by Mary Bowers
“What’s been your favorite thing in Paris so far?” she asked.
Lauren blinked at her, confused. “Oh. Well, Paris is lovely, isn’t it? We haven’t had the chance to see much of it yet, but it’s . . . lovely. Isn’t it?”
“I’m looking forward to the Louvre tomorrow,” Nettie said. “Are you interested in artwork?”
“Well . . . they have so much. Everybody loves art, don’t they?” She gave a nervous jump and lost what little grip on the conversation she had when Grayson suddenly demanded another scotch-on-the-rocks. She swiveled to stare at her husband but said nothing.
Grayson’s presence was heavy, almost overbearing. Everyone was aware of it, but only Kat didn’t seem oppressed by it. She didn’t seem to be trying to provoke him, but she was naturally bright and chatty, shooting remarks into conversations at both ends of the table. When she asked Grayson what he was looking forward to the most at the Louvre and he gave her a black stare, she simply turned and asked somebody else.
With proprietary instincts, the restaurant’s owner sensed trouble and quietly conferred with Danny at the other table, on the opposite end from Henry. Nettie found herself admiring the way that only Henry could study the developing drama without seeming to be engaged in it. He, of all people, had reason to be alert to Grayson’s pettiness, but he didn’t seem to care. He had a cool way of observing that reminded Nettie of her husband. Of course, they had both been detectives, making a career of observing without interfering until the time was right. It made her feel better, somehow, just knowing Henry was there.
Grayson was not only getting progressively drunker, he was terrifyingly quiet. The restauranteur shot worried looks at him, and Nettie was disgusted when she noticed that Margery, sitting at Danny’s right, was listening in avidly.
Loudly enough for everyone to hear, Danny reassured the owner that he’d be responsible for the Americans, and the man walked away looking unsatisfied.
Directly across from Grayson, Audrey was trying to ignore him, but she couldn’t hide her exasperation. Halfway through the main course, as conversation grew in pitch and volume, she began to massage her temples and rest her chin in the palm of her hand with her elbow on the table. Nettie decided not to even ask. Obviously, Audrey had a headache again, and whatever psychic vibes she was picking up probably weren’t helping. Nettie decided not to get her started. She’d commiserate later at the hotel, as they parted in the hall outside their rooms.
After one more try, Nettie gave up on working to distract Lauren. Kat, on her left, was only too happy to talk, but it was like trying to hold the attention of a 4-year old at a birthday party. She kept pulling off and jumping into other conversations. And at the foot of the table, Jack was fondling Twyla’s hand.
Nettie began to glance at her watch and wonder why the minute hand didn’t seem to be moving. A beautiful steak, guided by a slightly hairy hand, slid magically in front of her and she didn’t even look up at the server.
As they began to eat, Nettie became aware of Grayson staring at the other table, at the backs of Daisy and Hannah. Lauren began to try desperately to distract him but he didn’t even bother to grunt at her. By the time dessert came, he’d had four scotch-on-the-rocks and had eaten very little.
So Nettie, like everybody else, was jarred but not surprised when he suddenly erupted. Staring at the backs of his presumed paramours, he shouted, “What are you looking at?”
Conversations were chopped off mid-syllable, and everyone now turned to stare at Grayson.
Audrey had had enough. “What the hell are you talking about?” she shot back at him. “They’ve had their backs to you the whole time we’ve been here. Leave them alone.”
Grayson, glaring at the other table, didn’t reply, or even seem to notice.
Lauren was pawing at her husband’s arm, trying to calm him, and after a few moments he jerked his elbow up and shook her off.
At the other table, Daisy and Hannah had turned completely around and were staring at Grayson, bewildered. Daisy, reddening and becoming aloof, turned back first, but Hannah gaped a bit longer. When she finally turned around again, she did it slowly, thoughtfully. Then she leaned in to murmur to Daisy, who listened while sitting stiffly upright.
Nettie tried to look away, but Margery caught her eye again. The woman was openly staring, eyes bright, simply loving it. She wasn’t even trying to disguise her nosiness anymore. Of all the people in the tour group, only Margery seemed to be enjoying herself now. Nettie gave her a reproving glare and looked away.
Finally, Danny stood up and tried to command attention. “Did everybody enjoy their meals? Fabulous, wasn’t it? Let’s all give Mario a round of applause, shall we?”
The restauranteur was hesitating near Grayson’s table, and as the tour group gradually worked up some enthusiasm, he acknowledged them stiffly and looked anxious for them to leave.
Audrey was the first to stand up. She grimly started strapping herself into her crossbody bag as if she were arming herself with a bandolier, but just when she almost had it adjusted, she stopped and looked up as Lauren suddenly broke down and ran around the table. Popping eyes followed her from the restaurant to the promenade as she ran into the street.
Ashley hesitated a split-second and then took off after her.
Eric, left behind by his wife, stood up awkwardly and stared after them. Then, with a grim look, he waited for Grayson Pimm to cross the room and fell in beside him. Outside on the Rue Cler, he began to talk quietly, keeping very close to Grayson’s side.
As the rest of them walked tentatively into the street, Henry noticed Danny give a nod and a wave to a young lady who seemed to be waiting for him. “Somebody you know?” Henry asked paternally.
Danny turned to him, encouraged by his smile, and said, “Can you get back to the hotel all right by yourselves tonight? I, uh, have a date.”
Henry gestured lightly and said, “It’s not far from here, and we should know the way by now. If we get lost, shame on us. Go ahead, Danny, have fun.”
Nettie had waited for Henry in the street. When he caught up with her, she said something about Danny needing a break from the traveling circus, and they began to follow the rest of the group. Everyone was giving Grayson and Eric a wide berth; Ashley and Lauren were still in the lead, arms linked, heads together.
The group straggled down the darkened streets in a broken line, and when they turned into the little side street for their hotel, they were the only ones on it. Their voices, artificially loud, began to echo off the buildings. During an unfortunate lull, Grayson barked, “It’s too late for that! There’s no way things can be fixed now. I’m done.”
After a dead silence, everyone began to talk at once.
The short block seemed like a dark tunnel, with no street lights and only faint illumination from inside closed storefronts. It seemed to stretch out ahead of them, much longer than it really was, and everybody just wanted to get back to their rooms now. But before they could get halfway down the block, Grayson suddenly hunched down, groaning.
“What’s wrong?” Eric asked, leaning over him.
“My ulcer,” was the strained answer. “Dammit!”
“You know better than to drink so much,” his wife said, backtracking out of the shadows, but when he lifted his head and roared at her, she retreated, with Ashley pulling on her.
“Where? Where does it hurt?” Eric reached for the other man solicitously, but Grayson jerked away from him.
“Keep your hands off me! Christ that hurt. Did you just punch me?”
Eric took a step back and finally let his exasperation show. “I’m only trying to help. I barely touched you.” He glared at Grayson, but wasn’t quite ready to abandon him yet. “Now try to be reasonable. The hotel’s right up ahead there. Let me help you.”
As the others stood helplessly by, Eric ventured again to put his arm across Grayson’s back to guide him, and this time it was tolerated.
“Just get me up to my room,”
Grayson said in a strained voice. “Medicine . . . in my room.”
“I’ll get you into the elevator,” Eric said, a little more distant now. “You can make it from there. Our wives are waiting for us by the hotel up there. I’m going to take Ashley out for a nightcap, and you should try to have a civilized conversation with Lauren.”
“Who asked you for advice?” Grayson said.
“Oh, hell, maybe that’s not such a good idea after all,” Eric said.
The two wives were huddled against the building, next to the doorway of the hotel. As Grayson and Eric approached, Lauren seemed to waver. She began to reach her hand out, but her husband growled, “Not now.”
With an effort, Grayson straightened up. Turning to Eric, he said, “Get me to my room.”
But Eric had had enough. “I’ll get you to the elevator. Then I’m going around the corner and meeting Ashley.” He gave his wife a meaningful look, and she understood. She tugged at Lauren’s arm but was resisted. Looking back at Eric, Ashley shrugged and moved off alone toward the other end of the street, where everybody in the group had discovered a bar they liked.
“Come on,” Eric said to Grayson. As they got to the hotel’s doors and they opened automatically, Eric caught Henry’s eye, rolled his own and then guided the stricken man inside.
Once the doors had closed behind them, Kat cheerfully asked, “Anybody want to go somewhere for a drink? I’m not tired at all.”
* * * * *
In the murky street, they grouped and regrouped, confused and upset. And so it happened that afterwards, other than Twyla’s text to her aunt saying she was at a bar with Jack and was going to be late, nobody could remember specifically who went where or with whom unless they’d gone off in the same, small group.
Danny, the tour guide, had quitted himself of his duties upon leaving the restaurant and had spent the rest of the night with a young lady-friend somewhere in the 16th Arrondissement, on the far side of the Seine. He’d had enough of the Great Expeditioners for one night. He arrived back at the hotel at four in the morning, planning to drag himself through another day of touring and giving serious consideration to finding a new career.
When the last of the tourists came back that night before him, they found Paris police in the hotel lobby asking who’d been where and with whom, and nobody could vouch for anyone except for those few in their immediate groups.
Still, everybody seemed to have an alibi, since most of them hadn’t even gone into the hotel before the tragedy was discovered, and Eric had gotten the key for Grayson’s room from the night clerk, told him to put it into his man-bag so he wouldn’t lose it, and then put the man himself into the elevator and told him to get some rest. Grayson had replied, something low-pitched that the clerk couldn’t make out, but he was definitely still alive after Eric stepped away from the elevator. Then, after a brief discussion with the clerk, Eric had left the hotel and not returned until after the dead man had been discovered.
So Grayson Pimm, it seemed, had gone into the elevator car alone, and in a deranged moment, stabbed himself in the heart with a steak knife he’d been carrying in his man-bag. The open bag had been found on the floor beside him, his card key still in it. In all probability, Grayson had been dead before the elevator even reached the fifth floor.
Drunk, in pain, his personal life in shambles . . . the others on the tour counted up all the reasons they could think of, and the French detectives wrote them all down. Obviously, what had occurred at dinner and afterwards had been upsetting for everybody.
At dinner, Grayson had had the fish, but Twyla, sitting next to him, had eaten a steak. The theory was that Grayson must have taken the steak knife from the table. He’d been considering suicide – or, they all realized with a shock, maybe even homicide – before he’d even left the restaurant.
In the end, they all agreed, these strong, apparently confident types were the ones who broke down first in the face of real adversity. Weren’t they?
For a couple of hours, his body had lain in the elevator’s tiny car. The only other hotel guests, a family from the south of France, had gone to their room early, since they had small children to put to bed. Other than them, the tour group now populated the entire hotel. So the elevator car with its grim cargo had only come down to the lobby again when Henry pushed the call button. His little group – Nettie, Kat and Audrey – had come back to the hotel first.
Henry had said something about his back bothering him when they entered the lobby, and Nettie told him not to be silly, they didn’t need to climb the stairs, there was an elevator. Kat tipsily agreed.
When the elevator arrived, Henry opened the door, looked in, then quietly turned and blocked the doorway to keep the ladies from seeing what was inside.
With no change in demeanor, he closed the door and told Andre, the night clerk, to call the police.
Chapter 11
“It’s too late! There’s no way things can be fixed now. I’m done.”
Grayson’s loud lament was recounted faithfully and repeatedly to the French detectives by every single person on the tour, and how different it sounded now.
Not knowing whether to keep himself available or go hide in his tiny room behind the bookcase wall of the lobby, Danny stood in the corner beside the front desk with his hand covering his mouth and whispered into his cellphone, “What do I do? Do we go on with the tour? There are cops all over the place.”
He listened intently, then said, “It looks like suicide. It had to be suicide. He was alone in the elevator. Nobody else even came into the hotel except the guy that walked him in, and he didn’t get into the elevator. He shoved the other guy in, pushed the button for his floor, told him to get some rest and left. The night clerk heard the dead guy talking as the other guy was walking away, so he was still alive then.”
The voice on the other end of the phone said they’d get back to him, and Danny was left with a broken connection, trying to look confident for the tourists.
The Parisian detectives had commandeered the breakfast room for interviews, but they weren’t keeping people in there long. By morning, they had all been interviewed and were looking to Danny for some kind of direction. They were also beginning to realize that they were hungry for breakfast but were reluctant to mention it.
Grayson Pimm’s body had been taken away while it was still dark outside, and Lauren had had to go somewhere to supply information and try to figure out what arrangements to make for his remains. The elevator was now a crime scene, but the police promised the hotel guests that they would have the use of it as soon as possible. Nobody was in a hurry.
“It’s cruel,” Twyla said. “They wouldn’t even let me go with her, and I’m one of her oldest friends.” Jack hovered protectively, murmuring.
“She’s already been in contact with her lawyer,” Nettie told her gently. “She has the advice she needs, and we’ll give her all the emotional support she needs when they bring her back. It’s all we can do, at least for the moment.”
Twyla didn’t seem satisfied, and Nettie refrained from pointing out that the distracted Lauren hadn’t seemed to want to have her around anyway. Twyla, Nettie admitted to herself, was no good in an emergency. When she’d started to get shrill, the French police had eased her away from Lauren and walled her off with their bodies.
Now the tour group was sitting around the little hotel lobby, where there weren’t enough chairs and couches for them all to sit down, wondering what to do. It seemed insensitive to mention food in the face of death, but they were hungry, and the breakfast room was obviously off-limits. Only Daisy and Hannah had opted to go up to their rooms when the detectives had finished with them. Everybody else seemed inclined to huddle together, within the protective confines of a group.
When the disgruntled French family came through the door to the lobby from the stairs, they glared around at the tourists. The father began to confer with the desk clerk in French, and Margery began to whisper to Nettie about how awful it
would have been if they’d been the first ones to see Grayson’s body in the elevator.
“After all,” she said with relish, “they have three small children.”
Nettie decided to ignore her.
The French father gathered up his family, and with one more glare at the Americans, they left the hotel in search of breakfast.
“It’s not your fault, honey,” Kat said, leaning on the ledge of the front desk to comfort Claude. “I’m sure you offered to let them have breakfast in their rooms, but they didn’t want to climb back up the stairs, since the elevator is . . . you know.”
“I am sorry, madame, but we are unable to offer room service, even, since the police have blocked off our service entrance, behind. They must examine everything, you understand. So we have had no deliveries this morning. No food. Please confer with your guide. We have made arrangements.” He finished with a frosty smile, as if Kat, as a part of the group, were to blame for all the trouble.
Danny was on his cellphone again, and after a calm glance at him, Henry turned to the others and said, “Listen, everybody, I think we’re on our own here. The police don’t seem to need us anymore. Get yourselves together and go visit your rooms if you need to, and then we’ll all meet back here and go out for breakfast together.”
“That’s the smartest thing anybody’s said all night,” Jack told him, and they began to mobilize.
Danny shot worried looks at them and quickly finished his phone call. Before they could make for the door, he held up his hand for attention. “Everybody, please. Don’t leave just yet. I’ve just talked to the head office. Is everyone here?” Looking apologetic, he asked for a buddy check. It turned out that Daisy and Hannah were missing, so he asked Claude to call their room and ask the ladies to come down. When they arrived, he began.
“In the case of a tragedy occurring among our guests during a tour, Carmichael Global has a policy of offering the remaining guests a continuation of the tour or our assistance in making travel arrangements, either to go on somewhere else or to return home. It’s up to you.”
