Paris, Before You Die Page 5

  “May we?” Nettie asked brightly, and of course they could.

  “I’m Kat Carney,” the better-groomed of the two ladies said. They were both brunettes in their mid-sixties, attractive and healthy-looking, but Kat seemed to have spent more time in front of a mirror before the meeting. She bubbled up brightly, indicated her more tired-looking companion and added, “This is my old high school running buddy, Audrey Cramer. She’s a famous psychic.”

  Without actually telling Kat to shut up, Audrey let a ripple of irritation cross her face as she tried to smile at the newcomers.

  “I’m a retired nurse,” Audrey said, very precisely.

  Nettie shot a subtle, dampening look at her niece. She was quick to catch on, and while being told someone was psychic invited a lot of questions, she’d caught the ripple. Before showing too much interest, they’d better wait for Audrey to bring the subject up herself. If she ever did.

  So instead of delving into this fascinating subject, Nettie introduced her niece and herself, then looked up and nodded happily as Jack and Charley entered the room. Their table was full; the men couldn’t sit down. The men smiled back and then looked around for empty seats. They quickly saw two of them across the room, at the same table as a pair of strikingly beautiful blond women. Jack puffed himself up, forgetting all about his breakfast companions, and stepped across at something close to a run.

  Nettie zipped a sharp look at the psychic, wondering if she could read Jack’s mind – or the ladies’ – and sure enough, Audrey was viewing the whole scenario across the aisle with the air of an offended schoolmarm.

  Henry, the interesting man with the Sam Spade look, had quietly taken his place on Nettie’s side of the room at the table behind hers, actually sitting very close to her. Although she couldn’t see him without turning around, she strongly felt his presence, which was strange, because the man didn’t seem particularly interested in her – or anybody else, for that matter.

  Lauren and her husband walked in, already talking to another couple about their age, and took the table in the corner beside the doorway. Seemingly as an afterthought, Lauren looked around, saw Twyla, and gave her a little wave. Twyla started to call something across the aisle to her, but by then, Lauren had already turned back to her own group, where the conversation was flowing on. Twyla blinked, paused a bit, then quietly explained to Kat and Audrey who Lauren was.

  Everyone arrived punctually, which bode well for the tour: they wouldn’t have any inconsiderate stragglers who would keep them all waiting at their meeting places.

  Once the room was full and everybody seemed to be there, a lissome, middle-aged American man stood up at the back of the room and introduced himself as Danny Carter, their tour guide. He’d been sitting quietly at the farthest table, and on that table were heaped various pouches and envelopes, along with a large canvas bag.

  He cleared his throat. “An itinerary with the day’s activities and meeting times will be posted in the hotel lobby on a table by the front door every day,” he instructed them, meeting their eyes with a penetrating look as if trying to hammer it home.

  “It’s all right, honey,” Kat said, “we’re all Americans. We can understand you just fine.” That drew giggles, but it also threw Danny off for a moment. He gave her a wary look and resettled himself.

  “I think this is his first rodeo,” one of the men at Lauren’s table said quietly. Nettie just managed to understand what he had said, and quickly turned to see if Danny had heard it too. Apparently, he hadn’t. At least, Nettie hoped so. Not very nice, she thought primly.

  Wondering if that were Lauren’s husband, she decided it wasn’t. The other man at that table, a stiff, dark man with an irritated manner, was more like the picture on the Internet that Twyla had shown her. The fellow who’d made the rodeo comment was more loose-limbed and relaxed, with blond hair and an easy manner.

  Danny dug into the canvas bag, took something out and said, “We’ll be using these throughout the tour,” holding up a small blue box on a lanyard for them all to see. “Wherever we go, along the street or in the Métro, you’ll be able to hear me or whichever local guide we have that day. I have Métro passes for you, and museum passes that are good for the entire week.”

  He went over the itinerary in brief, mentioning the afternoons or evenings that they would be on their own.

  After going through his whole spiel, he looked at the table with the beautiful blonds and said, “Shall we introduce ourselves? Let’s start here.”

  One of the women opened her mouth but was cut off by, “I’m Jack Bartlett, from San Diego. This is my first time in Paris, and I’m really excited about it. I’m a salesman – paper products . . . office supplies – semi-retired, but I still have a few accounts. My company doesn’t seem to want to let me go,” he added, looking around with a grin. He got smiles and polite nods in return. Then he took a deep breath. “I lost my wife a year ago, and my best friend, Charley, here, said he wasn’t going to let me go to Paris alone, so here we are.”

  Charley was compact and very tidy-looking, with short white hair and mild gray eyes. His very calm nature and unremarkable features tended to delay the realization that he was very good-looking. Only when he suddenly smiled did he become strikingly handsome.

  He explained that he’d been a self-employed accountant and when he’d decided to retire, his boss – Charley, himself – decided to let him do so. “Madelyn had something to say about that too, Charley,” Jack interjected. “Madelyn said I could sell the business as long as I gave her a cut of the action,” was Charley’s rejoinder, accompanied by that breathtaking smile.

  Everyone laughed, and the group seemed to settle in and warm up.

  “I’m Hannah Sorenson, from White Bear Lake, Minnesota. I’m a paralegal – ”

  “You are?” the other blond blurted. “So am I!”

  Hannah stopped mid-sentence, as if she’d memorized a script and now she’d lost her place.

  “You two have got a lot in common,” Jack said, leering. “At first, I thought you were sisters. Twins, even.”

  Danny made some distressed movements with his hands, trying to regain control of the session, but Hannah went on smoothly now. “I just ended a long-term relationship, and I decided to treat myself to a trip to Paris. I deserve it, after all that,” she ended darkly.

  “You go, girl,” Kat said.

  Hannah looked to the other woman, signaling that it was her turn.

  “I’m listed on your sheets as Marguerite Wilson, and I was going to let you call me that, but frankly if anybody says, ‘Hey, Marguerite,’ I probably won’t answer. My nickname has always been Daisy, and I guess I may as well stick with it.”

  “Oh, it’s lovely,” Nettie said impulsively. “A Marguerite is a type of daisy. Is that how you got the nickname?”

  “Yes. My parents started calling me that when I was a baby, and it stuck. Like I said, I’m a paralegal, and um, what have I forgotten? Oh. I’m from Atlanta, Georgia, and I work at a financial institution.” She sat back looking satisfied, as if she’d said her lines perfectly.

  “How about you now,” Danny said to the people at the corner table.

  The dark man with the irritated manner stirred himself and said, “I’m Grayson Pimm. I’ve been in Paris a number of times on business, but never for pleasure. I gave a seminar here two years ago, in fact. I’m a market historian and I provide timing services.”

  “Timing services?” Kat asked.

  He shrugged in a worldly way. “Macro-allocation is a fluid thing. Especially with a Bull that’s as old as this one. You don’t just buy and hold. Selling a loser is psychologically tough, though, so I’m the one that puts a little dynamite under the clients when they need it. The thing could just keep going down and down and down. Not smart. I utilize a split/strike market strategy and call the buys and sells. It takes intestinal fortitude, and a thorough knowledge of long-range historical trends.”

  The smiles had melted away, and by th
e time he was finished, most people were looking at him blankly. Only Kat was still beaming at him. After speaking he withdrew into himself and looked like he was just waiting for the meeting to be over.

  Into the sea of blank looks, the woman beside him raised her hand halfway, waved it meekly and said, “I’m his wife.” As if she’d cracked a joke, everybody laughed. She smiled back, and after the briefest pause, went on. “Hi everybody, I’m Lauren Pimm. Even though Grayson’s been very successful, I’ve decided to have a go at starting up my own small business. Craft donuts.” She shrugged. “I’d rather do cakes, but donuts are trending now.”

  Her husband acquired a faint sneer at the word “donuts,” though he didn’t actually look at her.

  “What a lovely lady,” Kat said quietly to her tablemates. “She really carries off the blond-going-gray thing beautifully. That hairstyle – it’s perfect.”

  “She’s always carried everything off beautifully,” Twyla whispered back. “Back in high school, she was always perfect . . . hair, make-up – so pretty. Even at her grandmother’s funeral . . . .”

  “You remember my cupcakes, don’t you Twyla?” Lauren asked, having noticed the little back-and-forth. “But my business coach says it’s donuts now, so, you know, gotta go with the flow.”

  Twyla nodded happily, and Kat smiled at the two of them. It was sweet, the way Twyla still worshipped her high-school girl-crush.

  The other lady at Lauren’s table suddenly spoke up.

  “I’m thinking of doing something like that myself,” she said. “I’d like to talk to you about it later, if I can. Maybe we can share a few ideas. I want to do a tearoom, but that would have the same start-up issues.”

  “Of course,” Lauren said. “I’ll do anything I can to help. Go ahead, I’m finished,” she added.

  “Oh, all right. Hello guys, I’m Ashley Handler from San Antonio.” She paused oddly, stopped addressing the room at large and looked back across her own table. “Do I look familiar to you?”

  “I’ve never seen you before in my life,” Grayson said flatly.

  Lauren looked at her closely, then shook her head. “I don’t think so.”

  “Don’t they look familiar, Eric?” Ashley persisted.

  “I think I would have remembered her, at least,” Eric said gallantly, and Lauren smiled, but her husband looked aside in disgust.

  Ashley shook herself. “Sorry, everybody. Didn’t mean to go sideways on you. My husband and I have a catering business, with a test-kitchen/restaurant that serves lunches only.”

  “Test-kitchen?” Kat asked.

  “Eric is really cutting-edge as a chef. He experiments with exotic ingredients and unusual dishes. He likes to play around with fusion. He’s got quite a following in San Antonio. Six months ago, they did a write-up on him in Foodie magazine.”

  “They did a write-up on us,” Eric said. “You’re a big part of the business too.”

  “I guess we come as a team,” Ashley said. “What goes for me, goes for him.”

  “Yup. Nothing much else to say. I cook. Not much interested in anything else.” Eric looked across the aisle at the next table, indicating it was their turn.

  “I’m Kat Carney. I’m seeing Paris for the first time with my friend, Audrey. We went to high school together in Chicago, a loooong time ago, but I live in Charleston now, where most of my family is. Let’s see . . . I’m divorced, no children, but plenty of nieces and nephews to keep me happy. I guess that’s about it. Your turn, Audrey.”

  “Hi, my name is Audrey Cramer, and like Kat said, I’m originally from Chicago but I live in Daytona Beach, Florida now. I retired from nursing a few years ago. Now I volunteer at a senior living center, and I live in an apartment overlooking the ocean with my boyfriend, Jackson Kelly. Kat hijacked me into this trip when our friend Pearl was in an accident and wouldn’t have recovered in time to go. That’s about all there is to say about me.”

  “Oh, no it isn’t,” Kat piped up. “She’s a famous trance medium. People from all over the country ask her for help. She’s listed in A Paranormal Who’s Who, and few years ago she appeared on an episode of Weird Florida.”

  There was a ruffle of interest, and every different type of facial expression blossomed all over the room, from amusement to uneasiness.

  “I’m not a full-time medium,” Audrey said modestly. “I help people when I can. I’m not a professional, and I certainly didn’t come to Paris to give séances, so please don’t ask.”

  Jack said, “Wow, I gotta watch what I’m thinking when I’m around you. Can you tell me what I’m thinking right now?”

  Audrey glared at him. “Something like hubba hubba, since you’re sitting at a table with two beautiful girls. I think I have the right syntax for a gentleman your age?”

  Jack was amused. “Maybe my grandfather.”

  “Stop it, Audrey,” Kat said. She looked across at Jack. “You wouldn’t believe how some people treat psychics. They think it’s all a joke. She gets touchy, but you can hardly blame her. You should see the garbage people post on her website. Why don’t you ladies go ahead now?” she added brightly, looking across the table.

  Twyla was staring at Audrey with awe, but after a pause and a blink, she introduced herself. “I’m an executive secretary with a multi-national corporation in Schaumburg, Illinois. I’m single. I went to high school with Lauren, over there, and last year we re-connected on social media. When she said she was going to Paris, it hit me that I’d always wanted to go, too, and this would be a good chance to see her again, since we live so far apart. Okay, go ahead, Aunt Nettie.”

  “Hello everyone. I’m Jeanette Tucker, but everybody calls me Nettie. I’m from Sleepy Hollow, Illinois, and I’m a widow. Randy and I never had any children, but I’m close to my nephews and nieces, especially Twyla. I guess you could just call me a homemaker, but I was always my husband’s secretary, too; he worked out of an office at home.”

  She turned in her seat and looked at the man behind her.

  He looked back at her woodenly, then stirred himself and began to speak. “My name is Henry Dawson. Um, retired police detective. I’m from a little town called Reedsburg, in Wisconsin. Nice little town. My wife Stella and I moved there from Milwaukee after I retired from the force, but she died two years later. Last year, our only child died too. Our son. No grandkids. Stella always wanted to go to Paris, so I figured I’d go.”

  There were confused murmurs of condolence. Most people assumed solemn expressions, and Nettie looked down. Well, that explains that, she thought. He looks weary because he is, and weary is not the same thing as tired.

  Someone at the corner table made a little sound and she looked up in time to see a deeply tragic look on Lauren’s face. It faded quickly, and she’d caught Nettie looking right at her.

  Embarrassed, Nettie produced a shadow of a smile and turned away, only to see Audrey staring at the corner table, too. They shared an uneasy look and tried to bring their attention back to Henry.

  He smiled, rather feebly, then looked at the lady who was sitting at his table. “That’s about it. Your turn,” he told her.

  “How would you like to have to follow that?” Jack whispered loudly to Daisy.

  The sturdy-looking female beside Henry spoke up firmly, not minding at all having to follow that.

  “Hello everyone, my name is Margery Rowe, and I’m retired too. I worked as a secretary. I never married, but I’ve traveled a lot and I have a lot of interests. One of them is painting – I do watercolors – strictly an amateur – and I’m really looking forward to seeing Monet’s waterlilies. It’s really why I came to Paris. I just love the Impressionists.”

  “Well, you’re in the right place,” Danny said, taking over. He glanced at a sheet full of notes that was laying on his table. “Next order of business: I’d like each of you to pick a buddy – not somebody you think you’ll normally be with – not your friend or traveling companion. Somebody you never met before. We’ll do what we cal
l a ‘buddy check’ when we get together, to make sure nobody got lost. Understand?”

  People began to blink, nod and look around, and the pretty blond ladies were quickly snapped up by the men at their table – Daisy by Charley and Hannah by Jack. In the corner in front of them, the same thing happened, with Grayson taking Ashley and Eric taking Lauren.

  “Don’t worry too much about who you pick,” Danny said. “You’re not selecting a tour-mate. This is just a little safety procedure, so nobody gets left behind. In fact, I’d rather you’d pick people you aren’t likely to be with.”

  Aunt Nettie shyly said, “I’m not psychic, but I’ve got a feeling we four are going to get along. Maybe we should pick other people for our buddies?”

  Flattered, Audrey agreed, and Kat sparkled at her. They all turned together to the table behind them, but there were only two people there. Nevertheless, Nettie quickly picked Henry and Audrey took Margery. That left Twyla and Kat staring at one another.

  “We’re the only two left,” Twyla said.

  Kat shrugged and said, “We’ll just remember to keep an eye on one another, even if we do end up hanging out a lot, right Twyla?”

  “Right.”

  The meeting began to break up. Grayson Pimm stood up with an air of dominance, turned to the lady behind him and said, “Marguerite, is it? Pretty name.”

  After edging back slightly, the woman looked directly into his eyes and said, “As I believe I mentioned, you may call me Daisy.”

  He stared at her a moment longer, made a little grunt, then stalked out of the room, leaving his wife looking back and forth from the other woman to her husband’s back.

  Settling herself with an obvious effort, Lauren took a step closer to Daisy and said, “Do you know my husband?”

  Daisy hesitated, then said, “Not really.”

  “Not really? What does that mean?”

  Daisy drew breath. “I work in the Atlanta office of his company. He may have seen me there.”

  “Ah, yes,” Lauren said softly. “He always did like blonds.”

  After a tense moment, Lauren turned and left the breakfast room. When nobody else made a move to leave, Daisy, her face red and her head high, walked unsteadily out. Within a few seconds, Hannah went after her.