TWISTS

Ninth Hackney McTrite Mystery

"This is my twelfth book. I think that’s remarkable for a man who swapped math answers for book reports." Walker Jackson

"Last week I stated that this woman was the ugliest woman I had ever seen. I have since been visited by her sister and now wish to withdraw that statement. "  Mark Twain

"You know what I hate? Indian givers...no, I take that back." Anonymous

Dedication

Thank You Lord for rescuing me last year so I could finish it. Amen.

Gay Paree

Skies over Paris wept steadily. Conditions were deplorable and had been for days. The mammoth erector set known as the Eiffel Tower was nearly invisible towering over the city only three blocks away. Winters are like that in Paris.

Wearing full-length coats and covered with one pricey parasol, Nip and Emma Murray, recently wed, shivered outside their Hotel Concord Saint Lazare holding hands like lovesick high school sweethearts. The honeymoon hadn't cooled as one might expect considering their seniority. What! Nip was seventy and…well…Emma was in her fifties. No one knew exactly how old she was, but everyone knew she was worth fifty million dollars.

The taxi rank was short. Two older couples, sheltered by one sprawling and colorful parasol, stood ahead complaining about the weather and how expensive Paris had become.

Lurking inside the hotel's front entrance was a creepy, sallow complexion man anxiously watching Nip and Emma. The ghastly scar on his right cheek shouted he was a ruffian. The rest of his blotchy facial features emanated mostly cruel cynicism spawned over his fifty miserable years on terra firma. His Kool-Aid mustache was comical. He appeared cracked.

Nip, sounding dulcet offered a shy smile and squeezed her hand. "Nasty weather Cinderella. Nothing like the travel brochure described."

"Cinderella, how sweet. Of course, they'll write anything in tourists’ brochures to allure you."

"True, Emma, true. Brrrr! I’m glad I’m wearing my fur lined jock strap." He chuckled.

She stared. "Cliché love, but apropos."

"So it is."

"Mind you I’m really pleased to hear that. Take good care of it. It belongs to me now."

"That sounds like a line out of a popular old standard." He sung, "Button up your overcoat, take good care of yourself, you belong to me."

"I know the tune. I think ‘Ole Blue Eyes’ sang it in one of those musical extravaganzas that they don’t make any more. Maaan! I'm glad I finished my shopping yesterday."

"And I'm glad it's being shipped to our home by the hotel staff. We'd look damn stupid lugging all that merchandise to Barcelona."

"And maybe a little silly."

"I'm also pleased you opted for the mildness of the Mediterranean."

"Smart move if I must say so myself. And my mouth is still in heaven. That filét mignon and lobster dinner we devoured last night at Les Deux Magots was dieu de dieu Monsieur Murray.

"What a dish, Emma."

"Yes! That’s what I said. I didn’t know you understood French Monsieur Murray. I learn more about you every day."

"Well, I took French one and two in high school. Mainly, because my girlfriend was taking it."

"Was she a sexy French kisser?"

"I don’t know. We didn’t get that far. Times were different."

"Women have been an obsession in your life Monsieur Murray."

"Remember. No jealousy."

"I forgot." She smiled. "Hemingway, who arrived in Paris during the crazy years, les annees folles, said about the café, "It's starkly elegant. The name comes from two statues of two Chinese misers leaning over a chest of gold."

"It’s a pity the statues are gone now, but the magots are printed on the menu."

"Suffice it to say the entire atmosphere is Left Bank at its traditional best. The serveurs are charming and chatty, which you would expect for the money you're paying."

"Yes, I noticed. But they said very little to me, Emma."

"Hmmm! You got along chummy with zee hat check Mam’selle." Emma rolled her eyes.

"I tipped her thirty francs and touched my fly." His grin spread apart the wrinkles on his face.

"So, that’s why she winked?"

He bowed his shoulders, widened his eyes and gestured with his hands. "I suppose."

"Okay, we're even, Napoleon. Let's change the subject."

"I agree. One of our prenuptial agreements was that we'd never exhibit the slightest amount of jealousy."

"Yes, and don’t you forget it."

"And if I survive you, your entire fortune is mine."

"Did I say that?" She smiled and blinked her eyes. "Yes I did. You can't spend a halfpenny in heaven. You know my father lived frugally and died young surrounded by one greedy relative, me. It was a great lesson learned."

That look he gave her.

A taxi slid to a halt. The first in queue boarded.

"Ah! Two to go," shrieked Emma, looking at her watch that read 7:30 p.m. "We have precisely thirty minute to get our anatomies to Gare de Lyon. Smart move…"

"Going to Barcelona?"

"No, sending my purchases home. We’re repeating."

"So, we are. We'll catch more of Paris when the weather's more user friendly."

"Like, in July when it sizzles."

Another taxi arrived. The little man inside became antsy. The older couple ahead entered.

Another taxi pulled to the curb. The hotel doorman picked up their two large travel bags and moved to the rear of the taxi. The driver jumped out. After opening the trunk, he came around and opened the backdoor for them. They entered. The driver shut the door and returned to the driver’s side.

Nip said. "Gare de Lyon s'il vous plaît. Hurry, we're running late."

"Oui, Monsieur."

Wheels squealed.

The little man rushed to the curb. He stared left. "Damn," he muttered, "where are all the cabs when you need one desperately? Great, here comes one."

The cab arrived and stopped. The convenience of a cab would be a most misfortunate occurrence for Emma and Nip. He entered yelling, "Follow that taxi! Follow that taxi! Step on it…Mon." The accent was definitely cultivated in the Caribbean.

"Oui, Monsieur."

Traffic on the boulevards was nearly non-existent. This was a break, considering their lateness. Still, drivers flashed headlights, tailgated, blew horns, and ran red lights for seemingly little gain or reason. After all, this was Paris.

"Parisian male drivers are imbeciles, Emma."

"And the women are just as rude as the men."

Tables at sidewalk cafés were empty. The constant drizzle accounted for that.

Emma cuddled closer. "Hubby, it's been a marvelous honeymoon so far."

"Incredible Emma: England, Ireland, France, Germany, and Holland, Now we're headed for Spain then Italy."

"And on to the cold countries and who knows where it will end. But the bedroom capers have been the most memorable," was her visceral reply.

"Oui, Chéri."

Emma checked her watch. "We have twenty minutes. Trains adhere closely to schedules in Europe."

"Driver, can you drive faster?" asked Nip. "Our train leaves in twenty minutes."

"Oui, Monsieur. The price will be doubled and you pay the speeding fine."

"We're not concerned about price," chimed Emma.

"Don't let them get away," said 'Creepy', biting his nails ravenously.

Emma checked her watch when the taxi slid to a stop in front of Gare de Lyons. "We have eight minutes Nip. Pay the man and let’s hightail for the departure platform."

"How much Monsieur?" asked Nip anxiously.

"Sixty-five francs."

"Here! Keep the change"

"Oui! Merci! Merci! Bon voyage!"

Emma exited. Nip followed. He grabbed both bags. They moved quickly to the departure platform.

"What's the number of our private suite?" asked Emma.

"Three A."

"What's the car number?"

"Don't worry 'bout that. Let's get aboard then we’ll inquire."

"Right! The world is a simple place to you isn’t it Hubby."

"Yes, I work hard keeping it that way."

Passing through the passage to the departure platform they were startled to see six trains on tracks all in preparation to depart. "Hmmm, exclaimed Emma! Which one is going to Barcelona do you reckon?"

"Your guess is as good as mine."

Just then a trainman appeared near the train closest to them. Nip yelled, "Barcelona?"

"Oui, Monsieur. Oui!"

The train started moving seconds later. "Come on Emma run. Run Emma run."

"I’m not a gazelle you know. These stiletto heels aren’t exactly REEBOKS."

"You fooled me, Emma. Whee! We made it," said Nip following her aboard. Emma gasped for air.

‘Creepy’ had distanced himself from the Murray's protecting his identity. He made a frantic last-ditch dash to catch the train. He barely caught the last entrance. His success would prove diabolical for the Murray's...

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