Getting Old Is Très Dangereux: A Mystery (3 page)

Sophie puts her hands on her ample hips. “Can we get a word in here?”

Ida now raises and lowers her arms and does waist bends from her chair. “As long as it’s no more than two words. We’ve been hearing about this book fair ad nauseam.”

“It only happens once every five years and a lot of famous romance writers will be there,” says Sophie grandly. “I read that in the paper.”

“It will be so exciting! Danielle Steel and Kresley Cole and Heather Graham!” Bella adds excitedly.

Jack glances across the table at me and shrugs. He certainly knows nothing about the women who write romance novels. And neither do I, since mysteries are my passion.

Bella, fluffing the frills in her blouse, chimes in again. “We’ll be able to meet our favorite romance writers up close. Maybe even get autographs and free books.”

Sophie continues, “Everybody who’s anybody will be there.”

“Won’t it be expensive?” I ask.

Bella shakes her head. “We can get a day pass and that’s not too much.”

Sophie takes out her compact and powders her nose. “And it will be worth every penny. This is big time!”

Bella begs, “Please. Pretty please just drop us down there. It’s not far. The Mariner Club Hotel,
right on the beach. And we can always call you to pick us up again later.”

That’s what I get for being the only one of us girls who still drives—I’m their designated driver 24/7. What a privilege. And, of course, since Jack also drives, he is on the available-to-be-annoyed list as well.

Bella pleads, “Come on, you haven’t anything better to do.”

Jack laughs and then so do I. He gets up. “We’ll be ready in fifteen minutes.”

Before he has a chance to change his mind, the two of them scamper out.

Ida shrugs as she, too, reaches for a croissant. “I don’t understand why you always give in to them.”

The Mariner Club Hotel is packed. Hundreds of people, most of them very well dressed women (and yes, I see lots of frilly hats), are moving about the expensive hotel lobby. It’s very elegantly faux-Victorian with its Venetian glass chandeliers and plush dark red couches and club chairs. Some of the fairgoers parade up and down the lavish staircases and escalators; others line up for elevators.

I’m aware of a buzz of excitement as friends greet old friends. Every possible seat in the lounge part of the lobby is taken. Drinks with mini Japanese umbrellas are being served. Cell phones are in
use everywhere. Much laughter, much animated conversation. Sophie and Bella are goggle-eyed trying to take it in all at once. They clutch their passes tightly even though they are secured around their necks with lanyards. With her free hand Sophie grips her program as she looks up the next event.

“We’ll call you when we’re ready to leave,” Sophie says to me excitedly. With that, they turn their backs on us and rush into the fray.

Jack and I watch them flow and ebb with the tide of moving women until they are swallowed by the crowd.

“Well, that’s our good deed for the day.” Jack takes my arm, moving us toward the front doors. “How about we go down to the beach now that we’re here? Take off our shoes and walk in the sand.”

But I’m not paying attention. I’m reading the program for the convention on a stand-up display board.

I poke him gently in the arm. “Third-floor arcade: fiction, mystery, paranormals nonfiction. Since we’re here, I think I’d like to get a pass, also, and see what new mysteries will be coming out in the spring.”

He looks at me curiously. “Instead of a romantic walk on the sand?”

“Not when I can get a chance to examine new books.”

He looks at me and then at the ever expanding mob. “You’re really serious?”

“I actually think it might be fun.”

Jack smiles. “I promised to give my darling anything she wanted.”

With that he leads me to the registration desk.

I have to admit it’s pretty exciting. One publishing company after another exhibiting their latest products. Posters, displays, TV presentations. Booths where authors are signing books. Everyone carrying full-to-the-brim tote bags. I feel like a kid in a candy store. Here’s the new Janet Evanovich and her wild New Jersey bounty hunter antics. There’s the latest Lee Child. I love how his hero, Jack Reacher, travels with only a toothbrush and a debit card. The mother-son writing team who write under the name of Charles Todd have another post–World War I case for the detective who came home shell-shocked. Elizabeth George has a new Inspector Lynley. Robert B. Parker’s next with his Boston tough-guy detective and psychologist girlfriend. Cozies, thrillers, paranormals, police procedurals; every possible mystery genre to choose from. Heady stuff indeed for an avid reader like myself.

“Earth to Gladdy. Earth to Gladdy.” Jack leans over my shoulder.

“What?” I ask, my mind still floating through this cornucopia of book treasures.

“May I leave you to your mysteries? Macho guy getting antsy around cozies, will head over to spy thrillers and science fiction. I’ll come back in an hour and pick you up.”

“Okay,” I say, still poring over book titles.

He kisses the back of my neck and takes off.

Jack circumvents the romance section, where he spots Sophie and Bella on a very long book-signing line. They see him and wave happily. He waves back. He passes a sign indicating the nonfiction aisle, with science fiction straight ahead. He continues strolling, glancing now and then at colorful glossy posters with life-size photos of famous authors. He has to admit to himself that it’s pretty interesting seeing how publishing companies introduce their new books. Suddenly he stops sharply and backs up. Something has caught his eye.

Someone on a poster. A beautiful woman. A familiar woman.

Jack can’t believe what he’s seeing. Michelle duBois is winking out at him!

He reads the text below her photo over and over again until his shocked mind can grasp its meaning. It announces the signing for her newest exposé,
Bonbon, Non Non!
He feels his heart banging against his chest. It can’t be! But it is. The stunning copper redhead he met in Paris eight years ago. His fantasy love. She looks exactly the same. Those piercing emerald eyes. That mysterious smile. That adorable lift of one eyebrow. Those luscious lips.

It all washes over him; that magical month he spent in Paris that Spring. The way they met and fell in love so quickly. He, a clumsy tourist, standing outside a taxi and trying to explain to the cabbie where he wanted to go. Suddenly a young woman, a vision of beauty, is at his side. In rapid, lilting French she acted as interpreter, rescuing him, at the same time dazzling him with her perfect English. She finally got in the cab with him and directed the driver to the out-of-the way museum. By the time they arrived, Michelle duBois had offered to continue as his guide in the museum. Jack knew he was in love with her the first moment she smiled at him.

Jack stands in the aisle of the book fair, mesmerized by the poster and his recollections. The Paris days flew by with her guiding him through the city she knew and loved. The memories of their torrid affair keep unrolling in his head. Running in the rain together, kissing and laughing. The unforgettable nights spent together in her glamorous apartment in Vichy. How, with her, he became younger and desired. The movies they saw together that
made him pretend, for a few weeks, that he was living in a romantic Claude Lelouch film.

Oh, God! Last night he’d taken Gladdy to the movie he’d seen with Michelle in France! How could he not have remembered that?

Michelle had been an investigative reporter for a French newspaper. When he left Paris, she’d just had her first book published, an exposé about the private life of one of the most famous actors in France. Jack read later that her book made the bestseller list, turning her into an instant success all over the world.

He remembers also how and why he finally fled from her.

Panic sets in. He must get out of here. Now. Michelle mustn’t see him! No, not ever. As he hurries back to where he left Gladdy, sweat pours down his face even as the air-conditioning chills him.

He can’t believe how out of control he feels. He tries not to run, but his legs disobey. People are staring. Why would anyone be running?

He hears footsteps behind him. He turns, terrified. But it’s only Bella and Sophie, tote bags already full, hurrying after him.

“Where’s the fire?” Sophie calls, puffing, her arms and legs churning to catch up.

“No fire.” Jack slows down. Everything around him is a blur now. Is it possible he’s having a heart
attack?
No
, he thinks grimly.
This is an anxiety attack
.

“Wait for me,” Bella says, gasping.

Finally the three of them are moving at the same pace.

“You look like you saw a ghost,” Sophie says, juggling her bags to balance their weight.

Jack groans inwardly. If she only knew.

They make their way through the crowds. Jack is trying to come up with an excuse to leave. There’s Gladdy straight ahead, watching a video—an interview with some famous mystery writer. He doesn’t know the writer’s name.

“Gladdy!” Sophie calls.

I turn when I hear my name, and immediately become concerned. Why are the three of them hurrying toward me? What’s wrong? Sophie and Bella seem worried. Jack looks pale. I leave the video and hurry to them. Sophie pushes Jack down on a nearby swivel chair. He jumps back up again.

I reach for his forehead. He seems terribly warm. Sweating as well.

“What’s wrong?” I ask, pulling a clean tissue from my purse to wipe his forehead.

“Nothing. I just need to go home and rest.”

“All right,” I say. “We’ll all go home now.”

“Okay with me,” says Bella. “I can’t hold any
more books anyway. And besides, they stamped our hand so we can come back later.”

“No,” Jack says. “You stay. I don’t want to spoil your day.”

I can sense him trying to calm himself down. “Nonsense.” I fold his arm into mine. “If you’re coming down with something, I don’t want you driving.”

The four of us head for the escalator. Jack keeps his head down. He pulls a Marlins cap out of his back pocket and wears it so low it covers his eyes. “Hurry,” he says.

There’s actually a line for the escalator. People are scurrying out to lunch, I assume. We wait our turn to get on.

A group gets off at the top. And suddenly one of the women is surrounded by fans. They wave autographed books at her, chattering excitedly.

“Who is she?” Bella whispers to me.

“I don’t know. But she must be someone famous.”

“She sure is gorgeous with that flaming red hair,” Sophie comments. “Is she talking French?”

With that, I’m aware that Jack’s eyes widen and he groans. He tries to get the down escalator queue to move but it doesn’t budge.

And at the same moment I see the redhead stare at Jack.

She immediately takes leave of her fans. To my
amazement, she hurries over to us. She practically pulls Jack out of the line just as it starts to move. Instinctively, I get off, too. Sophie and Bella are now pushed forward by the crowd. The escalator is finally moving and they are heading downstairs to the lobby. They look back and they are as astonished as I am to see this incredibly gorgeous woman throw her arms around my guy and kiss him. A very long kiss, I might add.

“Jacques!” she says in a musical French accent.
“Mon cher
, I cannot believe it. Is it really you?”

Mon cher?
Is that what she called him? I don’t remember much of my high school French, but I know enough to worry. Her darling?

Oy.

THE PAST IS PRESENT

I
am aware of a number of things in a nanosecond. Jack’s face is the color of overcooked beets. His arms dangle stiffly at his sides. The redhead is smiling broadly. And looking him up and down like he’s some luscious chunk of Brie ready to be devoured. Wow! Even I’m blushing. Jack’s redhead is wearing a rather low-cut pale cream silk blouse and skirt with a waist small enough to anger every woman over size five in the crowd. And gasp, with matching stiletto heels! I am guessing she’s about forty, but she looks thirty and is probably fifty. I am also guessing Jack somehow found out this woman was here at this fair and that’s why he was rushing to get out. To avoid what is happening now.

A mob is forming, with much grinning, much
whispering. Cameras and cell phones are snapping merrily away. To end up somewhere on YouTube, something I’ve heard about but never seen. Our little happening is being turned into a media event.

There is another redhead in the group who looks very much like the famous author, only younger, probably a relative. She whispers in the woman’s ear. The woman whispers something back and the younger one smiles knowingly.

Knowing what, I’m afraid to guess, but I sure can imagine.

I see Sophie and Bella get off at the lobby level and immediately ride the escalator back up. They can’t take their eyes off Jack and the woman. And neither can I.

I also notice Jack is frozen, unable to either speak or look at me. I move closer to him. The redhead reads me correctly. I lift his seemingly paralyzed arm and put it through mine. We are together, this movement announces.