Getting Old Is Très Dangereux: A Mystery Page 6

  He spots his son, Morrie, coming toward him down the hallway. The old man is still sneezing.

  “What did you find out from her doctor?” Jack asks as Morrie reaches him. Detective Morgan Langford. Jack can’t help thinking with pride about his son who followed in his footsteps.

  “They don’t know yet. She has a serious concussion, cracked ribs, and a fractured leg.”

  “Is it possible this was an accident? Could she have pulled the shelves down on herself?”

  “I went with hotel personnel to inspect the bookcase. It seems like a bolt had come out of the wall. Though they can’t understand how that could happen. They swear everything was up to code. They probably fear a lawsuit out of this.”

  “Maybe she grabbed at the shelves trying to steady herself on the ladder and accidentally loosened them even further.”

  “No way of knowing until she regains consciousness and tells us. If she comes out. She might remain in a coma.” Morrie glances over to Michelle. “So, this is the woman you fell in love with in Paris?”

  “You remember me talking about her?”

  “How could I forget? You came back a confused and agitated man. You drove us crazy. Should I have married her? Did I do the right thing leaving her? It took you forever to stop agonizing over whether you had made the right decision. She is a beauty, Dad. You weren’t exaggerating.” Morrie sees Michelle glancing out the door at him. He speaks softer. “So, you were with Gladdy when you ran into her at the book fair?”

  “Unfortunately—yes.”

  “Good luck with this, Dad. I see complications ahead.”

  Jack sighs. “It’s already complicated.”

  Michelle comes out to join the two men. Jack is pained to see how upset she is. She is beside herself. “It’s my fault. I never should have let her go alone.”

  Jack tries to be comforting. “Don’t say that, Michelle. How could you possibly have known?”

  Michelle clutches at his arms. “If I had been with her.”

  Jack shakes his head. “Then possibly both of you would be in hospital beds now.”

  “I saw how rickety that ladder was. How could I have been so careless? I should have kept her away from it. Will she be all right?”

  Morrie says, “We don’t know for sure yet. But the doctor did sound confident.”

  Michelle looks at Morrie and then at Jack. “You are related?”

  “Michelle, this is my son, Morgan.”

  “Oh, yes, I remember. The policeman. You talked so much about him. It is terrible to meet you like this.” Michelle still holds on to Jack as Morrie takes notice and exchanges a meaningful look with his father. “Your father is the only person I know in this country. I feel so alone.”

  Morrie adds his sympathetic comment. “Well, now you know two people. We’ll do all we can to help you.”

  “Thank you.”

  “I’m on my way back to the hotel to meet with Security.” To Jack, he says, “We’ll talk later.” With that he nods at Michelle and heads back down the hall. The hospital employee dusting the woodwork scurries out of his way.

  Michelle clutches Jack even tighter. “I am so frightened.”

  “I’m here for you, and my son is very good at what he does.”

  “I have already called our family back home. They are distraught. They want her home. But there is no way I can move her. She was my responsibility and I failed her.”

  The tears start to fall again and Jack puts his arm around her.

  “Please stay with me for a while? Please?” she begs.

  “As long as you need me.”

  The Snake slithers away, pulling off the white lab coat he stole from a closet, and tossing it and the dust rag into a nearby trashcan. Damn his allergy to flowers. Not that it really mattered. He has always had the ability to seem invisible, to slither in and out of people’s lives, allowing them to recognize him only when it was too late and their fate was sealed. No one has ever been able to identify him.

  But now he is furious with himself. The woman Michelle is still alive. How could he have been so stupid as to try to kill the wrong person? And he even failed at that! The niece is still alive. The red hair fooled him. No, no, alors! Admit it. He was told he needed glasses, but how can so famous a man as The Snake wear glasses? Absurd!

  And now, to discover the woman knows un flic—a policeman—in this country! It complicates things, but The Snake will prevail. He manages a cruel smile. So far the authorities believe it was an accident. He will have to call his nephew, Gaston, back in Paris. But now he has an excuse for his failure. He can tell the others he injured the niece on purpose, to separate from the target the one who is always at her side.

  He sneers at a fast-moving nurse who almost collides with him as she hurries into a patient’s room. No, perhaps he won’t call Gaston yet. He will do the job right next time. He will not miss again.

  I’m warming up for our morning exercise downstairs next to our usual patio table before the girls arrive. Why? Because I don’t want them to find an excuse to come into my apartment. Otherwise they’ll ask where Jack is and where he went so early in the morning. Since I won’t lie and say he’s still sleeping, it will open a can of peas I don’t want to open. All right. It’s not as if he didn’t check in and call me from the hospital, but there was no mention of when he’d be home. It is very small-minded of me to feel distress about Jack being there to help Michelle. And now Morrie’s showed up. I’ll bet he heard about Michelle years ago. Pretty soon my entire world, meaning all of Phase Two, will be sticking their noses into my business to find out about the mysterious gorgeous Frenchwoman who may or may not be taking Jack away from me. I love living here, but somehow privacy is not a word in anyone’s dictionary.

  “You’re talking to yourself, did you know?” Evvie briskly jogs over to me as part of her warm-up. She’s wearing bright orange shorts and a green T-shirt.

  “I know.”

  “You’re here before Ida and Bella. The three of you always come downstairs together. Change of pattern means something’s happened.”

  Here we go. I have to tell Evvie, so how can I keep it from the other girls? “Michelle’s niece Colette had a horrible accident last night.”

  “Tell me.”

  “Might as well wait for the others, so I don’t have to repeat it.”

  “So I gather Jack is with her at the hospital.”

  “Right on. Since five A.M.”

  “Fate.” Evvie leans her hands against a building wall and does arm and leg stretches. “If you hadn’t gone to that book fair, you and Jack would never have run into her. And this wouldn’t be happening.”

  “And your point is?”

  “No good deed goes unpunished. You shouldn’t have driven the girls to the hotel.”

  “So, you think this was meant to happen? Miss Philosopher?”

  Now Evvie is doing knee bends. “Que será, será.”

  Bella and Sophie, in color-coordinated sweat suits, Sophie in yellow, Bella in pink, trot over in their imitation of jogging. Teeny tiptoe steps at a snail’s pace. Sophie stops and jogs in place. “We’re here.”

  Bella immediately sits down at the nearest patio table. Her philosophy is why stand when you can sit.

  Ida, in her usual grungy-looking gray sweats, arrives. “What’s going on? Since when do we do warm-ups downstairs?”

  I fill them in, giving the same useless warning: Keep it to yourselves. I know they’ll try, but I also know they’ll slip up.

  “Wow,” says Sophie.

  “Me, too, wow,” says Bella.

  “That’s what you get for driving them to the book fair.” Ida bends, touching her toes.

  Evvie shrugs. “I rest my case.”

  I hear a “Yoo-hoo, Gladdy,” coming from behind and we all look around. There’s Lola heading toward us with a woman in tow. Since when is she without Hy? And who is this strange apparition bearing down upon us? She’s about five ten and very hefty. I thought Evvie was the
queen of colorful, but this babe puts her to shame. She is every color of the spectrum and that includes her hair. I can’t even describe the hairdo. It’s kind of fifties retro with a bubble top and bangs that nearly cover her face. Her dress seems like a muumuu, but isn’t. It’s just large and bright. And she wears matching high-heeled shoes. Which seem too tight for her, since she’s wobbling on them. She carries an elephant-size purse over her shoulder. Ditto same colors. And a huge sun hat hanging from a string on her arm. Think of a very large walking rainbow.

  Everyone stares.

  I have a sinking feeling that this is Lola’s suggested wedding planner.

  Lola plays Perle Mesta, the once-famous hostess. “Everybody, meet Trixie Tryhard, Florida’s most famous wedding planner.”

  Say it isn’t so.

  Trixie lunges toward each of us for a hearty handshake as Lola states our names.

  “Hello. Hello. Hello. Hello. Hello.”

  “And hello back,” says Bella. Miss Charm. I’m surprised she didn’t curtsy.

  Lola beams. “Trixie was in the neighborhood and dropped by, hoping you had a few minutes to get acquainted.”

  “I suppose so,” I say warily.

  Evvie pushes me forward. “You could use the distraction.” She turns to the girls. “Come on, let’s hoof it.”

  The girls follow her, high-stepping in imitation.

  Just then we hear Hy calling Lola. Her master’s voice. And off she goes.

  Now I’m left alone with the overwhelming Ms. Tryhard. What a name.

  “Just call me Trix,” she says as she unloads a pile of stuff from her massive bag onto the patio table. “Isn’t this the loveliest day?”

  I sit down slowly at the edge of a chair in case I need to make a fast getaway.

  First she puts on her huge sun hat. “Don’t want too much sun, do we?”

  She reaches for an oversized three-ring binder notebook. And whips out a pen. As she does, she takes a handful of pens out and rolls them toward me. I read the writing on their sides. Call Trix for your wedding fix. “Take some and pass them around to your friends.”

  I start. “Ms. Tryhard … ” Trix shoots me a look which says, Didn’t you hear me? “Trix, I mean. I’m not really sure we need a wedding planner.”

  She is horrified. “Not need? No problem. Just hear me out and you’ll know this is the direction you want to take. Names!”

  “Excuse me?”

  “The name of the happy couple. You are Gladys Gold. Who’s the lucky guy?”

  “Jack Langford. But I’m not sure … ”

  “Jack Langford.” She writes slowly with one of her pens, her tongue licking the side of her lip as she does so.

  I try again. “Look, I don’t want to waste your time—”

  Trix puts her large right paw on my arm. “Just hear me out. Advice is free. After you hear, and I demonstrate what I can do for you, you will be thrilled to write me my itsy-bitsy checkee.”

  Checkee? Oh, no … I have the feeling if I try to get away she’ll sit on my lap and smother me. Oh, well. Evvie’s right. I’m already distracted.

  “First things first. When is the wedding date?”

  “We were talking about the first of the year. Maybe even earlier. We’re flexible.”

  Trix is horrified. “That’s impossible! We usually expect six to twelve months to prepare!”

  I start to get up. “Well, that’s that. We’ll just have to manage—”

  That large paw pushes me right back down again. “That’s a very good word—manage. That’s what we’ll do.” She sighs. “It might not be as grandiose.”

  I equal her sigh. “Grandiose is what we don’t want. Simple, that’s the operative word.”

  Trix laboriously writes the word in her notebook. It’s obviously not a word she likes. “We’ll just have to work speedo.”

  Speedo? I hate to think what that means.

  Trix pushes brochures at me. That purse must be bottomless.

  As she mentions a name, she slaps down a brochure to match. “Here’s our checklist: Decide on a definite date. Make an appointment with the clergyman. Determine a budget. Compose and set a guest list. Set time, location of ceremony, rehearsal, and reception. Choose photographer or videographer. Shop for wedding gown; several fittings will be necessary. Obtain floral and music estimates. Make appointment for bridal portrait. Register with a gift registry. Select bridesmaids. Pick honeymoon place. Will you need a passport? Are your passports up-to-date? How do you feel about confetti? And don’t you love ice sculptures?”

  Help! Somebody get me out of this!

  By the time I escape from Trix and head off to catch up on my exercises, the girls are off to other activities. Ida is on her way out to her cooking class when she notices Bella and Sophie heading toward the back of their building. They seem fairly dressed up with matching colored walking canes. Ida calls out to them. “Hi. Where are you two going?”

  Bella and Sophie look at one another guiltily.

  Sophie says, “Going to the post office across the street,” and at the same time Bella says, “Just out for a little stroll.” They both stop. Sophie throws Bella a dirty look. “Post office, remember!”

  Bella looks chagrined. “Yeah, I forgot. Post office. Need any stamps?” she asks Ida.

  Ida shakes her head. “If you’re gonna lie, try to keep your stories straight. And never mind, I don’t care where you’re off to.”

  With that, the two of them scamper away, swinging their canes as they go.

  Ida, though, is curious. She follows them, staying well behind. She watches them cross Oakland Park Boulevard, and to her surprise they head for Jerry’s Deli, next to the Fort Lauderdale hospital.

  Strange, she thinks. Why were they so cagey about going out to breakfast? She turns around and heads to her cooking class.

  Meanwhile, Sophie, leading Bella by the hand, enters Jerry’s Deli. Jerry, the owner, stands behind the counter with his son, Larry. She sniffs, thinking how these are two of a kind. They sure do look alike, very heavy, swarthy, with identical small moles with a tiny tuft of hair on their chins. They’re always noshing at something while they cut meat slices and make sandwiches. Their aprons are always unattractively stained with a variety of foods. Jerry recognizes them and nods his head toward the back. Bella sniffs too, only she is kvelling over the wonderful odor of delicatessen. “Maybe we could eat first?” Sophie yanks her arm. “We can’t be late.”

  They make their way through the restaurant past a few customers who don’t look up, totally involved in their food. Sophie agrees that what they are eating smells delicious. Bella slows up, hoping they’ll stop to eat, but Sophie pulls her along.

  At the far end of the deli there is a large, heavy, russet-colored drape. Sophie pulls it aside; behind it is a door. She looks over her shoulder, sensing someone watching them. She’s right. Father and son are staring at them from behind the counter, beady-eyed, their mouths twisted in a knowing grin.

  The heck with them. Sophie knocks, and she and Bella walk right in, shutting the door behind them.

  The girls enter what Sophie imagines was once a back storeroom. Now it’s been cleared out and the room is painted totally white. A number of women are already seated in a semicircle facing a chalkboard at the rear of the room.

  Mrs. Jerry—the girls have never known her first name—sits near the entrance behind a small table with a notebook and cash box. Sophie thinks that Mrs. Jerry looks just like her husband and son. At her side are white painted shelves full of what to Sophie seems like a peculiar collection of products. Vitamins. Crystals. Beads. Incense. Energy drinks and energy bars. Photos of their leader posed with very famous, mostly showbiz clients. Dried flowers. Lists of ashrams in India with dates of events. CDs of Indian New Age music. Posters. And much more.

  Daunted by the oddness, the girls haven’t bought anything on their previous visits.

  “Here’s my five-dollar entrance fee,” Sophie says eagerly.

&n
bsp; “Mine too,” adds Bella.

  Mrs. Jerry hands them each a small ticket and notes their names and amounts in her spiral notebook. Knowing the rules, the girls open the closet adjoining the shelves and place their purses in alongside everyone else’s. Mrs. Jerry explained it the first time they attended—there must be nothing to distract in this plain room. They remove their shoes, lining them up with others against the wall. They take seats, and park their canes next to them. They smile at the neighbors they know from the Phase Three building in Lanai Gardens. Sophie glances around, noticing that few of the women are under sixty-five. She waves at Arlene Simon, a neighbor from Phase Four. Arlene waves back. Bella sniffs again and pokes Sophie. She whispers, “I don’t like the smell of incense. It makes me want to sneeze. Why couldn’t they use pastrami or corned beef?”

  The room eventually fills up with about thirty women. While waiting, they study the posters on the wall. “I still don’t get them,” Bella says. “What’s a chakra anyway?” Each poster has a dramatic, multicolored painting with names identifying the different kinds of chakras and their corresponding crystals.

  A gong sounds and a door at the side of the room opens and he comes in. Their leader. Their guru. Baba Vishnu. He is tall and very thin and wears a white robe and white turban. Around his neck is a string holding a large crystal.

  “Yum,” Sophie says, admiring the young man’s looks as always. “Such a gorgeous punim.” Baba Vishnu slides slowly down onto the white pillow on the floor facing the semicircle of his admirers. As he lowers himself he bows his head. Everyone bows back to their guru.

  As he reaches the pillow he begins the chant and the women follow. The sound of their group mantra, om, slowly builds, filling the room.

  Sophie grabs Bella in excitement as the gentle chimes begin to ring. She wonders whose husband will join them today in the Dead Husbands Club.

  When Ida gets to her cooking class, she is disappointed. There is a sign on the rec room door saying her class has been canceled. She looks around hoping to find some of her classmates; at least they can talk Thai cooking on their own. But no luck. There’s no one around unless she counts the quacking ducks along the walkway. She feels a hunger pang. All she ate before meeting the girls for exercise was toast with orange marmalade and tea. Why not join Sophie and Bella at Jerry’s Deli?