Getting Old Is Très Dangereux: A Mystery

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Authors: Rita Lakin
forgot to turn on the cell phone.” I slam the fridge door unnecessarily hard. “And then I get home and there are three more messages on the apartment machine.”
    “Well, look at the good side. Instead of him being the unfeeling rat you were furious with all day, he did call in as he promised he would.”
    “And I can’t call him back on his cell in the hospital.”
    “Patience, my darling sis. He’ll probably be home any minute now.”
    I toss a loaf of bread at her and she catches it. “Look who’s giving me lectures on patience—Ms. I-want-to-know-now-this-very-second-or-else gal.”
    She throws the bread back at me, grinning. “I like to think I’ve matured.”
    “Ha! That’ll be the day.”
    I rewind the machine again. “Did you notice anything about all the messages—something left out?”
    Evvie listens as I play them again. “No, what am I missing?”
    “He never mentions Michelle at all. He was with her since about five A.M. and still not home and not a word about her.”
    “Aren’t you overreacting? What do you think he’s doing with her? They’ve probably been at that unfortunate girl’s bedside.”
    “What a terrible person I am. Michelle must be going through hell and all I can think about is being annoyed at Jack for not being home.”
    “I thought you said you trusted him.”
    I break off a piece of my dill rye bread and nervously chomp on it. “I don’t trust Jack’s old girlfriend. She’s up to something and I don’t know what.”
    Eventually Evvie leaves to have dinner with Joe. I’m too antsy to eat. When I finally hear the key in the door, the first thing I do is look at the clock. It’s nearly ten-thirty. I hurry to open the door. Jack enters, but one look at his ashen face shows his exhaustion.
    “Are you all right? Are you hungry? Have you eaten anything all day?” I don’t know what to offerhim first. I put my arms around him, but he gently shrugs me off.
    “Need to sleep. That’s all I want. We’ll talk later.” With that he moves right past me to our bedroom, undressing as he crosses the room.
    Not like my Jack
, I think.
Not like him at all
.

7
THE SNAKE CHECKS IN
    T he
Snake paces back and forth across his cheap, sleazy motel room. He almost blends in to the decor. His blandness and grayness match the dreariness of his chosen hideout. But he doesn’t care. It’s close to the fancy hotel where his quarry, Michelle duBois, resides, and near enough to the hospital where the niece, Colette, remains in her comatose state. He is jabbering into a cell phone, but like a jackrabbit, he can’t seem to stand still
. Alors,
how many other ninety-year-olds are as amazingly agile as he, and can whip around the room talking rapidly as they pace? He stops a moment to peer out a window but it is too dirty to let him see much. With his elbow he smears a spot of murky light and examines the weather
.
    He is furious at his cousin Gaston, who rattles away angrily at him from his winery a few kilometers outside of Bordeaux. “You have only five days to accomplish our objective and you waste it attacking the mark’s niece? How could you waste our precious time on such foolishness?”
    The Snake snarls. “You dare question The Snake’s techniques?” He is glad Gaston cannot see the reddish hue of his guilty face. He lies blatantly. “You think The Snake didn’t analyze the complexity of the job? The mark is difficult to get to. Her routines are rigid. She is constantly surrounded by many sycophants, especially the niece, Colette, who never leaves her side. This Colette was not supposed to go on this trip, according to your research.”
    Gaston mutters, “How was I to know she decided at the last minute?”
    “And how was it you didn’t warn me duBois has friends in the States?” The Snake knows well how to attack on the offensive when he’s in the wrong
.
    “What friends? I know of no friends. She never makes personal calls to the States or gets letters. I tell you

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