Getting Old Is Très Dangereux: A Mystery (4 page)

She smiles at me, looks down at my ring finger.

“The
fiancée?”
she asks with a voice like velvet.

As a matter of fact, once again, officially as of last night. “Yes,” I manage to whisper. When is Jack going to say something?

“It was eight years ago when Jacques and I met in Paris,” she informs me and about fifty or so others eagerly standing around. There is a long group
sigh. I wonder how many of the wannabe romance writers out there are taking notes.

The redhead gestures lavishly. “How do you call it
en anglais?
A romance of the summer?”

More moans from the onlookers.

I’ve had it. I nudge Jack to say something.

He looks toward me but he is staring blindly at some point over my head. “Gladdy, this is Michelle, I mean, Michelle duBois.” His voice is a croak. You know, the way adolescent boys sound when they first get those raging hormones.

“Michelle, Gladdy Gold … ”

I manage a polite nod.

Now Sophie pokes Jack and says, “And her very closest friends, Sophie and Bella.” The girls preen. They are having the time of their lives. I am having a reflux choking up of the throat.

Michelle inclines her head toward the woman next to her. “My niece, Colette Marie.”

Colette adds, “Named after the famous writer.”

Michelle smiles. “She is also my assistant, my PR person, and—how you say—my Jill of all trades.” The younger woman bows politely. “Come away to someplace more
privé,”
Michelle suggests, motioning to us.

Without waiting for me to agree, she strolls away from the crowd to the nearest room, expecting us to follow. And we do. This woman is used to having her way.

There is another collective sigh, now that the French farce is over, and the onlookers disperse to continue on their merry way.

Michelle uses a key card to open a door marked VIP Lounge. Empty. And now we are inside. Colette immediately gives Michelle a water bottle from her large bulging carryall.

The girls quickly sit together on a floral love seat, their eyes like saucers.

Jack finally manages to come to himself. “Michelle, it’s very good to see you again.”

“And for me, too. I hoped we might meet, but this city is rather large,
n’est-ce pas?
Such a wonderful coincidence.” She makes a small moue with her lips. “Even though I should not be kind to you—the way you left me so abruptly.”

Jack jumps in, I assume to stop her from saying anything too personal. “Congratulations on your book. When I met you, your first book was about to be published. And now, I see, this is your fifth. You must be very proud of your success.”

Colette speaks for her. “And she leads a very exciting life because of it.”

It’s obvious the niece is very proud of her aunt and Michelle is content to let the young woman extol her successes. Michelle puts her arms lovingly around her niece, but Colette suddenly blurts, “And because of what she writes, her life is very dangerous, too.”

Michelle interrupts. “Now now, we’ll have none of that.”

“But you have so many enemies!” Colette insists.

Michelle pats the young woman on the head. “My niece worries too much.”

Jack, finally in his element, lets the cop in him come out. “Has something been happening to make you fearful?”

“There have been incidents … ” Michelle admits.

“More than just incidents. Threats—” Colette inserts.

Michelle puts her hand gently on Colette’s lips. “I am not afraid.” But her eyes belie her words. Jack catches it as well. This woman is frightened and trying to hide it.

Michelle looks at her thin diamond wristwatch. “
Ma petite
,” she says to her niece, “you should have been paying attention.” She starts to move to the door. “We are expected at my publisher’s booth on the third floor.
Au revoir
, Jacques.” She takes his hand in hers and as far as I’m concerned, she holds on too long. And Jack takes too long to remove his hand from hers.

She turns to me with a lovely practiced smile. “It was
très
pleasant meeting you, Mme. Gold. And your friends. I will be here this week. Perhaps we might have tea one afternoon.”

“That sounds lovely,” I answer equally politely,
knowing that isn’t going to happen. The girls’ heads swing up and down in their excitement. I smile up at Jack. “Don’t you agree?”

He manages a half nod. As we leave the room he glances back. Michelle looks as worried as Colette.

Walking through the parking lot, Jack, who hasn’t said a word since we left the hotel, suddenly hands me his car keys. “You go on home,” he tells me. “I’ll grab a cab later.”

“Where are you going?” But I know what he’s going to say.

“They’re frightened. I think I ought to find out more. They may need police protection.”

I am too stunned to protest. Bella, Sophie, and I pile into his car and drive off. By the time I search for him in my rearview mirror, he’s already gone. I’m fuming.

Sophie, in the front passenger seat, kicks off her high heels. “So, what’s he gonna do now?”

“Quiet!” The girls are dying to talk about it, but I nip them in the bud. “Not a word. You hear? I do not want any discussion.”

They cower in the face of my anger. I can’t deal with this right now. In fact, I don’t want to think about anything now. I want utter silence. My mind wants to shut down until I can be alone and figure out what really just happened and how it might possibly affect my life.

Police protection indeed. And then I remember
she just happened to mention what floor she’d be on. Red flag! She knew he would come back.

Making his way through the hotel, Jack wonders how he will find Michelle again in this crowd. Then he recalls she had a meeting at her publisher’s. Third floor. Right. He follows in the direction she was heading. Old cop abilities, like a good memory for details, die hard. He also remembers the publisher’s name from the poster.

A decorative gate made of wicker and covered with a trellis of shiny fake leaves leads him to PIP—Paris International Publishing, Ltd. Jack suddenly finds himself in a contained area intended to remind one of France. The partitions are covered with photos of French scenery. Large posters with author photos and book titles are spread about the area. There are small booths for meetings. And young people, dressed in waiter apparel, hand out champagne.

The two redheads are easy to spot. Michelle and Colette are standing with a woman who reminds him of pictures he’s seen of Edith Piaf, the famous French singer of sad songs—tiny, dark, intense, dressed all in black. Everyone is speaking in rapid-fire French.

Colette spots him and pokes Michelle. Michelle
waves. She says a few hurried words to the Piaf-like woman. They kiss cheek to cheek and Michelle takes her leave.

She hurries over to Jack. “I was hoping you would return.”

“Are you busy? I could come back later.”

“For you,
mon cher
, I am not busy. I have completed my editor’s
petite
meeting.”

His heart is pounding again. He wonders if it’s excitement about seeing her, or guilt. What must Gladdy be thinking? He’s behaving like a schoolboy. He remembers how often Michelle made him feel this way. Awkward. Fearful of making mistakes.
Was I ever as comfortable with her as I am with Gladdy?

Her loveliness makes him catch his breath. But then, any man would react to her beauty. He gives her a quick hug. She hugs back. He pulls away first.

“It is such a lucky coincidence seeing you at this book fair. What about a brief stroll around the nearby shops, that would be nice. It’s a beautiful day. Away from the crowds,
n’est-ce pas?”

“Much better,” Jack says.

“And we shall find a café and we’ll chat. And you will tell me how you have managed to live so long without me.” She laughs out loud, enjoying Jack’s discomfort at her teasing. “Colette,” she calls out, dismissing her.
“À bientôt.”

They stroll along the beach-cluttered T-shirt
tourist avenue. “Not quite Montmartre,” he comments.

“Ah, you are remembering our many strolls around my city.”

“How could I forget? It was a magical time.”

“Real for me. Fantasy for you?” Her eyebrows rise.

“I didn’t want to hurt you. But I did anyway.”

“That is, how shall I say it—water under
le pont.”
She smiles. “I did think to look you up when I arrived, but I wished to avoid another rejection.”

Jack reddens. Guilty.

She puts her arm through his and leans into him. “But we found each other again. Perhaps fate meant us to meet again.”

Uh-oh. What has he gotten himself into? he wonders.

They reach a coffee shop and Jack suggests they go in. When they are seated, he changes the subject. “Tell me about the threats. And don’t make light of this.”

“
Alors
. My worrywart little niece. Something to shrug off.”

“Details. Come on.”

“There were letters. Telling me to stop writing my books. If I do not, I will be killed.”

“And you don’t think that’s serious?”

She shrugs. “Over these years, after each book there have been many … complainers. Threats about lawsuits. Getting even with me—like that. Much name-calling. How you say—it goes with the territory.”

“I don’t suppose you kept the letters?”

She shakes her head. “No.”

“Colette seems particularly frightened. Why?”

“She feels that someone is stalking us. She thinks she saw a quick glimpse of the same man. But I look and I see no one. I am much too busy to believe this nonsense.”

“I have advice for you and you are going to listen to me. Say you will.”

Again that very French shrug and lifting of eyebrows.

“Say it.”

“I will do anything you say,
mon cher
. Anything.”

Jack busies himself with his cup of coffee. As long as he doesn’t look at her, he can talk—like a cop. Like a friend.

MYSTERIOUS WOMAN

W
hen we arrive back at Lanai Gardens, we see Ida, Evvie, Joe, and a group of our neighbors standing in a large circle on the expansive lawn of Phase Two. Joe looks pale, which means he must have had his chemo treatment today. His clothes seem looser to me. But I’m the only one Evvie has told of his illness and his valiant fight to survive. If the girls suspect, they say nothing. Nor will they, until they are officially informed.

Hy and Lola are there, as are Tessie and Sol. The two couples, leaders of the gossip brigade, are quiet for a change. Hy raises himself to his full five feet. Lola looks terrified. Tessie manages to munch on a sandwich with her free hand. Sol winks at Hy as if to show pleasure in this manly stuff. They stare
rapt with attention. They, along with the half dozen others, have their legs apart, knees bent, each grasping a walking cane tightly with its point thrust outward.

Merrill Grant, who lives in Phase Four, stands in the center of the group with his cane. In front of him there is some sort of stuffed rag dummy tied to a large pole. What’s with canes all of a sudden? Especially since not one of these people needs one.

Sophie and Bella rush to the circle. They are bursting to reveal today’s drama at the book fair. I hurry after them, knowing I need to attach myself to them for damage control.

I hear Merrill shout out, demonstrating on the dummy. As he does, his group repeats in cadence with him, “Swing hard. Hard as you can! Sound off. One two, stab into the neck. Three four, push down in the groin. Five six, on top of the head. Seven eight, get him in the gut. Hit him high. Hit him low. Whatever you do, don’t let go!”

Merrill was a marine in World War II. To this day, he still wears what’s left of his hair in a regulation buzz cut.

The canes are swung at these imagined body parts. My neighbors are puffing away, sweat running down their faces as they shout along with Merrill. They grimace to show their anger at their imaginary enemies. With each thrust they shout “Ugh!”

I join Bella and Sophie, who are standing behind the circle as they try to get Evvie’s and Ida’s attention. “What’s going on here?” I ask.

Sophie answers me as Ida waves back. “A lot of the retirement homes are doing it. It’s the latest craze. Old people need to protect themselves, don’t they?”

Bella says, “It’s called Chop Suey.” Sophie shakes her head. “I already told you six times.”

“Well, it’s hard to remember.” She tries again. “Kung Fooey?”

Sophie corrects her. “This is Cane Fu. Merrill saw it on TV and also in the papers. He decided he should start a group of our own. We would have been here if we hadn’t gone to the fair.” She giggles as she is undoubtedly thinking about what happened today. “We had more fun with you, Gladdy.”

Yeah, hilarious, I think.

Evvie sees us and points to her wrist, then lifts five fingers, indicating to us they are almost done.

I watch in hideous fascination. “Since when do any of you own canes?”

Bella contributes, “Merrill got them for us wholesale bulk rate at a medical equipment store. I’m gonna paint mine pink.”

Finally the group disbands with a last loud group “Ugh!” And then, “Olé!”