The Sauvignon Secret

of murder. I don’t want to show up unprepared.”

“Look, we’re going to get Hope out of there and then call Bobby, okay? Leave the gun here. Please.”

But he was already unlocking the door to the big glass cabinet and sliding open the drawer where Leland kept his small arms. I heard the click of a clip being loaded and then Pépé showed up in the doorway. My grandfather was a crack shot, just like Leland.

“I took the forty-five. Don’t worry. I probably won’t even need to draw it, but I like to be safe.”

“You don’t have a permit to carry concealed in Virginia.”

“I have my permis de chasser from last year’s chasse,” he said. “It’s in my wallet.”

“Your hunting permit is only good for last year’s chasse. In France,” I said. “And you didn’t hunt with a forty-five, so it’s not even for the right gun.”

“Obviously,” he said. “But a permit will be the least of my problems if I end up using this, n’est- ce pas? Let’s go.”

On the drive over to Mon Abri, my grandfather grilled me about my visit with Elinor.

“Jasmine had a photograph of Stephen because it was in Maggie’s diary?” he asked. “Do you think Vivian gave her the other picture of Maggie and Charles?”

“I guess so. Even Charles figured out that Vivian, who was the group photographer, took that shot. So it stands to reason Vivian still had it, don’t you think?”

He nodded, looking thoughtful. “What makes you think Jasmine killed Vivian?”

“I’m not sure she did. But I think it’s too much of a coincidence that all of them died within months of each other—beginning from the time Jasmine went to Paris. Who else could have done it?”

“Slow down or you’ll miss the turn for Mon Abri,” he said. “You almost passed the driveway.”

I hit the brakes and put on my turn signal. “Sorry. My mind is in a million places. Here we go.”

Pépé patted his suit jacket in the spot where the .45 sat on his hip.

“Yes,” he said. “Here we go.”

We drove up the long, shaded drive and pulled up to the front entrance.

“That’s Charles’s BMW,” Pépé said as we got out of the car. “And Juliette’s Lexus. Wait here a minute.”

He disappeared around the side of the house. In a few minutes he returned. “There’s another car. A Honda.”

“That must be Jasmine’s,” I said. “What took you so long?”

“Just looking around. It’s quiet. Everyone must be inside.”

We climbed the stairs and Pépé rang the doorbell. The Westminster chime echoed inside the house.

“Luc? Lucie? What are you doing here?” Juliette opened the door, elegant in an electric blue jersey dress, a single strand of pearls, perfect makeup, hair upswept and regal.

“We were running errands in Middleburg so we stopped by to pick up Hope,” I said. “Jasmine’s babysitting her and Dominique said she came over here to get the flowers for tonight.”

Juliette frowned. “Couldn’t Jasmine have dropped her off at your home when she returned with the centerpieces?”

“Yes, of course,” I said. “But it’s nearly time for Hope’s bath and her dinner. Eli called to say he was delayed. I told him we’d get her.”

“Really?” Her frown deepened. “Eli called Jasmine a moment ago to say he’d be waiting for them both when she got back to the Ruins.”

“Oh, gosh,” I said. “We probably got our wires crossed. I’ve been gone all afternoon. As long as we’re here, we’ll bring her home with us. Could we come in?”

“It’s not terribly convenient. Charles is having supper,” she said. “He won’t be at your dinner tonight. He’s made other plans. I’ll be there on my own.”

“We need to have a word with Charles, Juliette.” Pépé’s voice was gentle. “It’s important.”

“Couldn’t it wait?” Juliette fingered her pearls. “He’s not in the best frame of mind tonight. Why don’t you let Jasmine bring the child home and I’ll see you both later? It’ll be nice to spend some time with you, Luc.”

“There’s something Charles needs to know about Jasmine,” Pépé said. “And you may as well hear it, too, though I know it will be distressing.” He took her arm and stepped inside. “Please. Let’s go see him.”

“What about Jasmine?” she asked as we walked through the foyer. “I know about Charles’s … girlfriends, if you’re worried about that. I’m sure he’s already tried to make a pass at her. Don’t give it another thought. I’m used to it.”

It was the first time I’d heard Juliette speak openly about Charles’s infidelities. After what Pépé had said about how discreet and private she was about her marriage, the casual comment, as if she were discussing a routine household matter, surprised me.

Charles sat alone at the head of the table, eating a salad and drinking a glass of wine, in their dark, elegant dining room. The curtains had been drawn against the late-afternoon sun, making the lighting seem thick and cobwebby. Later I would remember that it had seemed as though we were all moving, talking, and thinking in slow motion or as though we were underwater.

Charles looked up as we entered the room, anger flashing in his dark eyes. He hadn’t forgiven us for last evening’s blowup at the Inn.

“We need to talk to you, Charles,” Pépé said. “I’m sorry, but Juliette should know about this, too. It has to do with the matter we were discussing yesterday.”

“Where is Jasmine?” I asked.

Juliette tugged on her pearls again. “What’s this about? She’s in the kitchen. What about Jasmine?”

I kept my voice low. “Jasmine Nouri is Maggie Hilliard’s niece, Charles. Maggie left a diary, which Jasmine read. I’m pretty sure she tracked down Vivian Kalman in Paris, as well.”

I left out Elinor on purpose, hoping he wouldn’t ask how I’d found this out. We didn’t have much time anyway.

Charles set down his fork on the edge of his plate and stared at it wordlessly. Finally he looked up. “Well, I’ll be goddamned. All this time I thought it was Theo.”

Though he sounded calm, his face gave him away. I knew as sure as if he’d said it what he was thinking: He’d let a beautiful girl insert herself into his life with the ease of the serpent slithering into the Garden of Eden and he’d missed it because he’d been too busy looking for a ghost in California. His worst fear had blossomed right here in his home.

“The little bitch,” he said, an afterthought. “Every bit as devious as Maggie was.”

Juliette’s voice rose, a little bubble of hysteria. “What is going on? What are you talking about?”

“Charles will explain it to you later.” I tried to reassure her. “Everything is going to be all right. But the most important thing right now is getting Hope away from Jasmine with as little drama as possible. Then I think we’d better call the sheriff’s department. Everyone else in the Mandrake Society is dead but you, Charles. Why do you think Jasmine is here?”

“I didn’t kill any of those people. Someone else did.” Jasmine Nouri stood in the doorway to the kitchen, holding Hope in her arms. “I figured it was you, Charles. It was, wasn’t it?”

She brushed a strand of hair off the face of my sweet, pink-cheeked niece who was chewing on her favorite toy pony. The gesture sent such a sharp pang of fear for Hope’s safety through me that I gasped.

“Hope,” I said, my voice cracking. “Come here, pumpkin. Beppy and I are going to take you home.”

“Aunt Woozy.”

Hope squirmed in Jasmine’s arms but she held tight to the child. I heard her murmur, “In a minute, sweetie. We have to finish something first.”

“No one’s going anywhere.” Juliette’s eyes were hard. Something had changed in her and I’d missed it. All of a sudden she was in command, the feigned innocence and sweetness gone.

She exchanged looks with Jasmine, a coded understanding that passed between them. Jasmine nodded, but I thought she looked scared. Before anyone could speak or move, Juliette strode over to the sideboard and reached