Spilt Wine

2. The Gendarmes

"Sounds as though I'll have a larger audience for my story — that must be the gendarmes." Catherine nodded across the room, rose and hastened into the foyer toward the front doors.

Two uniformed men came in and, after declining our offer of seats, remained standing as they asked Catherine about Murielle's routine and habits. They then asked to see her room. It was immediately obvious that Murielle had not left for Louhans; her suitcase was on her bed, partly packed and surrounded by disarray. While the younger investigator remained in Murielle's room to examine the scene, the older one returned to the salon with us and took a seat. After a few more questions about Murielle, he began asking about the events leading to the discovery of the missing wine.

Catherine began recounting the highlights for him before he stopped her and said, "Les détails, s'il vous plaît ... The details, if you would. Everything leading to the discovery. It all matters."

She nodded. "Trois éditions ... Three days of Le Figaro were in the box when my husband and I returned from Paris yesterday afternoon. The kitchen door was unlocked when Louis tried to turn his key. We weren't concerned since there is almost no crime here and we often leave that door unlocked. We thought Murielle had simply followed habit when she left on Monday."

"Ce n'est pas une bonne idée," the gendarme said. "It is not a good idea. People come to these villages more now, for opportunity."

"Vous avez raison ... You're right, we've discussed this. We know we need to be more careful. So, anyway, after we had settled in, Louis said he must go top up the pièces in the cellar. The barrels are still losing a little bit to absorption and evaporation, and he refills them now every two weeks. 

He looked for the key on its hook in the cabinet. It wasn't there, and he admonished himself to be more careful with details. I suggested he may have put it on his desk again, but it wasn't there either. He remembered locking the door when he left the cellar with Monsieur Michaels, here." She pointed toward me. "Last week, Wednesday, I think it was when they tasted. He couldn't remember where he had put it."

"Oui, c'était mercredi ... Yes, it was Wednesday," I confirmed.

"How often does he misplace the key?" the gendarme asked.

"Not often, maybe two or three times a year." Catherine paused to think. "It's mainly when he's distracted by something."

"What would distract him last week?"

"He was excited to have David – Monsieur Michaels visiting, and I was at the clinic in Dijon for a check-up on our baby." She put a hand on her bulge as she looked down. "There may have been other things, but I think those were the main ones on his mind."

"So, did he find the key?"

"No, he spent a long time searching. He finally gave up and told me he was going to the tool shed to get the spare key he hides there. A few minutes later, I heard him shouting. I couldn't understand what he was saying – I was upstairs at the front of the house. I ran down and out into the courtyard to see him red-faced, holding his chest tightly, rocking back and forth ..."

She stopped, tried to clear her throat, and turning to me, said in a raspy voice, "I need some water, please, David. I'll pause until you're back."

I rose from the chair and asked, "Evian ou du robinet?"

"N'importe quel ... Either one — just something to drink."

"Thank you," Catherine said when I handed her the glass half a minute later. After taking a long drink, she continued, "I couldn't understand what it was about. First, I thought he had hurt himself. I really thought he was injured." She paused and shuddered.