Murder in the Rue Dumas: A Verlaque and Bonnet Provencal Mystery (Verlaque and Bonnet Provencal Mysteries) by M.L. Longworth

only because I was nominated for the Dumas.”
    “Well done on that,” Verlaque said, wanting to make the girl feel more at ease. She continued to play with the frills on her cheap flowered blouse, but did manage to look the judge in the eyes and smile slightly.
    “Who else was up for the Dumas?” he asked.
    “Four of us. Myself, Thierry Marchive, Yann Falquerho, and Claude Ossart. Claude wasn’t at the party. He seldom leaves the library.”
    “And the other graduate students don’t have keys to the building, right?” Paulik asked.
    “No, only those of us who are teaching assistants. That’s myself and Claude.”
    “You’re Dr. Leonetti’s assistant?” Verlaque asked.
    “Yes.”
    “Who, or what, are you researching?” Verlaque asked.
    She sat up, her voice now clear and happy. “I’m researching Saint Ambrose, Augustine’s teacher.” Verlaque smiled, now out ofdepth in his knowledge but wanting the girl to feel at ease. It was Paulik who continued the conversation by saying, “I had a great-uncle Ambrose. He too was a priest.”
    Garrigue Druon looked at the commissioner and smiled.
    Paulik continued, “My uncle was always telling us stories about Saint Ambrose and about his life in Milan. What I remember most was that Ambrose was a saint of the people, a really humble guy, where Augustine was the scholar.”
    “Exactly,” Garrigue replied, leaning forward. “Ambrose baptized Saint Augustine, but was known more for his passionate sermons, whereas Augustine is still widely read for his letters and confessions.”
    “My great-uncle kept bees, too, just like Saint Ambrose!” Paulik added, now sitting forward, almost cutting the girl off.
    “Really?” Garrigue exclaimed. “Saint Ambrose is the patron saint of beekeepers!”
    Verlaque glanced, slightly annoyed, at his commissioner, who was now leaning back in his chair, as if remembering this great-uncle. It then briefly crossed Verlaque’s mind that Paulik may have invented the story to make Mlle Druon more comfortable, but he was never sure with Bruno Paulik, who seemed to know half of Aix and almost all of the Luberon.
    “What time did you leave the party, Garrigue?” Verlaque asked.
    “Latish,” she answered quietly, now remembering why she was here. “I felt out of place, but for some reason felt too shy to leave.” Verlaque pictured the girl leaning awkwardly against a wall, alone. “Wallflower,” he thought the expression was in English. Garrigue went on, “I helped Dr. Leonetti gather up some of the dishes and then left just before midnight.”
    “Did you notice anything strange that evening, apart from the argument between Dr. Rodier and the doyen?”
    The young student thought for a moment and then said, “No, not really, except that Dr. Moutte received a phone call really late, just before I left.”
    The commissioner and judge looked at the girl, trying to hide their surprise.
    “Go on, Garrigue,” Verlaque said softly.
    “It’s none of my business, but we always had a rule in our house: no phone calls after 9:00 p.m. And the doyen was an old man.”
    “And so he took the phone call?” Paulik asked.
    “Yes, but in another room,” she confirmed. Verlaque thought Garrigue very wise for her age—he realized that her answer to the question was her way of saying that she couldn’t hear the conversation, and that she probably would have listened had she been able.
    “Did the doyen seem nervous after the phone call?”
    “Nervous? Not really, more like impatient. It was clear that he wanted us out of the apartment, but Dr. Leonetti kept chatting on and on, so I just slipped out without saying good-bye.”
    “Did you go straight home?” Verlaque asked. Garrigue Druon was visibly surprised by the question.
    “Well yes! It was almost midnight! I share a flat on the rue de Tanniers with a law student. I woke her up when I came in. She had put her purse right in front of the door and I tripped over it.”
    “Fine. Thank