Getting Old Is Très Dangereux: A Mystery (20 page)

Sophie hmphs. “Come. Don’t come. It’s a free country. Do what you want.”

Bella timidly adds, “But don’t forget to bring extra cash for phone calls.”

Ida scoffs at that. “Hah! That’ll be the day.”

Evvie tries to appease all three of them. “Maybe I’ll come, too. As a visitor. But don’t tell Joe. He’ll resent being thought of as dead.”

She makes the joke to ease the tension, but I see the worry in her eyes.

“Wait, I have something.” Bella finally finds what she’s looking for. She brings out two small wrapped packages and hands one to me and the other to Evvie. Her nose goes up in the air as she passes Ida. Nothing for her.

Evvie and I open the packages. Inside, I find a thin red leather cord, holding metal chimes with small crystals dangling below.

Bella explains. “They’re special chimes. You hang them up somewhere and when the chimes ring, someone you loved and lost will return. Let me show you how to do it.”

She takes my chimes and goes to the window.
Tiny Bella reaches as high as she can. She has trouble hanging the cord from the top of my curtain rod.

Evvie jumps up to help her. “Thanks for my gift, Bella,” Evvie says, hugging her.

I smile at my two very sad friends. “It’s lovely. Look at how the colors of the crystals move in the sunshine.” I go to Bella, too, and kiss her on the cheek. “Thank you.”

The tears are really falling now. Bella turns to Ida, chest out, head high. “If something I do makes me happy, why do you have to ruin it? I don’t care if I lose my five dollars. Every time I go, I feel good, and isn’t that what matters?”

Ida looks uncomfortable. I think she feels cornered. And puzzled. If she’s sure she’s right, why aren’t we agreeing with her?

She forces a smile. She can’t believe all of us are against her. “Let’s go back and watch the movie. Okay?” She hands Bella a tissue as she heads back to her seat. Bella takes it and sniffs her tears away.

Sophie swivels so her back is to Ida and looks at Evvie. “On with the show.”

Evvie quickly turns up the sound again and everyone settles down as George Clooney smiles his irresistible grin and seems to be looking directly at each one of us.

I try to join them, but I can’t stand not knowing
what’s going on with Jack and Michelle. What are they doing? What are they talking about?

After a few minutes, I get up and start out of the room with my picked-at plate of food.

Evvie calls, “While you’re up, Glad, wanna bring me some more mu shu?”

“Actually, I need to get out. I really appreciate your coming by, but I must get some air. Enjoy your food and Mr. Gorgeous.”

They look at me, disappointed but concerned.

“Want us to come with you, wherever you’re going?” Evvie starts to get up.

I gently wave to her to stay down. “I don’t have a clue as to where I’m going. I’ll be back soon.”

As I leave the room, I hear Bella say to Evvie, “Why didn’t you put it on pause? Now we missed a whole lot.”

I hear Evvie answer her with weariness, a question asked and answered a hundred times. “We can rewind, Bella. R.E.W.I.N.D.”

As I grab my purse and keys, I suddenly know where I’m going. If I can’t see the father, then I’ll visit the son.

Eventually Jack had to agree with Michelle. After a few hours of playing cards and watching dull TV sitcoms, both of them needed a break. Some fresh
air. Especially since Michelle still refused to talk about the man who was trying to kill her.

He enlisted the aid of the hotel manager, who helped them escape through a service entrance that led to a private staff parking area, where one of the valets had brought Jack’s car. To his surprise, the hotel manager handed them a picnic basket filled with a gourmet lunch and expensive wine—apparently, Michelle had called room service while Jack was getting ready.

Now, as Jack watches Michelle leaning her head and shoulders back against a tree, satisfied after the delicious lunch, what he’s thinking about isn’t her but his recent picnic on the beach with Gladdy. He wishes he was spending this beautiful afternoon with the woman he loves, instead of sitting here growing impatient with Michelle’s attitude and her refusal to help them wrap up this investigation. He knows they weren’t followed from the hotel, but he can’t stop his eyes from moving in perpetual motion as he examines everyone near them, looking for the murderer.

“I never want to go back.” Michelle sighs happily.

“Enough fun for today. It’s about time we got down to business.”

She is all sweetness. “Do we have to?”

“Yes. You’ve been avoiding this discussion long enough.”

“I’d rather talk about us.” She starts to crawl closer to him.

“Stop.” He motions her to stay where she is.

“But it’s such a lovely day. It feels good not to think about problems.”

Jack takes a notepad and pen out of his jacket pocket. “I want the names of the people you met when you worked at the winery. The owners.”

She laughs. “You can’t be serious. Those pathetic losers? You think
they’re
trying to kill me?”

“It makes sense. Who else would want your computer? Why were you so angry when it was gone?”

She says angrily, “Believe me, I’m still angry. Because of my rivals. The press. There’s always someone who’s looking for a scoop. Or a way to steal ideas from me. You have no idea how many vultures there are out there. A writer has no privacy anymore.”

“But not enough to want to kill you. The winery people already know it’s about them.”

She cannot hide her amusement. “Jacques,
chéri
. I lived with those people for months. They are four unintelligent people incapable of any complex action. And the whole idea of them hiring an elderly assassin? To track me down in Florida? Ridiculous.”

“That old man ‘hired gun’ tried to kill you
and came very close to killing Colette instead. He murdered the maid at the hotel when he went after your computer. I think that’s enough to take very seriously. What’s in the next manuscript that’s important enough to kill for?”

She sighs. Jack assumes she’s annoyed that he isn’t going to let go of this idea. “All right. They were ‘blue fining,’ something they shouldn’t have been doing because it’s dangerous and banned in many countries.” She stops.

Jack waits. She’s going to make him work for it. “What is it and why is it dangerous?”

Being facetious, she grins. “Why don’t you wait until the book comes out? Then you can read my twenty pages about the whole process.” Michelle tilts her face up to catch the sun’s rays. “I hate to waste this glorious day on serious talk.”

“Michelle. Enough playing games.”

Another bored sigh. “Very well. Wine growers afraid of clouding in their white wines use hydrogen cyanide to remove the copper and iron that cause the problem. Needless to say, the cyanide can decompose in the bottles. Growers are supposed to test the wine to detect residual levels. But they never did. And believe me, they were guilty of many more infractions of the law. Enough already. No more questions.”

“Thank you,” he says, not hiding his impatience.

“Besides, others have tried to get me and failed.
This guy’s already blundered and I’m sure Morrie’s people will apprehend him soon.”

“His blunders may make him even more reckless.”

Michelle slides closer to him. “Why should I worry? I know I’m in good hands.”

Jack watches her glance around, smiling at passersby, untroubled. She ignores his pleas to be concerned. It’s as if she spins a web around herself—sure, because of who and what she is, that she’s immune to being hurt. The woman reminds him of a moth, more like a butterfly, who fearlessly flies closer to the flame. He must keep her focused. But is it for her sake or his?

“The names, Michelle.” He removes the cap of his pen.

She shrugs. If he must insist on this boring subject, very well, she’ll play it his way. “Pierre LaRoche, his brother, Oswald, and the fat wife of Oswald, Hortense. And their partner, Gaston Dubonet.” She intends a joke. “Sorry, I don’t know the name of your elderly assassin with gray hair. Their winery is Le Vin de Bordeaux Sud.”

He studies her for a moment; she is shaking out her red hair, pretending to be unaware of how sexy her movements are. Hah. As if she didn’t know that everyone looks her way admiringly. Maybe envying this sour old daddy next to her. Surely no one
would think he was her lover. “Why did you insist I guard you day and night?”

Her eyes lower, her lips form a seductive smile. “You can’t guess?”

“No, not really.”

She’s now close enough to touch him. “Perhaps it’s because you left me so abruptly in Paris, we never had a proper ending. All these years, you never thought of me once?”

Jack doesn’t intend to get into any old intimate details. He moves away from her and gathers the remains of their lunch, packs what’s left of it into the basket. “I think we should go.”

She pouts prettily. “A few minutes more. Please. Look, on the bandstand. There’s a group of musicians about to play.”

Jack sighs. “All right. I can call my son from here. One song. After that, we leave.” He lifts his cell phone out of his inside jacket pocket and dials.

Morrie answers, but is busy on another line, so Jack quickly reels off the names Michelle gave him. Morrie makes a quick note of them and promises to call right back.

Michelle removes the wine bottle and her glass from the basket. “Just a few sips more.”

The band plays its first selection. A French song. “April in Paris.” She claps her hands in delight.

Jack puts the phone down. She refills his glass
and passes it to him. He hesitates a moment, then takes it.

I don’t even bother to call Morrie. In my agitated state, I rush over to his office hoping he’ll be there. And he is. He’s surprised to see me. He gestures for me to wait as he completes a call. When he finally hangs up, he smiles.

Never mind the niceties. I jump right in. “Why didn’t you talk your father out of becoming Michelle’s guard?”

His eyes widen. “Not even a hello, how are you?”

“Hello. How are you? There. Happy?”

Morrie walks me to the chair opposite his desk and sits me down. “Dad and I share a stubbornness gene. When we make up our minds, nobody can change it.”

“It was his idea?”

“No, hers. She manipulated him into it. She’s very persuasive, as you probably know.” He stands over me. “Want a drink?”

“No, thanks.”

“Funny you should drop in. I was about to call him. With news.”

I mutter under my breath, “Wish I had phone privileges.” Then I realize he just said something important. “News? What news?”

Morrie sits down behind his desk and puts his feet up. “I’ve had a most amusing phone conversation with a
commissariat de police
in Paris. An Inspector Bonnard. I explained who I was, gave him my phone number. Reported the situation about Michelle and her niece and all that’s happened. Dad had just given me the names of the people who own the winery. I turned them over to the inspector. I informed him that we feel these people sent over a professional assassin to murder Mme. duBois while she’s here in America. My French was deplorable, but I muddled through.

“He seemed very busy and was constantly being interrupted. It was hard keeping his attention. But that changed when I said I had information about the assassin and I needed his help. When I mentioned that the man we are looking for is elderly and has bad eyesight, there was a pause. I heard peals of laughter in the background as he rattled off a fast barrage of French to the others in the room. Then, after a few choice words which I won’t repeat, and didn’t understand but got the gist of, he hung up on me.”

I manage a smile. “I can understand why. An elderly hit man does seem implausible.”

Morrie picks up the phone. “Maybe Dad will have an idea.” He dials and Jack answers.

My frustration is unbearable. The two of them
can chat anytime, back and forth, and I don’t dare call.

Morrie turns on the speaker phone so I can listen. I want to wave to him not to, but I don’t. There may be a reason why Jack hasn’t called me. But I’m curious to hear what’s going on.

Morrie says, “I spoke to Paris a few minutes ago.”

Jack’s voice comes up with background noises I can’t quite make out. Music?

Jack says, “Were the French police of any use?”

Morrie answers. “They were all right until I mentioned the elderly assassin.”

I hear a woman’s voice. A woman with a French accent. Guess who?

She is speaking to Jack.
“Alors
. I told you the police would never believe you.”

I scribble a note to Morrie. Morrie nods.

He asks Jack, “What’s that noise in the background?”

There is silence for a moment. “Michelle was restless and needed to get out. We’re at a park and a band is playing.”

Michelle pipes up. “We had a lovely picnic. I wish Jack would dance with me.”

My head reels. Morrie avoids looking at me.

Silence. Then Jack asks, “Why is the speaker phone on? Someone else is in the room?”

I quickly stride to the door tossing out my exit
words. “Not anymore.” I walk out. In the hallway I take a deep breath. This is too much. She’s really trying to do it. She will find a way to destroy our relationship.

I make my way down the hall. Morrie comes out of his office and hurries after me.

“What?” I ask.

“Dad says he’ll call you later and explain.”

“Explain what? Everything is quite clear.”

Morrie is stumped. He doesn’t know how to comfort me. And I feel foolish for exposing how upset I am. I dig deep into my purse for my car keys so I don’t have to face him and see his pity.

I ask, still looking down, “Did he have an idea?”

Morrie says, “No, he’ll try to think of one.”

We both stand there. I want to leave. He wants to get back to his office and we’re both frozen. Finally, I say, off the top of my head, “Call the French police back. Tell them to look up the family background of the four owners. There’s got to be some connection there to why the killer is so old. I have a hunch something will turn up.”

I walk out of the building without looking back.