Authors: Rhys Bowen

Naughty In Nice (24 page)

BOOK: Naughty In Nice

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“I assure you we know nothing about Sir Toby Groper,” Vera said. “Only what we have overheard from our own terrace.”

“And what did you overhear?”

“Today, as I told you, we were in Nice all day, so we heard nothing. We were actually at police headquarters in Nice, if you need an alibi for us,” Coco said.

“And what were you doing at police headquarters?”

“A valuable necklace was stolen from us last night. We were attempting to aid the police in its recovery.”

This cheered the young gendarme no end. “Ah—a robbery took place last night. And today a man is found dead in his swimming pool. Perhaps a second robbery was planned and Sir Toby surprised the thieves, who hit him over the head and threw him into his pool.”

“The robbery took place at the casino on the pier,” Vera said.

“Ah.” The young gendarme looked around as if he were unsure what to do next. His gaze fell on Johnson. “This young man—is he the only servant in the house?”

The question was translated for Johnson. Coco in turn translated the answer for the policeman. “He says there is a cook, Marie, but that it is her half day off to visit her family. There is also a local woman who comes in every day to clean, but only in the mornings, and there are two gardeners and a chauffeur.”

“And where are these people now?”

“The gardeners do not live on the premises. I have the address at which they can be found, if you will wait. They usually start early then go home after lunch. And the chauffeur has a small apartment over the garage. I think he was also given the afternoon off, as Sir Toby planned to be on his yacht and this young man was given the car.”

“And what is your capacity in this household?” Johnson was asked.

“He is—he was Sir Toby’s manservant, valet,” Coco translated. “He also acted as secretary when necessary and helped Sir Toby with his correspondence.”

“Why was he not attending on his master, leaving him in the house alone?” the policeman asked.

“Sir Toby went off on his yacht about midday,” Johnson said, addressing the answer to Coco rather than the gendarme. “I was told to take his car and go into Nice, where I had various commissions to carry out. I had to send a telegram to England, to have his shoes resoled, to obtain more of his favorite cigars and to mail letters. He told me that I need not hurry back as he thought he might sail to Monte Carlo and probably dine there. Therefore I took the liberty of having a cup of coffee in a café and of strolling around, observing the people. This is my first trip abroad, so it’s all a novelty to me.”

“And you returned when?”

“A few moments ago, as I told you. The driveway was blocked by your car, so I went to
Madame
’s villa next door to find out what was wrong.”

As this question-and-answer session continued, I found my gaze drifting to the glass-topped table in which the queen’s snuffbox reposed. If only they would all go out to the pool, I might have a chance to lift the lid and take it. My heart was racing. This was not in my character, having been brought up with strong Scottish virtues and the Ten Commandments rammed down my throat by my nanny. But was it stealing to retrieve what had been stolen by someone else? Probably not. The point was that it would be seen as stealing if I were caught, and I wasn’t sure that the queen would want me to reveal her little scheme to the French police.

“It will be simple to verify your movements in town today,” the gendarme said, “if you will write for us the names of the establishments you visited.”

“Certainly.” Johnson went across to a bureau and opened it, taking out a sheet of paper. He wrote swiftly, then handed the paper to the policeman.

I edged closer to the table. They were watching Johnson. I eased the lid up a little. My hand slid inside—

“What is going on here?” a voice demanded in French, and to my horror Inspector Lafite stood behind me. “What are all these people doing at the scene of a possible crime?” His gaze swept the room, taking us all in. It fastened on me as I tried to withdraw my hand from the table. To my horror the lid had sagged shut and my hand was stuck. I stood there, giving the inspector an inane smile, hoping he wouldn’t notice that one of my hands was stuck in a table full of valuable objects.

“We are staying in the next villa,” Coco said, successfully diverting the inspector’s attention from me to her. “Sir Toby’s young manservant arrived on our doorstep in great distress, so naturally we came with him as interpreters, as he speaks no French.”

“And we did not want to see him bullied or intimidated by the French police,” Vera added. It was clear she had taken a strong dislike to the little inspector.

“These boys are gendarmes—country policemen,” the inspector said. “We town police are of the civility the most great. We do not bully,” Lafite said.

Vera grunted but said nothing. While this exchange had been going on, I lifted the lid and pulled my hand free, unfortunately without the snuffbox in it. The lid closed with a rather loud clack. The inspector spun around. “Sorry, I bumped into the table,” I said.

His eyes narrowed as he looked at me. “You are the young lady from whom the jewels were taken last night.”

“That is correct,” I said. “I am staying at the villa next door with these ladies.”

“Hmmm,” he said, his mind clearly trying to work out an involvement in a robbery and then a suspicious death. “Please do not leave until I have questioned you. Now, where is this body?”

“Still in the swimming pool, sir,” the young gendarme said, obviously in awe of Lafite. “I left my colleague to guard it. Nothing has been moved nor the body deranged.”

The inspector gave a curt nod and strode out to the terrace. We followed at a safe distance, although I wasn’t sure that I wanted to see the body at close range. As we neared the pool, I could see it still lying on the top step, half submerged.

“Good God, he looks like a pink hippopotamus,” Mummy’s clear voice rang out, echoing back from the cliffs around us. “How utterly revolting. I think I’ve seen enough. I’ll be back at the villa, making cocktails.” And she departed.

Inspector Lafite squatted down beside it, then looked up at us.

“He has been hit on the head,” he said. It came out like “’Ee ’as been ’eet on the ’ead.” It was rather an unnecessary statement, since at close range it was obvious Sir Toby’s skull had been smashed at the back with considerable force, leaving a horrid matted mess of blood and hair. Lafite turned to his men. “Telephone to my department in Nice. Tell them we need a team of men and a vehicle to transport the body. In the meantime, begin to search the premises for the murder weapon. The criminal may have thrown it down the cliff or hidden it in the shrubbery.”

The two men began picking their way around the perimeter of the pool. Lafite turned his attention back to us.

“Who discovered the body?” he asked us in French.

“Lady Georgiana did,” Vera said, stepping between me and the inspector in an effort to protect me, I suppose. “She arrived home to find nobody here, looked over the edge of the terrace and saw the body in the pool. She was just coming up to get help when we arrived home and she showed us the body. We called the police.”

“Why did none of the servants discover their master was dead?” the inspector asked in slow, heavy-accented English as he turned to glare at Johnson, who took a step back. “They could not have attended to him very diligently.”

“There were no servants in the house,” Coco said. “Their master was supposed to be on his yacht today. This young man was running errands for Sir Toby in town, using Sir Toby’s car. The cook had been given the afternoon off.”

“This is very strange,” Lafite said, looking from one face to the next as if we were the ones concealing something from him. “Sir Toby sets out on a yacht and yet is found dead in his own swimming pool. If he came back, where is now the yacht?”

“I can answer that,” Johnson said. “I saw it moored in the old port in Nice.”

“Then how did this Sir Toby arrive here if his car is in Nice, his yacht is in Nice? If he had come from his yacht, would his launch not be at the jetty, when I see it clearly tied to the buoy out there?”

“He could have taken a taxi, I suppose,” Vera suggested.

“Certainly, but why? He owns a car. He owns a yacht.”

“I have no idea,” Vera said. “We know nothing of this man. We did not mix with him socially.”

“But he was an English milord, like the rest of you, was he not?”

“He was a baronet,” Vera said, “but he was essentially a self-made man.”

“A what?” Lafite asked. “He made himself? He is God?”

“I mean he came from the lower classes. His family made a fortune in industry. Therefore he was not one of us and never would be.”

The inspector laughed. “You English. I shall never understand your snobbery.”

“Your own French aristocrats are just as bad,” Vera said.

“Even more snobbish.”

The inspector nodded as if he had to agree this was true. He stepped back into the house, looking around the room. “This man was very rich, I think. He had a lot of fine things,” he said. “Antiques, paintings. I believe I recognize a Matisse, no?”

“Van Gogh,” Vera said.

“Ah, yes, of course. They all look the same, don’t they? Me, I do not appreciate this ugly modern art, but I understand it is worth a lot of money,” Lafite said. “But these old things”—he ran his hand over a sideboard topped with some lovely silver—“they are very nice. Worth a lot to a thief. Like these silver candlesticks, for example.” He pointed at one of them. “Heavy silver. This murder was committed during a robbery, I assure you. And Lafite is rarely wrong. Sir Toby swims in his pool. The thief does not know anyone is home. Sir Toby surprises him, and the thief, he hits him over the head with something like this candlestick.”

He lifted his arm up triumphantly but his finger was somehow stuck in the candlestick. It came flying up with his hand. He looked at the dangling object in surprise, then scowled as we grinned. “They had narrow candles in those days,” he said and tried to shake it loose. The candlestick went flying across the room, struck the little glass-topped table and shattered the glass, which went flying everywhere.

“Sacre bleu,”
he muttered.

“I think you have rather disturbed the crime scene,” Vera said with a note of triumph in her voice. “Let’s hope you haven’t done any damage to the priceless contents of the table.”

Johnson gave a cry of horror and moved toward the table, but I got there first. The candlestick was now lying amid the shards of glass on top of the snuffboxes.

“I think you’re in luck,” I said, lifting it out carefully and handing it to Johnson, who put it back in its place with a look of disgust at Lafite. I was not going to let a perfect opportunity slip away. The snuffboxes lay there, exposed, covered in shards of glass. “The objects in here all seem to be metal, not porcelain or glass. No real damage done.” I started to pick out shards of glass and then the snuffboxes, one by one, dusting them off, then replacing them, with a show of great concern. The queen’s box was next. My fingers moved toward it, wishing I had a pocket in my skirt—

“Do not derange those things,” Lafite said sharply. “My men will take care of it. There may be telltale fingerprints. This manservant shall come with me on a tour of the villa and he may be able to see if anything has been taken.” He spun to face Johnson. “You weeell observe if any objects are missing,” he said.

“If it was a thief, he left without taking anything, as far as I can see,” Johnson said.

“He lost his nerve after he had killed Sir Toby,” Lafite commented in French. “Or perhaps he had only come for an especially valuable item. A jewel, perhaps?” And he looked at me, long and hard.

“Perhaps,” Coco said. “We already know there is a clever jewel thief in the area. Now let us hope your men will double their efforts to catch him and retrieve our missing necklace.”

“Of course there are many reasons for murder,” Lafite went on. “A rich powerful man makes enemies, does he not?” He turned back to Johnson. “Who wish harm to your master?”

It came out more like “’Oo weesh’arm.”

Johnson looked puzzled. “Wee charm?” he said. “What wee charm?”

Lafite scowled. “What is zee matter? Do you not spick your muzzer tong?”

“He wants to know who might have wished your master harm,” Vera said.

“I hadn’t been with him long,” Johnson said. “And I wasn’t privy to his business dealings.”

I was about to suggest that Sir Toby had mentioned a threat from a foreigner when I first arrived at his house, but I realized that would place me at the scene of the crime that morning. My feeling was that Sir Toby probably had upset quite a few people recently, including Olga and his wife. It wasn’t up to me to help sort out which of them did the dirty deed.

Snuffbox or no snuffbox, all I wanted to do was to be away from there.

“If you will excuse me, Inspector,” I said. “I’m not feeling well. The sight of that body—you don’t need us any longer, do you?”

BOOK: Naughty In Nice

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