Foul Play in Vouvray Read online

  Praise for the series

  “The perfect mystery to read with a glass of vino in hand.”

  —Shelf Awareness, starred review

  “Light and enjoyable… If you feel like taking an armchair tour of France, they hit just the right spot.”

  —Mystery Scene Magazine

  “Masterful.”

  —Star Tribune

  “Beautifully done.”

  —Bookloons

  “Decadent, delicious, and delightful, the Winemaker Detective series blends an immersion in French countryside, winemaking, and gourmet attitude with mystery and intrigue.”

  —Wine Industry Network Advisor

  “A fun and informative take on the cozy crime mystery, French style.”

  —Eurocrime

  “It is easy to see why this series has a following. The descriptive language is captivating... crackling, interesting dialogue, and persona.”

  —Foreword Reviews

  “The authors of the Winemaker Detective series hit that mark each and every time.”

  —Student of Opinions

  “Francophiles, history buffs, mystery fans, oenophiles will want to add the entire series to their reading shelf.”

  —The Discerning Reader

  “Intrigue and plenty of good eating and drinking... will whet appetites of fans of both Iron Chef and Murder, She Wrote.”

  —Booklist

  “One of my favorite series to turn to when I’m looking for something cozy and fun!”

  —Back to Books

  “Wine lovers and book lovers, for a perfect break in the shadows of your garden or under the sun on the beach, get a glass of wine, and enjoy this cozy mystery. Even your gray cells will enjoy!”

  —Library Cat

  “Recommended for those who like the journey, with good food and wine, as much as the destination.”

  —Writing About Books

  “The reader is given a fascinating look into the goings on in the place the story is set and at the people who live there, not to mention all the wonderful food and drinks.”

  —The Book Girl’s Book Blog

  “A quick, entertaining read. It reminds me a bit of a good old English Murder Mystery such as anything by Agatha Christie.”

  —New Paper Adventures

  “I love good mysteries. I love good wine. So imagine my joy at finding a great mystery about wine, and winemaking, and the whole culture of that fascinating world.”

  —William Martin, New York Times bestselling author

  “It is best consumed slightly chilled, and never alone. You will be intrigued by its mystery, and surprised by its finish, and it will stay with you for a very long time.”

  —Peter May

  The Winemaker Detective Series

  Treachery in Bordeaux

  Grand Cru Heist

  Nightmare in Burgundy

  Deadly Tasting

  Cognac Conspiracies

  Mayhem in Margaux

  Flambé in Armagnac

  Montmartre Mysteries

  Backstabbing in Beaujolais

  Late Harvest Havoc

  Tainted Tokay

  Red-Handed in Romanée-Conti

  Requiem in Yquem

  www.lefrenchbook.com/winemaker-detective-series/

  Want to read more for free?

  Read your way to France

  Get your discovery pack:

  www.lefrenchbook.com/read-your-way-to-france

  Foul Play

  in

  Vouvray

  A Winemaker Detective Mystery

  Jean-Pierre Alaux & Noël Balen

  Translated and adapted by

  Sally Pane and Amy Richards

  Copyright information

  All rights reserved: no part of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying or otherwise, without the prior permission of the publisher.

  First published in France as

  Boire et déboires en Val de Loire

  by Jean-Pierre Alaux and Noël Balen

  World copyright ©Librairie Arthème Fayard, 2006

  English adaptation copyright ©2018 Le French Book

  First published in English in 2018

  by Le French Book, Inc., New York

  www.lefrenchbook.com

  Translation: Sally Pane

  Adaptation: Sally Pane, Amy Richards, Anne Trager

  Translation editor: Amy Richards

  Cover design: Le French Book

  ISBNs:

  Trade paperback: 9781943998135

  E-book: 97819439981128

  This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

  It is well to remember

  that there are five reasons for drinking:

  the arrival of a friend,

  one’s present or future thirst,

  the excellence of the wine,

  or any other reason.

  — Latin proverb

  1

  “Cut!”

  The cameramen, lighting technicians, boom operator, grips, and cast stood at attention, awaiting the director’s next order.

  David Navarre took his eyes off Simone when he heard muttering in a corner of the soundstage. The actor searched for the unruly crew member and found him, just as he was leaning into another technician and opening his mouth again.

  “Would the pudgy little martinet get on with it!” The crew member’s voice was hushed but loud enough to draw snickers from the handful of people nearby.

  David held his breath, hoping Max Armond hadn’t heard. The atmosphere was strained already.

  He hadn’t. Armond rose from his chair and approached Simone, who, holding a rumpled silk sheet over her bare breasts, had pulled herself upright on the daybed. “Finally, you gave me something worth a hard-on,” he said, running his stubby fingers through his greasy thinning hair. “I was beginning to wonder whether you had it in you.” He grunted and started walking away. “Break for lunch!”

  Simone, still clutching the sheet, reached for a robe and wrapped it around herself. Only her shaking hands and pursed lips betrayed her. She locked eyes with David as she got up. Then she turned on her heel and left the soundstage.

  The scene had been grueling. Armond’s demands were fanatical. The director, true to his reputation, had bullied Simone mercilessly. “Get your panties out of their little knot and loosen up! I need a bitch, not a priss! Can you do it or not?”

  David had been sorely tempted to intervene. But Simone, his twenty-two-year-old lover, would have to make her own way if she wanted to get to the top and stay there.

  David gave the head camera operator a nod and escaped to his trailer. His status had secured him a haven the size of small home, with a full bathroom, spacious bedroom, paneled wardrobe area, lounge with leather seating, multiple flat screens, fully-stocked bar, and fresh flowers daily. The producer had taken pains to rent it after receiving the actor’s list of demands.

  A cinematic giant, David Navarre was an indulged man. But he was also affable and approachable. He always had a pleasant word for the makeup artist, a pat on the back for the technicians, a complicit wink for the lighting designer, and a generosity of spirit for novice actors who were nervous about going face-to-face with him.

  He stretched out on his leather sofa and closed his eyes, his cell phone on his chest. As he had expected, the phone pinged.

  It was Simone, texting from her trailer: “What a prick.”

  “Yeah, baby,” he tapped back. “But you nailed it.”

  “Think so?”

  “Yeah, I do.”

  “What about that last line? Did I sound to
o sultry?”

  “How could you sound too sultry? It was perfect, just like Armond said. Now get some rest. We’ve got to go back out there.”

  David put the phone back on his chest and closed his eyes again. Simone was handling herself admirably, despite Armond’s tirades. The famed director was a man who pushed his stars to their limit. He also enjoyed feeling up the young women who were eager to work with him. That would get him in trouble someday. The Time’s Up and Me Too movements were grabbing the headlines in the United States, and now they were in the news in France, as well. A sexual-harassment hotline had been set up at the Cannes Film Festival. The festival’s tote bags contained fliers warning that such misconduct could lead to fines and even imprisonment. There had even been a rally on the red carpet.

  Armond’s hour of reckoning would come. But not today. David got up and poured himself a drink. Later, he’d promise Simone a trip to Dior when filming was wrapped up.

  Some gossips claimed that his lover owed her first major roles to the art of selective sex. Her previous boyfriends included a fifty-year-old Italian producer, a former Brazilian Formula One racer, a Golden-Globe-winning Hollywood director, and the vice president of a television network.

  Her relatively recent romance with David had provided the celebrity websites and tabloids with multiple photographs, while their twenty-eight-year age difference had added fuel to speculation that Simone was a user.

  Most certainly, she was drawn to mature, powerful, and wealthy men who offered security and experience. No one, however, knew her the way he did. Despite Simone’s proud and vivacious exterior, she questioned her looks and talent and seemed compulsive about proving herself.

  It was this uncertainty that brought out David’s protective instincts and gnawed at him at the same time. He pretended to ignore her penchant for flirting—an attempt to show she could captivate any man of her choosing, even as she bristled at being taken for just another hot starlet. But he hated it. David, who had seduced and left more women than he cared to count, was smitten. And for the first time in his life, he himself was feeling insecure. Did Simone love him, or would she drop him as soon as she didn’t need him anymore?

  He was ruminating on this when his cell phone rang. He looked at the screen and answered.

  “Well, well! What a surprise! Mr. Cooker, the master winemaker himself! And to what do I owe this unexpected call? I had given up hope. I’ve been waiting for ages for you to come to Touraine… I know. I won’t hold it against you. You’re very busy, I know… I know… An American production company wants to do a documentary on you? Ah, I suspected you wouldn’t be coming just to see me. Be careful, though. Don’t give away too much about how you work. Remember Mondovino—that fucking movie, clever, very clever, realistic and misleading at the same time, very negative… The camera can screw you. I know what I’m talking about. Not that I need to tell you this, but watch out with the Americans. They can be cagey.”

  The actor reached for his bottle of whiskey but thought better of it. He had to be back on set soon.

  “Of course!” he said, nodding. “Uh-huh… Listen, it’s simple. While they’re filming this documentary, you’ll have a little free time, correct? If you could look at the parcel I told you about, I’d be in your debt. I want to get that land back in shape. They tell me it hasn’t been plowed for decades. Can you believe it? And then I’d like you to help me with my wine. I’ll never be able to launch my vintage without your advice and support. When exactly do you get here? Saturday? Perfect. I’m giving a little party for some friends at the château. Will you come?”

  Another silence. David changed his mind and poured himself a drink. He had to face Armond again.

  “Listen, Benjamin, I know it’s not your thing, but I insist. It will be very nice, you’ll see. Of course, you can bring a guest. Bring more than one. I insist!”

  2

  Under a light early-afternoon rain, Benjamin Cooker and his assistant, Virgile Lanssien, left the banks of the Garonne River in Bordeaux. A last-minute consultation at the Cooker & Co. offices on the Allées de Tourny and a deluge of test results in the lab had delayed their planned mid-morning departure. Finally free, Benjamin, France’s preeminent authority on wine, sloughed off his tension as he slipped behind the wheel of his Mercedes. He was looking forward to this getaway.

  The sky had cleared by the time they got to Poitiers, and a warm spring sun accompanied them all the way to Touraine. They drove along the Loire River, following its slow, somewhat somnolent course. After going through Amboise, they turned right, onto a narrow ribbon of blacktop. Château de Pray, with its twin towers and clean white shutters, rose up before them, rooted firmly on a hillside of verdant terraces. A smiling staff member, whom Benjamin had met during a previous stay, was waiting on the steps.

  Whenever Benjamin came to the Loire Valley, he had the luxury of choice. There was the graceful and charming Château de la Tortinière, near Montbazen. It was run by Anne Olivereau and her husband, Xavier, fourth-generation hoteliers. The mansion, with its expansive lawn, was a place whose peace and tranquility Benjamin appreciated. In fact, he had had a lengthy stay there once, when he was recovering from a mugging in Paris.

  On the other hand, he found it hard to resist the imposing Château de Pray, formerly run by the radiant Graziella Laurenty and her husband, Ludovic, one of the region’s most creative chefs. The Michelin-starred restaurant was now headed by Frederic Brisset, who was known for cuisine that was balanced, flavorful, and executed with finesse. Benjamin admired his infusions, as well as his seafood dishes, almost all of which showcased produce sourced from markets in Amboise and Tours.

  Benjamin and Virgile climbed out of the convertible and stretched in the sunlight. Virgile let out a loud yawn.

  Benjamin frowned before beaming at the staff member, Agathe, who was crossing the courtyard to greet them. “Let’s not look like we’re bored before we even say hello,” he grumbled.

  “Sorry, boss. Couldn’t help it. Busy morning.”

  “And probably an equally busy night before that,” Benjamin muttered.

  Reaching them, Agathe extended her hand. “Gentlemen, you both look tired.”

  “Yes, I’m afraid we are,” Benjamin said. “It’s not a long drive, but we had a hectic morning. I’m happy we’re finally here. Have you met my assistant? Actually, calling Virgile an assistant doesn’t do him justice. He’s my indispensable right-hand man.”

  “Indispensable? Now that’s a supreme compliment.”

  “It was Sir Robert Baden-Powell who said, ‘If you make yourself indispensable to your employer, he’s not going to part with you in a hurry.’”

  Agathe turned to Virgile. “Given the esteem Mr. Cooker holds you in, I look forward to getting to know you better.”

  Benjamin cleared his throat, surreptitiously warning Virgile. This wasn’t the time for any of his flirting.

  Virgile gave him an innocent look. “Who, me?” he mouthed silently.

  “Three TV people are waiting for you in the little salon,” Agathe said, either ignoring her guests’ exchange or oblivious to it. “They arrived about an hour ago. I served them coffee and madeleines.”

  “I appreciate your hospitality,” Benjamin said, pulling his bags from the trunk of the car. “By the way, how’s Chef Brisset?”

  “He’s fine. He’s at the market now, buying asparagus. They’re marvelous this year.”

  They left their luggage at the reception desk and entered the salon. A fiftyish woman and two men barely in their thirties were seated in front of an imposing nineteenth-century fireplace. Seeing them, the woman got up. Liza Stechelmann, the director from Open Air Entertainment, gave Benjamin and Virgile solid handshakes and introduced her colleagues: Fabrice, a tall, muscular cameraman with a large knot of hair on top of his head, and Hugo, the shorter and slimmer soundman.

  Benjamin ordered a pot of tea and studied Liza’s every gesture as she explained the filming schedule. She was a woman with
a piercing gaze, alternately impertinent and insecure. Benjamin perceived a defensiveness that cloaked a lingering melancholy. He listened patiently, speaking only when he was sure she was done.

  “There’s one thing I need to clarify,” he said.

  “Tell me.”

  “I’m very flattered that you’re interested in our work, but I’m not sure I understand the exact nature of your project.”

  “What do you want to know?”

  “Open Air is an independent production company filming a documentary that will be aired in the United States? And one of your offices is in Paris?”

  “Exactly,” Liza answered, narrowing her eyes. “I’ve already explained that. I’ve been very upfront about my intentions, and I cannot film if I don’t have your complete confidence.”

  “Of course,” Benjamin said, pouring his Darjeeling into a white porcelain cup. “I’m aware of everything you’ve told me, but I must let you know that I’ve done my research. Your work is highly praised, and you’ve received quite a few awards. Some critics even say you’re one of the best documentary filmmakers of your generation.”

  “Thank you.” Liza smiled, although her brown eyes still held a hint of doubt.

  “I’ve been told you’re honest, as well. My only concern regarding this film project is…”

  “Don’t be afraid to talk frankly.”

  “I’m not afraid, Ms. Stechelmann. It’s not my nature. I simply want to offer the most accurate portrayal of our craft. The wine world is complex, and the general public knows relatively little about the role of an oenologist and even less about what a winemaker does. Do you understand? We should hide nothing, dodge no questions, and avoid any conflations, clichés, and shortcuts.”

  “That’s exactly our intention, Mr. Cooker, and to that end we have chosen the ideal format.”

  “Ninety minutes, right?”

  “Yes. Most of my documentaries are sixty minutes. To get sufficient footage, we may need two weeks of filming.”

  “That much time?” Virgile asked.

  “If we can, we’ll wrap it up more quickly.”