Bruno 02 - The Dark Vineyard

spots in the region; the familiar mixture of the honey-colored stone and the dark red roof tiles, the crushed chalk
castine
of the courtyard and the lush greens of garden and countryside had come together here in a particularly satisfying harmony. Perhaps it was the way the hill curled down to nestle the property like a jewel in its setting, or the contrast between the shielding stand of tall poplars and the lower cluster of buildings. There was something comforting and fitting in the way that it still had the appearance of a working farm, with its large vegetable garden and the two horses idly munching grass, the placid cows on the hill that Pamela leased to a neighboring farmer. And Bruno’s own fondness for the owner and the life she had built probably also played a part. But other than his own house, for which he had the fierce affection that came from having built so much of it with his own hands, there was no other house in his district that made him feel quite so content.
    “I tried to call you, but your cell phone’s still dead,” said Pamela, coming out to greet him in the courtyard. He was careful to kiss her cheeks, but he could not disguise his smile of pleasure at the sight of her, dressed for gardening in green rubber boots, a wide floral skirt and what looked like a man’s old white shirt, all topped with a big straw hat. She carried a large hoe. “I was just going to weed the vegetables. Did you want to see Jacqueline? She’s in her
gîte
. I just took her a cup of tea.”
    Bruno smiled at the Englishness of it, the firm belief that tea was the answer to every crisis. He enjoyed the way that Pamela fulfilled so many of the beliefs the French held about their neighbors across the channel, from her perfect complexion and her love of horses to her belief in the healing powers of tea.
    “Yes. I have to ask her some routine questions.” Bruno did not intend to reveal that Max’s death had now become a murder inquiry. For Pamela, and presumably for Jacqueline, it was still a tragic accident. “How about you? You look like you’re over the shock.”
    “Life goes on. The weeds keep growing; the horses must be seen to,” she said. “I find that routine tasks can be rather soothing in difficult times. Would you like some tea, or coffee, or a
petit apéro?
It’s late enough for one, and you must have been very busy.”
    “No
apéro
just now, thanks, and yes, we have been busy. We solved the first crime, of the fire. Keep it to yourself, but it was Max, and we know when and where he bought the gas, how he got to the research station. There’s no doubt about it. So if he hadn’t died, he might well have been heading to prison.”
    “Heavens,” she exclaimed. “I’ll make some coffee. You look as though you need it. Come on into the kitchen.”
    She put down the hoe and took his hand and almost pulled him inside, sat him down at the table and began bustling at the stove with kettle and filter paper and pouring the beans into an old hand grinder that was attached to the kitchen counter.
    “Have you eaten today?” she went on.
    He shook his head. “I’ll get a pizza later, probably with J-J, the detective from Périgueux that I worked with on that other case, the dead Arab. He’s going to have to stay here for a day or two, clearing up Max’s case.”
    “I’d rather like to meet your J-J, from what you’ve told me about him,” she said, piling cups and sugar onto a tray as thefamiliar smell of fresh coffee reached Bruno’s nose. “There aren’t many men you admire, but you certainly think highly of him. Bring him here for a meal this evening, rather than make do with pizza.”
    “Well, thank you. That would be something to look forward to. And I can provide some very nice wine, a Gigondas I just bought at Hubert’s place.”
    “The stuff on special offer at four euros a bottle?” she asked, then laughed. “There’s my six bottles over there. I haven’t put them away yet.”
    Bruno smiled broadly. “She’s a good saleswoman, Nathalie. And you make good coffee, Pamela. Thanks.”
    “My pleasure. You know, I’m sorry we won’t have the chance to enjoy Max’s wine. I think he was going to be a rather special young man, despite what you say about the fire.”
    “That reminds me, what time did Jacqueline get back the night before you found Cresseil?”
    “Late. I was still reading in bed after midnight, and I didn’t fall asleep straightaway. You know how it is when your