Loose Ends

By Joan L. Anderson

After her estranged sister is killed when she falls onto the subway tracks in Paris just as a train arrives, Allison goes to Paris to deal with her sister’s body and collect her things. But, after talking to the police about the accident and viewing the subway surveillance video, something seems odd about her death. When Allison's hotel room in Paris is broken into with only a few things taken, but not any money or credit cards, she begins to wonder if it really was an accident that killed her sister, or if it was murder.

Once Allison returns to Washington, D.C. to handle her sister's affairs, she soon realizes that her sister had been living a secret life and wasn't the person she had always thought she was. As troubling things begin to happen to Allison in D.C., she starts wondering if she will be the next person to die.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Triplicity Publishing, LLC
• Release date: May 1, 2020

Joan L. Anderson

Joan L. Anderson fell in love with Paris and the French people the first time she visited the city in 1998. Since then, she returns to France whenever possible.After being together for 25 years, Joan and her partner, Barbara, were finally able to marry in 2014. They live outside Seattle, Washington, with their two dogs.

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Loose Ends

by

Joan L. Anderson

Loose Ends © 2020 Joan L. Anderson

Triplicity Publishing, LLC

Smashwords Edition

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form without permission.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination and are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events of any kind, or locales is entirely coincidental.

Printed in the United States of America

First Edition – 2020

Cover Design: Triplicity Publishing, LLC

Interior Design: Triplicity Publishing, LLC

Editor: Miranda Campbell - Triplicity Publishing, LLC

Also by the Author

Pursuit

Witness

CHAPTER ONE

The low murmur of conversation and clinking of cutlery filled the elegant, dimly lit Parisian restaurant, its apricot walls reflecting the soft light of candles on white linen tablecloths. A trim young waiter clad in black slacks and a vest, a long white apron tied snuggly around his waist, balanced a plate-laden tray on one hand above his shoulder as he maneuvered his way between the diners. Jacqueline sat at a small table discretely set in the back corner of the restaurant. She was in her mid-30s and stunningly beautiful—dark, lustrous hair cascading to her shoulders, eyes as blue as a summer sky, her long lashes and understated make-up giving her face the same classic beauty as those seen on ancient Roman statues. Her rounded, full breasts peaked suggestively above her low cut, blue silk dress. A single strand of flawless pearls adorned her long neck.

An older, white-haired gentleman sat across from her. His dark pin striped suit was well made and clearly expensive, and he wore an air of power and confidence like a mantle. His face was somewhat weathered, yet handsome. He smiled, deep lines etched on either side of his mouth like two parentheses. His eyes shone softly with affection. He reached across the table and gently took Jacqueline’s hand.

I’m so glad you agreed to meet me in Paris, he said. And you’re wearing the ring I gave you. I hope you like it.

A faint smile kissed Jacqueline’s lips. She nodded. I love it. She glanced down at the blue sapphire ring on her finger. It was truly stunning, a pear-shaped gem surrounded by 16 small diamonds with 8 more on the band. It wasn’t going to be easy to tell David what she had to say.

Jacqueline released his hand and reached for her glass of cognac, took a sip, and set the small glass down next to a ramekin of crème brûlée. Lost in thought, she picked up her spoon and lightly tapped the crust of the dessert, cracking it, then scooped up a small bite and put it into her mouth. Creamy, smooth, rich—perfect.

The man knit his brow with concern. Are you all right, hon? You’ve seemed preoccupied all evening.

Jacqueline flashed a quick, half-hearted smile, and set down her spoon. David, there’s something I need to tell you. It’s bad news, I’m afraid.

David leaned back in his chair, his face confused and filled with apprehension. What is it, sweetie?

Jacqueline took another sip of her cognac and looked steadily into his eyes. You know that I haven’t felt well for a few months. It seemed like I caught every bug that came along, and last week I noticed some swollen lymph nodes in my neck. She paused, taking a deep breath before continuing. I went to see my doctor a few days ago, and she ran some blood tests. Sadly, slowly, she shook her head. Seems I’m HIV positive. I have AIDS.

David stared at her, a maelstrom of emotions swirling through his brain. Shock. Terror. Stunned disbelief. How long has she had it? What if she’d given it to him, too? He’d never used condoms. He hated the damned things. Could he have passed it on to his wife? He really did care about Jacqueline, but hey, he had his own life to think about, too. Christ, was all he could say.

You’ll need to get tested when we get back to D.C.

David mutely nodded, barely controlling the panic clutching his chest. He stared down at his plate of half-eaten pear frangipane tart, deep in thought. What now? The cell phone sitting next to his plate rang. He absently tapped it into silence. Whatever it was, it could wait.

Jacqueline continued. Since I’m HIV positive, I don’t think it would be ethical for me to keep working as an escort. So, it’s over between us.

David looked up. She seemed so calm, so in control. But then, she always had been. It was one of the things that he had loved about her.

My mortgage has been paid off, but I’ll still need money to pay for my health insurance, utilities, groceries, and whatever else. The AIDS medications aren’t cheap, and there’s a cap on how much my insurance will cover. She coolly held his eyes, suddenly all business. As you know, up until now I’ve kept quiet about our relationship, and I don’t think your wife has any idea about what’s been going on for the past year. If Helen found out, she’d probably want a divorce. And if the press knew you’ve been seeing an escort, your support with the religious right would disappear faster than a steak in front of a pit bull. Your political career would be over. She paused, her steady gaze boring into his eyes. If you want me to keep our affair secret, away from Helen and out of the press, you’ll need to pay me. She was silent for a moment, trying to gauge the expression on his face. Fear? Confusion? Disgust? I want $500,000 wired to an offshore account. I’ll give you the details once we’re back in D.C.

Suddenly, David’s face darkened with rage. You fucking bitch! he snarled. You’re blackmailing me?

Jacqueline slowly nodded. She took another sip of cognac, feeling the smooth warmth slip down her throat. In case you decide you don’t want to pay me, you should know that I have some very compromising proof of our affair. Photos. Insurance, if you will. Unless I get my money, it will all be sent to Helen and the newspapers.

David clenched his jaw with fury and shouted, I’ll see you in hell first! He stood and shoved his chair away from the table so hard that it toppled over backwards. People sitting nearby shot curious glances towards the noise and commotion. David threw his napkin down and stomped off, barging his way through the tables and towards the door, bumping into people and chairs as he went and stormed out of the restaurant.

Jacqueline noticed that some of the other diners were staring at her. She smiled meekly with embarrassment and shrugged an indifferent oh well. She sighed, ruefully shook her head, and drained her glass of cognac.

The waiter came by with the bill. Will the gentleman be coming back? he asked.

No, she said. I’ll take it. Thank you. The waiter handed her the bill, turned, and walked away. To top it all off, she thought, David stuck me with paying for both of our dinners. Well, soon the $500,000 will help cover that sort of thing.

Something poked out from beneath David’s napkin. Jacqueline pushed the napkin aside and saw it was his cell phone. She picked it up and slipped it into her purse.

CHAPTER TWO

It was late, well after midnight. David had been pacing in his hotel suite for hours, still seething with anger. Who the hell did Jacqueline think she was, threatening him? Sure, it was too bad she had AIDS, and hopefully she hadn’t given it to him. But blackmail? How could he come up with $500,000 without Helen finding out? If she discovered the money was missing from one of their joint accounts, how would he explain it? My god, something had to be done. He didn’t know what it was, but something had to be done.

Whenever David came to Paris for diplomatic business, the State Department would book him into the Presidential Suite at the Grande Hôtel de Rivoli. It was a classic Parisian hotel, built in the mid-1800s and patterned after the Château de Versailles. The lobby was adorned with massive crystal chandeliers hanging from the high ceiling. Tall windows were framed with lush dark red velvet curtains held back by thick gold cords, and the swirling black and white Italian marble floor mirrored the gleaming lights above. During the Second World War, Hitler had used this hotel as his base of operations whenever he came to Paris, and he may have even stayed in this very suite. The hotel was close to the American Embassy, so despite its checkered past, all the American diplomats and officials stayed there while in Paris.

David strode back and forth, back and forth, absently staring down at the thick Persian carpet in the elegant living room, the rug’s pastel pinks and white complementing the room’s pale rose colored walls. A large, off-white limestone fireplace was set into one wall. Two Louis XV oval-backed side chairs upholstered in floral tapestries flanked the fireplace, their delicate S shaped spindly legs intricately carved into a fluted pattern. A matching divan faced the fireplace. A rosewood credenza with inlaid walnut flowers and gold leaf sat next to tall French doors leading out to a small balcony, its unobstructed view of the Eiffel Tower obscured for the night by heavy brocade draperies topped by an ornate valence. A white porcelain French telephone trimmed in gold, its dainty handset resting in a forked cradle, sat on the credenza along with a small pad of cream-colored paper and a Montblanc pen.

He’d always been a good problem solver, and he told himself that he just needed to look at this mess like any other challenge and think it through. There must be something he could do to fix it. He suddenly stopped, jerking his head up. Of course. It was a bold, risky move, but that would do it. He walked over to the credenza, picked up the phone, and dialed four numbers. It was almost immediately answered. John? Sorry to wake you. Something’s come up, something you’ll need to take care of. We need to talk. Right now. Get up here.

*

April in Paris is an indecisive month. It could be warm and beautiful one day, flowers bursting into bloom with the promise of a beautiful spring, and the next day might be cold and rainy, a final reminder that winter was not yet over.

It was a cool day with a steady rain falling as Jacqueline walked along the Champs-Elysées. Head down, she clutched the rim of the hood on her Christian Dior coat, trying to keep the wind from blowing it off her head. Her free hand clutched shopping bags from Armani, Cartier, and Louis Vuitton. Even on a Sunday morning these stores were open, waiting to serve their affluent clientele. She had always loved shopping in Paris, and given her current situation, she felt like she deserved to splurge a little and treat herself to some designer fashions and jewelry and enjoy life while she still could. Besides, she’d soon have a financial cushion once David and her other three clients transferred their money to her account.

She was chilled to the bone, and it had been a long time since her continental breakfast that morning. She couldn’t wait to get back to her suite at the Grande Hôtel de Rivoli, drop off her packages, and go down to the hotel’s restaurant for a hot cup of tea and some lunch. A bowl of French onion soup and a niçoise salad would just hit the spot.

The tall metro sign for the George V subway station loomed straight ahead. She made her way down the stairs into the cool subterranean depths, glanced around, and then followed the signs for the metro yellow line #1 going towards Château de Vincennes. A large cluster of people stood waiting for the train near the tracks, while a smattering of people were on the opposite platform waiting for the train going the other direction. The electronic monitor above the platform showed that the train would be arriving in two minutes. Rather than joust with other people as they climbed on board the train from the center of the platform, she moved towards the end away from the tunnel and stood near a cement column.

Jacqueline saw the headlight of the train coming from far down the black passageway and felt a gust of wind as it approached. Suddenly, there was a push on her back. Her arms flew out wide, struggling to maintain her balance, before tumbling into the path of the oncoming train. A woman screamed.

CHAPTER THREE

Allison was stretched out on the living room couch reading the Sunday paper. She was a tall woman who completely filled the sofa, her head propped up on pillows at one end and her feet vertically jammed up against its far arm. Her pink chenille robe was well worn and a little threadbare from years of use, but it was so comfortable that she really didn’t want to buy a new one. Her sapphire blue eyes were a striking contrast to her dark, short hair, still mussed and tousled from sleep. She scanned the front page of the paper, crammed with the latest bad news. More bloody battles in Afghanistan, a school shooting in Kansas City, reports of the latest infuriating tweets from the president. She clenched her teeth. Why did she even bother to read the paper when all it did was either