Getting Old Is Très Dangereux: A Mystery

by Rita Lakin

  She walks back to where Jack is seated. “Mon cher, I’ll go mad closed up like this. S’il vous plaît!”

  Jack isn’t about to share his feelings about being cooped up. What if he’s stuck here for more than a few days? He’ll want to put a fist through a wall. Believe it—he wants out of here more than she does. Because he’s indoors he imagines all the outdoor places he’d rather be. When he was a cop, he was always outside, always on the move. Even during those years married to Faye and raising the kids. He’d be taking them camping. Skiing. Fishing on some lake. Gardening. He already feels the four walls closing in.

  She reaches out to touch him. “I beg you.”

  Jack quickly stands up. “I think I’ll shower now. Why don’t you order some breakfast?”

  She straightens up, rebuffed. “Very well. What do you want?”

  He picks up his overnight bag. “Surprise me.”

  He walks into her bedroom, avoiding looking at the unmade bed and her personal items lying around. He tries not to look at the wall-to-wall mirrors.

  When he gets into her bathroom, he fixates on the lock, tempted to turn it. He hesitates, then doesn’t. Laughing at himself. Does he really believe she’ll slip in next to him? He’s not surprised to see mirrors again everywhere. A huge sunken tub. The large, beautifully appointed room smells of bath soaps and perfume. It’s overwhelmingly feminine. And intoxicating.

  He turns on the shower and as he undresses, he keeps his eyes on the door.

  Jack smiles ruefully and thinks, Gladdy, save me.

  18

  GETTING THROUGH THE DAY

  By the time the lunch hour rolls around, I feel like I’ve spent the whole morning staring at the phone, willing it to ring. But I know I’m being unrealistic. How can he talk when she’s around? Besides, he wouldn’t call me when he’s “on duty.”

  I open the fridge to find something for lunch. Some cottage cheese and tomato? Boring. Leftover Caesar salad? Wilted, uninteresting. Which reminds me, yet again, of last night’s flowers and fabulous dinner, then spoiled by Jack packing a suitcase and leaving. I play this scene over and over in my mind. I think of myself standing here at the open fridge eating whatever I find. Is that what I’ll be going back to if I lose Jack?

  I pace. I can’t read. I can’t nap. I can’t stand my negative thoughts.

  Knock. Knock. Knock.

  I answer the door. To my surprise the girls troop in. Carrying boxes.

  Evvie says, “We got hungry; thought you’d be, too.”

  Ida says, “Chinese take-out.”

  Sophie says, “Egg rolls. Mu shu chicken and wonton soup.”

  I smile to myself. Since when did Chinese become the national comfort food? Notice how, in so many movies, when you see someone lonely and unhappy, there are always the little white cartons and chopsticks on the table?

  Bella adds, “And we stopped at the video store and got the latest George Clooney so we can drool over our fried rice.”

  The way Ida and Sophie and Bella avoid looking at one another and keep their distance tells me they haven’t quite made up yet. There’s still plenty of tension between them.

  We line up at the kitchen counter and dole out portions. I bring out a pitcher of iced tea. The girls lay place mats on the coffee table in the Florida room. Evvie slips the movie into the VCR slot. She warns us that the guy in the video store said DVDs have almost completely replaced tapes, and very soon they’ll be gone forever and we’ll be out of luck. And there’s even talk about something “blue” that might replace them, too.

  We bring in our plates and drinks and go for our usual seats. My slat-backed rocker is always mine. We settle in for food and entertainment.

  When Clooney appears, a happy groan goes round the room.

  “Oh, to be forty years younger,” Evvie says, sighing.

  “Oh, to be forty pounds lighter,” Sophie adds.

  Bella jumps in. “He should be forty years older and I could live in Hollywood right next door to him. I could knock on his door to borrow a cup of sugar.”

  Ida feels compelled to dash their dreams. She has not one romantic bone in her body. “So, why isn’t he married? There must be something wrong with him.”

  Evvie counters, “Hey, if you looked like him and made the money he makes, believe me, you’d stay single and have all the fun you want.”

  Sophie snipes at Ida. “You always have to spoil everything, don’t you?”

  Bella gives Sophie a little shove to try to keep her quiet.

  Ida flares. “You starting up with me again?”

  Bella shoves Sophie harder. “Don’t.”

  I sigh. Here we go again. “Girls, what is it going to take for you to be friends again?”

  Ida stands up, waving her chopsticks at them. “A confession to everyone for being liars, that’s what.”

  Evvie hits the mute button on our movie and turns to them. “Let’s have it, already. This is getting tiresome.”

  Sophie and Bella cower into one another. Poor things, they look terrified.

  Ida says, “Allow me. If you let them tell it, we’ll be here all day while we drag it out of them. It seems that our gullible friends have done it again.”

  Sophie sits up stiffly, glaring at her. Bella hides her face in her hands.

  “They’ve joined a club. Apparently there’s a secret back room at Jerry’s Deli where not only do you get a guru and incense, but you get one hell of a scam.”

  Sophie jumps up and shoves her. “It is not a scam.”

  Bella whispers, “We get vitamins, too.”

  “Didn’t you learn anything after Mme. Ramona duped you?” Ida shoves Sophie in return. Harder.

  Evvie rushes to them and pulls them apart. “Enough. Sit down.”

  Bella moans. “I’m getting a heartburn already.” She gropes for Tums in her purse.

  Ida spouts out the venom she feels. “Not a scam? It’s called the Dead Husbands Club and they make phone calls, I assume, either to heaven or hell. It cost Bella twenty-one dollars to be able to speak to her Abe!”

  “I didn’t say a word.” Bella pushes two Tums in her mouth, tears beginning to run down her face.

  There is a moment of silence. Evvie and I exchange glances. How funny! Actually paying money to talk to heaven? Or hell? But we mustn’t laugh. Evvie finally breaks the silence. “Oh, boy.” She shakes her head in wonderment. “Did you actually hear Abe’s voice?”

  Sophie answers as Bella searches once again hurriedly through her purse. “They speak through our guru, so of course it isn’t the actual voice. And don’t make fun of him.”

  Bella answers, her nose in her purse. “He’s a saint.”

  Ida blurts back. “What do you know from saints?”

  Sophie shoots Ida a poisonous look. “Feel better? You like making her cry.”

  Ida shrugs. “It’s the principle of the thing. You lied because you knew the rest of us would disapprove. They’re breaking the law. They should be in jail.”

  Evvie tries to mediate. “But are they hurting anyone? Doesn’t sound like much of a scam. You’re talking a few bucks. Not a big deal.”

  Ida scowls. “Okay, if you are so sure you aren’t being suckers, then let me go with you to the next meeting.”

  I look from face to face. I should say something. But I feel like the last person who should criticize Bella and Sophie for wanting to reconnect with the husbands they love, so I stay silent.

  Sophie hmphs. “Come. Don’t come. It’s a free country. Do what you want.”

  Bella timidly adds, “But don’t forget to bring extra cash for phone calls.”

  Ida scoffs at that. “Hah! That’ll be the day.”

  Evvie tries to appease all three of them. “Maybe I’ll come, too. As a visitor. But don’t tell Joe. He’ll resent being thought of as dead.”

  She makes the joke to ease the tension, but I see the worry in her eyes.

  “Wait, I have something.” Bella finally finds what she’s looking
for. She brings out two small wrapped packages and hands one to me and the other to Evvie. Her nose goes up in the air as she passes Ida. Nothing for her.

  Evvie and I open the packages. Inside, I find a thin red leather cord, holding metal chimes with small crystals dangling below.

  Bella explains. “They’re special chimes. You hang them up somewhere and when the chimes ring, someone you loved and lost will return. Let me show you how to do it.”

  She takes my chimes and goes to the window. Tiny Bella reaches as high as she can. She has trouble hanging the cord from the top of my curtain rod.

  Evvie jumps up to help her. “Thanks for my gift, Bella,” Evvie says, hugging her.

  I smile at my two very sad friends. “It’s lovely. Look at how the colors of the crystals move in the sunshine.” I go to Bella, too, and kiss her on the cheek. “Thank you.”

  The tears are really falling now. Bella turns to Ida, chest out, head high. “If something I do makes me happy, why do you have to ruin it? I don’t care if I lose my five dollars. Every time I go, I feel good, and isn’t that what matters?”

  Ida looks uncomfortable. I think she feels cornered. And puzzled. If she’s sure she’s right, why aren’t we agreeing with her?

  She forces a smile. She can’t believe all of us are against her. “Let’s go back and watch the movie. Okay?” She hands Bella a tissue as she heads back to her seat. Bella takes it and sniffs her tears away.

  Sophie swivels so her back is to Ida and looks at Evvie. “On with the show.”

  Evvie quickly turns up the sound again and everyone settles down as George Clooney smiles his irresistible grin and seems to be looking directly at each one of us.

  I try to join them, but I can’t stand not knowing what’s going on with Jack and Michelle. What are they doing? What are they talking about?

  After a few minutes, I get up and start out of the room with my picked-at plate of food.

  Evvie calls, “While you’re up, Glad, wanna bring me some more mu shu?”

  “Actually, I need to get out. I really appreciate your coming by, but I must get some air. Enjoy your food and Mr. Gorgeous.”

  They look at me, disappointed but concerned.

  “Want us to come with you, wherever you’re going?” Evvie starts to get up.

  I gently wave to her to stay down. “I don’t have a clue as to where I’m going. I’ll be back soon.”

  As I leave the room, I hear Bella say to Evvie, “Why didn’t you put it on pause? Now we missed a whole lot.”

  I hear Evvie answer her with weariness, a question asked and answered a hundred times. “We can rewind, Bella. R.E.W.I.N.D.”

  As I grab my purse and keys, I suddenly know where I’m going. If I can’t see the father, then I’ll visit the son.

  Eventually Jack had to agree with Michelle. After a few hours of playing cards and watching dull TV sitcoms, both of them needed a break. Some fresh air. Especially since Michelle still refused to talk about the man who was trying to kill her.

  He enlisted the aid of the hotel manager, who helped them escape through a service entrance that led to a private staff parking area, where one of the valets had brought Jack’s car. To his surprise, the hotel manager handed them a picnic basket filled with a gourmet lunch and expensive wine—apparently, Michelle had called room service while Jack was getting ready.

  Now, as Jack watches Michelle leaning her head and shoulders back against a tree, satisfied after the delicious lunch, what he’s thinking about isn’t her but his recent picnic on the beach with Gladdy. He wishes he was spending this beautiful afternoon with the woman he loves, instead of sitting here growing impatient with Michelle’s attitude and her refusal to help them wrap up this investigation. He knows they weren’t followed from the hotel, but he can’t stop his eyes from moving in perpetual motion as he examines everyone near them, looking for the murderer.

  “I never want to go back.” Michelle sighs happily.

  “Enough fun for today. It’s about time we got down to business.”

  She is all sweetness. “Do we have to?”

  “Yes. You’ve been avoiding this discussion long enough.”

  “I’d rather talk about us.” She starts to crawl closer to him.

  “Stop.” He motions her to stay where she is.

  “But it’s such a lovely day. It feels good not to think about problems.”

  Jack takes a notepad and pen out of his jacket pocket. “I want the names of the people you met when you worked at the winery. The owners.”

  She laughs. “You can’t be serious. Those pathetic losers? You think they’re trying to kill me?”

  “It makes sense. Who else would want your computer? Why were you so angry when it was gone?”

  She says angrily, “Believe me, I’m still angry. Because of my rivals. The press. There’s always someone who’s looking for a scoop. Or a way to steal ideas from me. You have no idea how many vultures there are out there. A writer has no privacy anymore.”

  “But not enough to want to kill you. The winery people already know it’s about them.”

  She cannot hide her amusement. “Jacques, chéri. I lived with those people for months. They are four unintelligent people incapable of any complex action. And the whole idea of them hiring an elderly assassin? To track me down in Florida? Ridiculous.”

  “That old man ‘hired gun’ tried to kill you and came very close to killing Colette instead. He murdered the maid at the hotel when he went after your computer. I think that’s enough to take very seriously. What’s in the next manuscript that’s important enough to kill for?”

  She sighs. Jack assumes she’s annoyed that he isn’t going to let go of this idea. “All right. They were ‘blue fining,’ something they shouldn’t have been doing because it’s dangerous and banned in many countries.” She stops.

  Jack waits. She’s going to make him work for it. “What is it and why is it dangerous?”

  Being facetious, she grins. “Why don’t you wait until the book comes out? Then you can read my twenty pages about the whole process.” Michelle tilts her face up to catch the sun’s rays. “I hate to waste this glorious day on serious talk.”

  “Michelle. Enough playing games.”

  Another bored sigh. “Very well. Wine growers afraid of clouding in their white wines use hydrogen cyanide to remove the copper and iron that cause the problem. Needless to say, the cyanide can decompose in the bottles. Growers are supposed to test the wine to detect residual levels. But they never did. And believe me, they were guilty of many more infractions of the law. Enough already. No more questions.”

  “Thank you,” he says, not hiding his impatience.

  “Besides, others have tried to get me and failed. This guy’s already blundered and I’m sure Morrie’s people will apprehend him soon.”

  “His blunders may make him even more reckless.”

  Michelle slides closer to him. “Why should I worry? I know I’m in good hands.”

  Jack watches her glance around, smiling at passersby, untroubled. She ignores his pleas to be concerned. It’s as if she spins a web around herself—sure, because of who and what she is, that she’s immune to being hurt. The woman reminds him of a moth, more like a butterfly, who fearlessly flies closer to the flame. He must keep her focused. But is it for her sake or his?

  “The names, Michelle.” He removes the cap of his pen.

  She shrugs. If he must insist on this boring subject, very well, she’ll play it his way. “Pierre LaRoche, his brother, Oswald, and the fat wife of Oswald, Hortense. And their partner, Gaston Dubonet.” She intends a joke. “Sorry, I don’t know the name of your elderly assassin with gray hair. Their winery is Le Vin de Bordeaux Sud.”

  He studies her for a moment; she is shaking out her red hair, pretending to be unaware of how sexy her movements are. Hah. As if she didn’t know that everyone looks her way admiringly. Maybe envying this sour old daddy next to her. Surely no one would think he was her lover. “Wh
y did you insist I guard you day and night?”

  Her eyes lower, her lips form a seductive smile. “You can’t guess?”

  “No, not really.”

  She’s now close enough to touch him. “Perhaps it’s because you left me so abruptly in Paris, we never had a proper ending. All these years, you never thought of me once?”

  Jack doesn’t intend to get into any old intimate details. He moves away from her and gathers the remains of their lunch, packs what’s left of it into the basket. “I think we should go.”

  She pouts prettily. “A few minutes more. Please. Look, on the bandstand. There’s a group of musicians about to play.”

  Jack sighs. “All right. I can call my son from here. One song. After that, we leave.” He lifts his cell phone out of his inside jacket pocket and dials.

  Morrie answers, but is busy on another line, so Jack quickly reels off the names Michelle gave him. Morrie makes a quick note of them and promises to call right back.

  Michelle removes the wine bottle and her glass from the basket. “Just a few sips more.”

  The band plays its first selection. A French song. “April in Paris.” She claps her hands in delight.

  Jack puts the phone down. She refills his glass and passes it to him. He hesitates a moment, then takes it.

  I don’t even bother to call Morrie. In my agitated state, I rush over to his office hoping he’ll be there. And he is. He’s surprised to see me. He gestures for me to wait as he completes a call. When he finally hangs up, he smiles.

  Never mind the niceties. I jump right in. “Why didn’t you talk your father out of becoming Michelle’s guard?”

  His eyes widen. “Not even a hello, how are you?”

  “Hello. How are you? There. Happy?”

  Morrie walks me to the chair opposite his desk and sits me down. “Dad and I share a stubbornness gene. When we make up our minds, nobody can change it.”

  “It was his idea?”

  “No, hers. She manipulated him into it. She’s very persuasive, as you probably know.” He stands over me. “Want a drink?”

  “No, thanks.”

  “Funny you should drop in. I was about to call him. With news.”