Passport to Murder Page 4

  I nodded my head in the direction of the woman with cropped hair. “Hey, do you know who that is?”

  “That’s Dr. Judith Spade. She’s a physician. An absolutely brilliant woman,” he added. “She works in the School of Medicine, teaching our student doctors.”

  I immediately recognized the name, just not the face. Judith Spade had won more awards on campus than I could count; her work had received national and international accolades. When I first came to campus, she won some big award to research at Lancaster University in England. I wondered what brought her to Paris. Perhaps the opportunity to travel internationally again.

  The bus door shut, and I settled in with my book, A Moveable Feast. It was the only Parisian guidebook I needed as far as Lenny was concerned. Despite the other two guides in my canvas tote, I could see his point. There was one line in the book that I kept coming back to: “Never go on trips with anyone you do not love.” No matter how many pages I turned, I couldn’t get past Hemingway’s warning. It needled me like a guest I had forgotten to invite. I paused, looking around the bus at the perfectly amiable faces that surrounded me. I wouldn’t say I loved them (well, I was starting to fall for Arnold Frasier’s ponytail), but altogether, it was a pretty good group. I didn’t see anything wrong with going on a trip with people I barely knew. Obviously Hemingway had never been on spring break.

  Chapter Four

  The Minneapolis International airport was equipped with all the things you’d expect to find in a sizable airport: walkways, restaurants, bookstores, a tram, even a shoe shiner. As our group waited near gate 40C, I was surprised, as I always was when I traveled, at how many people inhabited this city within a city. They all looked like professionals with important trips about to begin that would end in new contracts or business or an offshore facility. I, on the other hand, only hoped my wait would end with a Bloody Mary because (as old-fashioned as it sounded) I was afraid to fly. The moment we got through security, I sidled up to the bar nearest our gate with the good-looking Arnold Frasier and downed my first drink faster than you can say thirty thousand feet.

  André joined us at the u-shaped bar and ordered. “I see you prefer the cocktail in the afternoon?” The waitress filled his glass with red wine, and he examined it carefully, perhaps wondering about its origin. He tended to believe any wine other than French was a great disappointment.

  “I prefer something eighty proof or higher before I board a plane,” I said, taking a large bite of the celery protruding from my glass.

  André chuckled. “Em Prather, you surprise me. It is not normal for you to be afraid.”

  “They say people who cannot relinquish control are afraid to fly,” said Arnold.

  His ponytail suddenly appeared less attractive. “I have no problem relinquishing control—just not as I am freefalling through the sky.”

  Arnold laughed. “If that’s your notion of flying, maybe you should consider a shot of something stronger.”

  The idea wasn’t completely without appeal. Still, I couldn’t imagine taking a shot with students looking on. I could guess how the news would spread through campus when we returned, and while it probably would enhance my enrollment rates, it would make for awkward conversation at faculty meetings. “I think this’ll do.”

  Molly, Bennett, and Nick joined our group, squeezing in beside André. Nick and Molly ordered drinks.

  “Congratulations on your invitation to the Sorbonne,” said André. “I was glad to recommend you to Dr. Aris, my former mentor. When I told him you knew organic land practices well, he was happy to schedule a lecture.”

  Molly dismissed his compliment. “I doubt they’ll be too pleased with what I have to say.”

  André looked confused. “What do you mean? You are an expert on land conservation, are you not?”

  “My expertise is environmental studies, yes. I received a grant to research the environmental history of the Great Plains two years ago, so I would say my work qualifies me as an expert. But that doesn’t mean I’m going to tell them what they want to hear, that organic is the solution to all our problems.”

  “The Sorbonne is among the world’s best universities,” André said with pride. “When one speaks there, people listen. You must take care with your words. Dr. Aris is a close friend.”

  Molly took her glass of white wine from the bartender but remained standing, there being no open seats. The students stood nearby also, leaning against phone chargers and tables. “I’ll say what I want to say; you know me. I won’t kowtow to an institution no matter what its reputation. People tend to overrate universities based on their names, I’ve found. I’ve visited some outstanding institutions, none of which are known by name.”

  Bennett and Nick nodded in agreement, but André was visibly offended. He had been in Copper Bluff for five years, and was known for his Gallic temper. But he should have also been known for his intellect. He was as smart as he was passionate, and his knowledge of linguistics was impeccable. He taught the upper-level graduate classes in the Linguistics Department that few dared to take on.

  “I think any American would be humbled by the prospect of speaking at the Sorbonne.” The way he said American made us all take note. It was not complimentary.

  “Don’t be insulted, André. I didn’t mean my words to be taken personally.” Molly wagged her finger at him. “You need to guard yourself against ethnocentrism. It’s a bad habit of yours. I’ve warned you about it before.”

  She continued in this vein for several minutes, and I tuned her out. Molly could easily turn any of her statements of opinion into a lecture, and it was often difficult to get her to stop. By the time she finished, André had silently finished his wine, and three seats had opened up on the other side of the bar. They took their half-finished drinks and left, waving to us across the counter.

  “That woman,” André ground out, “I wish she was not speaking at the Sorbonne. But who was the first one to trot out her CV? She was. She excels at self-promotion.”

  I nodded sympathetically.

  Arnold stifled a laugh. “She wouldn’t be where she is without a little PR.”

  “One day Molly is going to offend the wrong person and find herself in trouble,” said André.

  I didn’t respond. I knew he was upset, and the longer he spoke on a subject, the angrier he would become. I thought it best not to draw any more attention to the argument. Already the students were looking in our direction.

  Without my reply, our discussion dissipated into distracted thought, and I focused on the bar’s fake waterfall: little silver beads moving down a clear plastic wall. I supposed this was the airport’s way of calming passengers who sought out liquid medication before flying. I tried to relax but became aware of a woman staring at me from across the bar. Her blue eyes were piercing and intense. I tried to ignore her by stirring my drink. It didn’t work.

  I glanced up uneasily. Why was she looking at me that way? She was too old to be a student of mine, so that explanation didn’t suffice. Her red hair was like straw, drawn back into a short ponytail with frayed ends. Her face was thin, and her pointy cheekbones stretched the skin. She was a woman on a mission. How it involved me, I couldn’t say.

  A man approached the microphone at our gate and announced that the boarding would begin with first-class passengers and passengers who needed extra assistance. We slid from our seats, and the students standing next to the bar put away their phones. The red-haired woman stood up. Was she on our flight?

  Our group of thirteen congregated near the wall of flight schedules scrolling across the screens, waiting for our section to be called. Because we were positioned in the middle of the plane, it would be several minutes, so I reorganized the books and magazines in my canvas tote from largest to smallest, then A to Z. It helped keep my mind off my fear of flying and the worry that our group was jinxed because it numbered thirteen.

  Finally, it was time for our section to board, and Olivia and Meg laughed as they extended the handl
es of their bulging carry-ons, bumping into one and all as they made their way down the concourse. I slung my bag over my shoulder and stood single file with the others, André behind me, and Molly and Bennett Jaspers ahead of me.

  “Is this your first time traveling internationally?” asked Bennett.

  Did the death grip on my tote reveal that much? “It is,” I answered. “You?”

  He smiled. “No. I travel overseas quite frequently for work. These flights are a breeze. You fly so high you rarely experience turbulence.”

  I wondered if this was supposed to make me feel better.

  Molly squeezed his large shoulders. He was a good deal taller than Molly, who like me, was petite. “Bennett’s a businessman.”

  “Actually, I’m an electrical engineer. I graduated from the South Dakota School of Mines. But Molly’s right. We own our own business now. Our company makes electrical equipment.”

  “Bennett’s being kind; it’s his business. I don’t know a thing about it. I just use his frequent flyer miles,” added Molly with a laugh.

  “They come in handy when you have a wife who travels as much as mine does,” said Bennett.

  She cocked her head to one side, her pretty curls falling over her shoulder. “I was able to use some of his miles on my trip to New Mexico last summer with Nick Dramsdor and an extraordinary group of students, including Amanda,” she said, motioning to the back of the line.

  Bennett turned to me. “Molly’s work in New Mexico earned her national recognition and the Roelker Mentorship Award.”

  “I seem to remember that,” I said, although I had no idea what awards she had won or even how Nick’s work connected to Molly’s. Still, Bennett’s admiration for her was heartwarming, and I felt a pang of jealousy spring up from a place I didn’t recognize. It would be wonderful to have someone gush over you like that.

  “I am so proud of her,” he said.

  Molly looped her arm through his. “Come on, Bennett. The last thing Emmeline wants to hear is a colleague’s husband bragging up his wife!”

  “I don’t mind at all,” I said, but Molly was already pulling him down the jet bridge. I glanced behind me and noticed Kat’s friend, Amanda, standing behind Judith Spade, the medical doctor. Amanda was talking to someone, but I couldn’t see whom. She shook her head and turned, pointing in my direction, and I saw she was talking to the woman with red hair.

  I reluctantly proceeded down the jet bridge, wishing I could linger behind to see what they were discussing, since it appeared to concern me. I would have liked to know why the red-haired woman was singling me out.

  “Welcome aboard!” exclaimed a cheerful flight attendant in a blue suit and matching blue scarf.

  I smiled, carefully stepping off the jet bridge and onto the plane. I told myself, See, the attendant is happy to be flying. Then I added, She’s also getting paid. At least she had some compensation for traveling at six hundred miles per hour. I followed Bennett all the way to Row L, where he stopped.

  “This is us,” he said, shoving his carry-on into an overhead bin.

  We were in a good location in the row immediately following the bathrooms, coffee maker, and snack cart. If I had to move from my seat, which I hoped I didn’t, I wouldn’t have far to go.

  The row extended three seats on the right, five seats in the middle, and three seats on the left. André, Amanda, Kat, and I were assigned the middle seats while Molly, Bennett, and Nick were assigned the ones on the right. Judith Spade and Arnold Frasier were behind them. Olivia and Meg, adjusting their matching neck pillows, were seated at the left. Trapped between them sat the tall boy, Jace, who seemed to be enjoying himself. The other boy, Aaron, was stuck in a seat in front of them next to a stranger, an older woman, and had to turn around to talk.

  I buckled my belt tightly across my waist. I wished others would do the same because their movement made me anxious, but they continued shoving things in and out of the overhead bins right up until takeoff. The lady to the right of me was working on a PowerPoint despite our impending departure.

  Amanda wore fashionable ear buds, ready for takeoff, so I reached across the woman’s laptop next to me and tapped her arm to get her attention. I wanted to ask her about the red-haired woman.

  “Hey,” I said.

  Amanda took off one ear bud. Kat leaned in, her hazel eyes flickering with anticipation.

  “Amanda, by the way, who was that red-haired lady you were talking to a few minutes ago?”

  She shook her head. “I don’t know her. She thought you were Dr. Jaspers, but I told her you weren’t.”

  Kat nodded. “I told her you were my creative writing teacher.”

  “Why was she asking about Molly Jaspers?” I said.

  Kat shrugged. “I have no idea. I had to point out who she was.” She put her ear bud back in, and I had to assume she and the woman hadn’t discussed anything else. PowerPoint looked at me as if to say, Get a clue.

  “I hope you’re aware that your laptop will need to be stowed during takeoff,” I said.

  She didn’t respond.

  The plane began taxiing down the runway, bumping along over the cracks and crevices, until it came to a complete halt, third in line for takeoff. As the plane raced down the airstrip and lifted off the ground, I grabbed the first thing within reach, which happened to be André’s knee. He patted my hand, and I composed myself, glad for a friend nearby.

  A short time later, the captain’s voice came on, stating that we had reached our cruising altitude. He sounded too young to be out after midnight, let alone fly us overseas. PowerPoint wasted no time pulling out her computer, and the attendants wasted no time pulling out the drink cart—thank god. We were positioned in the middle of the plane, which meant, despite our unexceptional location, we would be the first ones served from this area. People stood up to use the restroom, grab something from the overhead bin, or simply stretch their limbs.

  The plane was abuzz with activity. Molly and Bennett, a stunning couple by any definition, were waiting in line to use the bathroom. Caught up in the excitement and romance of the prospect of Paris, they exchanged a kiss.

  I let out a deep breath. I wished I had someone special to share this moment with. I glanced to my left. Of course there was André; I had to admit I was attracted to him. But my feelings were caught up with my interest in French culture, and I had a hard time untangling one from the other. Lenny, on the other hand, was incredibly special to me. I felt closer to him than any man I had dated, yet we were just friends. My dating history was less stellar than my curriculum vitae, and Lenny’s could accurately be described as slipshod. In fact, we often commiserated about our bad dating luck. Still, neither one of us was too concerned that one day we might end up like some of the lonely old professors who taught at the university. I was twenty-eight, and he was thirty; middle age and marriage appeared as far away to us as Paris did right now.

  By the time the attendant took drink orders and handed out peanuts and pretzels, most of our group were settling in to movies or games or other electronics that would keep us occupied for the next nine hours. But someone in the group was arguing. I looked past André toward the window seats and noticed it was Bennett Jaspers. He sounded disgusted.

  “I was assured that this would be a peanut-free flight,” he was saying. For the first time, I could detect the shrewd businessman in his voice. When he and Molly worked as a team, they had to be invincible. “I spoke with a manager at your company, who said that no peanuts would be distributed during the flight. My wife is deathly allergic to peanuts!”

  Cutting off his protest, Molly told him she would be fine. “Don’t waste your breath, Bennett. I’ve learned to deal with people’s failings my entire life.”

  The attendant kept her cool, smiling and speaking in hushed tones. “There’s no reason to raise your voice, sir. We could move her to a peanut-free zone if she’d feel safer.”

  “As if I’d put my trust in strangers,” said Molly. “I’m safer
around friends than anywhere else.”

  Bennett began to object, but Molly whispered something in his ear that placated him. He crossed his arms. “I will be contacting the airlines when we land. I promise you that.”

  The attendant moved on, and I was thankful. Any disturbance increased my unease. I had ordered vodka and a can of Bloody Mary juice, and now I surreptitiously nibbled on my small bag of peanuts, not wanting to draw attention to my selection. I turned to André and whispered, “Did you inform the airline of her allergy?”

  He ran his fingers nervously through his hair. “HR did not send me the health forms until after I made the flight arrangements. When I received them, I contacted Molly to ask her what accommodations she would need for restaurants and such. She asked for the flight information at that time and said she would take care of contacting them. I gave it no more thought.”

  “I wouldn’t worry then,” I said. “It sounds like Bennett was two steps ahead of you.”

  “Yes. I’m glad it was him and not me who had to contend with the noncompliance.”

  André went to take a sip of red wine, and his plastic wine glass dipped as we hit a rough patch of air. Instinctively, I reached for his arm, and he patted my hand.

  “Use your imagination to distract yourself from the flight,” André said. “Think of all the beautiful stops on our itinerary: The Louvre, Notre Dame, the Palais Garnier.”

  “I will try. It should be good for something,” I muttered. God knows my imagination had gotten me into enough tangles over the years, psychological and otherwise.

  “The imagination is never a bad thing,” André said. He pointed to the book on my lap, a paperback crime novel set in Paris. “Look at your writers. They must have a lot of imagination to think of such things.”

  I thumbed through the book, finding my dog-eared page. “I can’t wait to see how the real Paris measures up to what I’ve read.”