Bruno 02 - The Dark Vineyard

grape juice, to tell Jacqueline. The girl was shattered, in floods of tears, so Hubert gave her the day off. The Englishwoman took her home with her. We’re up to our eyeballs here, shorthanded without Jacqueline and Max, but is there anything we can do? She told us you were hurt, too.”
    “I’m fine. So Jacqueline will still be up at Pamela’s place?”
    “Yes, she moved in a few days ago. Didn’t you know? She said you helped arrange it.”
    A tourist buying a case of Hubert’s wine looked baffled at the presence of a policeman but started tapping his credit card on the counter in impatience. Nathalie turned back to him with a tired smile, and Bruno took his leave. “We’ll miss that lovely boy,” she called after him.
    As Bruno opened his van door, Hubert dashed out of his
cave
and waved urgently as he trotted across the parking lot.
    “Terrible news. A tragedy,” he said. “But how are you? The Englishwoman told us you almost died as well.”
    “I’m fine. All I needed was a shower and a change of clothes,” Bruno said, shaking hands. “It was that new woman doctor who saved me, once she realized what was happening. I never knew wine could be that dangerous.”
    “Max was a fine boy,” said Hubert. “He loved wine, and he sold a lot as well. He and Jacqueline were naturals at the wine tastings, great with the tourists, always steering them to the better bottles. I was going to offer him a job here, once he had his diploma.”
    “I’d better go see Jacqueline, and you’ve got customers to attend to.”
    “I know. But I came out to see if you wanted to postponethat dinner party of yours. The wine will keep for another evening.”
    “Yes, but my
bécasses
won’t,” said Bruno. “I took them out of the freezer this morning and I don’t want them to go to waste. I’ve never got that many in a single season before. Besides, we all need cheering up. Let’s go ahead as planned.”

24
    There were not many parking lots in Saint-Denis, but Bruno dutifully visited each one, looking for the type of small truck that J-J’s team had listed as having the tire-track width to match those in the grass at the research station. Each time he found one, he examined the tires minutely for signs of white paint. Having examined the lots at the school, the supermarkets and the garages, he set off in his van for the builders’ yard and the post office. There were only a handful of potential trucks remaining in Saint-Denis. The one Bruno particularly wanted to see, the very old Renault that Alphonse used to transport his cheeses, was delivering to shops all across the region and would not be back before nightfall—by which time any telltale sign of paint would have been worn away by country roads, Bruno thought glumly.
    He turned through a pair of imposing iron gates into one of the last places he might find the truck, short of visiting every single farm, and he’d see most of those trucks on market day. It was Julien’s Domaine de la Vézère, the crown jewel of Bondino’s ambition. The long driveway was fringed first by woods and then by the formal gardens of the undistinguished château that was the heart of the property. A clumsynineteenth-century restoration of a late-Renaissance manor house, it had been adorned with circular turrets with pointed roofs at each corner, a crenellated wing that looked solid enough to stop artillery and a grandiose terrace with wide steps leading down to the garden. The lawn was broken into geometric designs by gravel paths and dotted with unlikely topiary. To one side, protected by hedges with more topiary, stood a large swimming pool, from which came the sound of children gleefully splashing and diving. To the other side, beyond the vast wing, which had been turned into a restaurant, was a large modern barn, expensively covered with wood to look suitably antique, which housed the winery, and a large yard for delivery trucks. The ones he saw were too big for his inquiry, so he set off to look for Julien, who might have something useful to say about Bondino.
    Bruno started his search at the winery, where the elderly cellar master, Baptiste, was supervising some seasonal workers who were cleaning the vats in preparation for this year’s harvest. He nodded at two
mairie
employees doing some freelance moonlighting. Baptiste said he had not seen Julien all day and suggested Bruno try the main office. That was odd. It was not like Julien to be away from the winery for an