A Murder Misstery Epilogue

We must have dozed off, because the next thing I remember is Jacques fumbling on the nightstand for his Cartier wristwatch. After he saw the time, he staggered out of bed, and I do mean staggered – the poor man could hardly stand up straight! I tucked a pillow under my chin and watched him struggle into his clothes, wondering what he must be thinking...

"What time is it?" I asked as he tied his tie.

"Almost six o'clock."

"Are you going back to the office?"

"No, thank God I cleared my schedule for the afternoon. My wife is expecting me, we're hosting a dinner party for some friends."

"That's nice, you worked up quite an appetite. I hope Madam Bochy isn't feeling amorous this evening," I couldn't resist saying.

"That, my dear girl, is the least of my problems." He bent over and kissed me on the forehead, and then he was gone.

I lay there with a satisfied smile for the longest time...round one to the Mistress! Eventually I wrapped a robe around my shoulders and made my way to the kitchen, where I fixed myself some leftover quiche from the freezer with a split of Chardonnay. I was on my second glass of wine when I decided to check my emails.

There was nothing from Tracy, and I almost erased it before I realized that there was a message from Mom mixed in with all the junkmails and spam. My heart jumped when I saw it, and sank when I read it:

Maddy, I am back in Chicago where I was greeted at the airport by your FBI friends. They gave me the third degree about why I left the country and returned the same day. I'm not a very good liar, but I gave nothing away. Please be careful, since they know I went to Paris I'm sure they're looking for you there. Love, Mom

I pounded the keyboard with both hands in frustration. Would this never end? It was only a matter of time before the FBI retraced Mom's steps, determined who she traveled with and smoked out the forged passport that I'd used to travel with her. Damn! I felt terrible about getting her involved, although there was little chance that the FBI was about to prosecute a 70 year old widow for aiding and abetting her son/daughter. The problem was all mine, and unless I put some distance between myself and Paris it was only a matter of time before I got caught in the net and dragged Jacques down with me.