Getting Old Is Très Dangereux: A Mystery Page 13

  Face it; ever since Mme. Michelle has come upon the scene, I’m constantly waiting for the proverbial other shoe to drop. I never saw myself as a jealous person, but the more I think about her, the more irritated I get. What is it about that woman being near Jack that sets my teeth on edge? As if I didn’t know. She blatantly wants my guy, that’s what.

  I look at the clock again. Only fifteen minutes have passed. And it’s Jack’s night to cook dinner. I mean, there’s no reason why I can’t cook something, but it’s been fun switching our cooking detail.

  Hearing the door open, I’m relieved and I hurry to greet him. But I stop short at the sight of Jack fairly covered with a huge bouquet of roses and two huge paper bags with the logo from Vittorio’s Villa d’Este, a fairly expensive restaurant.

  When I reach him, he gives me a quick kiss through his three bundles, both of us wary of getting scratched by the sharp paper bags, the thorns on the flowers. Then he hurries to the kitchen to set his packages down.

  “How are you, sweetie?” he says. “I hope I didn’t keep you waiting. Are you starved? Are your taste buds ready for chicken Parmesan? Some gnocchi? A Caesar salad?” He opens each cupboard. “Where do you keep the vases?”

  “I’ll do it.” I follow him in and fetch a vase from an upper shelf and take the flower arrangement of pink and red roses and place them in the vase. They’re beautiful. And probably quite expensive, too.

  Jack removes each of Vittorio’s cartons with the well-known decorative estate logo. He places the contents in various pots to heat up.

  “Something smells wonderful. How come you didn’t want to cook?”

  He smiles. “Just lazy, I guess.”

  I can’t believe my reaction. Suddenly I’m an accountant, figuring out what he spent on these items. A lot. And the flowers? Why do they remind me of so many novels and movies when the husband brings home an especially large, ostentatious bouquet because he is guilty of something? And, I think irrationally, that the word “bouquet” also comes from the French.

  Jack is oh so busy heating the food and setting the table and lighting candles—and, I might add, he hasn’t really looked at me since he got home.

  He’s on edge. He has something to tell me and he’s working up to it. Very slowly. And I know I’m not going to like it.

  “Isn’t this great?” he says. “Fewer dirty bowls to wash. That’s a plus. I mean you can do the same anytime you aren’t in a cooking mood.”

  I can’t help myself. If he isn’t going to talk about where he was today, then I’m going to ask. “Where were you off to when your cell conked out?”

  Do I imagine he stiffens, for only a second? He places the silverware on the napkins, paying attention to everything being perfectly aligned around the table.

  “Morrie and I were on our way to the hospital. Colette’s memory has come back and he went to chat with her and find out what she remembers.”

  Uh-oh. And why did you have to go with him? “Was Michelle there?”

  Pause. “Yes, she was.” Then quickly, “Colette remembered seeing an old man, but because she doesn’t know what we now know, she thought she imagined it.”

  I don’t say a word and he is forced to fill the silence.

  “Michelle made sure that Morrie didn’t tell Colette what’s been happening, so as not to upset her.” Jack pours two glasses of wine. A nice Pinot Grigio—nicer than usual, I might add.

  The food is ready. Jack serves the dishes. He places the vase with its gorgeous bouquet in the center of the dining table, taking up a lot of space. It reminds me of Michelle, overwhelming every room she inhabits.

  “And?” I wait. “And? There must be an ‘and’ in here somewhere.”

  Neither one of us is eating. We’re picking and moving food around our plates. We’ll have leftovers tomorrow. Funny. I have a sudden memory of my childhood. My parents got along fairly well, but when they quarreled it was always at the kitchen table. Ruining everyone’s appetite. I’ve heard this from so many people over the years. Why is it always when we’re just about to eat? But is there ever a good time or place for anger?

  Jack sighs. “Now that we know Michelle was the intended victim, Morrie wanted her to have a professional stay with her until she gets on the plane for home.”

  I jump out of my seat, almost overturning my dinner plate. “You volunteered!”

  Jack bows his head. “I tried to say no.”

  I am speechless.

  He continues while I stare into space. “I suppose you’re furious. And I don’t blame you.”

  I sit down again on the edge of my chair. “Why? Why didn’t you say no? What is this spell she’s cast over you?”

  Jack doesn’t say anything for a few moments. He finishes his wine too quickly and pours another glass. “I don’t know. Maybe she reminded me of my mother, who always used to cry to get my father to give her what she wanted. He always gave in.”

  Isn’t that interesting? He, too, thought of childhood memories. That’s a subject we’ve never discussed. “All right, break it to me gently. What’s the deal?”

  He takes a deep breath. But he needn’t bother telling me. I know exactly what he’s going to say.

  He finally says, “Want to hear something funny? Morrie thought you’d want to kill me and I agreed, but I told him you’d also understand.”

  And darn it. I do. As long as he keeps remembering his mother.

  I watch Jack pack the suitcase that’s sitting on our bed. I sit on the other side of the bed, arms crossed. His sense of humor is coming back. “Are you checking to see that I don’t include my sexy pajamas?”

  I sort of growl at him. “You don’t own any sexy pajamas.”

  We both smile.

  He stops packing for a moment and walks over to me. “If you tell me to do it, I will go to the phone right now and call her and say I’m not coming over.”

  Yes, yes, do it, my pitter-pat heart is saying. “No, it’s all right. I trust you.”

  “Let me make myself very clear. I am going over there because I know this mad old man intends to kill her and I am determined to stop him.” He reaches into the bedside drawer, removes his gun, and places it on top of the table.

  Then Jack sits down next to me and holds me tightly. “She is nothing to me anymore. I love you. I will always love you. Just remember that.”

  “I know.” With that, we kiss. And fall backward on the bed, knocking the suitcase off onto the floor.

  “When do you have to leave?” I ask between kisses.

  “Whenever I’m ready. I’m waiting for it to get dark enough so I can sneak out of here without the yenta patrol seeing me.”

  I smile. “Then we have plenty of time.”

  And we stop talking.

  It’s eleven o’clock and we peek out the window to make sure no one is outside.

  “All clear. Be careful, dear, please.”

  “Don’t worry. I will. And I’ll call you every chance I get.”

  I give Jack a final hug and he sneaks along the shadows on the landing toward the stairs.

  Jack is torn. As he drives to the beachside hotel, his mind is racing. He knows how much he’s hurting Gladdy by coming here. But the truth is, he believes Michelle is terrified and all her bravado is to hide her fear. He feels he owes her. Maybe it’s the old guilt about walking out on her. He never forgave himself for behaving in such an ungentlemanly manner. But that was then and now is now. He has to concentrate on how this strange old man might try to kill Michelle. And who could he be? Gladdy’s theory is that the man must have been hired by the people who want Michelle’s next book stopped—the men who own the winery she’s about to expose. Jack intends to get their names from Michelle and send them to Morrie.

  Please, he thinks, don’t let Michelle open her door wearing a slinky negligee. He is unable to suppress a grin. Negligee, a French word, of course.

  The police guard is waiting for him outside of Michelle’s suite and reports that all’s quiet. J
ack thanks him and the cop leaves. He takes a deep breath and knocks.

  Michelle checks through the peephole, making sure it’s him. She opens the door and greets him wearing a T-shirt and jeans. No makeup. Barefoot. Jack is relieved, then thinks, she’s too clever to have been that obvious. Watch your step, he warns himself.

  “Want something to eat or drink?” she asks him. She seems very relaxed and cool. She’s drinking from a brandy snifter. Jack settles for a bottle of water.

  “Shall I show you your room? It was to be Colette’s room, now yours.”

  “I’m not here as a guest, Michelle.” Jack places his small suitcase on the rug near a paisley armchair. “Guards don’t sleep on the job, except for a small catnap or so.”

  “But that will be so uncomfortable, with a perfectly good bed a few feet away.”

  He shrugs. “I’m not here to relax.”

  She settles into the matching couch, feet tucked under her. The coffee table is loaded with snacks.

  Jack asks, “You should tell me your schedule. I don’t want to keep you up too late.”

  She shrugs. “My hours are flexible. I eat when I’m hungry and sleep when I get tired. Travel upsets one’s natural routine.”

  Jack sits down gingerly on the armchair. “Are you up for some questions? I feel we’re getting close to a solution. We have to know who hired that old man. Let’s talk about the winery you worked at.”

  She raises her arms, stretching. “Not tonight. We’ll talk when I’m fresh in the morning. Over breakfast. They do a wonderful buffet.”

  “We won’t be going down for breakfast.”

  She smiles. “I know that. They bring me anything from the buffet that I might want.”

  “Very nice,” he says.

  “Need some entertainment? I’ve got a stack of DVDs and we can watch a movie.” She picks up a box from the assortment scattered around. “A few good French ones. I even have the popcorn to go with it.”

  Jack muses. He assumes she’s found something they went to see together. He manages a yawn. “It’s pretty late. You should turn in soon. Tomorrow we have a lot to talk about.”

  She smiles a cat’s smile. “We certainly do.” She starts for her bedroom.

  Jack sends her a little wave. “Good night, then.”

  When she closes her bedroom door, he breathes a sigh of relief. He feels as if he escaped from something dangerous. He brings his small travel case into the guest bathroom and realizes this bathroom doesn’t have a shower. Obviously the master bedroom is probably much larger and fully equipped. So he’ll have to shower in her room. Oh, boy.

  He looks around. He didn’t pay attention when he came up to the first room for a drink, or even after the break-in. He imagines the rooms are similar. What luxury. Silk and satin everything. Wall-to-wall mirrors. Darn it, a very sexy room. Gladdy would love it. He goes back into the living room.

  A moment later Michelle opens her door. “Don’t you think I ought to leave my door open? In case our dangerous little old guy does show up.”

  Jack is stymied by his carelessness. Of course she has to leave her bedroom door open. His feelings are getting in the way of his training. “Yes, definitely.” He hopes she doesn’t notice how red his face is.

  “Pleasant dreams,” she calls back to him as she walks away.

  He goes immediately to the suite door, then the terrace windows, making sure they are securely locked.

  She’s right about the door, and he feels foolish that she had to point it out to him. He grabs a throw blanket from the couch and sits down on the armchair, trying to make himself comfortable.

  A few minutes later, he hears soft music coming from her bedroom. He recognizes famous French love songs. The lyrics playing now are “Chérie, je t’aime beaucoup. Darling, I love you a lot. I’m thinking of you. Are you thinking of me?”

  It’s going to be a long night.

  17

  THE MORNING AFTER

  I’m eating my lone breakfast and feeling a bit sorry for myself when there’s a knock on the door. It’s Ida and Evvie. They are dressed in their sweats for our morning exercise. I’m surprised to see them.

  “What are you doing here so early? We don’t meet for another half hour.”

  Ida helps herself to a piece of rye toast. “We couldn’t wait.”

  Evvie pours herself a cup of coffee. “Inquiring minds need to know. Where did Jack go last night?”

  I knew it. There’s no escaping the yenta patrol. He should have waited until three a.m. and then maybe he’d have gotten away with it. “Okay, who saw him leave last night?”

  Ida says, “Tessie was making a late run to Publix before the market closed. She had a craving for cherry pie. If we didn’t know she was an obsessive overeater, we’d think she was pregnant.”

  This brings howls of laughter from the two of them, being that Tessie is fifty-six.

  Evvie adds, “She thought it was a burglar at first, and she had her cane ready to attack, when, luckily, she saw the suitcase and looked closer and then realized it was Jack.”

  Swell. One of these days these crazy broads are going to hurt themselves with that Cane Fu nonsense.

  Ida searches the fridge for cream cheese. “She then told Lola who told me and I told Evvie and here we are.”

  I am turning red. I knew it. Nobody can mind their own business around here. Next thing I’ll hear is that someone knows I didn’t sleep very well last night because my light was on so late. I tried to read, but it was hopeless. I was creating scenarios in my head featuring Jack’s first night alone with the French Dragon Lady.

  Evvie looks at me closely. “Tessie said he looked ‘furtive.’ I didn’t think she even knew that word.” Then it hits her. “He didn’t … He couldn’t … He wouldn’t have gone over to her?”

  I sigh.

  Ida is aghast. She almost chokes on her toast. “With a suitcase! Gladdy! What is going on?”

  I stall for time. “How come Sophie and Bella aren’t here to help with the interrogation?”

  Ida hovers over me, tenting me with her arms so I can’t escape. “They went to that secret whatever across the way. I saw them go into Jerry’s Deli again and I bet it isn’t for bagels and lox.”

  Evvie nudges Ida. “Don’t let her change the subject. Glad … fess up.”

  I sip at my coffee, but that buys me only seconds of time. The two of them are waiting me out.

  “All right. The update is that the police are now sure that Colette’s fall wasn’t an accident and she wasn’t meant to be the victim. As I suspected, Michelle is the target.”

  Evvie sits down at this news. “The police want her protected. And Jack is her guard?”

  A small whimper escapes from me. “Twenty-four hours a day until she leaves the country.”

  Ida stops eating the toast. “He stays overnight? You’re doomed. Oy. Good-bye, Jack.”

  “Nonsense. I trust him.”

  “But do you trust her?” Evvie looks me straight in the eye.

  I get up and walk to the dishwasher and put my coffee cup in. “Not for one single second.”

  Evvie helps with the rest of the small cleanup. “What’s her angle? What does she want from him? She knows darn well Jack loves you.”

  “I think I’ve finally figured it out. It was the inscription in her book about forgiveness. Jack told me he was the one who broke up their relationship.”

  Evvie jumps in. “Wow, this is wild. She comes to this country and accidentally runs into Jack and then gets this great idea. Nobody ever turns her down. This is a woman who must win, or else. She has no intention of forgiving him.”

  Ida says, “Wait, you’re going too fast for me. Isn’t she in danger?”

  I say, “Yes, and now she has it both ways. She lures Jack into guarding her life and gets even with him at the same time.”

  Ida is dumbfounded. “What is she? Some kind of nutcase?”

  Evvie says, “She means to punish him by breaking the two of you
up. All Jack has to do is make one little mistake, if you know what I mean.”

  Ida shakes her head in wonder. “Boy, does she have guts. If someone were out to kill me, that would be the only thing on my mind.”

  I wipe the kitchen table of its crumbs. “Talk about cold-blooded. Think of it. She lives with people she intends to destroy and doesn’t bat an eyelash. Looks them in the eyes and goes right ahead and traps them. And makes a fortune writing bestsellers about them.”

  Evvie goes to the stove and pours another cup of coffee. “And the world treats her as a heroine because the people she turns in swindled the public.”

  I sigh. “I guess fame and fortune and even fear aren’t enough to keep her busy. She makes time for chasing after probably the only guy who ever ditched her. He did it because he felt he was doing the right thing. He was too old for her. What a joke.”

  Evvie tries to make me feel better. “Jack will be able to resist her.”

  Ida says, “Oh yeah? Think of that warm, gorgeous young body with that silky unwrinkled skin. That sexy long red hair. Climbing into his bed. The right time, the right place, the right circumstances, any man would give in to temptation, even if they know they’re doing wrong.” Ida paces the room. I can see that her mind is speeding at a hundred miles a minute. “And it won’t take much. Even if she gets Jack to give her one little kiss, he’s done for. Jack has too much integrity. He’ll never forgive himself for betraying you. He’ll bow out of the marriage.”

  I sort of laugh. “Thanks a lot for that. Just what I needed to hear.”

  But when I look at Ida there’s something in her eyes, a kind of pain. Is she speaking for herself or someone she knows? There’s still a lot we don’t know about our friend.

  We all grow silent, deep in our own thoughts. Maybe thinking of long, long ago when we had those young, supple bodies?