It is a terrible thing to be lonely in such a beautiful place.
Pressing her lips to the glass of deep red Grenache held delicately in her hand, Maura Isles let out a sigh before taking a long drink.
The sun, just beginning to set, cast out a warm, golden glow. The light brought life and colour to the pastel-painted buildings and terracotta rooftops that arced a serene Mediterranean pool of azure blue.
Behind her seat in the bay, families chattered as children danced along the cobbled grey streets to the sounds woven into the warm summer air. A pair of musicians, armed with well-loved acoustic guitars, played in perfect harmony on the steps of the old castle.
A young couple, hand in hand, walked along the rocky beach, the still-warm sea lapping at their bare toes as they smiled, eyes firmly locked on one another.
Maura closed her eyes and took another drink.
Yes. Loneliness was a truly terrible thing.
It had been exactly six weeks since she had left Boston. Since she had left her medical examiner's office in the (hopefully) capable hands of her assistant in order to escape to France and finish her novel.
It had been six weeks and she hadn't written a single word.
Instead, after her best friend had produced her own first class ticket on Maura's flight, her leave of absence had become a vacation full of adventure: sightseeing, galleries, mountains of food, glorious scenery and, of course, plenty of wine.
It had truly been the trip of a lifetime. But, as Jane left to board her flight back to the US and her new FBI career, Maura had found herself painfully alone.
Paris was too busy for her without Jane. The noise of the city seemed to block her mind; she couldn't think properly with so much going on. The idea of returning to Boston early, still without a finished novel, was out of the question, and so Maura had travelled further south.
Collioure was the perfect place for Maura to recuperate from her month of non-stop tourism. It had always been a favourite destination of her parents' and she had spent numerous childhood summers strolling through the town's winding, medieval streets, losing herself in the colours and smells of the Mediterranean.
Countless artists had been inspired by this place. Maura hoped, perhaps foolishly, that this beautiful town would inspire her too.
But, for the third night running, she sat, uninspired, with only a bottle of wine for company.
Each sip brought her closer to peace, but a bottle was never going to be enough.
A shrill ringing broke the serenity of the dusk-lit harbour.
Surprised by the noise, it took Maura a moment to recognise the sound of her own telephone ringing in her purse.
"This is Maura Isles." She answered professionally, her American accent sounding clipped and harsh after weeks of speaking romantic, lyrical French.
"Maura. Thank goodness you answered."
It took her a second to register the voice emanating from the phone in her hand. A voice from so long ago. A voice usually so cheerful, now full of fear.
"Harriet?" Maura struggled to hide her surprise. "Is everything okay?"
"No. No it's not. I'm sorry if I woke you- I've never been good with time zones- but I didn't know who else to call. Something terrible has happened."
Maura leaned back in her seat and let the woman tell her story. Everything she said was, by habit, carefully stored in her mind.
"Rachel, Rachel Maloney from the university. She's… Oh, god. She was supposed to be at an event, giving a speech but then the police found me and she… Oh God."
"Breathe, Harriet" Maura reassured her friend. "I'm listening."
"She's dead, Maura."
"Oh. I'm sorry. That's terrible news."
Maura had spent almost all of her adult life around death. While most people were repulsed, terrified, by the subject, Maura found herself at ease. The dead had stories, families, and it was up to her to tell them. She had always found her job easy: she could detach herself from the subject and simply rely on science. It was easy to be objective when she had no idea how it felt to love someone and then lose them.
Until everything changed. Until Boston. Until Jane.
"Maura, I need your help." Harriet's shaky voice brought Maura back to reality.
"Harriet, I'm currently on a leave of absence and I'm employed by the state of Massachusetts so I'm not sure how I can… As a medical examiner I have no…"
"She asked for me, Maura." Harriet's statement stopped Maura in her tracks.
"She asked for you?"
"Yes. She left a note… on… on the side. They found it after she, you know, passed. She wrote my name. That's why the police came to my office."
"Harriet, was it suicide? Or murder? Are you saying you're a suspect?"
"I don't know. I don't think so." Harriet's reply was assured and Maura was certain she was being honest. "But I'm scared, and I could really do with a friend who knows how all this stuff works. I have no idea what is going on and… I could do with some help making sense of things."
"Well, I can certainly do that." Maura let herself smile at the idea of being a friend. It was still something relatively new to her; the idea of genuine friendship had evaded her for so long. Despite the circumstances, Harriet was an old friend in need. She would do whatever she could do help her.
"How quickly can you get to Oxford?" Harriet asked quietly.
"I'll be on the next flight to London. I should be with you by morning."