Deadly Tasting by Jean-Pierre Alaux & Noël Balen

Author:Jean-Pierre Alaux & Noël Balen [Alaux, Jean-Pierre]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Amateur Sleuth, Burgundy, France, cozy mystery, whodunit, wine novel
Publisher: Le French Book
Published: 2014-06-23T00:00:00+00:00

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Benjamin was in a fowl mood when he arrived with his assistant at the crime-scene tape blocking the way to the Saint Pierre neighborhood. He had said good-bye to his friend Franck Dubourdieu a little too brusquely but promised to invite him to dinner at Grangebelle. He would have a bottle of Pétrus on hand. That was the least he could do and a lovely way to ask forgiveness for breaking off their nearly rapturous visit. Perhaps Elisabeth would prepare the leg of venison in their freezer. They would savor it with a thick grand veneur red wine sauce. Just thinking about it made him salivate and eagerly anticipate the day he could finally banish the lingering odor of cabbage soup.

In the apartment, the inspector greeted them with a sly grin. Benjamin didn’t think it was quite appropriate. He spotted two bare legs on the green linoleum but couldn’t see the rest of the body, as it was behind a brown velour armchair. The winemaker made the sign of the cross without attempting to camouflage his gesture. Behind the armchair, two officers from the forensics team were bending over the body. Benjamin, scanning the wrinkled skin and purple varicose veins on the legs, guessed that the victim was elderly.

“Édouard Prébourg, eighty-eight years old. Same demise.”

“And the glasses again?” Benjamin asked, still staring at the legs.

“Four wine glasses filled and eight empty, as you would expect. The same staging!”

Benjamin told Virgile to wait in the hallway while he tasted the wine in the living room. The woman in the white coat, who had been at all the previous scenes, asked the captain for permission to cover the body with a blanket. It was a sight the winemaker didn’t need to see, she said.

“You don’t think he’s afraid of an old pair of balls, do you?” the inspector responded.

Barbaroux let out a hearty laugh. Benjamin saw the woman shudder. He pretended that he hadn’t heard the exchange and proceeded with the tasting. He brought each glass to his lips, turned toward the inspector, and shrugged.

“Send the samples to the same person,” he said simply. “You know who it is. I’ve just come from my office, where I was talking with him.”

“That’s all you have to say?” Barbaroux asked. He wasn’t grinning now. He looked concerned.

“I’m expected at my lab, and I don’t have time to stay,” Benjamin grumbled as he mopped his forehead with a handkerchief.

“But I have a number of things to ask you.”

“If you don’t mind, we’ll see to all that tomorrow.”

The winemaker didn’t give the inspector a chance to pursue the conversation. He turned on his heels, nodded good-bye to the forensics team, and walked out of the living room, taking care to look away from the bloody remains of Édouard Prébourg.

The afternoon was long and tedious. Alexandrine de la Palussière had methodically prepared the testing. And Benjamin, assisted by the careful and silent Virgile, tasted no fewer than sixty-three wines from Languedoc-Roussillon without uttering a word.

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