Flossed (Alex Harris Mystery Series) (18 page)

Well, I guess that’s about it for now. Hope you are all having a lovely time and give me a call as soon as you get back. Kisses to all, Love, Mary-Beth
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I pulled my leg up onto the chair and shoved another piece of cheese in my mouth. “Well, I’ll be. Paula Mackey a stripper. Will wonders never cease? I wonder if I would make a good stripper.” I asked.

Sam was saved from having to come up with a diplomatic answer by a loud, short, buzzing sound that made the two of us jump right out of our seats.

Chapter 26

“What the hell is that?”

“It sounds like the buzzer downstairs.” I jumped up and walked over to an intercom system in the pantry area by the washing machine. “Hello?”

“Alex? This is Paul Cassé. Can I come up?”

“Hi, Paul. Sure.”

“You have to press the button to unlock the door,” he said from down below.

I depressed the little red button on the intercom and heard a click. A few seconds later footsteps thumped up the stairs.

Sam got up and came over to my side. “Are you crazy? You’re letting a killer come up here!” Sam picked up her purse, which was on the kitchen counter, and took out a Swiss Army Knife placing it in the pocket of her sweat pants.

“Damn. You’re right. Well, we don’t have to let him in.” Just then a knock on the door made us jump. “Okay. There are two of us and you’re armed. We should be okay,” I said.

We walked into the front hall and unlocked the door. Both of us put a silly smile on our face and said in unison, “Hi, Paul.”

Paul Cassé walked in. I could see Sam slip her fingers into the pocket.

“I’m sorry. I’m getting water all over your floor. It’s miserable out.”

“Here, let me take your coat,” I offered, taking Paul’s limp jacket and hanging it behind the door. Good, it was too light to be hiding a gun.

I picked up a fresh towel from the basket by the bottom of the stairs and handed it to him. Paul took the towel and dried his face then his hair. He smiled a thank you and walked into the living room. Sam and I walked to the edge of the room and watched as Paul sunk into the sofa leaning his head back and closing his eyes.

“We were just having something to eat. Would you care for anything?” The last word came out as a high-pitched squeak as Sam’s elbow landed firmly on one of my ribs.

“No, thanks. Maybe something to drink. Tea? Coffee?” Paul’s eyes were still firmly shut.

“I’ll bring in some tea,” I said as I turned to go back toward the kitchen.

Sam was right on my heels. “Why are you offering him some tea, for goodness sake?”

“Because he’s wet and cold and he doesn’t look like he’s in the mood to kill anybody, least of all us.”

“Yeah, well, wait until after he’s had some caffeine and gets warmed with your towel. That ought to perk him right up.”

“Sshhh!” I hissed. “He’ll hear you. And you can put that fool knife away. The man is not a killer. Look at him.” We tiptoed back into the hall and peered into the living room. Paul looked as if he had fallen asleep. “Does he look like he’s ready to commit murder?” I asked as I went to make the tea.

Sam tiptoed after me. “Well, no. But I’ll bet Martine didn’t see anything coming either until the floss was tight around her neck.”

“Ooh! That’s sick. Get another mug from the cupboard.” I gestured toward the cupboard above the sink.

“Another thing,” Sam said, still not willing to let the Paul-as-the-murderer theory die, “let’s not forget the man is a wife beater and he lied about the vasectomy.” This last was said with an air of smugness.

I had to concede all of it was true. Paul may not be a killer but he wasn’t an angel, either.

“Okay, keep the knife in your pocket and sit by the door so you can run to the phone at the first sign of some waxy string or twine coming out of his pocket. Maybe we should check the pockets of his jacket first.” I took a step to where we had hung Paul’s jacket. “Jeez! Listen to me. Forget I said that. Just stay by the door.”

I brought the tea into the living room. Paul didn’t move as I poured him a steaming cup of hot amber-colored liquid. Sam and I watched him for a few minutes and then I gently nudged his leg. “Paul? Are you okay?”

Paul sat up slightly and pushed his damp hair out of his face “Sorry. It’s been a tough day.”

My hand went to my heart. “Oh my gosh. The funeral was today, wasn’t it?”

“I’ve been having a hard time, Alex, believing Martine is truly gone. Until today. She was cremated and the whole ceremony was horrible.” With the back of his hand, Paul brushed water from his eyes that probably wasn’t rain. “They have the casket on this little conveyor belt and we all just watch it for five minutes while they play some sort of classical music meant to soothe but achieving the exact opposite.” Paul sat up now leaning forward, resting his elbows on his knees, letting his hand dangle. “Then little doors open and the casket moves along the conveyor until it’s out of sight. The doors closes. That’s it.” He hung his head and threaded his fingers together. When he looked up again, his eyes were red and moist. “Then what am I supposed to do? Go on with my life like nothing ever happened?” His voice was quivering.

I reached over and took his hand. “It takes time, Paul. Lots of time.”

“Maybe if her parents would leave, I could get on with whatever I’m supposed to do now and try to get through it. Maybe if everyone would just leave me alone.”

“Everyone?” I asked.

“Jane was at the funeral. Martine’s mother kept asking me who the woman with the bad haircut was.”

“And what did you say?” I asked.

“I told them I thought she was a friend from Martine’s exercise club. I don’t think the old cow believed me. She’s been giving me looks all day and I saw her go over and talk with Jane.”

“Martine’s parents are still at your place?” Sam asked from her sentry post by the door.

“They haven’t left. They’ve been here since she died. They show no signs of leaving. As a matter of fact, the whole family is over at my apartment. That’s why I was out walking in this.” He turned his head and looked out the huge front window at the sheets of rain still coming down. “I just wanted to be alone but they don’t take the hint. Her father insists on staying in Brussels until they catch her killer. Which, I might add, they are sure is me.”

The last was said with just enough venom to make me turn to check Sam was still in place with the knife in her pocket.

“And the fact the police showed up at our apartment after the funeral didn’t make matters any better.”

“The police? Why where they there?” I asked, knowing full well Gerard and John were going to question Paul about the wife beating.

Paul rested his head back on the sofa and closed his eyes. I thought he had fallen asleep again but then he abruptly leaned forward and took a sip of tea.

“They’ve gotten it into their heads I was beating Martine. Can you believe that? Who would say such a thing?” He turned pleading brown eyes toward me. “Luckily, we went to a café on the corner of my street so the whole family didn’t get to hear that crap.”

“And were you?” Sam asked as I shot her a look with blazing eyes.

“Of course not! What kind of monster do you people think I am?”

“We don’t know you very well. Hardly at all,” Sam said.

“So you think I’m guilty, don’t you?” Paul asked, but surprisingly without any anger.

“Not necessarily, but like my sister said, we don’t know you.”

He heaved a huge sigh and a strand of his rich dark brown hair fell in front of his eyes. “Fair enough.”

“Did the police ask you about anything else?” I asked.

“Yes, they did—Wait. You know all about this, don’t you? The allegations of abuse, the whole thing. Of course. Your husband was there this morning and is working with that police inspector.” Paul rose from his seat and Sam took a step out of the room toward the phone. Instead of heading in her direction, he walked over to the window just as a crash of thunder shook the room.

“Yes, we know Inspector Willix planned to question you today. You lied, Paul. About the vasectomy. Why?”

“Because I didn’t want any children.” He turned away from the window and came back to the sofa. “That’s why I had it in the first place. I didn’t ask the doctor about reversing it because I didn’t want to.”

“So you told Martine it wasn’t possible.”

“Yes.”

“If you lied about that, why should we believe you about the abuse? The police found bruises on her body.” I folded my arms across my chest. The room had become cold and I wondered how to turn on the heat.

“You have no reason to believe me. As you so rightly pointed out, Sam, you don’t know me at all.”

“Then convince us, Paul. We want to trust you. Did you hit Martine?” I asked.

“No. Well, I never actually hit her.”

“What the hell does that mean?” Sam asked, still standing in the doorway, her hand in a pocket.

“I grabbed her arm once when we were having an argument and I pushed her. It was about two years ago. I know it was wrong but I never thought it could be misconstrued as wife beating.”

“Well, no.” I remembered the time I pushed John out of my way when we were having a heated discussion and he blocked the doorway. To his credit, he moved aside and never even put a finger on me.

“Can you think of any reason why Martine would have all those bruises on her?” I then asked in a more gentle tone, warming to the idea the young man seated in our living room was not capable of murder.

“No, I can’t. I never saw them. For the last several weeks before she died, I slept in our guest room. This thing about her wanting a baby so badly had become quite an issue. The thing I don’t understand is she was pregnant. So why was she pushing so hard?”

“Well, the baby wasn’t yours. She, of all people knew that. Maybe she hoped if you got your vasectomy reversed, she could convince you somehow the baby was yours,” I explained.

“I think the timing would have been way off, don’t you?” Paul mocked.

“How long had she been trying to get you to change your mind about a baby?” Sam asked.

Paul’s thick hair had dried into a matted mess. He pushed both hands through it and stared at Sam. “I don’t know. Six weeks, maybe. Probably more like two months.”

“My guess,” I said, “is she knew she was pregnant well before she died and hoped against hope she could work it out some way so it would look as if it were your child.”

“Why didn’t she just get an abortion? I’m sorry for asking, but it was a possibility, wasn’t it?” Sam asked.

“It’s not exactly legal here, but it can be done with very little difficulty. But no. She just wouldn’t have done that. Not so much because of any religious convictions, she thought religion was a sham, but she just didn’t feel it was right.”

A half hour later, the rain, though not completely stopped, had let up quite a bit. Paul thanked us for our time and left.

“Well, what do you think?” I asked Sam as we cleaned up in the kitchen.

“I don’t know. He seems sincere, but then we thought the last time he came by and we now know he lied. I’ll tell you one thing I find odd.”

“What’s that?”

“Jane went to the funeral. I thought it was just for family.” Sam dried a couple of plates and put them on the counter.

“I think Jane figures with Martine gone, she and Paul can resume their affair. I’m sure she’s going to try her hardest to win him back.”

“Do you think her hardest would include murder?”

“Good question,” I said as I put the last mug back in the cupboard. “I think Gerard should talk with her some more.”

Chapter 27

By the time we walked into the sixth diamond shop in Antwerp, I told my husband it was no use sticking to his budget. It was a hopeless cause. Sam and I acted like two giddy teenage girls who just found out we were going to the prom after all. And with the two star football players. All the previous shops had cases lined with gaudy rings and jewelry in stone combinations resembling the Italian flag. But this shop was perfect in its understated simplicity.

I tried on almost every ring they had displayed and finally settled on something John said was well within our budget and wouldn’t require a second mortgage on our house. He placed it on my finger next to my white gold wedding band and had to admit the combination of the two looked perfect.

Sam, who had maxed out her credit card a few days ago with the purchase of more lace, turned to her husband and stuck out her hand. Michael paid for a pair of diamond earrings and a small ring for Kendall with her birthstone.

“What about Henry?” I asked. “You keep getting stuff for Kendall.” I had already purchased a sticker book for him at one of the castles we had been to. It had various rooms of the castles on each page and at the back a whole bunch of stickers to paste on to the appropriate page. Most of them had something to do with the torture chamber and I figured he would be thrilled.

“I don’t think Henry would like a birthstone ring.”

“Probably not,” I conceded.

“We’ll find him something. Maybe at the port. Something nautical looking for his room might be nice. Something with a pirate influence,” Sam said.

The important stuff out of the way, we explored the city.

Considered Belgium’s second city, we all agreed Antwerp was first on our list. And not just because of the plentiful diamond shops lined up along the train station. Located on the Scheldt River, Antwerp is the largest Flemish-speaking city in Belgium. It was founded in the seventh century; however, did not become a major center for commerce until the twelfth century. Once a market city on an uninteresting river, it turned into a seaport and soon became one of the richest cities.

Today Antwerp boasted an abundance of art shops, a dizzying variety of cafés, a port, and a frantic nightlife. Not to mention quite a few tourists.

We spent hours roaming Gothic cathedrals and the Fine Arts Museum with its sizable collection of Ruben’s paintings. Even John enjoyed the museum. With the weather having returned to something resembling summer, we decided to walk along the port. A medieval castle, the Steen, dominated the river like a fortress with parts of its walls dating back to the tenth century. I was truly impressed.