this evening,” Baxter said.
As the guests turned to look out of the window, he picked up Jade’s napkin, concealing the clutch beneath it.
“Really?” Sylvie said, surprised. “It looks rather ordinary to me.”
Baxter took the long way to the console table, walking behind the sectional and dropping the clutch into Red’s outstretched hands without missing a step.
As he did so, he heard footsteps on the stairs.
He crossed the room swiftly, meeting Jade at the door.
“Did you find everything you needed, madam?”
She raised an eyebrow. “Did I … find the loo?”
“The floor here is Spanish marble.” Baxter said in desperation. “The owner had it imported especially—there’s no other property with this flooring on the Riviera.”
“Baxter, I don’t mean to be rude, but you’re being very odd today. Are you all right?”
“You’re very kind to inquire, madam. I’m very well.
” Baxter did not feel well. In fact, as Jade sidestepped him and walked toward the table, he felt as though he might be at imminent risk of a stroke, his pulse hammering in his temples as though the blood might burst right through his ears. When Jade found her bag missing, she’d—
“Er, Baxter?”
“Yes, madam.” Baxter took a deep breath and turned around.
“I seem to be missing my napkin.” Jade pulled out her chair and sat down. The small clutch was back on the table. How on earth had Red managed that?
“I’ll get you one right away,” he said, wondering if his voice sounded as high and tight as it felt.
“Watch your step if you go to your rooms,” Jade said to the others. “The housekeeper’s mopping the stairs.”
“Surely that sort of cleaning could take place when everyone’s out,” Sylvie said. “Or when we’re asleep.”
Baxter marveled at the casual assumption that Villa Sérénité’s domestic staff might work overnight, like some kind of magical elves. “I believe there was a small spillage,” he said quickly, and Sylvie rolled her eyes as though that too was unacceptable.
His left arm laden with plates and flatware, Baxter found Miriam in the hall, pushing a mop bucket around. He felt, rather than saw, a shadow down the stairs behind him, and turned to see Red. “Anything?” he whispered.
“Oh yes.” Red’s eyes shone.
“Me too,” Miriam said in a low voice.
Baxter matched her tone. “Kitchen. Now.”
“Another few minutes for the entrées,” Thierry said when Baxter and the two women burst into the kitchen.
“That’s fine.” Baxter turned to Miriam and Red. “What have you got?”
Miriam slipped a small packet from her apron pocket. “Sleeping pills. In Damian’s nightstand. Also a tube of hemorrhoid cream.” She wrinkled her nose. “The murderer could have used the pills to drug Alec, in case the sleeping gas wasn’t enough.”
Baxter caught something cross Red’s face, as though she were holding back information.
He thought about the glint of binoculars he’d seen in the hills, and wondered again if he’d been wrong to bring this girl into Villa Sérénité.
“Alec went straight to bed when the taxi dropped him off,” he said, watching Red carefully.
“The murderer could have spiked the water in his room.”
“Miriam refreshes the carafes each evening.” Thierry turned to her. “What time did you do it yesterday?”
She tutted, seemingly irritated by his contribution. “Around five, I suppose.”
“So someone could have gone to his room between five p.m. and …” Red looked at Baxter. There was no trace, now, of whatever he had glimpsed a moment ago. “What time did he get back from Cannes?”
“About seven, seven thirty. He was rolling drunk and went straight to his room.”
“Where were the other guests during that time?”
Baxter tried to remember. “Jade and Carter were by the pool, the others were mostly indoors. Kaitlyn didn’t leave her room.”
“As far as you know.” Red looked at Miriam. “What else did you get?”
Miriam gave an excitable smile. She pulled a crumpled piece of paper from her apron and smoothed it onto the table. It was a printed document, with corrections marked in the margins in red pen. The title read, “The last will and testament of Alec Ryan Prescott.”
Baxter scanned the contents. “This updates Alec’s will to leave the majority of his estate to Kaitlyn and her ‘unborn child.’” He looked up. “I’m surprised the police didn’t find this when they searched Alec’s room.”
“They did not find it,” Miriam said, “because it was not in Alec’s room.” She paused, delivering her gossip with salacious glee. “It was in Sylvie’s room. Screwed up in the bin.”
Red’s mouth opened. “She’s a piece of work!”
“Either she was set to benefit from the original will,” Baxter said, “or she was protecting Carter’s inheritance.”
“Could Sylvie and Damian have been working together?” Thierry looked over Baxter’s shoulder at the draft will. “Or Sylvie and Carter?”
“She could easily have stolen a couple of sleeping pills from Damian,” Baxter said. “She was in the room trying on clothes with Francesca yesterday.” He looked at Red. “Did you find anything in Sylvie’s bag?”
“No.” Red took out her phone and opened the Photos app. “But I found something in Jade’s.”
“How did you get it back on the table without anyone seeing?” Baxter asked, momentarily distracted.
“You’re good at your job,” Red said smugly, “I’m good at mine.”
“We must be careful,” Miriam said. “I was searching Sylvie’s room when Jade came. She almost caught me. I think she is suspicious.”
The photograph was of a handwritten note, the paper torn from a spiral-bound notebook.
I imagine you’d prefer Carter didn’t know his hotshot girlfriend did lap dances on the side, it read. How about I keep your grubby little secret, and you give me a private performance?
“Gross!” Red said.
Baxter saw his own revulsion mirrored on the others’ faces. “So Alec and Jade had met before,” he said. “And he was threatening to expose her.”
The weight of what they had learned settled between them. It seemed it wasn’t simply a question of who had a motive to kill Alec Prescott, but who got there first.