comments from employees about enemies in her personal life?”
Mr. Reber sighed and shrugged. “Can’t help you much there. I don’t pay too much attention to the personal lives of my employees.”
“Hang on, darling,” said Mrs. Reber. She placed a hand against her husband’s arm as if to hold him back. She said, “What about the complaint she filed? The one Andre told us about? The nasty little man who was harassing her.”
Mr. Reber hesitated, then conceded with a nod. “I suppose perhaps.” He looked from John to Adele. “Sometimes Ms. Gueyen would have customers make a pass at her. Part of the job, I’m afraid in this region at her age. I’m not excusing it—but it is the way of things.”
John glanced at Adele, but she gave the faintest shake of her head. Inwardly, she considered Mr. Reber’s words, but shelved the information as useless. A tipsy customer hitting on a sommelier didn’t fit the MO. The killer was calculating, clever. Charming enough to gain Ms. Gueyen’s trust before sedating her. No, this wasn’t some drunken fool. Nor was it a crime of revenge or passion. The killer had struck in the Ahr region of Germany, and now in Bordeaux in France. They were looking for a practiced murderer, not a passionate buffoon.
After a few more questions, Adele flashed a look to John, which he returned. Slowly, politely, they began to extricate themselves from the situation, pushing up from the table and bidding their farewells.
Then, in lockstep, they left the co-owners of the vineyard behind them and moved back through the door, out into the afternoon now fading to evening and to the waiting car.
CHAPTER EIGHT
After dinner in the region and a taxi ride to the nearest motel, Adele was beginning to feel the weight of the day descend on her shoulders. It came in a sort of quiet prickle at first, somewhere near the base of her neck, then spreading to her spine. She winced, rolling her shoulders and shutting her eyes as John slid the keycard in the door.
She watched him, lowering her hand from massaging her neck and extending the same hand toward him expectantly.
He looked at her hand, then up at her, then back to her hand, then gave her a high five.
“No,” she snapped, “my keycard, where is it?”
John paused, his mouth half open. He glanced at the card he’d just used, toward the open door on the second floor of the small motel, then back to her. A couple of tasteful pieces of simple art hung above a chocolate-wooden divider lining the hall. The carpet was surprisingly clean and the air smelled a bit of disinfectant—which, in Adele’s estimation, was a significant improvement on most motels she stayed in for work.
John winced.
She stared. “You’re joking—you only booked one room?”
He coughed delicately, then glanced over his shoulder again. “I thought…” he said, trailing off.
“I’m taking the bed,” she said, firmly. “I hope you know that—I’m taking the bed!” Then she marched past him, into the room, snatched the keycard from his hand, and shut the door behind her, slamming it in his face.
She stood in the small motel room, glancing around. She spotted the side door leading off into a bathroom, a closed window with open blinds peering out into the street flickering with headlights. She heard a quiet tapping on the door.
“It was an honest mistake!” the voice called.
“Bite me,” she retorted.
A pause. “If you’d like.”
Adele rolled her eyes. “You just can’t resist, can you? And there I was, about to open the door and everything. Hope that hallway is comfy!”
A more insistent tapping on the door. “Adele, there are two beds! I made sure.”
She glanced back at the room, noting that at least on this count he’d been right. Then, rolling her eyes and turning, she opened the door and allowed her partner to enter the room, sidling past her with the quick, coy movements of an alley cat. He winked at her as he did, and said, “My feet are very warm—don’t worry.”
Adele glared as he moved over to one of the beds, placing his laptop case and a small backpack next to the nightstand, and flopping onto the mattress.
“John, if I’m given any evidence as to the temperature of your feet tonight, I’ll put a bullet in both of them, understand?”
For a moment, he just grinned at her, but something in her tone and gaze seemed to give him pause, because his shit-eating grin faded to a docile look of supplication