Reluctant Witness (51 page)

Cringing, I took a deep breath. There would
be no avoiding her. I whirled around quickly and blurted out a
response in my best French. “Pardon? Qu’est-ce que tu veux de
moi?”

“Nora? It’s me, Donna!”

Donna? Donna who? The face looked familiar.
I squinted, trying to remember. And then it came to me as she
leaned in to hug me. She was a former classmate at Boston
University. Relief flooded over me; she and I had never really been
close. I barely knew her, save for a couple of business courses I
took. I was convinced I could pull off this charade, but it would
take some doing, provided I could stay in character. With that in
mind, I pushed her away, rebuffing her embrace.

“Je ne parle pas anglais,” I shrugged,
feigning confusion as I took a few steps back. Just then my cell
phone rang. “Henri, où es-tu? Il se fait tard!”

“As-tu besoin de mon aide?”

“Oui,” I replied nervously. Jean-Claude
immediately understood I was in urgent need of rescue, so he
instructed me in French. “Keep walking away. I can see you now.
Just go! I’m right behind you.”

I did as he said, but Donna was not
cooperative. She continued to follow me, insisting that she knew
me. “Nora, the news reports said you were dead, murdered. It was in
the alumni news.”

I was about ready to run away when the
former Interpol officer arrived on the scene and launched his best
defensive offense. He began an argument with me.

“Danielle! Sacré bleu! Tu m’as
promis....”

“Oui, je connais. Mais, Henri....” I
pretended to assuage his anger, holding up my hands in defeat. He
blustered on.

“Qu’est-ce qui se passe ici? Les
autres....”

By that time, I expected Donna to back away,
but she was persistent. She continued to insist she knew me.

“Nora! Come on! It’s me! We were at school
together!” she cajoled me. Jean-Claude and I both turned to
her.

“Qui est elle?” he demanded, glancing over
at me. I shrugged yet again.

“C’est une femme folle!” I gestured with my
index finger, making a circle at my temple and rolling my eyes, to
indicate I thought Donna was off her rocker.

“Excuse me, please,” Jean-Claude addressed
her with a more than hint of suspicion and a thick French accent.
“Why are you bothering my wife?”

“Your wife?” Now a little doubt began to
slip into Donna’s face. Her brow crumpled under the strain. “No,
no. I know this woman. It’s Nora Hazen, from Boston.”

Jean-Claude made a big production of
translating that for me. I laughed, shaking my head to indicate
that the story sounded ridiculous. We exchanged a few more comments
before he returned his attention to Donna.

“We are very sorry, but you are quite
mistaken. We do not know this...um, how you say...Nora.” He threw
on the charm with great abandon. “I am Henri Allard and this is my
wife, Danielle. We are from Marseille, not Boston.”

“Are you sure? Because Nora Hazen....”

“Oui, je suis sûr. We have been married for
ten years, although if she continues to wait until the last minute
to pick up pantyhose, when we are supposed to be ready to join our
tour group for lunch, I am not confident that I will stick around
for another ten!” He turned to me and made a big point of glaring.
“Danielle....”

“Dépêchons-nous, Henri! Vite!” I pulled his
hand in the direction of Kalakaua Avenue, pretending to hurry him
along. We continued our feigned argument, for the sake of
appearances, and by the time we got to the crosswalk, Donna had
acknowledged defeat, stumbling away to catch the next trolley.

“That was close,” I told him.

“You did well, ma chérie. I guess that
settles it.”

“Settles what?”

“Tomorrow, I am officially marrying a French
woman. From now on, we will speak only French at home and when we
are out together in public. Before you know it, you will be
thinking and even dreaming in French.”

That is how I stopped being Danielle Logan,
former Manhattan resident, and overnight became Danielle Martin
from Marseille.

Jean-Claude had a contact at the French
consulate. The two men concocted a tale and put in a rush order for
a replacement for Danielle Martin’s missing passport to be sent to
our hotel. They also had an expert forger prepare the paperwork for
the wedding with my new official maiden name.

“What about the other license?” I inquired,
thinking that we had already visited City Hall to obtain it.

“Do not worry, ma petite. We will fix all of
that. What is important is that you marry me as Danielle
Martin.”

Within a few months, even the workers at the
Hawaiian Butterfly Coffee and Spice Company were used to us
speaking French together. They came to see it as an affectionate
little quirk for the newlyweds and were amused, especially when we
flirted with each other. The only time anyone questioned the change
in last name from Logan to Martin, I explained that my divorce had
come through at last and I had reverted to my maiden name.

It was necessary to give credibility to the
story, so two months later, we bought a small Marseille apartment
with a dazzling view of the Côté Mer, where we spent two weeks
every July and another two in late September. Jean-Claude’s parents
bought one of their own, making it easy to spend time with them.
They also came to Hawaii twice a year to visit.

By the time we began to attract the
attention of the local media on the Big Island, everyone assumed I
was born in France to a French father and an American mother. Nora
Hazen really was dead, but Danielle Martin Allard was alive and
well, hiding in plain sight.

Satisfied, I closed the book for the night,
knowing that Nora and Jean-Claude’s continued adventures in
paradise were not related to Le Scorpion. The idea that they had a
future together filled me with hope. Maybe Jeff and I could make it
work, too. I drifted off to sleep contented.

Nancy checked in on me the following
afternoon, wanting to know what was going on.

“How’s California treating you?”

“Quite well,” I told her. “I’m getting some
work done and it’s nice to feel almost normal. I’m not looking over
my shoulder all the time.”

“And Clovis?”

“Oh, Clovis is wonderful. She’s taken me all
over the place on her time off from work. I’ve even been out to
dinner with her and met her friends. It’s nice to have a social
life again.

“How are the pooches getting along?”

“Coop adores Beatrice and vice versa.” It was
true. The two dogs enjoyed their walks together, the beagle often
taking the lead.

“How’s Clovis holding up? Still missing the
ex?” Nancy wondered. She caught me off-guard.

“The ex?”

“I guess she hasn’t told you yet. Clovis
recently split up with her long-time boyfriend. Too bad. That guy
was bonkers about her. I was sure he was a keeper.”

“That explains why her friends are now trying
so hard to fix her up.”

“Did she seem eager to let them,
Marigold?”

“Not really. She kept saying it just wasn’t
in the cards at the moment.”

“Hmm...sounds like she’s still hooked on
him.”

I found out the details the next day. Clovis
and I lingered over dinner on the patio, engaged in conversation.
She wanted to know about the case, so I told her about Jared and
his dastardly plot; after commiserating with me, she mentioned her
ex-fiancé.

“Thank heavens he’s nothing like your
boyfriend from hell,” Clovis told me. “He’s actually a wonderful
man.”

“But not wonderful enough to marry?”

“Oh,” she let out a long sigh, “he’s actually
a prince of a man; sweet, thoughtful, smart, kind.”

“Those are all good qualities. So, what did
he do wrong? Was there another woman?”

“Another woman? Heavens, no!” Clovis tilted
her head back and laughed, genuinely amused. “David is determined
to have a family before it’s too late and he pressed me to set a
wedding date. I balked.”

“He wants to marry you and have kids?” I
thought of Jeff, of my desire for him, and felt a twinge deep in my
soul. How nice it would be to settle down and have a family of my
own, to raise a parcel of kids. Would we ever have that chance? I
had no right to even think about bringing a baby into this world as
long as I was still in danger. I forced myself back to reality and
looked across the table at Clovis. “Why is that a bad thing?”

“I’m in the middle of setting up my new law
practice, hanging up my badge after ten years on the job, and he
wants kids right away. It’s too soon, Marigold.”

“Hmm....” For a moment, I tried to imagine
what it would be like to have the luxury of turning away from a man
who loved me because I wanted to concentrate on my career. How many
times had I been relocated on short notice, leaving behind the
accumulated mementos of my life? When you live as a protected
witness, you begin to understand what really counts at the end of
the day -- survival. In those moments, love trumped career and
people counted more than possessions.

“Hmm? What’s that supposed to mean?”

“You’ll have to forgive me, Clovis. My entire
adult life has ruled by circumstances outside my control. Living
without the freedom to make the simplest of decisions for myself
taught me to embrace the chance to choose when I have it. If I were
in your shoes, I’d ask myself whether I really want to spend the
rest of my life without the man I love, just because I can’t agree
with him about having kids.”

“Hey, it’s a serious question,” she snapped.
Even as she glowered at me, I decided to be honest, even at the
risk of being a bad guest.

“I agree. It’s a life-altering question and
one hell of a commitment. But if there’s one thing I’ve learned,
it’s that love matters. Without it, we’re just individuals killing
time.”

There was a long pause in our conversation;
the stillness was broken only by the early evening crickets quietly
chirping in the garden sanctuary. I could see Clovis was struggling
with the issue. Finally she spoke.

“It’s not that I don’t want kids,” she told
me. “I just don’t want some guy telling me I have to have
them.”

“Sounds like you’re so busy fighting off the
guy because he’s insisting on kids, you’re not thinking about what
you need or want.”

“Interesting thought.”

“I have them occasionally,” I laughed, trying
to keep the conversation light. “Did you two argue a lot?”

“Every chance we could get. It’s one of the
hazards of being lawyers -- we were both trained to debate, so for
us, it’s like breathing. He says black, I say white. He says left,
I say right. But, maybe you’re right, Marigold. I’ve been so
distracted by our war of wills, I missed the forest for the
trees.”

“Well?” I poured her some more Sauvignon
Blanc, savoring the opportunity to converse with someone of my
generation struggling with the question of having kids. I was
hoping to have this conversation with Jeff someday and I needed the
practice. “Let’s try coming at this a different way. Where do you
see yourself in five years?”

“Kids...that’s such a big commitment, isn’t
it? And society has changed so much. Do I really want to bring kids
into this world, only to lose them to the creeps and villains?”

“You make it sound like you’ll be doing this
parenthood thing on your own. What about David? What will he be
doing? Doesn’t he play a part?”

“Well, sure. But....”

“But what?”

“He wants to get married right away. It’s
like he’s suddenly got a deadline to meet.”

“Or maybe he sees you dragging your heels and
thinks you don’t really love him. He could be testing you.” I
popped another shrimp toast into my mouth. “Maybe what you really
need to do is figure out what you want, so you can figure out how
that all works with what he wants.”

“Oh, I’m sure he’s already found some bimbo
who’s looking to be a June bride.”

“That says a lot about him. I guess he’s not
the right guy for you. If you don’t think your relationship is
worth fighting for, he hasn’t sold you on it.”

“I didn’t say that,” she corrected me. “It’s
just that...oh, who am I kidding? I’d marry him tomorrow if he’d
just lay off the thing with the kids.”

“Really?”

“Really. He’s a good man. I know he is. But
I’m just terrified about having kids.”

“What did he say when you told him that,
Clovis?”

“When I told him...ah, I never actually
did.”

“Don’t you think he needs to know that? He
probably believes you just don’t love him enough to want to have
kids with him.”

“David never was very good with rejection.”
She looked off in the distance, her thoughts with the man she still
loved. I took that as my exit cue.

“Cooper, Beatrice, and I are going for a walk
now,” I announced. “You’ll have plenty of time to make a phone
call, should you be so inclined.”

“Oh, crap. I should call him, shouldn’t I?
What if he doesn’t take my call? It’s been two months. He’s
probably already got some babe living with him....”

“You won’t know until you call. See you,” I
grinned. I stacked the dirty dishes and retreated into the house to
do the after-dinner clean-up. Once the counters were wiped down, I
grabbed the dog leashes and harnesses, corralled the two eager
pups, and off we went.

We did a long loop through the neighborhood,
taking our time. Upon our return, I spied an unfamiliar silver
sedan parked in the driveway.

Clovis was in the living room, sitting on the
sofa with a tall, bony man who had a Pirates tee shirt and gym
shorts on. She introduced me to the excited newcomer; they were
both beaming from ear to ear.

“Marigold, this is David.”

“Nice to meet you,” I smiled, taking the hand
he offered me.

“I hear that I have you to thank for the
phone call I got.”