Murder in Aix (The Maggie Newberry Mystery Series Book 5) by Susan Kiernan-Lewis

could not imagine what could have occurred in
their lives to cause something like this to happen.
    With a supreme effort, Maggie put her friend’s unhappiness out of her mind
to concentrate on her morning. She intended to go to the jail in Aix to see Julia.
Her phone calls to the number Roger had given her had been met with a very
unhelpful recording. It was time for a little face-to-face, she thought grimly.
But first, she would run by Julia’s apartment and pick up a few clothes for her.
If Julia were released this morning as everyone hoped, then it would just be a
wasted half hour. But if this nightmare was going to go on any longer, Julia would
want a fresh change of clothes.
    She had the taxi stop outside Julia’s apartment building and instructed the
driver to wait for her. “ Dix minute ,”
she said firmly to the driver and then exited the cab and hurried up the
stairs.
    By the time she reached the landing on the second floor, she had to lean
against the close walls and catch her breath. By the time she
reached—much more slowly—the next landing, she had gone from hopefully
wondering if all the noise she was hearing from the floor above her could be
the result of construction of a lift being added to the 1890 apartment building
to flat not caring. As she dragged herself to the final landing just before Julia’s
floor, the noise was clearly more of a destructive nature than constructive,
with loud thuds and the sounds of breaking glass exploding in the narrow
stairwell. Julia’s apartment was one of two on her floor, but only hers had the
sounds of a full-scale demolition coming out into the hallway through the wide
open door.
    Bewildered and tentative, Maggie edged her way to the door opening. Was Julia having scheduled work done? Was
she being broken into? In the brief space between crashes, Maggie could
hear the sounds of her own labored gasps as she fought for breath after her
climb. The silence startled her, and when she heard the sound of her own
struggling breaths she began to feel afraid. Whoever was in there destroying Julia’s
apartment—for that was clearly what was happening—might not be very
welcoming of an unexpected friend of Julia’s on the threshold.
    A loud crash ended the silence and Maggie used the moment to slip through
the front door. Inside she saw a young woman of about twenty-five in the
process of hammering to splinters with a very large axe the beautiful antique
table that had been a birthday gift to Julia from her long-passed father.
Maggie watched in horror as the girl brought the axe down on the table full
force, the table’s tiny hand-placed bits of mosaic shooting out in all
directions like flints of wood from a chipper.
    “Stop it!” Maggie screamed. “Stop it this minute!”
    The girl whirled on Maggie, the axe gripped tightly in her hands, her eyes
wild with hatred and anger. When Maggie saw her face, she knew the woman had to
be related to Jacques. They shared the same dark hair and brown eyes, the same
olive skin coloring. It was entirely possible that the girl was pretty,
probably was, but it was impossible to believe it with her current expression
of insane urgency. She took a step toward Maggie.
    “I am an American,” Maggie said without thinking. “Think twice before you
dare to attack me. Remember…Saddam Hussein,” she added stupidly.
    The girl stared at her as if not understanding, although Maggie had spoken
in clear, plain French. Slowly, Maggie could see the energy that the manic fit
had given her begin to fade and the girl lowered the axe to her side, but she
did not drop it.
    “Who are you?” she asked. “Are you a friend of the English whore’s?”
    Maggie looked around the apartment, so much of it already destroyed. The
girl had obviously been here awhile. Julia’s couch had been chopped into chunks
of expensive fabric and batting. Her beautiful Royal Doulton tea set, the one
she had brought with her from London, was in shards. Two paintings