Getting Old Is Très Dangereux: A Mystery (28 page)

Am I interested? You bet I am. I put my arm through his and use the cane with the other. “What are we waiting for? Let’s go.”

Joe, who has come to get Evvie, hears the tail end of this exchange and is astounded. “You have a wedding tomorrow and you’re running off to visit a crime scene?”

“Wouldn’t miss it for anything. Business before pleasure.”

Jack says, “Save us some pizza.”

On our way to the car, Ida, Bella, and Sophie are directly in our path. They are laughing and singing. What a nutty threesome they are. First they’re fighting and now they’re a chorus? I wonder how that came about.

Sophie merrily calls out, “Rehearsal over?”

“Yes, and where were you?” I pretend annoyance.

Bella says, “Just hanging around.” She grins.

Weird. Whatever they’re hiding, they’re obviously going to keep me out of it. “Well, never mind; go join the others for dinner in the rec room.”

Bella is confused. “But you two are going in the wrong direction.”

I explain. “We’ll be back soon. We have to see a dead body first.”

We don’t wait to see the expressions on their faces. We know how they’ll look.

WEDDING DAY MINUS ONE CONTINUED

T
he motel is rundown and ugly. We’ve seen this cliché in dozens of noir films. Leaky faucets. Rusted pipes. Musty smell. The TV bolted to a table. Even the toilet paper rolls are nailed in so they can’t be stolen. But it’s easy to see the killer’s thinking. No one would find him here. And it’s actually walking distance from the fancy hotel where the book convention was held and where Michelle is staying.

Morrie greets us at the door and hands us gloves. “Sorry I couldn’t make it for the rehearsal, Dad.”

“No problem. Just don’t forget the ring tomorrow.”

“I know. I know. You reminded me a dozen times already.”

I smile at their obvious love for one another. Funny how I met Morrie before I met his dad—even before I turned into a private eye. My very first case. I look around as they chat. The Snake sure traveled light. One other gray suit in the closet. One extra shirt. One extra pair of shoes. Then again, he was expecting to get the killing done as soon as he got here.

I turn to Morrie. “You said he was badly beaten, almost unrecognizable. No wallet? How did you know it was him?”

“Sometimes it’s just a fortunate thing. I saw the pair of eyeglasses lying smashed beside him. On the frame I recognized the logo of the store in the mall. And besides, he matched the description. He was small and very thin, with strands of gray hair. His suit had a European styling. When I got to the motel room and recognized that his cologne matched the bottle on the sink, I knew we’d guessed right.”

Jack looks at the paperwork on the scarred wooden table. I join him.

Morrie has the assassin’s suitcase open, feeling around for anything hidden. “See? It’s all there on the table. The airline tickets to France. His passports next to them. Remember Bonnard’s list of
aliases? He has three of them right here. The airline ticket is in the name of Louis Phillipe.”

I pat down his single bed because I see something bulging. I pull down the coverlet. “Look at this.”

Morrie and Jack hurry over. There’s a knife half under the pillow. It’s been cleaned, but bloodstains can still be detected.

Morrie pulls out an evidence bag. “Well, well. No doubt this will match up with the hotel maid’s DNA.”

“How strange,” I say, “that he didn’t have it with him.”

Morrie shrugs. “He probably went out for a quick dinner and expected to be right back. Lucky for us. Unlucky for him. He had to make a mistake sometime.”

Morrie’s men finish bagging all the items in the room. Then they leave.

The three of us take a last look around before we take off.

“Well,” says Morrie, in the dingy hallway, “it couldn’t have happened at a better time. Now we can all take a deep breath and enjoy the wedding. I’ll give Michelle a call and relieve her anxieties. She’ll be on the plane tomorrow and we can successfully close the case of The Writer and The Assassin.”

I catch the troubled expression on Jack’s face.
“Why don’t you call her, darling? I’m sure she’d rather hear it from you.”

Morrie and Jack look closely at me. I can tell Morrie is surprised at my suggestion, but he quickly agrees. “Good idea. I’ve got to hurry to the station and call Bonnard. I’m sure his next step will be to bring the winery people in for interrogation. So make the call, Dad, why don’t you?”

With that, Morrie hurries to the stairs. “See you tomorrow. Say hi to the folks for me.”

In the hallway, Jack takes my arm. “Let’s get out of this dump. It makes my skin crawl.”

“No argument from me.”

Outside again, we both enjoy the cool, clean night air. Though the neighborhood is grim, at least there are many lit stores. Besides, I’m with my very own cop, so I feel safe. “Go ahead and call,” I say. “I’ll walk ahead while you do.”

Jack holds me back and says gratefully, “No more secrets.” He takes out his notebook and looks up the number of the hotel and punches it in on his cell. It takes a short while for her to answer.

“Michelle, it’s Jack.”

He listens. “Yes, I know it’s a surprise hearing from me.”

He’s repeating what she says for my benefit, that dear guy.

“I have amazing news. The man who tried to kill you was murdered last night. It’s all over and you can leave with a clear mind.”

Jack has this habit of walking in circles when he speaks on a phone. I sort of travel along with him.

“I can understand why you don’t want the details. It isn’t necessary to burden you with such grim information.”

Now he turns and circles counterclockwise. It’s an endearing habit.

“Gladdy is fine.” He pauses, takes a deep breath and forges on. “As a matter of fact we’re getting married tomorrow.”

He waits, listening, this time not repeating her words. “Yes, at Lanai Gardens. I believe I mentioned it to you. Where we live. A garden wedding.”

He listens again. “Thank you for your kind words. I’ll tell her. And I wish you a bon voyage.” More listening, his head nodding, then he hangs up.

He faces me. “Well, that’s that.”

I try to read his expression, but I can’t. It’s all right. Let him close this episode privately, in his own mind.

Later, Jack and I hold hands as we gaze at the two items hanging on our closet door. His black tuxedo and my peach silk gown. It’s nearly midnight.

I ask, “Are you sure the peach looks good on me?”

“Gorgeous.”

“Maybe Evvie looks better in that color?”

“You both look sensational.” He grins. “Cute idea, wearing the same gowns.”

He walks over to his tux and flicks away an imaginary piece of lint. “What about my matching peach cummerbund? A little too much?”

Another of Evvie’s ideas since she took over as the wedding planner.

He returns to my side. I sigh. He sighs.

I say, “Looks like this is it. Five more minutes to our wedding day.”

“Sure seems like it.”

“Last chance to back out.”

“Ditto for you.”

He kisses me on the cheek. “It’s about time you made an honest man of me.”

Jack turns me around to face him. He places my hands in his.

“I, Jack Langford, do solemnly swear to be the best husband I can possibly be.” He nods. My turn.

“I, Gladdy Gold, swear to be the best wife I can be. I hope God will be good to us and let us have many healthy years together.”

Jack says, “And that He will keep our children and grandchildren healthy and happy to continue to live useful lives.”

“I promise to love and honor, but I’m not much on obeying.”

“I, Jack Langford, hope I can be the kind of man you’ll respect. I will do everything to make every hour of every day special.” He grins. “I also promise no more redheads.”

“I promise never to be jealous again.”

He laughs. “I pledge a lot of laughter in our home.”

“I like that. Do you think we’ll feel different being married?”

“Better than ever. I give my word that nothing will ever separate us again.”

“Amen to that.”

He puts his arms around me and I place my arms around him. We stand like that for a very long moment. I can feel his heart beating against mine. Right now we have just gotten married in heart and soul.

Tomorrow is merely icing on the wedding cake.

We drink a toast with our bedside water bottles.

Jack is aware of the expression on my face. “What? You seem pensive. Don’t tell me you’ve changed your mind and are getting cold feet.”

“It’s just that something bothers me about The Snake’s motel room. But I can’t put my finger on it. Where’s the laptop? Shouldn’t it have been in the room? Something seems too pat.”

He laughs. “He may have hidden it elsewhere.
But what does it matter now? At a moment like this when I am wooing you from the bottom of my heart, you think of the dead Snake?” He hugs me. “The cop shop is officially closed. Forget about business. Now, woman, come into my arms where you belong.”

How can I resist? I’m already obeying. And loving it.

HERE COMES THE BRIDE AND THE OTHER BRIDE

I
t’s an hour to our wedding vows. The weather is perfect. It’s going to be a glorious evening. Everything and everyone is in place. The children and grandchildren are kvelling. As a group, they can’t stop grinning. They’re thrilled. The beloved father of one side and beloved mother of another are finally tying the knot. Our friends and neighbors are having a wonderful time. Every woman there is delighted to find a small bouquet on her chair. Even the ducks in the pond seem to be quacking out their good wishes to us.

Sophie and Bella, in matching chartreuse gowns, are wandering around telling anyone who’ll listen, taking credit for the two love matches. Ida follows along, a little serious today.

I watch Evvie, looking wonderful wearing my twin peach silk, still directing traffic; my “über” wedding planner. It was funny having seen her earlier give orders to Linda Rutledge’s grandson’s garage band—oy; Toothpaste. Evvie insisted Mendelssohn’s traditional wedding march was not to be played with a rap beat. The guys were disappointed. They’d already composed a rap to be sung along with the march. I shuddered to imagine.

Evvie points out to me where she and I will wait, in the farthest corner behind a mass of shrubbery, unseen by the gathered guests. Our cue, of course, will be the Wedding March, no matter how Toothpaste butchers it.

She then directs the Cane Fu gang, who are positioned in front of the grove where we will stand. They’re lined up in two rows. Merrill Grant will lead them to the chuppah, at the music cue of a rat-a-tat-tat on the drums. Merrill snaps his fingers and the group stand ready to aim their canes on high, crossing swords, so to speak.

They are all a-flutter with so much responsibility. Jack’s daughter, Lisa, and Ida lead the two lines. Bella is right behind, partnered with Sophie. Our two daughters, Emily and Martha, are next. My Emily turns around to brandish a cane at me. I wave my own needed cane back at her.

Evvie hurries to my side and we are now at the ready. She clutches her bouquet. I balance my cane
with one hand and my bouquet with the other. We wait for the signal for the Cane Fus to go first and then it’s our turn.

My sister and I exchange big grins.

“Pinch me,” she says. “So I can believe this is really happening.”

“Sorry,” I say, “both hands are taken.”

“This is the happiest day of my life, second only to the birth of my Martha.”

I think of my happiest day, when I married my first Jack. I begin to tear up.

Evvie looks at me knowing exactly what I’m thinking. She hugs me as best she can with our bouquets and cane in the way. “He would be so happy for you.”

As I wait for our signal, I relive my first wedding day, every beautiful moment of it.

The Snake waits until the Frenchwomen’s baggage is stowed in the trunk of their taxi. The two redheads say good-bye to their police guards. The guards leave and the cab takes off
.

The Snake feels content from where he sits up front next to the dark, curly-headed driver whose name on the dashboard reads José. At first the man refused, because the front seat was his place to put all his crap—greasy lunch bags, cell phone, sweater, notebooks, credit card machine. The Snake
was very convincing when he told the hesitant driver that in his country it was an insult to sit in the back, like some filthy rich landowner
.