Listen to Your Heart - Fern Michaels [45]
The ride uptown to his apartment was uneventful. Paul spent the forty minutes thinking about all the decisions he’d made during the last ten days. He hoped he was doing the right thing. Maybe the mugging in the park had been a good thing in a cockamamie kind of way. It made him reassess his life to date and to plan what he was going to do with his future. “Life is just too damn short,” he mumbled. His shoulders these past ten days were lighter, so light at times that he felt giddy with relief. “I should have done this years ago.”
“Six bucks, mister,” the cab driver said.
Ten minutes later, Paul was writing out a check to one Hilda Klausner, a broad smile on his face. At the last second he pulled a crisp fifty dollar bill from the stash he kept in a drawer in his study and handed it to the weary nurse’s aide who had accompanied him home. “Buy something special for yourself,” he said kindly. For the first time he really noticed her rough red hands and the tired slump to her shoulders. If he remembered correctly, one of the candy stripers had said Hilda was a single mother with three children. “Ooops, hold on, Mrs. Klausner. I meant to give you this.” He took back the fifty dollar bill and pulled out three one hundred dollar bills. “I also want to apologize if I was too cranky during your stay. I’ve never been confined like this before. Thank you for your excellent care.”
The nurse’s aide looked at the three one hundred dollar bills, her eyes filling with tears. Her large thick arms reached out and before Paul knew what was happening, he was engulfed and crushed to her ample bosom. “Your mother must be very proud of you, Mr. Brouillette. She raised a good son. If you need me for anything, here’s my phone number. Take care of yourself, don’t overdo it, and if you get tired, rest. Go easy on the caffeine and get a good night’s sleep. I’ll remember you in my prayers. Good-bye.”
Paul sighed when the door closed behind Hilda. He almost missed her. He sniffed the stale air in the apartment. He decided he preferred perfume—Josie Dupré’s perfume.
Drink in hand, settled in his recliner, Paul reached for the phone. The first number he dialed was Josie’s. He frowned when the recording came on. He spoke briefly, inviting her to dinner the following evening. The second call was to Jack’s private number. Again he heard a recording. He left a second message, wondering if it was remotely possible that Jack and Josie were together somewhere. His third call was to the airlines, and he booked his flight for noon of the following day. His next call was to the private detective, and he arranged a meeting for the middle of the week. The final call was to André Hoffauir, inviting him to dinner. “I want to see you, André. I’ll order Chinese and some of the dark beer you like. We’ll be working late, so don’t make any plans for later on. I’ll be leaving tomorrow for home. I want everything settled when you leave here tonight. I’ll see you at seven.”
Paul spent the next