Flossed (Alex Harris Mystery Series), Page 2

  The three men managed all the large suitcases while we women took the smaller ones and carry-on bags.

  “You’ve got the top two floors,” Wanda explained, “but don’t worry, there’s an elevator. The bottom floor is occupied by a small law firm, I believe. They’re usually gone by about six, so it will be very private. You also have your own private locked entrance so don’t worry about having a lawyer show up on your doorstep early in the morning.”

  A few minutes later we walked into the foyer of a very large apartment.

  “This is bigger than my house!” I said, taking it all in.

  “I thought you lived in your grandmother’s old house,” Bill said to John. “As I remember, it was quite large.”

  “We’ve been living in Alex’s house while I finish the renovations on the old place.”

  “You! I can’t believe it,” Bill said in his booming voice. “Since when were you handy with tools?”

  “Oh, you’d be surprised. He’s done most of the work himself. We’re moving in when we return. I rented my house out to a professor from Yale,” I said with sadness.

  I hated to leave my much-loved little house but ever since John moved in formally last November, I realized just how small it was and how little closet space I really had.

  “Well,” Bill said, “I can’t wait to see it. Next time we’re back in Connecticut, I’ll have to check it out.”

  “There are two large bedrooms upstairs, each with its own bath, and in here,” Wanda gestured, “is the dining area and kitchen.” Sam and I followed her into the kitchen. It wasn’t very big, but had every appliance available.

  “What’s this?” Sam pointed to a small white machine about crotch-high.

  “That is the washing machine. I couldn’t get used to it. Cycle takes over an hour so I finally bought an American model from a family moving back to the States. Terry, she’s the woman who lives here, said she left you a list of how-tos for all the appliances. I saw a map on the dining table and sets of house keys along with the car keys. By the way, the car is parked out in front. The garage is a bit tricky to get into.”

  We made our way back into the foyer.

  “Well, I hate to do it to you, but I’ve got to get to work,” Bill said. “I’m swamped and I just can’t trust stuff to get done when I’m not there.”

  “He’s been working so hard and such long hours,” Wanda added, “I never get to see him anymore. I’m glad we’re having our annual cookout this weekend. It’ll be the first time we’ve eaten together in months. It’s our Fourth of July party and you’re all invited.”

  Bill explained. “Belgians don’t celebrate the fourth, of course, and it falling during the week is inconvenient since we all have to work. We’re celebrating it on Saturday instead.”

  “We’ll be there,” John said.

  “Good. Wanda will be back to take you around tomorrow. How are you set for Euros?”

  “Fine. Plus we have credit cards,” Michael said, thanking Bill.

  “Okay, well, then, we’re off. I really do need to get to the office.” Bill suddenly sounded very impatient.

  “How about if I come by at nine-thirty tomorrow?” Wanda asked.

  The four of us exchanged glances. “Sounds good,” we all shouted as the elevator door closed.

  Chapter 3

  You can only take so much sightseeing over a certain period, not to mention dealing with jet lag at the same time so I really looked forward to an afternoon of sitting in the Westlake’s garden. The weather had turned lovely; not too hot, but good enough to be out of doors all day.

  I sat in the dining room of “our” apartment eating a bowl of Rice Krispies and thinking about what we had done so far. Wanda had arrived at the decided time the day after our arrival and we set out for a tour of the city center. We walked the Grand Place, which unfortunately was full of bleachers for an annual festival being held that night. But even the addition of the stands and sound system could not diminish the beauty of the square. We explored the surrounding streets, and ducked into cafés when the sunshine turned to rain.

  Sam came into the dining room with a bowl of cereal and a cup of coffee bringing me out of my daydream. “Where are the guys?”

  “They walked down to the paper shop to get a newspaper.”

  “I don’t know about you, but I’m having a fantastic time. I am tired, though. I’m glad we’re just going to sit all day.”

  “Me, too. Though I think I should stop using the elevator and take the stairs from now on. I feel like I’ve eaten a ton since we’ve arrived,” I said, glad my shorts had an elastic waistband.

  “You have been eating a ton. Just like the rest of us. Who can help it? The food is great. I haven’t had a bad meal yet.” My sister poured more cereal into the bowl adding a big spoonful of sugar. I wanted to ask Sam if she had ever had a bad meal, but thought better of it. “So how are we getting to the Westlake’s? Are they coming to get us?”

  “No. John said he’s going to drive.”

  Sam raised an eyebrow. “Really? Are we safe?”

  “We’ll be fine. Other than everyone breaking the speed limit, not stopping at crosswalks, the habit of driving up on the sidewalks if the roads are blocked, and ignoring stop signs, these people drive great. Oh yeah, and the constant talking on cell phones is just like in America.”

  Sam looked around the room. “This is a nice apartment. How lucky are we to stay here and for free. I think I hear the elevator. It must be the guys. I better go finish my hair.” Sam took her dirty bowl to the kitchen and went to get ready for the cookout.

  An hour later we piled into the blue Escort. We planned on buying something really nice for the Smiths. Letting us use their apartment and car had made this trip so affordable we added an extra week to our itinerary. The Smiths also left us a book about living in Belgium and one of the customs dictated bringing flowers to the host of a party.

  “What a lovely custom this is,” I said to Sam as we walked around the flower stall a few blocks from our apartment.

  “From now on every time you come to my house, I want a bouquet.” Sam smiled, though I had a feeling she was serious.

  Along with cheese and bread, Belgium had a lot of flowers. We noticed on every corner in the city center stood a flower stall. And they weren’t selling some day-old roses, either. Some of the flowers I didn’t know, but they were all breathtaking and the colors so vivid. I picked out freesias in an assortment of colors and handed them to the woman in charge.

  “C’est un cadeau?”

  “I’m sorry, I don’t understand.”

  “I think she wants to know if it’s a gift,” John whispered in my ear.

  “Oh! Oui, Madam,” I replied, quite pleased with myself for remembering how to say yes in French.

  The young woman took the flowers from me and in a matter of moments turned my meager selection into something worthy of a centerpiece for a White House party. She threw in an assortment of greenery, some smaller flowers and wrapped everything up in beautiful paper and tied it all with a bow. In America this would cost a small fortune, but here it came to less than twenty dollars.

  We said our mercies and then hopped back into the Escort and drove into the Bois de la Cambre with the hopes of coming out on the other side and the road to Waterloo.

  Though there were many towns named Waterloo scattered throughout the world—many being in the United States—this Waterloo was the real thing and we looked forward to being in such a historic place. The town boasted a monument and a museum we hoped to get to next week. In addition to being full of history, the town of Waterloo was full of Americans. Wanda told us for some unknown reason Americans all seemed to gravitate to this town south of Brussels and it was appropriately known as the American ghetto.

  “I think we need to go left,” John said, entering the street circling the Bois.

  “What does that sign mean?” Michael pointed to a large sign just as we entered the park.

  Sam u
nfolded a large map. “I’m looking.” John had turned left and gingerly made his way around the road. “Here it is. It means ‘Do not enter.’”

  “Holy shit!” shouted Michael as a Fiat barreled down on us, blaring its horn. “We’re going the wrong way! Turn around!”

  Several more cars rounded the curve and I screamed. John pulled over to the curb as fast as he could and waited for the cars to pass. Each driver passing us blew its horn and made a few gestures; some recognizable by us frightened Americans huddled in the car. As soon as the road cleared, John made a U-turn on the wide street and headed in the correct direction. “Is everyone all right?” he asked, glancing into the rearview mirror. “Sorry about that. I should have studied the map and signs better before going.”

  “We’re fine. Let’s not panic.” Sam wiped sweat from her forehead with the sleeve of her sweatshirt. “Obviously, this is a one-way road. According to the map, it circles around and on the other side we should see a sign for Waterloo.”

  Sure enough we found the sign and John followed it. With help from Sam navigating from the back, we arrived at the Westlake home about thirty minutes later.

  Chapter 4

  “You made it!” Bill Westlake came around the house from the backyard. “Welcome!”

  “Are we the first to arrive?” John asked.

  “Yes. I asked you to come a little early. I thought we could visit a bit. I’ve got to go to Switzerland next week but I wanted to spend more time with you than I’ve been able to.”

  “John told us you work for a financial institution,” Michael said, making it sound more like a question.

  “Yes, that’s right though I own the place. Along with my partner. The company’s called Custom Financial Planning, and it’s exactly as it sounds. There are several offices all over the world, though each one is totally independent from the others, kind of like a franchise format, and we usually tend to work with the ex-pat community, though we count many Belgians as clients here.” Bill ran his big hand through his beard. “So, how are you getting on? Having a good time?”

  “A great time. We love the Grand Place,” I said. “Actually, we love everything we’ve seen and eaten.”

  “Everyone does.” Wanda came back into the yard carrying a tray with an assortment of munchies. “It’s probably the most beautiful square in Europe. Oh, there are others that are quite lovely, but nothing as spectacular as the Grand Place. We’ll have to go back as soon as all the equipment from the festival is gone.”

  “That pageant,” sighed Sam. “It was spectacular even if we didn’t have tickets for seats. What’s it called again?”

  “Ommegang.”

  “Well, whatever it’s called, it was wonderful,” John said. “We don’t get to see medieval stuff like that in the States. Too bad you couldn’t make it, Bill.”

  “Had to work.” Bill showed everyone to a table where he had set up a makeshift bar. “We’ve got red and white wine, Coke, orange and apple juice, and of course, beer. Have you been sampling the local ale?”

  “Are you kidding?” Michael said. “Last night after dinner we went to this place café with at least a hundred different kinds. Took us over fifteen minutes to decide.”

  “I had some kind of raspberry beer, a Framboise, I think it was called,” I said. “It was divine.”

  “We’ve got some here. Do you want one?”

  “No, thanks. Not yet. I think I’ll start with some juice for now.” I took a glass of orange juice and Sam took a glass of apple putting several ice cubes into her glass. The men each chose a beer that Bill poured into special glasses explaining each beer had its own glass.

  I excused myself to go look for the bathroom. The drive through the Bois in the wrong direction seemed to be playing havoc with my stomach. A wrong turn out of the kitchen took me into a vast living room. It was larger than the living and dining rooms put together of my house in Indian Cove.

  A large sectional sofa dominated the center of the room. It looked soft and comfortable. And expensive. Under the sofa was a rug of equally expensive taste. Where the rug ended, a tile floor was exposed. I recognized the design from something I had seen in a store in New Haven.

  On the far side of the room, the wall was covered from floor to ceiling with bookshelves and a very nice sound system. There were several lamps scattered about along with some wonderful watercolors adorning the walls. Wanda must have picked them up on her travels judging from the scenes. I would have to ask.

  I turned and went to find the bathroom before returning outside.

  “There you are, Alex. Did John ever tell you back in our university days, he was known as chug-a-lug?”

  “No. He seems to have omitted that tidbit from his autobiography. Do tell.”

  “Nothing much to tell except he never, ever did anything on a Sunday. He’d drink so much on Saturday night everyone knew better than to try and wake him before six or seven at night on Sunday.” Bill poured himself a large coke.

  “Hey! I wasn’t that bad. Besides, nothing I could do could ever compare to your college exploits.”

  “Let’s not get into it. We don’t want to bore our guests. I’m sorry to say he hasn’t changed much.” Wanda winked at her husband.

  “Well, I am glad to report John’s weekend binges are one habit he has outgrown,” I said. “Now he spends his Saturdays and Sundays working on the house. Though I’m glad to report it’s just about finished.”

  Wanda said, “He told me all about it on Thursday and it sounds wonderful. You’re very lucky, Alex, to be moving into such a nice place right after your wedding. Bill and I lived in a one-room apartment for about a year. And look at his size. It’s not a good thing to keep a man of Bill’s proportions cramped into a small space for too long, let me tell you.” Wanda gave Bill another wink.

  “Where are your children?” Sam asked. “You have a boy and a girl, correct?”

  “That’s right. They’re in the U.S. for the summer. You probably passed them somewhere over the Atlantic.” Wanda laughed at her own joke and continued, “They’re staying with my parents in Ohio. Bill and I will probably go back at the end of July.”

  “Do you like being an ex-pat?” I asked, thinking I would miss my family too much.

  “You get used to it. The perks are great. When Bill worked for others, we got a lot of extras like the kids’ schooling costs and annual trips back to the States. It’s a little harder now that he owns his own business, but things are going extremely well.”

  I looked at the size of the house and the large yard. Things must indeed be going extremely well.

  Wanda continued, “We’ve lived in Germany and France and now here. I think after Belgium, we’ll go back to the U.S.”

  “The financial firm we associate with is opening a new office in New Jersey, so we might go there in a few years. In another few years I should be able to sell out at a good profit,” Bill said. “New Jersey’s not Ohio, but it’s closer than this, right, honey?”

  Bill looked at Wanda and I suspected even with all the obvious advantages, the large house and yard for one, it hadn’t always been easy on Wanda adjusting to new countries, different languages, and cultures. It was probably easier on the man going off to work everyday while the woman had to contend with schools, shopping in a different language, and doctors and dentists; all the things that would be easy in your own town.

  As if reading my mind, Michael asked Wanda what the local dental care was like.

  “Well, it’s not as advanced as dentistry is in the U.S., but I’ve been lucky to find a wonderful English dentist. She’s great and the kids really like her. I’ve invited her today so she might be here. I tried a Belgian dentist when we first arrived, but I just wasn’t happy with him. He wasn’t big on promoting flossing or preventive care.”

  Michael looked aghast at the notion there were still innocent people out there unequipped with a box of waxy string.

  Hoping to change the subject before Michael took up the cause,
I quickly asked, “Will there be a lot of people here today?”

  “If everybody shows up. We’ve invited several people who work with Bill. And I’ve invited a few women from my club.”

  “Club?” Sam asked.

  “The American Women’s Overseas Lobby. Better known as AWOL. It’s a great organization. They have lots of activities and they do charity work. It’s been a lifesaver. All these years away from home would have been a horrendous time without the support of other women in the same position.”

  “Why is it called ‘lobby’?” I asked.

  “It really shouldn’t be anymore, but years back it was a sort of lobby working to get rights for the ex-pat families like absentee voting, that sort of thing. Now we have an organization within the club handling all of that. It’s called Federation of Overseas Women’s Lobbies, FOWL for short. I used to be a FOWL for the AWOL, but it was too time consuming so I had to give it up. Now I do a lot at APSOB.”

  “Ap sob?” I asked wondering about all these acronyms.

  “American Preparatory School of Brussels. Between APSOB and AWOL, I keep pretty busy.” Wanda smiled, showing her protruding teeth once again.

  “This is all so professional sounding. Like a business,” Sam said, clearly in awe of a women’s club having such power.

  “Yes, it is. It has certainly kept me busy all these years plus it’s a lot of fun and a great way to make friends,” Wanda said.

  “Are all the guests today Americans?” John wanted to know.

  Wanda took a sip of her drink and then answered, “Not at all. Let’s see. We have a Dutch couple coming. Then there’s the office secretary, Martine, and her husband, Paul. She’s Belgian and he’s half French half American. We have the Parmelees. Doug Parmelee is the other partner at the Belgian office, and his wife, Donna. She’s a friend from the club. Both are Americans. There’s also another Belgian couple coming and the Tillingsworths who are English, and of course our dentist, Susan Dilworth. Then there’s Tom and Jobeth Mulberry, another American couple. Jobeth is another club member and Tom is the pastor at the Christian Center for Renewed Hope.”