Bruno 02 - The Dark Vineyard

trunks flared and faded in the yellow light of Bruno’s headlights, and then they were on the bumpy lane to his cottage.
    Gigi welcomed them with a single bark of greeting and sniffed at Bondino’s trousers, probably trying to decipher the rich mix of scents picked up in the cell, then gave his ear a lick of sympathy as Bondino kneeled down to fondle him. Almost at once Bondino found all of Gigi’s favorite places: the two spots on either side of his backbone, the place on the side of his belly that made Gigi pump a rear leg in ecstasy. Bondino was smiling and murmuring softly, and Gigi jumped up to rest his paws on the American’s chest. He liked dogs, that was clear, and had a way with them, and dogs liked him. Bruno could not see him killing one.
    “Tonight, you’re in my custody,” Bruno said. “You can stayhere or in your hotel, it’s up to you. But I have to stay with you. Now I have to feed my dog.”
    Bondino and Gigi followed him into the kitchen, where he took leftover soup from the refrigerator and warmed it on the stove, and then poured it over some crumbled dog biscuits. Bondino looked around at the shelves of homemade preserves, the rope of garlic, the framed photo on the wall of Bruno and Stéphane in hunting gear. A dead deer was slung on a long pole between them, Gigi standing proudly by Bruno’s feet, his head cocked and his tail high. Bruno refilled Gigi’s water bowl and then showed Bondino the spare room.
    “Here or the hotel?” he asked.
    “Here,” said Bondino. “I like your dog. And tomorrow?”
    “Tomorrow, more police, more questions,” said Bruno. “Now you’ll need the bathroom.” He handed Bondino a fresh towel from the cupboard. Once the American closed the door behind him, Bruno went to double-check that his guns were locked away and the ammunition sealed in its separate case.
    “A drink?” he asked as Bondino came out, looking much fresher. “Coffee, beer, wine?”
    “Wine, please.”
    Bruno opened one of his unlabeled Pomerols and poured them each a glass. He sat in his armchair by the chimney and Bondino took the sofa, a coffee table between them that carried a booklet on amendments to the law that Bruno was supposed to study, a historical novel by Brigitte Le Varlet from the Saint-Denis library that he much preferred to read, and the latest well-thumbed copy of
Chasseur
magazine, with a photograph of a stag on the cover.
    “Very good Bordeaux,” said Bondino. “Merlot, just a little cabernet. A Pomerol?”
    Bruno nodded, impressed.
    “Why are you kind to me?” Bondino asked.
    “My dog likes you.”
    “You think I’m a killer?”
    Bruno shrugged. “I know you can be violent. You attacked me when you were drunk. You attacked Max in the bar. And your fingerprints are on a glass that was found near the body.”
    “Somebody must have put that glass there deliberately.”
    “And you and Max were rivals for the same woman,” Bruno went on.
    “Jacqueline is beautiful. She makes me crazy,” Bondino said, with a wry grin. He raised his glass to Bruno and said,
“L’amour.”
    Bruno nodded, and drank in turn.
    “When I first saw her, in California, I felt it here.” Bondino tapped ruefully at his heart.
    “California?” asked Bruno, suddenly alert. “I thought you met here in Saint-Denis.”
    “No, when she was in college she was a student of a professor I know. My family gave money for a Bondino chair of global wine studies. I was asking the professor about France, where I should look if we wanted to buy land. Jacqueline came into his office when I was there. It was the only time I saw her until I came here, just for a few minutes, but I didn’t forget her.”
    “What did your professor say?”
    “He said there were very good possibilities in the Dordogne and he said to see Hubert de Montignac and his
cave
here in Saint-Denis. The professor wrote us a report on the history and prospects of wine around this valley. That’s when I got in touch with our embassy in Paris and they recommended Dupuy. Apparently he used to work for President Mitterrand and he’s well connected.”
    Bruno nodded and sipped at his wine. So Jacqueline knew that Bondino was coming to Saint-Denis. She must have hadsome motive for making the same trip. He needed to find out exactly when she’d arranged to get her job at Hubert’s
cave
.
    “Do you live alone? There’s no sign of a woman here.”
    Bruno nodded and said, “There’s no woman here just now.”
    “No