Flossed (Alex Harris Mystery Series) (16 page)

“Gerard, if you don’t mind my asking,” Sam said, “everything is so expensive here. How does a large family do it?”

Gerard munched on a French fry before answering. “Well, you are right. Most things are much more than in America. Taxes are higher, but there are some differences. For one, we have the two houses left to my wife by her parents. We pay no capital gains tax on property. In Belgium, it is a way of making money. You will find many Belgians own property. And for many, like my family, we do not live in it ourselves but we rent it out. And with the country becoming so international, we always have a large selection of renters to choose from.”

We were interrupted by the waiter. Coffees were ordered along with a selection of pastries from a very ample pastry cart. By the time the second round of coffees arrived the conversation turned to the murder. I had wondered how long it would take and was happy to get by this long.

“I don’t understand,” Sam said. “Paul never talked to his doctor about reversing the vasectomy?”

“That appears to be correct. Of course, we spoke only in hypothetical terms, but I think it is safe to say he never tried.”

John nodded. “That was certainly my impression of what the doctor said.”

“Probably because he knew it was possible,” I said.

“
Oui
, I believe this is a correct assumption.”

“But why didn’t he just tell Martine he didn’t want to do it and be done with it?” Michael asked.

“I don’t know. It is something I will look into tomorrow. I fear Monsieur Cassé is becoming the most likely suspect.”

Everyone thanked Gerard for the wonderful dinner and after he left to go pick up his wife, the four of us strolled the streets around the Grand Place. We passed a café with lively music coming from inside. Michael suggested we all go in to listen but I was too tired.

“I think Michael and I will stay out a bit. It’s a beautiful night and I feel like hearing some music.” Sam kissed my cheek, winked, took Michael’s arm, and went into the café.

Chapter 23

“Well, Mrs. Van der Burg, it looks like we’re alone.”

“It certainly does. My sister can actually come up with some very good ideas once in a while.”

John and I walked up the Rue du Lombard until we came to the Grand Sablon, a beautiful square lined with restaurants and upscale art and antique shops. We crossed the square, which was still filled with people sitting outside and leisurely sipping espressos, until we reached the tram stop. After fifteen minutes we boarded an almost deserted tram. Twenty minutes later we were dropped off a block from our apartment.

“I think Bill is in some kind of trouble,” John said as we crossed the Avenue Brezil.

“Trouble? With his marriage?” I asked, wondering if Wanda’s suspicions of an affair with Martine were true.

“No. With his business. I overheard him on the phone today when I went over with Gerard. I think he might be involved in some shady deals.”

“Oh, dear.”

“I’m not sure, exactly. I confess I don’t know much about what he does, but it didn’t sound good. And he’s been, well, just not himself. Not like when we were younger.”

I stopped under a streetlight and looked up into my husband’s handsome face, which looked suddenly very tired and very worried. “Nothing is ever like when we were younger. It’s a sad fact, but true.”

“I know. We grow up and have all sorts of other problems we never imagined but there is definitely something going on with Bill that’s not right. And I don’t think it’s just job stress. I think there’s more to it. I think he’s gotten himself into some kind of trouble.”

“Can you talk with him about it?”

“I tried a bit today, but he brushed it off.”

We started to walk again and to my surprise, rather than turning left on Franklin Roosevelt, John led me to the crosswalk. After checking for cars, we crossed the large avenue and arrived at the entrance of the
Bois de la Cambre
. Though well past eleven, the sky still was not completely dark. I tripped on a stone and took hold of John’s arm. I didn’t ask where we were going; just let him lead me into the park. I sensed he needed to talk and the walk would do us both good.

When we were home and felt like a good walk, usually on the weekend, John and I would head down to the beach and walk along the new boardwalk connecting Indian Cove’s two main beaches. If we had things on our minds, the walk always proved to be restorative. I hoped for the same tonight.

“When we were in school,” John said, “Bill always had money. Not from his parents, but from some scam or another. Petty stuff, like cheat sheets or advance notice about an exam. How he got all the information that always came his way, I never knew. But he never got caught.”

“Did you partake of any of this information?” I asked not sure whether or not I wanted to know about this side of my husband.

John shook his head. “No. I was tempted a few times like when my Saturday night binges prevented me from studying for a Monday morning exam, but I never did. I’ve always been the kind of guy who would get caught.”

I smiled. “I hope that extends into our marriage because I warn you, John Van der Burg, I
will
know if you ever stray.” I knew no such thing always being of the mind I was the last to know anything, but figured it a good time to warn him anyway.

We crossed the circular road that went around the park, the very road that we had gone the wrong way on the day of the cookout. We sat in silence for a while on a hard wooden bench with peeling paint. The same noises I would hear back in Indian Cove on a summer night filled the park. Crickets and birds chirping, though never seen, the sound of a car off in the distance, the voices of others happy to be out drifted our way though we could barely make out the shapes around the lake.

“What’s that?”

“Where?” asked John squinting in the encroaching darkness.

“There! All those little lumps on the grass.” Suddenly one moved and I could just about make out the white of a fluffy tail.

“Rabbits. It looks like there are hundreds of them.”

“I wonder what else lives in here.” I craned my head to look around. As if in answer, something swept past us and flew off toward the lake.

“Jeez. That was a bat,” John said.

“A bat? I would never make it as a camper.” I pressed closer into John, all the while keeping an eye on the darkening sky.

“Come on, let’s walk. Maybe if we’re a moving target, they won’t see us so well.”

“Yeah, right. Are you going to see Bill again?”

“Well, I hope before we leave, yes. But I think he’s headed off to Switzerland tomorrow. Just until next Monday or Tuesday, I think.” We walked a little further before John spoke again. “Sometimes I wonder if Bill was ever the guy I made him out to be in my head.”

“In what way?”

“I don’t know exactly. I always thought of him as the life of the party, easy-going, fun to be with. As a young man in college, I guess that’s the kind of friend you want, someone who knows where all the parties are and is always invited. I have a feeling I conveniently overlooked some of his less than worthy attributes. In the more than seventeen years or so we’ve been out of school, I really haven’t spend any time with him. A call once or twice a year. A card at Christmas. But what do I really know about Bill the man?”

“Maybe nothing. We all have friends at various phases of our life,” I said. “It doesn’t mean what we had in common as children or young adults will sustain us through adulthood. I ran into one of my best friends from grade school about two years ago at the mall and we had lunch and talked and by the end of the afternoon I didn’t have a clue as to why she and I were once best friends, almost like sisters. She was divorced and she had a son and her ex-husband had just remarried and geesh, was she ever bitter. To the point she didn’t think she was going to let her son visit. And they had been divorced for about five years at this point. She seemed so petty and vindictive. I never saw any of that when we were young. She was so nice and fun. Always including any new kids in our games to make them feel welcome at a new school.” I shook my head.

“Maybe you’re right. Bill is a friend from the past. Nothing more. I just hoped that….”

“You could pick up where you left off?” I finished for my husband.

“Yes. Something like that.”

“From what you tell me, are you sure you would want to?”

John stopped walking and looked at me. “No. I’m not sure. And that’s part of the problem.”

We had walked halfway around the lake. By now the sky was totally dark and crystal clear dotted with thousands of stars and a small sliver of moon.

“Enough about Bill. Tell me all about your day. Do any snooping?”

“Yes, as a matter of fact, we did.” We started to walk again and I took hold of John’s hand. “Sam is becoming quite the little detective. I’ve created a monster.”

“So, who did you talk to?”

“I believe you received a call from Tom Mulberry telling you about an abusive relationship between Paul and Martine,” I said in a smug tone.

“Yes, we did. How did you know?”

“Because I was the one to encourage him to tell the police. He said he didn’t mention it because he hoped Paul would admit to it himself. He gave us a tour of this church. There’s a school there as well. We’re invited to Sunday morning services.” I could just make out my husband’s smile in the dark.

“I’m sure we’ll have something else to do. What else did you find out today?”

“Nothing I already didn’t know except it was nice to have the various parties admit to certain facts themselves.”

“Such as?”

Just then a jogger, with a flashlight attached to his belt, streaked past us. “That’s what I should be doing. Sam insists we have croissants every morning. Several, in fact. Anyway, well Donna told us Doug had been sleeping with Martine, but she didn’t seem to be as over it as she pretends. At least from what you told me of the conversation.”

“When we talked with Doug today he indicated it was no big deal in their marriage. They had plenty of other stuff to worry about with her trying to get pregnant,” John said.

“Maybe Doug and Donna should talk more. She seems to still be harboring quite a bit of anger. Actually, she seems pretty ripe for murder if you ask me. I mean if she knew about the affair, which she did, and if she heard Martine was pregnant, maybe that set her off. She wanted a baby for so long that if she found out her husband got another woman pregnant, well, I can just see where her mind would go with that one.”

“I agree. The only problem with that theory is I’m not sure anyone knew Martine was pregnant before she died.”

“Not that anyone is admitting,” I corrected.

“You’re getting good at this.”

“It doesn’t bother you Sam and I are snooping around?”

“Well, I can’t very well get mad at you when I’m off everyday helping out myself, can I? As long as you keep it to lunches with others around. Did you talk with anyone else?”

“After Donna, we stopped off to see Jane.”

“Jane? Ah, yes, the one with the frightening hair.”

I laughed, the only sound surrounding the lake at this hour. “That’s the one. And
she
admitted to having an affair with Paul. Seems quite proud of it, too. I swear, the things these people do tell. I’m beginning to think living in another country away from family and friends is a lonely business. I’m not sure they would all be so forthcoming with details of their personal lives if we were back in Indian Cove.”

We had reached the point where we had started our walk. We left the park, crossed Avenue Franklin Roosevelt, and arrived in front of our building. John reached into his pocket and took out one of the keys the Smiths had left for each of us.

“Suddenly I’m not tired anymore,” he said as he turned the key and pushed the door open.

“Why, John Van der Burg…are you planning on having your way with me?” I asked using my best southern belle accent.

“I’m planning on having my way, and your way, and any other way I can think of.”

My laugh echoed in the deserted building as John swept me off my feet and carried me into the elevator.

Chapter 24

By eight-thirty I had already washed one load of clothes and had just put another into a machine, which I felt certain had been designed by NASA. The operating manual on the wall next to it would make a nuclear scientist burst with pride. Thank goodness the Smiths had been kind enough to leave an abbreviated version for our use on a pad in the kitchen.

“What are...you doing?” asked a bleary-eyed Sam as she came into the kitchen.

“Washing clothes. And sheets. And towels. Do you know that machine takes over an hour for one load? And you can only get about six items into it at once. And the drier isn’t much better.”

“What’s that stuff outside?” Sam looked out the kitchen window.

I looked out onto a very dreary day. “I believe it’s called rain. Lots of it.”

“That’s what I was afraid of. Where did it all come from? It was so nice last night.”

“Yeah, well, that’s how it is here. Kind of like Oregon or Seattle, I would imagine. Actually, it’s a perfect day for cleaning. We’ve been here for over a week and I thought everything was about due for a good scrubbing.”

Sam yawned again. “Including me. What are you doing?”

I pulled the laptop toward me again. “I just checked my email and sent another one to Meme. And there are lots of congratulations from friends who couldn’t make the wedding and a lot of junk mail promising to enhance the performance of body parts I do not possess,” I said disgustedly and closed the cover on the laptop. “And an email from Mom saying Grandpa and Lucy McDermott tried to elope.”

“Good grief.” Sam rolled her eyes.

James Harris, our grandfather, lived in a retirement home and for the last two years had been wrecking havoc with the staff.

“A physical therapist caught them trying to climb over the fence. Lucy’s sweatpants got caught on it and grandpa was trying to untangle the whole mess but he forgot his glasses in their attempt for a quick getaway and he couldn’t see a thing.” I laughed loudly. “He sure is a spry old thing.”