Flossed (Alex Harris Mystery Series) (22 page)

“Because we’re leaving on Sunday and we might not get a chance to see him again.

Maybe we could find out the exact address in the phone book. I’ll ask.” I signaled for the waitress. I asked for
l’addition
, the bill, and for a phone book.

“
Excusez moi, Madam, mais je ne parle pas anglais
.”

I looked at Sam. “How do you say book in French? Oh, I remember.” I turned my gaze back to the waitress. “
Le livre de telephone
?” I asked proudly.

The woman gave me a bewildered look and shrugged her shoulders. She handed me change from the Euros. “
Ah, Madam! Le bottin téléphonique
,” she said, finally understanding my gallant try at French.

“
Le bottin
?” I repeated.

“Ah! I think she means list or something,” Sam offered.

“
Les pages blanches ou les pages jaunes
?” the waitress asked.

“Huh?” Sam asked, her French limited to only a few words.

“
Les pages blanches, si vous plait
,” I said. The woman walked away. “The white pages,” I said to my sister with my nose turned up just a tad.

We thanked the waitress and flipped through the pages until we found the C’s. “Cassan, Cassart, Cassé. Here we go,” I said as I ran my finger down the list. “There are quite a few but only one Paul.” I jotted down the address across the top of my map and thanked the waitress for her help.

“
De rien, Madam
,” the woman said after us as she took our generous tip from the table.

Chapter 32

Before going over to Paul’s, Sam and I stopped at a small travel agency five doors down from the café.

“So you would like to take
da Eurostar
, yes? Or you can fly,” the young travel agent offered. Her name was Miriam and she didn’t look old enough to be out of high school.

Coming across the Atlantic had terrified me. The thought of going home on Sunday and doing it all again was a thought I had successfully pushed to the back of my mind these past weeks. And here I was being confronted with the possibility of flying over the English Channel in something resembling a bath tub or tunneling under it on a train. I sighed and then gave Miriam a small smile. “I think the Eurostar would be nice.”

Sam looked at me. “We’ll be
under
the ocean. You do realize that, don’t you? It’s not natural, Alex.”

“I still can’t figure out how one goes under the ocean. I mean, wouldn’t all that water on top be awfully heavy?” I held my hands in front of me with the fingers splayed, pressing down.

Miriam looked at us with a smile. “I assure you dat da Chunnel is perfectly safe. Dare was dat fire but,” she waved her hand, “It is all fixed now.”

We gulped. “The train is only under the water for about twenty minutes, Sam. We can handle that, right?” I tried to assure my sister. Or maybe myself.

“Okay. The train it is.” We paid for the terribly expensive tickets with cash we got out of a machine earlier in the day. I thought it was amazing our bank cards actually worked three thousand miles and an ocean away but I wasn’t sure it was a blessing.

Our London trip taken care of, we hopped in the car and drove to Paul’s apartment using our handy dandy little map. It was the thing that got the most use on our trip. I’m not sure how we would have managed without it.

“I’m glad we have the car,” Sam said as we walked up the flagstone path leading to Paul’s apartment. “This is further away from our apartment than I thought.”

“No, it’s not. The restaurant we went to when we first got here is right down there,” I pointed.

We studied the names on the six bells and rang the one marked
Cassé
.

“
Oui
?” a voice barked from somewhere above.

“We’re here to see Paul.” I enunciated each word slowly. The woman on the other side of the speaker didn’t offer anything else, in either French or English. The security lock released and we entered a small lobby. To the left was an elevator and inside a list of floors with a name beside each one. “Looks like there’s only one apartment per floor.” I pressed the button for number five.

On the fifth floor, we knocked on the door. A stern-looking woman answered and just stood there. She was dressed in a plain housedress. She had thinning gray hair with a fringe of bangs that looked as it they had been curled, and severe blue eyes behind thick glasses.

I repeated our desire to speak with Paul. The woman finally stepped aside. Paul emerged from a room to the right of the entryway. “Well, hello,” he said, clearly pleased to have company other than that of the woman who still lingered in the entryway. “Come on in.” He ushered us into the tiny living room without saying a word to the old woman.

Sam gestured over her shoulder with her chin. “Who’s that?”

“Martine’s mother. Frightening, isn’t she?”

“You poor thing. She’s been here all this time?” Sam asked.

“Other than the funeral, she hasn’t left this place. I should have never taken this much time off from work. I go back next week and it’s not a minute too soon.”

“How long is she staying?” I asked.

“Actually, tomorrow. I told her and her husband to get out. He’s out right now looking for a cheap hotel to stay in until the murder is solved. They refuse to return to their little village until the killer is brought to justice.” Paul ran his hand through his hair. “Of course, they’re convinced that’s me, so I am sure they’ll be staying as close as possible to this apartment. But at least they’ll be out of here.”

“Why are we whispering?” Sam asked.

Paul walked softly over to the living room door and opened it quickly. Martine’s mother was on the other side and lost her balance. She fell into Paul’s arms and he said something abrupt in French. She stood up and straightened out her dress, said something equally abrupt back, and walked away.

“Does she speak English?” I asked.

“She claims not to, and personally, I think she’s too stupid to speak French correctly, but you never know. I’m sure she thinks the two of you are here to service me sexually. I’m sorry. That was tacky but it’s her thought, not mine.”

For the first time since we had arrived, I noticed Paul’s eyes were very red. I put my hand on his arm. “Paul? Are you okay?”

“No. I’m not. The police were here earlier. With your husband. They were questioning me about Doug. They wanted to know if I killed him. Well, you can imagine my surprise at that, can’t you? Why, I asked, would I kill Doug? I hardly knew the man. He was my wife’s employer.”

“Well, you are a suspect.” I said.

“For my wife, yeah. I suppose I would be. For Doug? Why would I be a suspect for his murder?”

“Well, because Martine and—”

“You knew? You both knew all this time and you never said anything to me?”

“Paul, it wasn’t our place to tell you Martine and Doug had had an affair. And, yes, we did know. We weren’t sure if you knew or not and we didn’t want to add to your pain. I’m sorry.”

“We’re both sorry,” Sam added.

“Well, it doesn’t matter anymore. I told the police I had no idea Martine had had an affair with Doug. Obviously, it was still going on. She was pregnant after all. She lied to me. All this time, she lied to me.” He spat the words out. “And I was feeling like a heel because I didn’t want a baby.”

I looked at him and felt sure he was telling the truth. No one could be this good an actor. It was apparent he knew nothing of Martine and Doug and the truth was now tearing at his insides.

“According to Wanda and Doug and even Donna, the affair ended several years ago.”

“From what we gather,” Sam said, “It only lasted a few weeks.”

“Well, if it’s true, then there was someone else, wasn’t there?” His anger was palpable.

“Well, yes, I suppose there had to be,” I said in a whisper.

“Unless, well, is it possible,” Sam asked, “your vasectomy didn’t work, or, well you know what I mean. Maybe the baby
was
yours.”

“No. Not possible,” Paul said as new tears sprang once again to his eyes. “Martine was having her affair with Doug right before we were married. And obviously another one before she was killed. What the hell does that mean?”

“Maybe her affair with Doug was just because she was nervous about finally getting married and she made a mistake. I was very apprehensive about getting married. I’m glad I did,” I added quickly, “but, well…” my words trailed off. I couldn’t think of any good reason to have an affair a few weeks before a wedding.

“But you didn’t have an affair,” Paul said, his words mixed up with tears.

“Well, no. I didn’t.”

“What does the wicked witch of the west think about her daughter having an affair?” Sam asked.

“She knows of course Martine was pregnant. She insisted to one and all it was my baby. I told her about the operation. Of course she thinks I’m lying. The police questioned her again this morning about Doug but because the affair allegedly took place before our marriage, it’s okay in her book. The fact the wedding had already been planned seems to have eluded her. Stupid woman. And of course, Doug was a married man at the time.”

“I would imagine the fact you didn’t know about Martine and Doug would eliminate you as a suspect altogether,” I said hopefully.

“I think I’m off the hook for Doug’s murder, but why would I be for Martine’s?”

“I just assumed the same person killed both.”

“Alex, I suggest you talk with your husband because from what I can gather, I am still prime suspect number one.”

There were the sounds of soft steps coming from the other side of the door. Paul got up and crossed the room, once again flinging open the door. “Get away from this door!” he said, not even bothering to translate it into French. He slammed the door shut, but stood there for a few moments.

“I guess we had better be going,” I said.

“I’ll walk you out,” Paul said. “I need to get some fresh air.”

As we were leaving, Paul told his mother-in-law he was going out for a walk and she had better be gone when he got back.

When we were outside Paul took a deep breath. “Why don’t you just ask me,” Paul said looking at each of us in turn.

“Ask you what?” I asked.

“If I killed Martine. And Doug.”

“I thought we did ask you already the first day you came to visit us,” Sam said.

“Ask me again!”

“Okay,” I offered fearing he would keep us standing there all afternoon if we didn’t. I sighed and asked. “Did you kill your wife?”

“No. No, I did not kill Martine. I did not kill Doug. I couldn’t kill anyone.” His gaze traveled up the side of the building to the fifth floor. “Well, maybe one person,” he laughed. “I’m sorry. I’m making light of a terrible tragedy. My way of dealing with the stress, I suppose. And I don’t use floss.”

“We believe you, Paul,” Sam said. “Not about the floss, but you now what I meant.”

“What’ll you do now?” I asked. “Will you stay in this apartment?”

“For now, yeah, but I’ve been thinking about moving to the U.S. I am half American, after all. And maybe a new start will do me good. I have several friends in Seattle and I think I might like it there.”

“There’s going to be a memorial service for Doug tomorrow at the Catholic Church. I have the name somewhere.” I rummaged through my purse. “Do you want to come? We could pick you up.”

“No. I think it best I don’t go. I am, after all, a suspect. I’m not sure Donna would want me there. Besides,” he heaved a heavy sigh and his shoulders sagged, “even if I wasn’t, I’m the husband of a woman who slept with Doug. And a woman who was pregnant, maybe with his child. I think it best if I stay here.” His gazed turned again to the building behind him. “I’ll probably be busy disinfecting this place.”

This time both Sam and I smiled at his joke.

“We leave on Sunday,” I said. “We’ll try to stop by again before we go to say good-bye. But just in case we don’t, be happy, Paul. I think moving to Seattle sounds like a fine idea. A new start and all of that.”

Sam reached over and kissed his cheek. “Good luck to you, Paul. I’m so sorry we had to meet under these terrible circumstances.”

Paul took each of our hands. “Through this whole thing, you’ve both been very kind to me. And I just met you. I have lots of friends here, but having two strangers have faith in my innocence has meant a lot.”

We walked to our car parked only a block away, and got in. Paul waved as we drove by and wished us a
bon return
.

Five stories up, Martine’s mother stood in the window watching the whole thing.

Chapter 33

“Can I drive?” I stared daggers at my sister and Sam climbed into the passenger seat. “Tell me again why we’re going to this?”

I put both hands on the steering wheel, the keys dangling from my fingers. “There are several reasons. The first is we are alone. Again. So why not? We should have come to Belgium together, without our husbands, and saved the price of two tickets.”

“Amen to that.”

“I mean, honestly. They finally get a day off and what do they want to do? Go to a war museum and an antique car museum.”

“And miss a memorial service. Imagine that,” Sam teased.

“And listen to me. They finally get a day off? Geesshh. What am I saying? They don’t
work
here, for goodness sake. This is supposed to be a vacation. A
honeymoon
.”

“Second honeymoon for us.”

“Right.”

“So why else are we going to a memorial service for a man we only met once? There must be better reasons than our not wanting to look at tanks and guns all day.”

“Well, we’ve eliminated Paul as our main suspect.”

“Correction. You’ve eliminated Paul.”

“Samantha. I thought we had this all tied up. Paul could not have killed Doug.”

“But that doesn’t necessary mean he didn’t kill Martine. And while I don’t think he killed either one of them, he’s probably still on the police’s list.”