Flossed (Alex Harris Mystery Series)

by Elaine Macko

  “No, you didn’t,” I said. “Is that necessary? I mean Donna has so much to do.”

  “Yes, she does, but Doug was very well liked and respected here and she feels she would be cheating all of his colleagues and friends if she just took the body back. She’ll have to come back to pack up everything and she said it’s now or never for a service. Once she puts him in the ground, she just wants to get over it.”

  “So she’s not going to stay here, then?” Sam asked.

  “No. They didn’t own their house, so she just has to cancel the lease. That makes it easier. While she’s back in the states, I’m going to get estimates from the movers and go ahead with the packing.” Wanda put her hand to her wet hair and smoothed it down in the back. “I have so much to do. Bill is going to need a new partner and a new secretary. And I’m going back to be with the kids at the end of the month. Maybe I shouldn’t have offered to help Donna. If I can get someone else to handle the movers for her then when she gets back, hopefully she’ll just have to check out at the commune and leave.”

  “Check out at the commune?” Sam asked.

  “Everyone, including Belgians, carry an identity card and you have to go to the commune for everything. And the communes, needless to say, are anything but efficient. If you don’t check out properly and turn in your Belgian driver’s license and ID card, they don’t allow your furniture to leave on the next boat.”

  “Over a few pieces of paper?” I asked with cynicism.

  “Well, it’s more than that, I suspect. Their true motive is to make sure you’re not leaving without paying all your taxes and phone bills. Tax is the reason behind everything that happens in this country.”

  “I know it’s high,” I said.

  “Ha! They tax their people to death. With Doug having his own business, I think the whole process of checking out is going to be rather arduous. It’s not like in the States, having your own business. No. Here they make everything a big deal and they wonder why everyone cheats on their income.”

  Wanda’s voice had such an edge to it and her anger so visible I had to wonder if she was talking more about her own experiences with not paying proper taxes than she was out of concern for Donna.

  “Surely Doug and Bill had an accountant who can handle all of that for Donna.”

  “Yes, I suppose,” Wanda said, her voice returning to normal. “So. I haven’t seen either of you for a while. How are things?”

  “Fine. We’ve been doing a bit of sightseeing to Antwerp and Amsterdam.”

  “We might be going off to London,” Sam interjected.

  “Not with the guys, probably,” I sighed.

  “Is John still helping out the inspector? It can’t be much of a honeymoon for you.”

  “Oh, I’m used to him being wrapped up in his work. I’m much the same when we’re at home.”

  “Speaking of home, Alex, when do you all leave?”

  “On Sunday morning. It’s gone by all too quickly.”

  “I’ll have to write you a letter and let you know how everything turns out. Who Bill gets for a partner, how things are going for him without Doug and Martine.”

  “You don’t think the police will have found the killer or killers before Sunday?” I asked, this being my only concern for the moment. I didn’t care who Bill got for a partner or even if he ever did find someone else. The running of the business seemed more important to Wanda than the death of two people.

  “They haven’t come up with much so far, have they?”

  “I guess not,” I conceded feeling a bit guilty about betraying John.

  Wanda put her cup down and looked as if she wanted to say something else. She hesitated, changed her mind, and looked at me. “I hope you don’t think me insensitive. I was wondering, that is a thought occurred to me and I just wondered whether or not it has occurred to the police.”

  “What is it, Wanda? If John hasn’t mentioned it to me, I can always ask him.”

  “Do you think it’s possible Donna killed Doug? And Martine?”

  I put my hands around the mug and sighed. “The thought has occurred to me, to both of us,” I corrected, nodding at Sam, “but what makes you think she might have?”

  “Nothing specific.” Wanda tapped a red fingernail on the side of her mug. “I told you about Doug’s affair with Martine. Donna tries like hell to pretend it was all over and it didn’t bother her, but I know for certain it did more than she let on. And even though it’s been over for quite some time, she’s still very bitter.”

  “We got the same impression,” Sam said. “We saw her the other day at the club.”

  “We went for lunch,” I added quickly, lest Wanda think we were snooping, which, of course, we were.

  “I thought if she knew Martine was pregnant, maybe Martine had said something to Doug and he told Donna, then that would have dredged up all the old pain she had about not being able to have a baby—”

  “And if she thought the baby was Doug’s,” I said, picking up Wanda’s thought, “then it does seem to fall into place.”

  “I went over to be with her yesterday and she’s so, well, calm about the whole thing. Like with this memorial service. She acts as if she’s planning a party, for Christ’s sake.”

  “Wanda, I don’t know her well enough to comment on the way she handles her grief, but maybe it’s just her way of getting through all of this.”

  “Or maybe she’s happy he’s dead,” Wanda said raising an eyebrow.

  Wanda gave us the instructions to the Catholic Church. I wasn’t sure we would attend the memorial service but took them anyway before leaving.

  Chapter 31

  “What day do you want to go to London?” Sam asked once we settled into our seats at a café by the apartment.

  “I don’t think it matters. With this new murder, I don’t think John will be gracing us with his presence until we’re flying over the Atlantic.”

  “And Michael is having a high time teaching Belgians the proper way to brush. What kind of guys have we married?”

  We consulted our menus. My French had greatly improved since arriving. Reading the menu was easy though our pronunciation left something to be desired. We settled on something sounding the same in both English and French, spaghetti bolgonaise, and waited for the waitress to leave before resuming our conversation.

  “Wanda was right, it’s not been much of a honeymoon for you.” Sam frowned at me.

  “Nonsense. It’s been perfect. Except for two murders and a honeymoon with no husband, what more could a girl ask for?”

  “Well, your attitude is good, I’ll say that for you.”

  “Sam, I have a lifetime to be with John. But I’m sure glad you came along. If I had to be on my own everyday, I’m not sure I would have survived.” I leaned against the back of the booth and ran my hands through my hair. “I can’t help but think we’re all missing something.”

  “Missing something?” Sam asked. “Like what?”

  “Yeah. With all this murder stuff.”

  “Ah. The murder. Well, what could we possibly be missing? We’ve talked with everyone involved. Unless of course a total stranger broke into Wanda’s the night of the cookout and tired of waiting to use the restroom, strangled the occupant. And just happened to bring along some floss just in case he got impatient and had to remove the occupant with force.”

  “Don’t be glib,” I chided.

  “I wasn’t. I’m serious. If not one of the people we or John have already spoken with, then the only other option is a total stranger which doesn’t make any sense.”

  “Well, then it has to be someone we know.”

  “And the best suspect for both murders is—”

  “Paul. I know. Or Donna. But we’ve ruled out Paul so let’s not go down that road again.”

  “Okay. Wanda could be right. It could very well be Donna,” Sam agreed.

  “She knew about the affair, so she kills Martine. She finds out Martine was pregnant and not being able
to conceive herself, totally loses all sanity and kills Doug as well. I can see it.” I nodded. “She’s a cold person. And not being able to have a child when you really want one drives many women crazy.”

  Our meals arrived and we ate in silence for a few moments, hungrier than we had thought.

  “So what about a baby?” Sam asked as she wiped a bit of sauce from her chin.

  “You mean Martine’s baby?”

  “No, your baby.”

  I choked on a piece of bread. “Excuse me? What baby? I don’t have a baby.”

  “Exactly. When are you and John going to make me an aunt. Henry and Kendall are dying for a little cousin.”

  I put down my fork. “Honest to God! You sound just like John’s mother. The first thing out of her mouth after the ceremony was ‘Congratulations. A granddaughter would be nice, but I’ll settle for a grandson, too.’”

  “Are you serious?”

  “Why do you find this so hard to believe? What was the question that just left your lips a few seconds ago?”

  “Well? So have you two discussed it?”

  “Not that it’s any of your business, but yes, we have. And no, we haven’t made any decisions yet. As a matter of fact, I don’t know if I want children.”

  Sam dropped her fork; a piece of spaghetti flew onto the floor. “What the heck does that mean? You love my kids.”

  “Exactly. I love your kids. I don’t know if I want my own.”

  “Why haven’t you talked this over with me before now?” Sam looked truly hurt.

  “You’re my sister and I love you dearly and even though I find you very attractive, I didn’t marry you, did I?” My attempt at levity did not work. “Look. You will be the first to know. But right now, I’d like to get used to the idea of being married. I want to enjoy being Mrs. Van der Burg without clouding this time with major decisions. Getting married was a big enough step for me to take, albeit, one I’m glad I took, but nevertheless, children are not on the menu for now and may never be if truth be told. Case closed.”

  “Fine. I guess you can share mine until you’ve made up your mind,” Sam said with a huff.

  “Thank you. John and I enjoy spending time with our niece and nephew. Now,” I said the word forcefully telling Sam it was time to change the subject, “do we know exactly where Paul lives?”

  “Somewhere in this area, I should imagine. He’s always walking over to the apartment. It can’t be far. Why do you ask?”

  “Because we’re leaving on Sunday and we might not get a chance to see him again.

  Maybe we could find out the exact address in the phone book. I’ll ask.” I signaled for the waitress. I asked for l’addition, the bill, and for a phone book.

  “Excusez moi, Madam, mais je ne parle pas anglais.”

  I looked at Sam. “How do you say book in French? Oh, I remember.” I turned my gaze back to the waitress. “Le livre de telephone?” I asked proudly.

  The woman gave me a bewildered look and shrugged her shoulders. She handed me change from the Euros. “Ah, Madam! Le bottin téléphonique,” she said, finally understanding my gallant try at French.

  “Le bottin?” I repeated.

  “Ah! I think she means list or something,” Sam offered.

  “Les pages blanches ou les pages jaunes?” the waitress asked.

  “Huh?” Sam asked, her French limited to only a few words.

  “Les pages blanches, si vous plait,” I said. The woman walked away. “The white pages,” I said to my sister with my nose turned up just a tad.

  We thanked the waitress and flipped through the pages until we found the C’s. “Cassan, Cassart, Cassé. Here we go,” I said as I ran my finger down the list. “There are quite a few but only one Paul.” I jotted down the address across the top of my map and thanked the waitress for her help.

  “De rien, Madam,” the woman said after us as she took our generous tip from the table.

  Chapter 32

  Before going over to Paul’s, Sam and I stopped at a small travel agency five doors down from the café.

  “So you would like to take da Eurostar, yes? Or you can fly,” the young travel agent offered. Her name was Miriam and she didn’t look old enough to be out of high school.

  Coming across the Atlantic had terrified me. The thought of going home on Sunday and doing it all again was a thought I had successfully pushed to the back of my mind these past weeks. And here I was being confronted with the possibility of flying over the English Channel in something resembling a bath tub or tunneling under it on a train. I sighed and then gave Miriam a small smile. “I think the Eurostar would be nice.”

  Sam looked at me. “We’ll be under the ocean. You do realize that, don’t you? It’s not natural, Alex.”

  “I still can’t figure out how one goes under the ocean. I mean, wouldn’t all that water on top be awfully heavy?” I held my hands in front of me with the fingers splayed, pressing down.

  Miriam looked at us with a smile. “I assure you dat da Chunnel is perfectly safe. Dare was dat fire but,” she waved her hand, “It is all fixed now.”

  We gulped. “The train is only under the water for about twenty minutes, Sam. We can handle that, right?” I tried to assure my sister. Or maybe myself.

  “Okay. The train it is.” We paid for the terribly expensive tickets with cash we got out of a machine earlier in the day. I thought it was amazing our bank cards actually worked three thousand miles and an ocean away but I wasn’t sure it was a blessing.

  Our London trip taken care of, we hopped in the car and drove to Paul’s apartment using our handy dandy little map. It was the thing that got the most use on our trip. I’m not sure how we would have managed without it.

  “I’m glad we have the car,” Sam said as we walked up the flagstone path leading to Paul’s apartment. “This is further away from our apartment than I thought.”

  “No, it’s not. The restaurant we went to when we first got here is right down there,” I pointed.

  We studied the names on the six bells and rang the one marked Cassé.

  “Oui?” a voice barked from somewhere above.

  “We’re here to see Paul.” I enunciated each word slowly. The woman on the other side of the speaker didn’t offer anything else, in either French or English. The security lock released and we entered a small lobby. To the left was an elevator and inside a list of floors with a name beside each one. “Looks like there’s only one apartment per floor.” I pressed the button for number five.

  On the fifth floor, we knocked on the door. A stern-looking woman answered and just stood there. She was dressed in a plain housedress. She had thinning gray hair with a fringe of bangs that looked as it they had been curled, and severe blue eyes behind thick glasses.

  I repeated our desire to speak with Paul. The woman finally stepped aside. Paul emerged from a room to the right of the entryway. “Well, hello,” he said, clearly pleased to have company other than that of the woman who still lingered in the entryway. “Come on in.” He ushered us into the tiny living room without saying a word to the old woman.

  Sam gestured over her shoulder with her chin. “Who’s that?”

  “Martine’s mother. Frightening, isn’t she?”

  “You poor thing. She’s been here all this time?” Sam asked.

  “Other than the funeral, she hasn’t left this place. I should have never taken this much time off from work. I go back next week and it’s not a minute too soon.”

  “How long is she staying?” I asked.

  “Actually, tomorrow. I told her and her husband to get out. He’s out right now looking for a cheap hotel to stay in until the murder is solved. They refuse to return to their little village until the killer is brought to justice.” Paul ran his hand through his hair. “Of course, they’re convinced that’s me, so I am sure they’ll be staying as close as possible to this apartment. But at least they’ll be out of here.”

  “Why are we whispering?” Sam asked.

 
; Paul walked softly over to the living room door and opened it quickly. Martine’s mother was on the other side and lost her balance. She fell into Paul’s arms and he said something abrupt in French. She stood up and straightened out her dress, said something equally abrupt back, and walked away.

  “Does she speak English?” I asked.

  “She claims not to, and personally, I think she’s too stupid to speak French correctly, but you never know. I’m sure she thinks the two of you are here to service me sexually. I’m sorry. That was tacky but it’s her thought, not mine.”

  For the first time since we had arrived, I noticed Paul’s eyes were very red. I put my hand on his arm. “Paul? Are you okay?”

  “No. I’m not. The police were here earlier. With your husband. They were questioning me about Doug. They wanted to know if I killed him. Well, you can imagine my surprise at that, can’t you? Why, I asked, would I kill Doug? I hardly knew the man. He was my wife’s employer.”

  “Well, you are a suspect.” I said.

  “For my wife, yeah. I suppose I would be. For Doug? Why would I be a suspect for his murder?”

  “Well, because Martine and—”

  “You knew? You both knew all this time and you never said anything to me?”

  “Paul, it wasn’t our place to tell you Martine and Doug had had an affair. And, yes, we did know. We weren’t sure if you knew or not and we didn’t want to add to your pain. I’m sorry.”

  “We’re both sorry,” Sam added.

  “Well, it doesn’t matter anymore. I told the police I had no idea Martine had had an affair with Doug. Obviously, it was still going on. She was pregnant after all. She lied to me. All this time, she lied to me.” He spat the words out. “And I was feeling like a heel because I didn’t want a baby.”

  I looked at him and felt sure he was telling the truth. No one could be this good an actor. It was apparent he knew nothing of Martine and Doug and the truth was now tearing at his insides.

  “According to Wanda and Doug and even Donna, the affair ended several years ago.”