Murder on the Mediterranean (Capucine Culinary Mystery) Read Free

planned on doing the cooking myself. Working on those tiny boat stoves is an exciting challenge. I have a whole folder of recipes and a carrier bag filled with basic necessities . . . tins of pâté de foie gras and a few jars of truffles and . . .”
    Alexandre had failed to attract Jacques’s attention. Alexandre searched the terrace for the source of Jacques’s fascination. Jacques seemed captivated by some creature in the very depths of the terrace. This was unexpected, since Jacques never looked at women. A fact that, when combined with his immoderate interest in clothes, made the family wonder if he wasn’t, well, just possibly a soupçon fey. Then Alexandre focused on the woman, a translucent beauty with alabaster skin, silken pale blond hair, and ice-blue eyes. Even a woolly mammoth would have stared.
    Alexandre caught sight of her companion and jumped up.
    “Régis!” he exclaimed happily. “ Toi ici! You’re the very last person I expected to run into in this crass temple of see and be seen. What on earth are you doing here?”
    It was the work of a moment to whisk two chairs away from an adjoining table and make introductions. Régis de la Rochelle was a food photographer, well known for his commercials and his illustrations of pricey coffee-table cookbooks; the seraphic creature was called Aude Theve-noux and was, apparently, some sort of lawyer.
    “Having an absolutely miserable time,” Aude answered for him. Her face revealed not the slightest trace of expression when she spoke. It was almost as if she were a life-size porcelain doll of exquisite delicacy equipped with a sound system operated by a third party.
    “The plan was to come down here and charter a boat and go somewhere,” Régis said, “but everything is rented, so we’re stuck in our drab little hotel room up in the hills.”
    “And the traffic jams are so bad, it’s an hour cab ride to drive the two miles into town,” Aude contributed with no more than a ventriloquist’s movement of her lips.
    “I have the perfect solution,” Jacques said. “We have a boat chartered in Port Grimaud. We’re leaving for Corsica in the morning. Why don’t you come with us? We have plenty of room.”
    Alexandre hiked his eyebrows. This was a whole new Jacques.
    “We could put you up on the settee in the main salon,” Jacques said. “It can turn into a double bed. We’re going to do an overnight crossing straight to Bonifacio. We could drop you off there, and you could have your vacation away from the crowds, or at least the worst of them.”
    Aude looked into Jacques’s eyes, mute. Even though not a word had been exchanged, the bargain was sealed.
    More pastis was ordered.
    Régis chatted at Alexandre about his current project as one of the photographers on Alain Ducasse’s latest tome. Jacques and Aude looked into each other’s eyes.
    Lubricated by a series of pastises, they became steeped in conversations as the radiant sunshine bore through the umbrella over the table and the afternoon wore on. When the shadows lengthened, Alexandre’s thoughts turned to dinner. It was high time to find a cab and make their way back to Port Grimaud to hatch a plan for the evening meal with Capucine and that odd juge d’instruction friend of hers. He called for the bill, waving away any attempt from Régis to share. As they rose, Aude looked into Jacques’s eyes.
    “ A demain, ” she said. Alexandre had a strong sense of their complicity.
    “We’re at the Mediterranean Anchorage Yachts Marina in Port Grimaud,” Jacques said. “Our skipper wants to get going by ten tomorrow morning.”
    Aude said nothing. She shook Alexandre’s hand and leaned forward to allow Jacques to kiss her cheeks.

CHAPTER 4
    “Y ou let Jacques do what? ” Capucine glared at Alexandre, her spoon dinging loudly as she stirred her café au lait on the tiny terrace of their hotel room overlooking one of the myriad canals that had been constructed to provide Port Grimaud with a