Getting Old Is Très Dangereux: A Mystery (16 page)

I move closer to the door so I can hear better.
Now I frown. “That’s what I was afraid of.” I repeat for Evvie. “The killer used a stolen credit card. One of the convention people. Some man from Boca. Dead end.” I listen. And repeat again. “Yes, at least Morrie now has some sort of a description. The hotel manager has been informed and their security people are on high alert. They are searching everywhere for him, including going through all the security tapes.” I listen again. “What?” Evvie is waiting for me to repeat for her, but I suddenly can’t hear Jack.

I inform Evvie that his cell phone is breaking up.

“What, Jack? Where? Hello? Hello?” I give up. “All right, dear. I’ll see you when I see you.” I hang up, not knowing if he even heard what I just said.

“What happened?” She folds clean laundry on the small plastic table put here for that purpose.

“Well, as we suspected, the credit card was stolen. Then he was trying to tell me something about good news, and that’s when I lost him.”

The laundry room door opens. Tessie is there holding a basket full to the brim on her hip, with one hand to balance it. She’s got an ice cream bar in her other hand. “How much longer you girls gonna be in here?”

Evvie answers. “Maybe forty more minutes.”

“Okay,” she says, leaving her basket inside. “By the way, Ev, I just saw Joe drive in, in case you were looking for him.”

“Thanks, Tess.” Tessie, who doesn’t have the word diet in her vocabulary, leaves, licking away at her treat.

Evvie steps out on the landing and sees Joe heading for the elevator across the way.

“I better go.” She picks up her basket of folded laundry. “I’ll come back later for the rest.”

She and I look at each other. Are we both worried about the same thing? Losing the man we love?

When Jack walks into Colette’s hospital room with Morrie, he is pleased to see that she looks so much better. The color has come back into her young cheeks. Michelle sits on the edge of her bed, smiling.

Michelle says, “Good news. Perhaps my Colette will be able to go home in a few more days. And as soon as that is possible we’ll leave directly for the airport and home.”

“I can hardly wait,” Colette agrees, as she looks lovingly up at Michelle.

Jack watches Morrie draw closer, notebook open, ready to interrogate. Though she tries to hide it, Michelle stiffens.

“Are you all right about answering some more questions?” Morrie asks.

Jack stays in the background, watching both
women and how they react. Michelle tries to look relaxed, but she isn’t. Colette seems fragile and unsure.

“Yes, of course,” Colette answers.

Michelle fluffs Colette’s pillows so she can sit up more comfortably.

Morrie sits, pulling a chair closer to the bed. “You remember what happened that night? All of it?”

Colette says, “I think so, but I’m not sure. I came into the closed book room, using the passkey I had. When I tried to turn on the lights, they wouldn’t work. I assumed there was some electrical problem. At first I thought not to go in, but the lights from the hall helped me find my way.”

Her body shakes as she speaks, perhaps reliving the fears she felt that night. She stops, reaches for her glass and sips some water. Michelle helps her hold on to the glass.

Morrie says, “I know it’s hard for you. Would you prefer doing this later?”

“No. Please, now. Let me tell it and help me understand. You know how it is when something feels wrong? It occurred to me I might not be alone in the room. I called out, but no one answered. I assumed it was my imagination, but even so, I decided to drop the books on the shelf and leave as quickly as possible.”

Jack watches Michelle as Colette relates her story. She looks grim.

Colette continues. “When I was up the ladder, I knew something was amiss. The ladder was shaking and then it seemed like the bookcase was as well. And then I saw a … shadow … and I am still not sure if I imagined it. I thought it was some kind of apparition.” She pauses for more water. Michelle leans closer to her, her head next to Colette’s to comfort her.

Jack muses. Michelle is tough, manipulative, and impatient with most people, but not with Colette. She’s gentle and clearly loves her niece.

Morrie speaks softly. “Can you describe what you think you saw?”

“Everything began shaking even harder and I knew I would fall. All my energy went into trying to right the ladder and the bookcase. But in my mind I thought I saw a gray head of a very old man behind the bookcase, pushing it.”

Jack and Morrie exchange glances. That matches what Gladdy learned in the mall.

Michelle closes her eyes and barely shakes her head. Colette looks at Morrie, inquiringly. “But that’s not possible, is it? I thought it was a ghost. Isn’t that silly?”

“Did you see a face?”

She thinks hard. “Yes, but only for a moment,
and then just the top of a head and withered old hands pushing. Isn’t that strange?”

Michelle hugs Colette, but Jack senses she is hiding what she is feeling. She says,
“Chérie
, you must put all of this out of your mind. Whatever you imagined happened is over and you are going to be well and home very soon. That’s all that matters.”

“But why did I fall?” She looks to Morrie, but Michelle quickly answers.

“You know how wobbly that ladder was. Somehow you must have grabbed the bookshelves, which shook the ladder, and you lost your grip on the ladder and pulled both down on yourself.”

Jack watches Michelle gloss over the truth so as not to worry the girl. Morrie nods to him. He’s getting the same message.

Colette is confused. “Is anything else going on that I should know about?”

Again Michelle doesn’t let us say anything. “Nothing you have to worry your pretty little head about. I’ve already completed my contract with the convention, so we’re ready to leave when you are.” She gets off the bed and straightens the blanket. “You should rest now.”

Colette unwillingly agrees. “I am tired.”

That’s that. They all say their good-byes and leave Colette.

Down the corridor, out of Colette’s hearing, Morrie stops Michelle, who is walking at a fast
pace. Michelle knows what he will say, so she beats him to it. “There is no point in telling her about the robbery and the killing of the maid and the loss of my laptop. I want her to get well quickly without any emotional setbacks.”

Morrie says, “I understand and I agree. But we now know for sure that there is someone out there gunning for you. And as odd as it seems, apparently he is old. But still dangerous. He meant to kill you, not Colette, that night; you know that.”

Jack jumps in. “I agree. He is a very determined character and he won’t stop until he finishes the job.”

Michelle’s hands are on her hips. Jack senses that she is equally determined to have her way. “That’s why I want to get out of this country as fast as I can.”

Morrie insists, “We have to talk more so that we can figure out who hired him.”

“All right, we’ll talk. But not now. I have a terrible headache.” She turns away from him.

Morrie is even more forceful. “You’re in great danger. He seems to know your every move and no one has been able to spot him. We have to protect you until we find him.”

“I can take care of myself.”

Jack says, “Be reasonable; listen to my son.”

Michelle’s voice is loud now. “It won’t matter if
I’m with someone. Even if I’m in a crowd, he might get me.”

Jack says, “You have a better chance with someone trained in protection at your side. And if you stay in your suite most of the time.”

“No! You want me to spend twenty-four hours a day with some total stranger? I won’t have it.” She starts to walk away. “That boy you left to guard me? So young. He would be useless.”

Hospital personnel pass them in either direction, but Michelle pays no attention as they stare at this shouting woman.

Morrie is getting impatient with her. “If you don’t have confidence in my officers, then I suggest you hire someone to protect you until you leave.”

Jack tries a different approach. “If something happens to you, then what will become of Colette?”

That stops her. To Jack’s surprise, she moves up close to him. She takes his hands in hers. “You do it, Jacques. You will stay with me and keep me safe. Won’t you?”

He could kick himself. She’s blindsided him. If Gladdy were here, she would have seen it coming and avoided it. Too late. Michelle was way ahead of him.

Her voice is syrup. “You said it yourself. It’s only for a few days. Your
Gladeze
will understand,
n’est-ce pas?”

Jack shudders to think what his
“Gladeze”
will say to that.
Say no, now
, he tells himself,
before you get into hotter water
.

Tears form in her eyes. “It’s only you I trust.”

“All right.” He turns to his son, whose eyes have just widened. “I’ll be there tonight. Can you have someone with her until then?”

Morrie doesn’t answer for a few moments. Finally he nods. “I’ll have one of my men there waiting for you at the hotel.” He looks at Michelle pointedly. “Someone older.”

With sarcasm, he adds, “Until Jack arrives. Someone really old.”

“Thank you,” she says to Morrie tearfully. To Jack, she says, “I will wait for you at the elevator. You will drive me back to the hotel?”

She quickly walks away from them, leaving the two men staring after her.

Morrie shakes his head. “Do you realize what a Pandora’s box you just opened?”

Jack sighs. “Yes. But Gladdy will understand. She won’t like it, but she’ll understand.”

Morrie grins. “Did she even know you were coming here?”

“I tried to tell her, but my cell phone conked out.” He looks at the expression of disbelief on his son’s face.

“Dad, you were always my hero. I thought you were sophisticated and worldly. Imagine my shock
to find out you’re naïve about women. This former French flame of yours is coming on to you. If I were Gladdy, I’d want to shoot you.”

“I wouldn’t blame her. I could even oil my old service revolver to help her do it.”

Morrie can’t hide his grin. “I’d love to be a fly on the wall when you tell her.”

JACK BREAKS THE NEWS

I
’m sitting out in my Florida room having a glass of wine and reading. Actually I haven’t turned a page for quite some time. Instead I look out of my screened-in patio, watching the early evening traffic go by. And the sun settling down for the night. Where is Jack? When he called, he was with Morrie, having just spoken to the hotel manager. Not a word since his cell phone went out. I tell myself to stop looking at the clock. Funny, I’m not in the habit of doing this waiting thing. In our easygoing relationship, I have my plans and he has his, and we do many activities together. We usually keep in touch during the day, but not necessarily so. Nor do we interrogate each other about details of what we’ve been doing apart.

Face it; ever since Mme. Michelle has come upon the scene, I’m constantly waiting for the proverbial other shoe to drop. I never saw myself as a jealous person, but the more I think about her, the more irritated I get. What is it about that woman being near Jack that sets my teeth on edge? As if I didn’t know. She blatantly wants my guy, that’s what.

I look at the clock again. Only fifteen minutes have passed. And it’s Jack’s night to cook dinner. I mean, there’s no reason why I can’t cook something, but it’s been fun switching our cooking detail.

Hearing the door open, I’m relieved and I hurry to greet him. But I stop short at the sight of Jack fairly covered with a huge bouquet of roses and two huge paper bags with the logo from Vittorio’s Villa d’Este, a fairly expensive restaurant.

When I reach him, he gives me a quick kiss through his three bundles, both of us wary of getting scratched by the sharp paper bags, the thorns on the flowers. Then he hurries to the kitchen to set his packages down.

“How are you, sweetie?” he says. “I hope I didn’t keep you waiting. Are you starved? Are your taste buds ready for chicken Parmesan? Some gnocchi? A Caesar salad?” He opens each cupboard. “Where do you keep the vases?”

“I’ll do it.” I follow him in and fetch a vase from an upper shelf and take the flower arrangement of
pink and red roses and place them in the vase. They’re beautiful. And probably quite expensive, too.

Jack removes each of Vittorio’s cartons with the well-known decorative estate logo. He places the contents in various pots to heat up.

“Something smells wonderful. How come you didn’t want to cook?”

He smiles. “Just lazy, I guess.”

I can’t believe my reaction. Suddenly I’m an accountant, figuring out what he spent on these items. A lot. And the flowers? Why do they remind me of so many novels and movies when the husband brings home an especially large, ostentatious bouquet because he is guilty of something? And, I think irrationally, that the word “bouquet” also comes from the French.

Jack is oh so busy heating the food and setting the table and lighting candles—and, I might add, he hasn’t really looked at me since he got home.