Paris, Before You Die

by Mary Bowers

  Nettie nodded. Then she steeled herself and asked her niece where she’d been all day. She even managed to smile as she said it.

  “Oh, Jack and I went and saw Napoleon.”

  “And how is the Little Corporal these days?”

  Twyla giggled. “Still dead. And they’ve got all these huge statues of grim women in shrouds surrounding the casket, staring at it like they want him to rise again.”

  “Either that or they’re making sure he doesn’t. I’ll have to go see for myself and try to decide. So it was just the three of you? You, Jack and Charley?” She was trying to sound casual, but her voice had a strained edge to it. It had been a very long afternoon, constantly checking her text thread for messages and not getting any; refraining from sending any texts herself – she was wired and tired and emotionally exhausted, all at the same time.

  “Charley? No, he wasn’t with us anymore by then,” Twyla said, suddenly remembering that he existed. “I don’t know what became of Charley. He was with us for lunch, but by the time we got to the Ecole Militaire he’d gone off on his own somewhere.”

  “Had he now?” Nettie asked. “Imagine that.”

  With a radiant smile, Twyla sat down on the end of her bed. “You know, Aunt Nettie, I’d almost given up.”

  “On shaking off Charley?” But Nettie, with a sinking feeling, thought she knew exactly what her niece was talking about.

  Instead of answering, Twyla gazed up like a happy child.

  After glancing down at her toes, Nettie sat down beside her niece. “You really like him.”

  “I’m not sure that’s even the point. I don’t seem to have a hard time falling for men. But this time, I think he really likes me.”

  Not good enough – not nearly good enough, for my sister’s baby girl. Aloud, she began to speak gently. “He is a salesman, after all, you know. If he can’t act as if he likes people, he’ll never make a sale.”

  “He’s the one, Aunt Nettie. I know it. I know it here.”

  Nettie gazed sadly at the precious heart that had just been tapped and felt the pressure in her own. “I see,” she whispered.

  “Or at least . . . all my life I thought I was going to be passed over, that I was going to have to find other things to live for and forget about love. But I just needed to be patient. I haven’t been passed over. Somebody was out there waiting for me all along.”

  “He just lost his wife last year,” Nettie said carefully. “He’s never been alone before.”

  “Oh, I didn’t mean it like that. I’m sorry his wife died; she sounds like she was really nice. He talks about her a lot. What I mean is –my time has finally come. And it’s perfect. He’s still working, sort of, and even though he says he had some reverses a few years ago, he says he wouldn’t want his wife to have to work. You know – if he ever married again. And I can get another secretarial job if I need to, but it would be so wonderful to be able to just stay home and take care of a man – be a homebody. It couldn’t have worked out better.”

  “Doesn’t he live in San Diego?”

  “I love San Diego.”

  Nettie inhaled sharply. This was far worse than she had thought. She tried to think of something, anything to slow Twyla down. Frowning, she asked, “What did he mean by reverses? You mean he lost his money, and that’s why he’s still working? Why would he tell you something like that?”

  Twyla shrugged it off. “He made some bad investments. But he still makes a good income, and he has his health. He has a lot of good years ahead of him, and he really likes his job, so money wouldn’t be a problem. Besides, I have some savings of my own. We’ll be fine. You know, if it works out between us.”

  “Twyla, you just met this man. Don’t you think you’re getting a little ahead of yourself?” With deepening horror, she asked, “Has he been talking about marriage already? What made him bring up his income at all?”

  “Well, he hasn’t said the word marriage yet, exactly, but he’s sort of talking all around it. How lonely he is, what a beautiful house he has, how nice San Diego is – let’s face it, Schaumburg is getting to be just the outer fringe of Chicago.”

  “You like Schaumburg!”

  “Yes, but . . . San Diego. Warm weather. Sunshine. And Jack has a lot of friends. If Charley is any indication, I’m going to like them.”

  There was a reason Twyla and Nettie were so close. They happened to live near one another. If Jack took her away to California . . . .

  “He’s also a little old for you.”

  “Just 13 years. That’s nothing.”

  “Twyla, baby, please slow down. I don’t want you to be hurt. After this tour, it’s going to be hard for you to even see Jack.”

  “With the Internet, nobody’s really far away.”

  “Oh, the Internet,” Nettie said, thinking of all the true-crime shows she’d seen about what girls pick up on the Internet.

  “Auntie, don’t worry. I’m a grown-up woman. If I don’t take chances when they come my way, I’m going to die an old maid, and I don’t want to be an old maid. I’m tired of being alone.”

  Recoiling from the thought of her dying a divorcee or the victim of a scam artist, or even being murdered by some man she barely knew, Nettie realized she could only bide her time. She was up against a higher power here. In the face of such pretty dreams, cold-headed reason didn’t have a chance and she knew it.

  And maybe she was being just a little bit selfish? Why shouldn’t Twyla have a chance at love, even though everybody had written her off a long time ago.

  No, it wasn’t selfishness, it was protectiveness. Some people were born to be old maids, and to be swept off your feet at Twyla’s age defied the natural order of things. Something just wasn’t right.

  “Please give him a chance, Aunt Nettie. I know you think he’s too loud and his jokes are kind of lame, but I happen to like his jokes, and I can see past the loudness. He’s a good man, I know it, and a man doesn’t have to be perfect. He just has to be good.”

  Nettie began to give way, but only because there was nothing else she could do. “Just be careful, Twyla. You’re so dear to me.”

  “I’m tired of being careful. And I’m tired of being alone.”

  Nettie recoiled. While she stayed unmarried, Nettie herself was the most important person in Twyla’s life, but she couldn’t really blame her for feeling alone. What would life have been like without her own husband, Randy?

  But in San Diego, she wouldn’t even be able to keep an eye on her!

  “It would be so hard for me to lose you,” Nettie finally said, getting all weepy. “But if you find a good man . . . go for him.”

  “You wouldn’t lose me,” Twyla told her sweetly. “I’d still be your niece.” And, knowing what that had cost Nettie, she whispered, “Thank you.”

  * * * * *

  “We have to vet that jamoke, and do it fast,” Audrey said, firing up her tablet device.

  Limp from the emotional ride with Twyla and the effort of describing everything to Audrey, Nettie sagged in the desk chair and said nothing. When Jack had swept Twyla off for an intimate dinner somewhere, Nettie had crossed the hall to Audrey’s room and poured out her problems. Kat, unfortunately, had been there too this time.

  “I can distract him from your niece, if you want me to,” Kat said in a worldly way.

  Nettie and Audrey shouted at her simultaneously and their exact words were lost in the clash. The implications were clear, though: back off.

  “And stop playing with that stupid scarf,” Audrey added, stomping across the room as if she were going to pull it from her friend’s neck.

  Kat reared back to defend it, and Nettie wearily said, “Leave it alone, Audrey. It looks very . . . chic.”

  As Kat preened, Audrey grumbled, “Knock it off. We’re having a crisis here.”

  “I don’t see why,” Kat said. “These little vacation romances don’t mean anything, and all parties involved know it.”

  “There’s at least o
ne party in this one who doesn’t know it,” Nettie shot back.

  “You may be right,” Kat allowed. “Twyla’s pretty naïve. In fact, there may be two parties in this one who don’t know it. Jack’s a dunderhead. I had breakfast with them, remember? He’s the desperate type. Come to think of it, Twyla is too. They’re both pitching into it headlong, and who knows what the upshot could be? They may wind up at the altar after all. Let’s hope they don’t end up making a gigantic mistake.”

  Nettie, past endurance, began to weep.

  Kat was startled. “Hey, hey, hey there,” she said, standing up to crouch over Nettie. “It’s not so bad. Not worth crying about, anyway. I admit, Jack’s a buffoon, but some women like buffoons.”

  Nettie gave a little wail.

  Kat stared up at Audrey with popping eyes, and Audrey signaled very clearly that she was blowing it. Then she waved both the tablet and her free hand and came across to the bed to show them what she’d found.

  “Here’s the obituary for his wife,” she said, turning the device toward them. “She died in a car wreck, just like he said, so he’s telling the truth about that, at least.” She turned the device back and kept reading, muttering, “Um, de dum, de dum . . . okay, the husband – that’s Jack – was on a business trip at the time, and had to be called home.”

  “See?” Kat said comfortingly. “It was an accident, and he was nowhere near at the time. So he didn’t kill his first wife, anyway.”

  “Shut up, Kat. Here’s something else. He was involved in a class-action lawsuit against a company named Prosperity Ventures. Doesn’t ring a bell, but it sounds like an investment company. Is that the one Grayson Pimm works for?”

  There was a startled moment as they all tried to remember.

  “He never said the name of his company,” Nettie said finally.

  “Well, it’s going to be easy to find out,” Audrey said, working the tablet. Finding what she wanted, she read, “J.J. Worth, New York, Atlanta, yadda yadda – all pumped up and looking like a flock of eagles in their hide-the-beer-belly suits.” She showed them a studio group photograph of top executives from the Annual Report.

  “I don’t think it matters,” Nettie said. “J.J. Worth may have put their clients’ money into Prosperity Ventures. The way all these companies operate on the old-boy network, they might have been connected and it would be impossible to know without reading all the court documents from the lawsuit.”

  Audrey was back to reading about the class-action suit, sliding her finger up to go down the page. “I don’t see a New York connection. It looks like it was a Ponzi scheme. Something local, in San Diego. Small potatoes, something to do with real estate, just one person, a woman, Lallie Deudonné.” She looked up. “Ever heard of her?”

  They shook their heads.

  “No, but it sounds French,” Kat said after a moment. “Could Jack have come on the tour to track her down?”

  Audrey shook her head. “She’s in jail in California. After all the claw-backs and attorneys’ fees, the investors got back about six cents on the dollar.”

  “’Reverses,’” Nettie quoted.

  The other two looked at her.

  “Twyla was telling me that Jack had had reverses. Made bad investments. How much did he lose?”

  “I can’t tell from this, but it says some people were cleaned out.”

  After a pensive moment, Kat said, “Well, he was able to pay for a tour of Paris, so he can’t be dead broke. Anything else?”

  Audrey went back to the search results. “Something about a high school reunion. He won an award three years ago: Salesman of the Year. He sells office products, just like he said. Unless he’s using an alias, there’s no trail of murdered sweethearts. Oh – sorry, Nettie. I didn’t mean . . . .”

  Nettie waved a hand. “You’re not saying anything I haven’t thought of myself. If he is flat broke, he might have come on the tour looking for a lady with a steady job to support him, so the fact that he spent the money for a tour cuts both ways. And the first thing the control-freak psychos always do is give a girl the rush of a lifetime and start talking about marriage immediately. But that cuts both ways too: when you’re on a tour and you know you’ll never see that person again if you don’t act fast . . . oh, I just don’t know what to think.”

  “If Jack’s a murderer, I’ll eat my skinny jeans,” Kat said, “and I love my skinny jeans. I’m totally hot in them. Come in!” she shouted when there was a knock at the door.

  Henry Dawson opened the door a crack and poked his head in. He indicated Nettie’s room, just behind him. “I knocked, but nobody answered, and then I heard you all talking in here.”

  “Come on in, Henry,” Kat said warmly.

  “What are you all doing shut up in a hotel room on a beautiful night in Paris? Come on out and at least take a walk or something. The Eiffel Tower is all lit up, and Danny said it sparkles all over every hour, on the hour, for ten minutes. It’s close to ten o’clock now. Want to go see?”

  “I’m kind of tired,” Nettie said.

  “Oh, no you’re not,” Kat said, pulling her up by the elbow. “The man just said he tried your door first. He wants you, not us.”

  “I won’t say no to three beautiful ladies instead of one,” he said chivalrously.

  “Just give us a minute to freshen up,” Kat said, dragging Audrey into the tiny bathroom.

  Inside with the door closed, Kat pulled the blue scarf out of her bag and threatened to strangle Audrey with it if she wouldn’t wear it. “It’s dark outside,” she groused. “Nobody will see you all tarted up.”

  “Henry seems a little out-of-character tonight,” Audrey mused.

  “Of course he does, silly. Haven’t you noticed him staring at Nettie? You really are thick.”

  “Then remind me why we’re tagging along?”

  “Because he could be a sweetheart killer too. Now hold still.”

  The blue scarf went around Audrey’s neck, expertly-negligently, and looked fabulous.

  * * * * *

  “What floor are you on?” Kat asked Henry as they descended the stairs to the lobby.

  “The third, two floors above you. I asked for a room on a lower floor, but yours is full and they said the one above you was being remodeled. Nobody’s booked up there just now, although I haven’t noticed any workmen.”

  “Oh, they’re probably on strike,” Kat said airily. “Everybody in Europe is always on strike.”

  Henry chuckled. Then he said, “I’m not completely lazy, but like I told Audrey, my back’s a little iffy just now, and I’m told that in Europe, elevators are for going up, not down. One wants to represent one’s country well while abroad, you know,” he added archly as they arrived in the lobby.

  “Oh, just take the damn elevator if your back is hurting,” Kat whispered.

  He grinned, but seemed more intent on catching up with Nettie than engaging in banter with Kat.

  “To the right, ladies,” he called outside the hotel doors as he saw Audrey and Nettie walking down the sidewalk to the left.

  He placed himself beside Nettie when they came back and within two blocks he was guiding her by the arm.

  Behind them, Kat turned to Audrey and said, “Looks like all the kids are going to misbehave on this trip. Henry’s kind of a dark horse. Do we get in the way?”

  Audrey looked more troubled than Kat had expected. “I find him a little more worrisome than Jack, for some reason. Jack’s all out there for the world to see. Henry’s a dark horse. Just when I thought I understood him – I’ll admit it – I was shocked to have him come into the room tonight and start talking like a schoolboy. It doesn’t fit him, somehow.”

  Kat turned fully to study her friend’s face. “You’re really serious?”

  Over the quaint, mansard roofs of the apartment buildings, the Eiffel Tower suddenly appeared and began to lengthen down as they came closer, the whole thing sparkling like mad.

  Like people watching a fireworks show, the
y made O’s with their lips and gazed raptly upwards.

  The next morning at breakfast, Nettie’s hair was brushed into a soft, flattering style and there was no bun on the back of her head. From then on, she only used her peep-overs when she was actually reading.

  Chapter 9

  “Awkward,” Grayson Pimm said to his wife the next morning.

  She gave him a slow look, only actually focusing on him for a split-second before she looked down again. In that split-second, they both heard laughter from the room across the hall. The blond bombers must have just opened their door, because the laughter was louder than the bright chatter had been a few moments before.

  He went on complaining without noticing how she was taking it. “Those broads should have had the decency to get a room on another floor, once they realized they were right across the hall from us.”

  Lauren thought about all the things she could say to her husband right now. She could moralize about how people who lived a clean life didn’t have to endure awkwardness before breakfast. How it was stupid to blame the girl; it was all his fault for fooling around in the first place. That he had a lot of nerve being hissy-prissy because a woman he had used and discarded was now following him around, making him feel awkward. How very inconvenient for him, she thought bitterly. But she didn’t say anything.

  “Coming?” he demanded. He’d strapped on that ridiculous man-bag of his and was holding the door open, standing in the hallway. When she didn’t immediately respond, he left the door wide open and walked off stiffly towards the elevator. In the century-old hotel, the door just stayed open instead of automatically drifting shut.

  As soon as she heard his footsteps die away, she went straight to the dresser. With a furtive glance at the door, she pulled a drawer open – the top, easiest-to-reach drawer, where Grayson had unpacked his underwear and socks. She stood there for what seemed like forever, staring dumbly into the drawer and holding the thing that had been hidden away, hovering indecisively. Her fingers were wrapped around the thing’s handle, but somehow it wouldn’t rest in her grasp. It seemed to tremble and move on its own.