Spilt Wine

2. The Gendarmes

"Sounds like 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 declining seats, they stood and asked Catherine questions about Murielle's routine and her habits. They then asked to see her room. It was obvious Murielle hadn't 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 make sense of it, the older one returned to the salon with us and took a seat. After a few more questions about Murielle, he started probing 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 editions 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 the hook in its box. 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 what he had done with the key."

"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 in the clinic in Dijon to check on our new baby." She put a hand on her bulge as she looked down. "There might be other things, but I think these were the big ones for him."

"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 bellowing. I didn't understand what he was saying – I was upstairs at the front. I ran down and out into the courtyard to see him dark red, holding his chest tightly, rocking back and forth ..."

She stopped and looked up. "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 ... Whatever, something wet."

"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.