Cancans, Croissants, and Caskets

by Mary McHugh

  “That surprises me too,” she said.

  She left the apartment with the two officers. My friends helped me into bed, where I fell into a deep sleep for a couple of hours.

  When I woke up, I felt much better. My feet were sore, but that was only temporary.

  My friends were still in the apartment, and Mary Louise was making mushroom omelets for us.

  “You look much better,” Tina said and led me to a chair at the table. She handed me a glass of orange juice, some omelet, and a cup of hot coffee. I was so relieved to be alive, I was actually hungry and dove into the omelet, which was delicious. I had just buttered my croissant and taken a sip of the hot, reviving coffee when there was a knock on our door.

  Gini opened it, and Captain Chantal was standing there with two other police officers. She looked very serious.

  “I’m sorry to disturb you again so soon, Madame—um—Janice,” she said, “but I had a very confusing interview with Monsieur Anderson.”

  “Confusing?” I said. “What he did is pretty clear.”

  “I certainly thought so after talking to you, but now I have many questions.”

  “Like what?” I said, losing my appetite again.

  The captain took out her iPad and checked her notes. “Monsieur Anderson said you drank too much champagne and wine and that you passed out at the table. He said he carried you upstairs to the bedroom so you could sleep it off, and then he was going to take you home. But when he went to look for you an hour later, you had left, and he assumed you came back to the apartment.”

  “No, no, that’s not what happened at all,” I said, talking too fast, my mind racing to correct this absurd description of what happened. I told her again about being drugged, about the chlorine gas, the sealed door and windows, my breaking the window in the bathroom and jumping out to land in the full Dumpster.

  “Yes, I know,” the captain said. “But when I took Monsieur Anderson back to the club, Ahmet was there, wearing a gold earring, by the way, which was similar to the one we found in Madame Fouchet’s apartment but not exactly like it. Monsieur Anderson took us up to the bedroom. The door opened readily. There was not a trace of chlorine gas in the room. Your purse was still on the table by the bed, untouched. Your shoes were right there. My officers have them and will return them to you. The bathroom was neat. The window was not broken and opened easily. I looked down at the ground beneath the bathroom window and there was no Dumpster there. Is it possible that you dreamed all this?”

  I could not speak. I stared at her, my mouth open, trying to answer her. Finally, I managed to say, “Dreamed it? How could I have dreamed it? If I left the club by the front door, how come nobody saw me leave? Why wouldn’t I have looked for Alan and asked him to drive me home?”

  “Monsieur Anderson was puzzled by this as well. He said the few customers they had that night had already left. He and Ahmet were still at the club, but they must have been in the kitchen when you left. He didn’t understand why you didn’t come to find him. He said he was very worried about you, and went to find you in the bedroom about an hour later but you had left. He was going to call you this morning to make sure you were all right.”

  “I did not dream it,” I said. Then I thought, What if I did? What if I was drunk? What if I made the whole thing up? No, I could not have made up the chocolate soufflé all over my dress. It is still there.

  “You can see the chocolate soufflé on my dress from landing in the Dumpster,” I said.

  “Monsieur Anderson had an answer for that too,” Geneviève said. “He said he didn’t mean to embarrass you, but before you passed out, you tried to eat your dessert—the chocolate soufflé the club is famous for—but you knocked it off the table and it fell on your dress. Then you became unconscious, and he carried you upstairs.”

  “Then there should have been chocolate soufflé all over the sheets I was lying on,” I said.

  “He said they had to change the sheets after he went up to check on you because someone was scheduled to use the room the next day.”

  “Did you ask to see the dirty sheets?” I asked.

  “They had already been washed and put away by the time we got there,” she said. “Listen, Janice. I know you wouldn’t lie. But when people have too much to drink, they sometimes hallucinate and imagine all kinds of things. There is no sign in that club that you were gassed or broke a window and jumped out into a Dumpster. Monsieur Anderson was very cooperative. He said he liked you very much and was sorry he had given you too much to drink.”

  I could not believe what I was hearing. The whole experience had been erased. There was not a wisp of evidence to prove that I had almost died in that room, that I knew who did it, that I had not just imagined the whole thing.

  I looked at my friends’ faces. Their expressions were concerned, somewhat confused. I didn’t know whether they believed what Captain Chantal was telling them or what I had told them. To be honest, I was wavering back and forth between the two versions myself.

  But every time I began to think that maybe I had been drunk, had hallucinated, I knew that chlorine gas was real. I remembered breaking that window with the wastebasket. I felt the jolt of landing in that Dumpster again. It could not have been a dream. How was I going to prove it?

  “Captain Chantal,” I said, “Monsieur Anderson was lying to you. I was not hallucinating. I know he tried to kill me. Could you please investigate that room and bathroom again? There must be some clue. Maybe some bits of glass on the floor in the bathroom that were overlooked when you first went there. Maybe some small pieces of whatever they used to seal the door and windows are still there. Somebody in one of the buildings in back of the club might have seen me jump, or heard something, or saw the Dumpster there earlier. I did not imagine all this.”

  “Geneviève,” Pat said, coming to sit on the arm of my chair, “Janice is not a drunk. She doesn’t pass out after a glass of wine or two. Something was in that wine or in her food to knock her out.”

  “She doesn’t make things up,” Tina said. “If she woke up in a room filled with chlorine gas, that was no dream. There has to be some clue in that bedroom or bathroom that will prove what she’s saying is true.”

  “You can’t just let Anderson and that Indian guy go,” Gini said. “They might try to kill Jan again. You’ve got to believe her. She’s not some flake who dreams up whole murder plots against her. She’s a totally reliable person.”

  My eyes filled with tears. I looked around the room at those loyal friends and thanked God that they were in my life.

  Captain Chantal put down her iPad. “I believe you,” she said. “I’ll send a team back to that room and examine every inch of it. There must be something left in there that will prove your story. We’ll find it—don’t worry. In the meantime, I want you to spend this day out of the city. I’ll send a police officer to pick you up in a van and take you anywhere you want to go as long as it’s away from Paris. I can’t let Monsieur Anderson leave the country until this case is solved. He might try to kill you again.”

  I shivered. “Thank you, Captain,” I said. “I am very grateful.”

  Geneviève stood up and moved toward the door, but paused and looked around. She sighed.

  “I love this building,” she said. She started to say something else and then stopped.

  “What is it, Geneviève?” Pat said.

  “Oh, it was such a long time ago,” the captain said. “But I’ll never forget it. My first girlfriend lived in this building. We were only fifteen, but we loved each other. She was funny and smart and we wanted to be alone, which wasn’t easy with both our parents checking up on us all the time. So Catherine found this room on the ground floor, hidden way in the back, that used to belong to the concierge when the building had one. No one knew it was there. We used to go there in the afternoons and do our homework together and fool around.” She stopped, embarrassed.

  “It’s all right, Geneviève,” Pat said. “There’s nothing to be ash
amed of. Tell us about it.”

  The captain sat down on the arm of one of the chairs, her mind back in those days of youthful love. “She called me Genève when we were in that room,” she said. “It’s the only place she called me that. And no one else used that name. We didn’t want anyone to know about us or that room. I think it’s still there, but I haven’t been back in years.”

  “What happened to Catherine?” Pat asked.

  “She went to Oxford too,” Geneviève said. “She married a Brit before she got her degree and stayed in England. She stopped writing to me after she got married.”

  The captain looked around at all of us, her eyes lingering on Pat. “I really loved her,” she said. “Every time I come to this building I remember her.”

  We were silent. I felt like we were intruding on a secret part of her life.

  She stood up and snapped back into this time and place.

  “I will investigate that club again, Jan,” she said.

  She left.

  “You guys are the best,” I said. “Thank you for believing me. I almost didn’t believe me myself when she told me how completely Alan had cleaned up after I left. I don’t know how he did it so fast and so completely.”

  “We know you, Jan,” Gini said. “There’s no way you could have imagined all that. Now all we have to do is keep you alive until they arrest Anderson and Ahmet.”

  “That might take a while,” I said.

  My phone rang. “Hello,” I said.

  “My dear Janice, are you all right?” It was Alan Anderson.

  I started to shake. I almost dropped the phone. I mouthed “Alan Anderson” to my friends.

  “I was really worried when I went back to the room and you were gone,” he said. “I thought you would sleep for hours. You were really out. You should have come to find me when you woke up. I would have driven you back to your apartment. Are you sure you’re all right?” His voice was concerned. Anybody except me would have thought he had nothing to do with trying to kill me just a few hours before.

  “I’m fine, Alan,” I said, my voice almost normal. I wasn’t going to let him know that I knew he had tried to kill me. Good thing I’ve been an actress all these years. “Sorry I passed out on you. I don’t usually do that.”

  “Not to worry,” he said. “Maybe you shouldn’t have so much wine the next time. I always assume everyone can drink as much as I can, but that’s not always true for women.”

  I marveled at his tone. The next time? Whoaaa. There ain’t gonna be no next time for me, as the song says. “Guess I’ll stick to fruit juice from now on,” I said. “Thanks for checking on me, Alan.”

  “Let me know if I can do anything for you,” he said.

  Sure I will, I thought. You can go directly to jail. Do not pass Go.

  “Good-bye for now,” he said and hung up.

  “Was that really Anderson?” Tina asked.

  “Can you believe that guy?” I asked.

  “What did he say?” Gini asked.

  “He’s worried about me and wants to be sure I’m all right!” I said. “Maybe this really is a dream, and I’ll wake up soon and laugh about it.”

  “Every time you start to laugh, take a look at your dress,” Gini said. “That’ll convince you.”

  “He scares me,” Mary Louise said. “Let’s get out of the city, like Geneviève said. Where shall we go?”

  “Come on, somebody, come up with a really good plan,” Gini said. “I’ll go anywhere.”

  “I have an idea,” Mary Louise said in her excuse-me-this-is-probably-a-terrible-idea voice. “We could go to Versailles. Both times I’ve been in Paris I’ve wanted to go there, but we never had the time. If you’ve all seen it enough, never mind. It was just a thought.”

  “That’s a great idea, Weezy,” Gini said, using the nickname just to annoy Mary Louise. She hates it. “They’ve totally redone Versailles since I was there the last time,” Gini said. “I could get some great shots there.”

  “Let’s go there,” Tina said. “I read somewhere that they have musical fountain shows in the afternoon, with music and water shooting out of the fountains.”

  “You guys go ahead,” Pat said. “I’ve seen Versailles, and I told Geneviève I’d meet her later this afternoon.”

  “It’s fine with me,” I said. I was ready to get as far away from the city and Alan Anderson as I could get. “Just let me change my clothes and I’ll be ready.”

  “You sure you’re up to this?” Mary Louise, our mother hen, said. “You’ve been through hell.”

  “I’m up for anything that gets me out of here,” I said.

  I squirmed out of my dress and took a long, hot shower. Every inch of me felt dirty and sore. The shower helped a lot. I changed into a blue-and-white halter top and striped jeans and joined the rest of my gang, who were ready to go.

  Janice’s Fashion Tip: Invest in some great-looking sunglasses to keep from squinting in the summer sun.

  Chapter 15

  What Do You Mean—Perfumed Lambs?

  We only had to wait a few minutes before the police van pulled up in front of the building. A friendly-faced officer got out of the van and introduced himself.

  “Bonjour, mesdames,” he said. “I am here to take you wherever you want to go and to help you in anyway I can. My name is Jacques Paulhe, at your service.”

  He was such a sweetheart. I was grateful to Geneviève for sending him to us.

  “We’d like to go to Versailles, please, Officer Paulhe,” Gini said. “Is that OK with you?”

  “Always,” he said. “And I will be able to get you in ahead of the line. It’s very busy there in July.”

  “We would also like to stay to see the musical fountain show in the afternoon,” Tina said. “Can you spend that much time with us?”

  He smiled. “I would gladly spend every day with such charming and beautiful ladies,” he said.

  Did I mention I love the French? Especially the men.

  We bustled into the van, which was air-conditioned and roomy, and settled in for the half-hour drive to Versailles.

  Officer Paulhe entertained us the whole way with things we absolutely must not miss in Paris. He obviously loved his city, and he wanted us to see everything.

  “Be sure to go to the Rodin museum,” he said. “Especially the garden. It’s an experience to see those huge, black sculptures that are so famous outside. The Kiss, The Thinker. And go to the top of the Arc de Triomphe. Most people don’t know they are allowed to do that. Such a view of all the avenues flowing out from the Arc. It’s a lesson in how to plan a city to emphasize its beauty. It’s why people love to come here. Everywhere you look there is something to surprise you with its elegance.”

  It was a treat to hear him talk about Paris. He drove effortlessly in and out of traffic jams as we left the city, smoothly and quickly on the highway leading to Versailles.

  “Oh, and mesdames,” he said, “I know everyone tells you it is just for tourists, but you must eat at the Eiffel Tower. They have two restaurants, a very expensive one called the Jules Verne, and one that’s more affordable and very good too called 58 Tour Eiffel. And if you can, eat at La Tour d’Argent, also expensive but worth it for the view of Notre-Dame and the Seine and for the way they treat you as if you are the only customer they have.”

  “Tourist traps,” Gini muttered, way too knowledgeable about Parisian restaurants to go where everybody else went.

  I gave her my fierce shut-up-Gini look, which sometimes works and sometimes doesn’t. This time it worked.

  Officer Paulhe swung into the fast lane and continued his commentary.

  “If you’re into cemeteries, there’s one near you that has lots of famous people buried there. It’s the Cimetière du Montparnasse. Simone de Beauvoir and Jean-Paul Sartre are there—still together in death.” He chuckled. “And there’s Samuel Beckett, Guy de Maupassant, Saint-Saëns. Even Susan Sontag is there. An American. Did you know her?”

  “A
fraid not, Officer Paulhe,” Gini said. “Not all Americans know each other.”

  This time I punched her and glared at her. I liked this friendly policeman, and I wasn’t going to let Gini sneer at him.

  “Of course, if you want a really impressive tomb, you must go to Les Invalides, where Napoleon is buried. They often have concerts there.”

  “I once fell off one of the smaller tombs in there next to Napoleon when there weren’t enough chairs during a concert,” Gini said. “I fell asleep and tumbled off onto the floor. Some lady thought I had fainted and gave me her chair and a pill, which I swallowed because I didn’t want to offend her. No telling what was in it.”

  “Oh, mademoiselle,” Officer Paulhe said, “it’s not good to sit on the tombs.” He seemed shocked.

  “Maybe tombs are too sad for you to see,” he said, cheering up again. “You should go to the zoo in the Bois de Vincennes. They’ve just spent six years reconstructing it so the animals aren’t in cages any more. They roam about outside. There are fences to protect the people who come to see them, but the animals have a natural environment to live in. Lots of giraffes and birds and monkeys. I take my children there often.”

  “How many children do you have, Officer Paulhe?” Tina asked. She always asks people about their families. It’s one of the reasons she’s such a good travel editor. She finds out what people want to do when they go on holiday with their children and then writes about where to find it.

  “Three, madame,” he said. “They are all teenagers.”

  Before Gini could tell this lovely man that she didn’t believe in zoos, no matter how natural their environment, we arrived at Versailles.

  “Et voilà, mesdames,” Paulhe said. “Nous sommes ici.” In other words, “We are here.”

  “I have instructed the security people here to watch over you,” he said. “Call me when you are ready to return to Paris, and I will meet you here.”

  We thanked him and tumbled out of the van. Even though I had visited Versailles on my honeymoon with Derek, I was overwhelmed again by the size of the palace.