Flossed (Alex Harris Mystery Series)

“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.”

  I put the key in the ignition and pulled out. We had only traveled down the road about a quarter of a mile before I had to jam on the brakes to keep from hitting a car pulling out from one of the embassy driveways. I looked at my sister. “I hate this.”

  “I know. It wouldn’t be good to hit an embassy car. Especially not that one. They don’t like Americans.”

  A barrage of cars came from our right and moved in. A car behind us honked his horn at me.

  Sam said, “I thought only the first car was allowed to come from the right. The others have to wait. I’m not sure. Okay. It’s free. You can go now.”

  I released my tight grip from the wheel and sat back into the seat. “Back to Paul. Why is he still on your list? The man is so visibly upset over his wife’s death.”

  “I didn’t say he was on my list. He’s not.”

  “Well, he better not be,” I said with more emotion than was necessary. “So that leaves Donna. We can’t very well go over to her house and interrogate her at this moment of sorrow.”

  “So instead we’re going to do it at her husband’s memorial service?” Sam folded her arms across her chest and nodded her head. “I can understand that. More people to see us make fools of ourselves.”

  “We won’t have to talk with her. We can just observe her. See how she conducts herself, watch her body language,” I said with a wave of my right hand.

  “And this is going to tell us whether she kil
led two people or not? Has Millie given you any more books? Maybe something with a title like Killers! How Body Language Trips Them Up Every Time.”

  “Don’t be silly. It just might work. I’ve seen it happen before.”

  “On TV maybe. Or in your dreams, is where you’ve seen it happen. Or on some infomercial.”

  I ignored my sister’s sarcasm. I had been doing it all my life so it didn’t take much effort, which was a good thing considering all the idiots on the road. “I think we’re almost there. Check the map and tell me where to turn. And I do not watch infomercials.”

  A few minutes later we pulled up in front of a small but very crowded church. There was no place to park in the immediate area so I had to drive around for several minutes until we found a space.

  “And the last reason why we’re here,” said Sam, “Is so we can get a lot of exercise. Why the heck did you have to park so far?”

  “Hush! We’re there.”

  The church wasn’t very big, nor was it very old. Compared with all the other churches we had visited on our sightseeing trips, this one was modern. If you can call one-hundred and twelve years modern.

  Inside mourners filled every pew. Sam and I had to settle for standing in the back.

  “Who are all these people?” I asked Sam.

  “Most of them are people from the women’s club,” a middle-aged woman answered. “Donna and Doug had many friends here. When something like this happens, all the club officials show up.” The woman dabbed at her eyes with a well-used hankie.

  “Does this happen a lot?” Sam asked.

  “No. Thank God. But over the years there have been a few deaths. A man died last year on the motorway when his car was struck by a truck driver. His wife was a member of the club.”

  Given the way people drove in Belgium, I could see it happening. I was surprised it didn’t happen more often.

  The service began with a prayer from the priest. There was no casket; the body was probably already at the airport, but there were flowers. Lots of them. Covering every available space in front of the altar.

  In the mourners, a young couple, the woman holding a small child, stood nearby. A man stood alone with his head bowed. Though the day had become quite warm, most of the men were in suits, probably taking a few hours off from their jobs, I thought. The women were mostly in light summer dresses though a few sported elegant suits of their own, one in a hideous shade of electric pink. Two French-speaking women to my left were casually clad in jeans. Well, I reminded myself, it wasn’t a funeral but a memorial service and maybe they did things differently here.

  After the priest had spoken a few words and thanked everyone for coming, friends and family were invited to get up and say something about Doug. Several people, mostly men, got up and told how Doug was such a good friend, or really helped them with their finances, or how he always offered to help out with various club projects requiring a strong arm. One man got up and told everyone what a bad golfer Doug was getting a laugh from the mourners.

  Finally Donna stood up. She looked just as striking as ever. She was dressed in all black but it served only to set off her tan and her gorgeous hair, rather than give her an air of mourning. She stood in front of the group with her perfect posture and told everyone how Doug was her best friend. How they had met in college and knew they would get married. Her voice cracked a few times, but she never totally lost her composure. After Donna, a woman who was the spitting imagine of Donna, only older, got up.

  “Doug was the best son-in-law anyone could ever want. He was the perfect person for our daughter and he’s going to be sorely missed for the rest of our lives.”

  “Geez. Donna’s mother is just as pretty as she is,” Sam whispered. “Quite a nice little gene pool Donna’s family has going.”

  The service over, people started toward the back of the church where Sam and I stood. As everyone filed by, I saw Wanda, but no Bill. The Mulberrys were there along with a woman I recognized from the club’s café. Also in the mass of people leaving were Malcolm and Jane Tillingsworth. Jane waved to us and walked over while Malcolm chatted with another man.

  Jane pressed herself against the back wall watching the mourners leave. I had a good idea she was looking for Paul.

  “Didn’t think I would see the two of you again,” Jane said in her heavy accent, today sounding a bit more like Manchester than the refined London accent she usually projected. On her head was perched a hideous lavender hat better suited to a day at Ascot. Her dress was an equally appalling pastel, though unfortunately not a color conducive with the hat.

  “We just felt it was the right thing to do,” I said trying to keep my eyes from becoming riveted to the hat. “Doug was Bill’s partner and, well, Bill is my husband’s good friend.”

  “Yes, well, I suspect you’re still doing a bit of snooping.” Jane smiled at me, causing me to blush.

  I felt the need for a bit of retaliation. “It looks like you’re looking for someone? I hear Paul’s thinking of moving to the US. He’s got a lot of friends there and I think he’s looking forward to getting away and starting his life over again.”

  Jane turned to me with blazing eyes framed by spikes of hair sticking out from under the hat. “Where did you hear this utter bit of nonsense?”

  “From Paul. He told us yesterday.” I smiled back.

  “I don’t believe it. He can’t!”

  “What don’t you believe, Jane?” Malcolm came over to his wife.

  “Oh! Nothing. Alex and Sam were just telling me something about their trip.” It was now Jane’s turn to blush.

  “Oh, there’s James. I need to talk with him for a moment. I’ve been trying to set up a round of golf.” Malcolm rushed off in the direction of a fair-skinned, strawberry blond man.

  “If you’re hoping for a renewed relationship with Paul, I don’t think it’s going to happen,” Sam said.

  “Leave him alone, Jane. He’s been through enough. He just wants to get on with his life,” I said knowing it would do no good. If I was right, Jane would probably head right over to Paul’s apartment as soon as she could ditch Malcolm.

  “You listen to me. Paul should have never married that bloody woman! Now that she’s dead, we are going to be together. Do you understand?”

  “Perfectly. But it’s Paul you have to convince, not us.” I wondered if I should give Paul a call and let him know Hurricane Jane was coming.

  Without another word, Jane walked away. Sam and I wandered outside, shielding our eyes from a bright sun. We saw Wanda on the sidewalk and went over.

  “Where’s Bill?” I asked.

  “Oh, hi. How nice of you to come. Bill? He’s not back yet.” Wanda looked at her watch. “His plane should be landing any minute now.”

  I thought it was odd Bill was not at his partner’s memorial service, but Wanda didn’t seem to think it odd at all.

  “Donna looks good. How’s she holding up?” I asked.

  “I was over there last night and she seems okay. I know it’s just a front and she’s on autopilot. Once she gets the body back to the U.S. and buried, she’ll probably collapse.”

  “I would have days ago,” Sam said.

  “Where the hell is Bill?” a male voice asked from behind me.

  “George. What are you doing here?” Wanda turned to the elderly gentleman who now stood next to her.

  “Hoping to hell I can find out what exactly is going on.”

  “Going on?” Wanda asked.

  “First Martine. Now Doug. Where the hell is Bill? I’ve been trying to reach him for quite a while.”

  “Well, George, he had to go to Switzerland for a few days. He should be back in the office tomorrow.”

  “So what good will that do me? Every time I’ve called in the past few months, Martine told me he was out, or unavailable. God dammit, Wanda. I want my money, and I want it now!”

  “Please, George, lower your voice. This is a memorial service.”

  “Service is over.
What’s going on at that place? Is someone killing off everyone? Well, it’s not going to work.” The man had his finger in Wanda’s face as several of the mourners stopped to listen. “Your husband is up to no good, and you can tell him for me—I’ll be on his front step first thing in the morning and I want my money. And interest, too!” He stomped off, pushing his way through the huge crowd.

  “Who was that?” Sam took Wanda’s arm and pulled her away from the crowd.

  “George Lipnicki. He’s one of Bill’s biggest clients. He works for Harper Pharmaceuticals and has sent quite a bit of business Bill’s way. If Bill loses him as a client, George might take a lot of other people with him. I don’t know what the hell Bill will do.” Wanda’s hands were shaking.

  “What did he mean when he asked what was going on at the office?” I asked Wanda.

  “I don’t know. Maybe he’s talking about getting his statements. Bill said they were having a problem with the new system they installed to do the statements. And now with Martine gone, Bill’s going to have to train someone else.” Wanda made it sound as if Martine had the nerve to die at such an inopportune time.

  I was beginning to feel John’s old friends were very cold, callous, self-serving people. Sure, Wanda had taken us around and had been kind enough to arrange for the apartment. But two people had died and Wanda had shown very little concern, with the exception of going to Donna’s a few times. She certainly hadn’t talked with Paul. And as for Bill, life went on at the office just as before the Monday after Martine had died. If anything ever happened to Millie, I wasn’t sure I would want to carry on at Always Prepared. Bill showed no such concern. He wasn’t even back for Doug’s service.

  Sam and I said goodbye to Wanda. We told her we were very busy the next few days and John had already made arrangements for us to get back to the airport on Sunday. In truth, I didn’t want to spend any more time with Wanda. Or Bill.

  Chapter 34

  “To be fair, she has been consoling Donna, I guess,” I said a while later as we drove back to Brussels. “But she still seems a bit indifferent to everything that’s going on.”