"Maybe Rousel's asleep? The way I figure it, that roué's had a very long day. If he left Paris early, like Rhonda said, and we’re pretty sure he did, then he’s been traveling all day long on either planes, trains, his own car, and maybe a taxi or two. Why he did it is anyone’s guess.”
"Because he’s a bâtard!"
"Your French vocabulary is expanding daily, Chérie."
"Parfait!"
"Perfect, yes."
"No, I meant perfect. The door just slid open on Trebés."
I hit Jean Luc's name on my phone. "Calling. You watch. Okay, ringing. Shhhh."
Jan whispered, "He's taking his phone from his pocket."
As we watched he turned away from Rousel, hit the TALK key as planned, swung back to face Rousel as he stuffed the phone in his front pocket, and we heard him say, in French, "It was unimportant. I will call them back later. As I was saying, I am sorry to disturb you, monsieur. I live in Castelnaudary and met some Americans there last week. One of them was from this boat and I wondered if you knew how to get in touch with the ladies on Sauzens? Jan and Hetta. They gave me a card but I have misplaced it."
There was a pause, then a voice that was clearly Rousel’s said, “I do not know them.”
“Oh, that is too bad. I was very attracted to that red-haired Texan." I rolled my eyes. I could just imagine Jean Luc doing an eyebrow jiggle at Rousel. "Is their friend, uh, Rhonda, here? Maybe she has a contact number for them.”
“I do not know of anyone named Rhonda. This is a rental craft, and it must have been other people.”
Jan and I both shot the finger in the direction of the boat. I mouthed, “Plan B.”
I ended my call, Jan hit Jean Luc's number on her phone and handed it to me. We watched as it rang, then saw him reach into his pocket again, give an apologetic shrug at Rousel, and answer, "Allô ma petite carotte."
My cheeks flamed on hearing his favorite nickname for me those many years ago: his little carrot. "Va te branler."
He laughed and answered, "If I must."
"You must. Now, cut the crap and get inside that boat somehow and leave the bag under a cushion or something."
"Of course, my dear. I love you, too." Jean Luc hit the keypad, ending that call and reactivating mine. He coughed, then asked, "Could I trouble you for a glass of water? And I would love to see the inside of the boat. Maybe I will rent one for a weekend."
Without waiting for an answer, he pushed past Rousel who mumbled something, but at least didn’t shove him back outside. There was a rustle of movement, Jean Luc said, "Merci," and we heard the distinctive gurgle of him taking a long hit from a plastic water bottle. "Ah. There is a fine layout to this vessel, I must say. Even the settee around the dining table is comfortable. Do you mind—"
Rousel cut him off. "I do not wish to be impolite monsieur, but I have an appointment I must attend, so if you don’t mind…."
"Oh, of course. Sometimes I forget my manners. You have been very nice. I must go as well. That call, you know. Thanks for the water. I shall visit the boat rental office one day soon and perhaps get a contact number for that Texan."
We watched as Jean Luc stepped onto the quay and waved back at Rousel, who slammed the door shut. But then a curtain moved.
"Jan! Hit the deck! Rousel is watching Jean Luc."
I threw myself across the backseat and Jan doubled over on the passenger side so when Jean Luc opened the door and the interior light came on, Rousel couldn’t see us.
"Jean Luc, can you get out of the parking lot without him seeing your license plates from the boat."
"Is there a baguette in France?" He smoothly maneuvered the car out of Rousel's line of sight without turning on his headlights and stopped. "Now what?"
"Already on it." I texted Rhonda: Call me. Now! No text, need to talk.
The phone rang, but it was Jenks. I told him to call me on Jan's phone.
Both phones rang at the same time, so I took Rhonda’s call while Jan quickly filled Jenks in on what was going on.
"Rhonda, listen to me. Rousel is here on the boat. He’s not going to show up at the airport."
"W-what?" she screeched. I held the phone away from my ear. "How can that be? H-he," she blubbered. "W-why would he? Are you sure?"
"Absolutely. He's on Trebés right now, right here on the Canal du Midi. I don’t know what his game is, but do you have any money at all?"
I let her sob for a minute or two while listening to Jan's end of her conversation with Jenks. "Jenks, you know better than to run off and leave Hetta. What did you think we were gonna do, sit around playing tiddlywinks?"
Jean Luc was now on his phone speaking with his friend at Air France, filling him in on the situation and asking him to find and help Rhonda.
"Hetta?" Rhonda hiccupped.
"I'm here. Obviously the cousin never showed up, so we are arranging for someone to pick you up, okay? Do you have any money?" I asked again.
"Y-yes. I keep what Mom called mad money pinned in my bra."
"Good. Just stay where you are until we sort this out. Worst case, you can take a cab to a hotel, okay?"
"How can I get a hotel room without my credit card?"
"We'll take care of it by phone if we have to."
"Thank you, thank you. What a mess. And why? And what'll I do with Rousel's bags?"
I wanted to reach through the phone and throttle her. "The very last thing I'd be worried about right now, if I were you, is what to do with that bastard's crap. And, as soon as you get somewhere to access the Internet, you need to report your credit card stolen. Goodness only knows what he's charged to it. Look, just sit tight. I'm putting Jan on. Tell her what you're wearing." Not that it mattered. Finding a frumpy, hysterical, American woman sitting on a stack of luggage shouldn't be that hard.
Trading phones with Jan, I said, "Hi, Honey, as you can tell we have a situation here."
"Of course you do, Hetta. Couldn’t just visit a few museums, huh? Or maybe take a painting class?"
"Very funny. Look, I’ll call you back as soon as we figure out how to deal with Rhonda." I lowered my voice. "I cannot believe she’s been dumped at the airport by this lowlife SOB and she’s worried about what to do with his luggage? Give me a freakin' break."
"What?"
"My sentiments exactly. Some cousin of his took Rhonda to the airport, dumped her there and said he’d be back, but nope, never did. Betcha he knew Rousel wasn’t gonna show. Nice family, huh?"
Jean Luc was signaling he needed to talk with me. "Stand by, Jenks."
Jean Luc said, “My friend Claude is with security for Air France, and he's at the airport right now. He couldn’t find your friend on any passenger list for tonight, but I told him how her boyfriend had abandoned her, so he will find Rhonda and make sure she gets to my apartment in Paris."
I gave Jean Luc a thumb's-up and said to Jenks, "Did you hear that? Looks like our problem's solved, thanks to Jean Luc. Once Rhonda's settled in, she can sort out this mess for herself."
"Yes, I did hear that. Who’s Jean Luc?"
Crappola. "An old friend."
"Put him on."
Double crappola. "Jean Luc, Jenks wishes to speak with you."
"Who is Jenks?"
Double, double, toil and trouble.
Chapter Twenty-nine
Not feeling warm and fuzzy at all with the situation of Jenks and Jean Luc talking on the phone, I was tuned into Jean Luc's end like Po Thang sighting in on a standing rib roast. It was hard to hear everything, however, because Jan kept yelling at Rhonda on my phone.
I tried to shush her, but she growled at the distraught woman, "Listen to me, you ninny. Calm down and shut up." Jan's compassion has major limitations.
Unable to eavesdrop with Jan hollering, I snatched my phone from her and heard Rhonda squalling. Holding the phone against my chest to muffle her, I went back to eavesdropping on Jean Luc's end of his conversation with Jenks. He was mostly listening very intently, and had gone qu
ite pale in the phone's glow.
My heart sank. Did Jenks somehow surmise Jean Luc was more than just an old friend and was threatened him with great bodily harm? That's not Jenks's style, but still...
Then Jean Luc said, "Yes, I understand," and handed me back Jan's phone and punched a key on his own phone.
We played musical phones, with me stabbing a warning finger at Jan not to yell at poor Rhonda again. I was about to say something to Jenks when Jean Luc let loose with a string of agitated French even I had trouble following, but as it registered, I whispered, "Oh. My. God."
"Claude, listen to me very carefully," Jean Luc told his friend at the airport. "You may have a possible terrorist threat in the main terminal. The woman I asked you to assist, Mademoiselle Rhonda, is in possession of bags not packed by herself. We have reason to think there may be foul play. She is on the telephone with a friend here, so what are your instructions?"
Instructions? Was he kidding me? I took the bull by the horns, threw the phone Jenks was on into Jean Luc's lap and took mine back from Jan. "Rhonda, leave the bags, all of them, and your purse and coat right where they are and get as far away as you can from them. Right now!"
"Why? Oh, no! There are—" I heard shouts, screams, rapid multiple footfalls, a scuffle of some kind, and the phone went dead.
"Jean Luc, is Jenks still on the phone?"
"No."
"Rhonda's gone as well."
With the frantic phone conversations ended, gloomy silence settled in the car, as though we'd run out of anything to say after all the excitement in the last few minutes. I was certain Jan and Jean Luc felt as helpless as I did. Finally, I said, "Well, good grief. Will Claude call back and let us know anything?"
"I'm certain he will when he can. Right now he’ll be very busy."
Jean Luc turned on his radio, just in case a news bulletin came on, then we all activated our phones and looked for social media chatter, breaking news, anything about a situation at Orly Airport, but there was nothing so far.
"Now what?" Jean Luc asked. "This Rousel. What shall we do about him? We don’t have any proof he’s done anything illegal."
"Oh, I do believe he has," Jan said with a broad smile and a wink.
We all said, at the same time, "Plan B!"
Jean Luc dropped Jan and me at the Harbor Master’s office and stayed in the car to make his phone calls while keeping an eye on Trebés.
I knocked on the Harbor Master’s boat hull and he stuck his head out the slider. "Hey, I remember you," he said, then spotted Jan. "But haven’t met your friend."
I introduced Jan, then said, "We were out for a drive and I wanted to show her the marina and maybe have dinner at the restaurant. Then the funniest thing happened."
"Yeah? What?"
Jan did a little dippy thing she does when she's flirting. "Well, I don’t want to cause any trouble, but I was walking down the quay and I saw this man sneaking around that boat there." She pointed at Trebés.
"Sneaking?"
"Yeah, like this." She executed a perfect Pink Panther sneak walk. "And…" she hesitated and chewed on her thumb, "he had a gun.”
"A gun? Are you sure?"
"Are you kidding me? I'm from Texas!"
I guess he's been there. He picked up his phone, hit speed dial, and gave Jan's information, calling her a passerby, to someone on the other end. With his alert given, he told us, "It's probably nothing, but better safe than sorry these days. I suggest you're not here when the police arrive. They can be a real pain."
“We’re gone! Nice meeting you," Jan said.
We rushed back to the car and Jean Luc sped away, then doubled back and parked where we were, out of the way but with a view of the marina, and more importantly, Trebés.
"You're sure he's still on the boat?" I asked.
Jean Luc did that eyebrow thing he uses when his competency is questioned. "Unless he jumped off on the other side and swam away, absolument."
Jan checked her tracker. "Yep, he's there."
Within minutes, the distant nee-uh, nee-uh of sirens closed in, and then whirling lights played off the boats as various vehicles screeched into the parking lot. Too late, we realized all avenues of escape for us were blocked.
The people Jean Luc had shared a wine with on their boat parked behind Trebés came out on deck to check out the commotion, but were waved back inside by men in riot gear. The Paris attack was fresh enough that the local police were taking no chances.
Rousel also slid open his door and stuck his head out. A spotlight painted him with white light, making him raise his hand to cover his eyes. A bullhorn order was given for him to step off the boat, but he ducked back inside and slammed the door.
Jean Luc said, "Uh-oh," which is French for, "Uh-oh."
"I gotta feeling le Roué is headed for the slammer," Jan said. "Couldn't happen to a nicer guy."
"Poor Rhonda. I hope she's all right."
Jan turned and looked at me. "Poor Rhonda? This," she waved her hand in the air, "is all her doing."
"Oh, come on. She's been duped. Rousel's the bad guy here. I hope they give him thirty years in the electric chair."
We were so intent watching the action near the boats, we were surprised when, seemingly out of nowhere, we were surrounded and ordered out of the car. Just as we exited, hands on head as ordered, the Harbor Master and party boat crew were being ushered to what I figured was a staging area for marina evacuees, and they all pointed out Jean Luc, Jan, and me.
"That’s him!"
"That's them!"
Zut, alors!
Chapter Thirty
After being ordered out of Jean Luc's car and fingered by six people, we were frisked and then marched several yards away while dogs sniffed the car.
They also brought the dogs over to give us a sniff, and one of them showed great interest in my pocket. The pocket that once held the gun we'd planted on Rousel's boat. I held my breath while they ordered me to remove the jacket, but they were evidently convinced I wasn't a suicide bomber so they gave it back.
After the search-and-sniff exercise found nothing incriminating in Jean Luc's car, they herded us into what seemed to be a gathering area for witnesses, and asked us to sit on the pavement. We joined the Harbor Master, partiers, and a smattering of others caught up in the dragnet.
A loud pop startled us, and as one we turned to see the glass shatter on one side of Trebés and a cloud of teargas erupt. Within seconds, Rousel stumbled out on deck, gasping and cursing.
Jan hollered, "Yee Haw!"
"Jan! Shush. You'll call attention to us."
"Sorry, I'm just glad they got the SOB."
"Seems a little extreme, if you ask me," one of the French partiers said. "I wonder what he did."
The Harbor Master said, "That one," he pointed to Jan, "said he had a gun."
I nodded and murmured, "And, he messed with Texas."
The others didn't hear me, but Jean Luc did. He leaned over and whispered in my ear, "Your idea of planting the gun on him was quite clever. I had no idea you could be so devious."
My ear, tickled by his breath—which somehow always smells like licorice— twitched.
"Just keep that in mind, DooRah."
He broke out in a guffaw at me using my pet name for him to his face for the first time. "Oh, I shall, I—look, they have him."
Rousel, who was gagging and struggling for breath, was handcuffed, roughly pulled away from the boat and hustled to a vehicle that looked like a giant metal armadillo. Before they tossed him inside and slammed the door, they splashed water into his face.
The marina restaurant, which had been FERMÉ (what a surprise!) was opened by the manager, who, according to the Harbor Master, lived locally and was rousted out by the authorities. Before we were allowed to go inside and out of the cold, however, all of our cell phones and personal belongings were confiscated. They gave us a card with a number on it, and then put a sticker with the same number on all our stuff.
> Besides Jan, me and Jean Luc, the harbor master, and the six partiers from the boat behind Trebés, they'd rounded up another five people who had the bad luck to be in the vicinity. I recognized two guys who had been working on a boat in the small dry dock area and an old woman with a poodle who was out for a walk.
While we waited to see what happened next, a man who was evidently the local mayor showed up and vouched for the old lady and she was taken home. Then they called the Harbor Master over, and I put my legendary hearing abilities to work.
"He keeps pointing at you, Hetta," Jan whispered.
"Shush. I'm trying to hear what he's saying."
"You can hear them from this far?" Jean Luc asked.
"I could if you two would shut up."
A uniform appeared next to us. "We prefer, monsieur, that you do not speak among yourselves until after your interviews."
Jean Luc looked like he might challenge this, but then with a head and eye-roll, nodded assent. "Well, then, could you turn on the television. We want to know more about the evacuation at Orly."
The man looked surprised, then said, "Monsieur, how do you know anything about that?"
Jean Luc, busted by his own blooper, was momentarily speechless, so I stepped in. "We heard something on the radio just before you arrested us."
The man sighed. "You have not been arrested, mademoiselle. S'il vous plaît just wait quietly until we call you."
I'd only caught snippets of the conversation between the Harbor Master and his interrogator, but there was no doubt he'd buttonholed us as "persons of interest." Why, he was not sure, but it was obvious we had seen something, at the very least. And the man on Trebés? The Harbor Master told them the marina records were at his office so there was a lull in the questioning while they escorted him there. They were back in a few minutes carrying a clipboard, which he tapped and then pointed at me.
Jean Luc pulled a napkin from a holder, a pen from his pocket, and wrote a quick note while our keepers weren't watching. He slid it to the edge of our table and knocked it off into my lap. WE MUST TELL THE WHOLE TRUTH FROM THE BEGINNING. TRUST ME. EXCEPT FOR THE GUN.
Just Pardon My French (Hetta Coffey Series, Book 8) Page 19