Honey and Leonard (9 page)

"You tell him it's almost 5 p.m. where he is, and he should have called me long before now. He promised to check in with me at least three times a day."

Two hours later, Wolfe called Gretchen. He and Simone had spent quite a night on the town and ended up sharing a room and each other until dawn's early light. Even so, he had news to report. "Honey used her Visa Card to rent a new, 1992, Ford Taurus, around noon today, Paris time."

"So where are they now?"

"I have no idea. They rented it for two weeks. The desk clerk said she overheard something about the French Riviera."

"What about the police?"

"You told me not to contact the police until I found them."

"Well, now that you've let them out of Paris, we're going to have to change our strategy, aren't we?"

"I suppose so."

"Now, listen carefully. I want you to go to Giverny. That's where Leonard will go. He always wanted to see Monet's gardens."

"Who's Monet?"

"Monet is one of the most famous Impressionist painters of all time. Don't tell me you haven't heard of him," Gretchen said, beginning to wonder if she'd hired the right man.

"Oh,
that
Monet," Wolfe bluffed. "Of course, I've heard of him. I'll get right over there and keep you informed."

"Yep. Two nights in that hotel was enough," he said to Honey. "We've got to keep moving if we don't want to get caught."

"Do you really think they're after us?"

"No doubt about it. I'm amazed we've made it this far. I'll bet the police are looking all over Paris by now. Too bad for them. We're gone."

"What about Gretchen?"

"You know, that girl has turned into the biggest disappointment of my life. I thought she loved me. I know she did. I hope she still does. The terrible truth is she's fallen in love with my money. We've been through a lot together. But she just can't handle me being with you. That doesn't make any sense. I mean, the girl is my brother's daughter. After he died, she became more like my daughter. So, I can't understand why she wouldn't just want me to be happy. She knew what a train wreck my marriage was after we lost our only child."

"Leonard, I've got some bad news for you. News you already know but won't admit to yourself."

"What?"

"Gretchen's been stealing your money and she doesn't want me helping you find out about it."

"I can't believe that. I can't believe that's true. She's a good girl. But let's not talk about it anymore. We need to savor this moment. Here we are at Claude Monet's place. Can you believe it? Here we are, parking our fancy rental car in the lot outside Claude's house. Come on, let's go see his gardens and the paintings and the places he used to have breakfast and drink wine and go to bed."

Honey and Leonard walked, hand in hand, to Monet's house and went on the inside tour first. Honey's favorite part, by far, was the bright, yellow dining room. "Oh, Leonard, it's so beautiful. Who would ever think to make a dining room this gorgeous yellow?"

"Monet and artists in general are all about color," Leonard said. "You know, it's funny. People look at paintings and they want to impress everybody with their knowledge of art history and compare this artist to that artist. All they need to say is, 'Hey, I love the yellow.'"

They went outside in the bright autumn sunshine and strolled down the sloping gardens of daisies and poppies and rare flowers; down the central aisle, covered by iron arches for climbing roses in the spring. "You don't need to talk about art," Honey said. "You need to feel it. Like we're doing now. We don't need to decide which flower is the most beautiful, we just need to appreciate the whole garden."

"I'll tell you what we need to do," Leonard said as they entered the underground tunnel to make their way to the water garden. "We need to create our own garden back home."

"But we're not painters."

"We'll invite the painters over so they can wander the paths and mingle with the flowers and paint things the way they feel them."

"What if they feel like cutting off their ear?"

Leonard laughed, "Then we won't invite them over."

"Poor Vincent," Honey said. "He was so unhappy."

"I'll bet he wasn't unhappy when he was painting. His work always makes me feel good about myself. Like this place does."

Honey gasped as they came out of the tunnel and approached the water gardens. "Look, there's the Japanese bridge and the Wisteria and the lilies. Oh, my stars, it's even more beautiful in real life."

As they walked the paths around the water, Leonard told Honey a little about Monet. "You know, when he died in 1926 he was 86 years old. Some of his best paintings, the water lilies, were done in his eighties. You know what that means?"

"What does that mean?" Honey said as she pulled her gaze away from the pond and looked at Leonard.

"It means the best is yet to come," he said as he gave her a big hug. "It means we're still a couple of kids who can go anywhere we want and do whatever we want. It means we're young and in love."

Honey couldn't help but laugh with him in his enthusiasm. "I can't argue with you," she said. "I do feel young in this perfect garden with you."

"You know when the critics called his work Impressionism when he was a young painter, they meant it as an insult. But the young painters loved the term and used it for themselves."

"So why do they call it Impressionism?" Honey asked.

"Because it's not realistic. It goes beyond that. Monet and his buddies started painting the effects of light with broken color and rapid brushstrokes. Some of the stuff almost looks fuzzy. They called it
plein air
because they painted in the great outdoors and they weren't afraid to add a little emotion to the canvas."

"How do you know so much about art?" Honey asked.

Leonard thought about the question for a moment before he answered, "I don't know that much about it, but my mother was an artist. She painted in oil on big canvasses. She painted the great outdoors and everything in it. We'd come in from the fields, and there she'd be, doing a painting of the barn with a cow in front of it. Or painting a vase of flowers, catching the light just right in the evening sun. I used to love her work."

"Do you still have any of it?"

"You know, that's the darndest thing. I don't have a single painting. She died when I was twenty-two and all the relatives swooped in, and then there were no more paintings. Dad gave them all away. He couldn't bear to look at them. Her death was hard on him. It was hard on my brother and me too. She died of lung disease. She was a smoker, so was Dad. Once she got sick she made me promise to quit, and I did. My brother, Daniel, tried to quit but he couldn't do it. They didn't even call it cancer back then. It was quick, though. One day she was fine. Three months later, she was gone."

"Oh, Leonard, that's so sad."

"Monet was her favorite painter. She had a book of his work that she always kept on the coffee table in the living room. I used to love looking at the pictures of his paintings. They always felt so far away and romantic and colorful. Funny thing, now that I'm here, this place reminds me of home. It's really a lot like the farm. Look at the rolling hills and the trees and all the beautiful things growing. We could be back in Indiana."

"Don't tell me you're getting homesick."

"No, I'm not homesick. Home is where you are."

"What a perfect thing to say."

Leonard lingered in the gardens for another hour but eventually began walking Honey toward the car. "It's time to hit the road," he said. "We can't stay here too long. Gretchen knows this is the first place I'll visit."

As Honey and Leonard were leaving the gardens, a young woman came up in an excited rush and asked them to sign a copy of her newspaper. Honey put her glasses on to see the paper. She couldn't read the headlines but it was impossible to miss the photo of her and Leonard, it took up much of the top half of page three.

"What does it say?" Honey asked the woman. "Do you speak English?"

"Yes, I do. Oh my, it is really you. Please sign my paper. Here's a pen. You are going to be famous in France."

"What does the headline say?"

"Oh, yes, excuse me. It says 'Elder Lovers Flee to France.'"

Honey signed the newspaper as Leonard said, "Like I said, it's time to go. Looks like the French papers are picking up the story and photos from
The Chicago Tribune
." Then he turned to the young French woman and said, "Tell anyone who wants to know that we're headed for Amsterdam."

Honey and Leonard got in their car, and Leonard drove back to Vernon and across the Seine River. Honey said, "This doesn't look like the way to Amsterdam."

"Who said anything about going to Amsterdam?" Leonard laughed. "We're about to get lost in the French countryside, headed south for the Riviera. You in?"

His
Tribune
credentials opened all necessary doors, and he was quickly introduced to Corbin Lacoste, reporter in charge of the exploding Honey and Leonard story. Lacoste was thrilled to meet the man who initially broke the story and eager to share what few leads he had as to the couple's whereabouts. Fortunately for Crumbo, Lacoste spoke excellent English.

"I am so happy to meet the man who turned a love story into international news," Lacoste said.

"It wasn't international until you guys picked it up."

"Look at these clips from all over," Lacoste said. "Here's the London story, here's Stockholm. And look at this—it's even in Tokyo. Reporters from all over the world are picking up your story. You're a hero."

Crumbo laughed aloud at that comment. "All this means is I've got a lot more competition."

"What's Leonard like? Is Honey really in love with him? Did she try to poison him? Where did a farmer get all that money?"

Crumbo laughed again. "That's too many questions. You've got to ask them one at a time." He was pulling rank on Lacoste, who was twenty-eight years old, seventeen years Crumbo's junior.

Lacoste didn't mind. "Yes, yes, I am sorry. Please just tell me about Leonard. Tell me everything. I want to know it all."

"Tell you what," Crumbo said. "I'll tell you the most important facts about the story if you agree to help me find them. But you've got to agree to keep it off the record until I give you the okay."

Lacoste was so delighted to be partnering with Jack Crumbo and
The Chicago Tribune
he could barely restrain himself. At nearly six feet tall, Lacoste was a couple inches taller than Crumbo and in much better physical condition. Crumbo was carrying an extra thirty pounds around his midsection.

"Okay, then," Crumbo said. "Settle down. Here, let's have a seat. People are watching." Indeed, half the newsroom was staring at the newly formed reporting team.

"Honey never tried to poison Leonard. He had high levels of arsenic in his blood from being a farmer all his life and being exposed to arsenic in the pesticides he used on his fields."

Lacoste looked at Crumbo like he expected him to continue. Crumbo paused to let the meaning of his words sink in to the French reporter. It took a minute, but Lacoste finally lit up when he realized the significance of what he'd just been told.

"Then why are they running?" he asked Crumbo.

"Because nobody knows this except you and me and Honey's attorney. Honey and Leonard don't even know it yet."

"But Honey must know she didn't try to poison Leonard," Lacoste reasoned. "And Leonard must know he was never poisoned."

"They do," Crumbo said. "But they also know the law in Indiana is trying to keep them apart. So, they decided they didn't have time to wait on the law."

"We've got to find them," Lacoste said.

"Why do you think I came to see you?" Crumbo asked.

"Oh, right. Yes, yes. I did get a tip just today that they might be heading south. We had a sighting in Dijon."

"Is that where they make the mustard?" Crumbo asked.

"Yes," Lacoste said. "You Americans probably think it's a brand name, but it's really a quaint little town in France with big mustard factories. My guess is they'll keep heading south and be in Avignon by now. All the tourists head there on their way to the Riviera. It's a well-preserved medieval city."

Crumbo and Lacoste packed their things into Lacoste's car and took off for Avignon.

Leonard was driving south of Paris on A5 when Honey spotted the first sign for Dijon. It was, in fact, the exit sign for Dijon and they were almost past it when Honey said, "Leonard, turn here. Turn now. Take this exit. Look, it's for Dijon. That's got to be where they make the mustard."

The tires squealed as Leonard cranked the steering wheel to make the exit. The truck he cut off to make the turn blasted its horn. Leonard turned to Honey and said, "Pumpkin, please, don't scream at me like that. You're going to get us both killed."

Honey apologized but thanked him for being such a good driver and for following her spur of the moment directions. Then came the first of many signs for Dijon.

"Dijon," Leonard said, "that's where they make the mustard."

"Yes, sweetie, that's what I just said. That's why we're going there, to see the mustard factory."

The second sign for Dijon appeared on the side of the road in about 3 kilometers. Leonard said, "Dijon. That's where they make the mustard."

"Leonard, you just said that a minute ago. We both know Dijon is where they make the mustard."

By the fifth sign for Dijon with Leonard saying the exact same thing each time, Honey decided the only way to handle his repeating himself was to ignore it.

There's no use telling him he's repeating himself. He forgets what I say as much as he forgets what he says. So, if he can't remember what he says, how is it that he repeats the exact same thing every time, like he remembers what he said before? It's like a broken record, repeating the same thing, over and over.

Honey and Leonard arrived in Dijon with high hopes of learning how mustard is made. After a few inquiries, though, they learned that the mustard factory did not allow tourists to visit.

"They must have something to hide," Leonard concluded.

"Either that or it's just not that exciting to watch mustard being made," Honey said.

"I tell you what we'll do," he said. "Since we can't tour the factories, we'll go to a shop and buy a bunch of those little mustard jars we've been seeing everywhere. Then, we'll go to a restaurant and sample them at dinner. How's that sound for a plan? I'm hungry, aren't you?"

"Yes, I'm famished and that sounds like a wonderful plan," Honey said. She was falling more deeply in love with this resourceful man every step of the journey, even if she was troubled and becoming more mystified by his memory problems.

Nonetheless, the realization that "love might not conquer all" was slowly taking shape in her mind. It was beginning to dawn on her that Leonard's memory might keep getting worse no matter how much she loved him or how much quality time they spent together.

At dinner, Leonard borrowed her glasses to read the label on one of the mini mustard jars. "Look here," he said. "Dijon mustard began in 1856 when some guy substituted the juice of not-quite-ripe grapes for vinegar."

Honey was paying more attention to the menu than to Leonard, so he pressed his point, "Don't you think it's funny how one little difference in the recipe can change the way the world thinks about mustard?"

Honey looked over her menu at Leonard and smiled. "I do think that is interesting. But what I find even more interesting is that bright yellow mustard we've got back in the States is called French's."

As they laughed together, the waiter came over to check on them. Once Honey clued him in on the joke, the waiter said, "We do find that funny. But not as funny as calling your grease-fried potatoes French fries."

"I'll have some French's Mustard on my French fries," Leonard joked.

"No sir," the waiter said. "For that, I am afraid you will need the tomato sauce the English call ketchup."

Once he left, Honey leaned over and said to Leonard, "Isn't it fun to see how people from other countries look at food?"

"I'm just glad he didn't recognize us," Leonard said. "People seem to be looking at us like they know us from somewhere but they can't quite remember where."

"So that's why they call the wine
Chateauneuf-du-Pape
," Honey said.

"That's right. The name means the Pope's new castle. As you know, it's my very favorite wine in the world, and they make it right around here." Leonard said.

"You just like it for the fancy seal and the castle on the label," Honey teased.

"You know me better than that. It's the richest, most full-bodied red wine on the market today. And I'll bet it's a lot cheaper here than it is in the States."

"Well, let's get ourselves into town and get a hotel room and go out and find some of that new Pope wine," Honey laughed.

"That's them," Crumbo said to his fellow reporter. "Stop the car. Let me out. That's Honey and Leonard."

Lacoste slammed on the brakes, and Crumbo jumped out to try and catch their car. But Leonard was moving away too quickly. A break in traffic allowed him to speed away just as Crumbo was waving his camera at them and shouting at them to stop.

"Keep driving, Leonard," she said. "It's that Jack Crumbo from
The
 
Chicago Tribune
. How in the world did he track us down here?"

“How do you know what Jack Crumbo looks like?” Leonard asked.

“Why Leonard Atkins. You do sound a litrtle jealous.”

“Not jealous, just curious,” Leonard said as he continued driving away.

“Well, if you must know,” Honey said, “Mr. Crumbo did come to the house while you were still in the nursing home. Against my attorney’s orders, I let him in and we had quite the interview. You know that. You read the story.”

“I don’t remember.”

“Not only that,” Honey said. “His photo is now appearing with his articles. He’s on television too. He’s getting almost as popular as we are. And he doesn’t look happy to see us getting away."

"Well, he hasn't tracked us down yet," Leonard said as he sped up and took a right down a blind alley.

"Well this is no good," Honey said as they came to the dead end of the alley. "Back up, back up. We can't just sit here and wait for them to come find us. What kind of getaway driver are you?"

"This is going to be one low-speed chase," Leonard said as he backed out of the alley and managed to get on the main drag, nearly nudging pedestrians with the rear end of the car.

Crumbo and Lacoste were nowhere to be seen. They were stuck in traffic and trying in vain to change direction.

"We've got to get out of town," Honey said. "This place is too small. They'll find us for sure."

"No, no," Leonard said. "That's what they'll expect us to do. So we won't do that." He made a right turn, drove down the side street for about a block and pulled into a garage that said "Hotel Parking," in English.

"We'll stay here for the night," he said as he pulled up to valet parking for what looked like a high-class hotel. "Come on, we'll let them hide the car for us and we'll get a room."

"Are you sure?"

"I'm sure I can't drive any more in this crazy little circle of a city."

By this point, Honey and Leonard each had a small suitcase filled with clothing they had purchased along the way. Honey used a credit card to pay for the room. Until that point she'd been paying cash for everything but the rental car. The rental car people had insisted on payment by credit card in case the car was damaged during the rental.

Honey wasn't paying cash in an effort to keep people off their trail. She and Leonard had no idea that people could track them by looking at their credit purchases.

Seeing the
Chicago Tribune
reporter on their trail in Avignon unsettled them. "What will happen if he catches up to us?" she asked as they settled into their small but elegant room.

Leonard thought about her question for a moment. He had just slipped in and out of a bout of forgetfulness, so he was trying to regain his focus. Honey could tell he was not quite with her, but at least he wasn't suffering from one of his spells. She repeated the question.

"The first thing you've got to remember is this," Leonard finally said. "Jack Crumbo  is not the police. In fact, I dare say he's on our side. He's in it for the story. Our story is probably the best thing that's ever happened to his career. He probably won't even give away our location. If he did, the story would be over and his scoop would be gone. No, I don't think we need to run from Crumbo. In fact, let's take a walk tomorrow and see the sights and see if we can find him."

"But Leonard, it's not just Crumbo who's looking for us. Our picture is in all the French papers. It's probably on television too."

Leonard considered her comment and said, "You're right. We need to buy some hats and sunglasses to disguise ourselves."

"Buy some hats and sunglasses?" Honey laughed. "Is that the best you can do? I was thinking something a little more James Bond."

"Like what?"

"Like catch a submarine out of here and head for South America."

"I doubt if the river is deep enough," Leonard said.

"Then maybe a helicopter would do."

Honey and Leonard hugged each other and fell onto the bed together. In that delicious moment, they were not afraid of getting caught. They weren't afraid of anything. The only thing they cared about was being together. As long as they were together, nothing bad could happen.

Leonard had a glass of
Chateauneuf-du-Pape
for lunch. Honey had to cut him off before he had a second glass because she knew the wine would drastically worsen his memory problems.

The lack of a second glass of wine didn't stop him from feeling jubilant as he and Honey toured the ancient walls around the city. The old city turned out to be a lot more hospitable on foot than in a car. People were friendly, although they did stare a little at the disguises.

Honey and Leonard strolled on paths atop the battlements. At one point, they heard the heavenly sounds of violin players rehearsing in a nearby university studio. This spurred Leonard to begin waltzing with Honey on the deck of a tower overlooking the Rhone River. They danced together well. Several tourists applauded. Leonard dipped Honey for a big finish and lifted her up for the two of them to take an exaggerated bow.

"Leonard, you shouldn't attract so much attention," Honey said. "People can see us up here for miles."

"Nonsense, blondie, it's you who's attracting all the attention. You're the one who's having more fun as a blond."

They continued walking the ramparts along the river until they saw the Pont d'Avignon, the historic bridge that ends in the middle of the river.

"Now that's something you don't see everyday," Leonard said. "A bridge that only goes halfway across the river. Look, you can walk on it. There are people walking right up to the edge. That looks like fun. Come on, let's go."

Honey and Leonard went down to the bridge and walked it as far as they could. They looked down into the Rhone River, imagining a time when the bridge went all the way across. Back when mounted knights in suits of armor patrolled the premises.

They turned around and looked back at the city of Avignon with its church spires and palace towers. As they were marveling at the magic of the fairytale city, they noticed Jack Crumbo and Corbin Lacoste walking toward them.

"Oh, my dear goodness," Honey said.

"They couldn't have caught us in a better spot," Leonard said. "There is literally nowhere to run."

Honey clung to Leonard as if wild wolves were surrounding them.