A Murder Misstery Grounded
 © 2008 by Nom de Plume

For those who came in late, Matt McCoy — now Madeline Moreau — is on the run for a crime he did not commit, and a murder which she did….as the saga concludes, Maddy bids her mother adieu and confronts her future.

I was awakened a few minutes before landing by someone tugging on my blanket. “Strap yourself in, Maddy,” Mom said urgently. “We’re almost down.”
I sat up with a start, and after a glance out my window at gray roofs peeking through leaden skies, I fastened my seatbelt and tried to do something with my compact, lipstick and brush. We landed with a bounce, and before we stopped taxiing, I unstrapped myself and raced into the lavatory to complete the repairs to my hair and makeup and relieve my aching bladder.
Squatting over the miniature toilet once again, it was hard to believe that a few hours earlier, I’d given it up to a total stranger in the same cramped compartment. What in the world was I coming to? With a sigh, I struggled back into my hose and panties, and by the time I brushed my teeth with the amenities provided on the airplane, Mom was waiting patiently at the door.
I apologized for taking so long. “That’s the downside of having a daughter,” she said with a wink. She gently untwisted and smoothed down my skirt before she took her turn in the lavatory.
Rick was sauntering down the aisle by the time I got back to my seat. He looked very pleased with himself, which only made me feel cheap and bitchy. “I hope you enjoyed your flight,” he said with a smirk.
“Oh yes,” I said with a forced smile. “Last night was a first for me.”
“I’ll bet. Welcome to the Mile High Club.”
“And welcome to the Bi High Club,” I replied.
“Huh?”
“I used to be a man,” I whispered in Matt’s old voice.
The blood raced from Rick’s face, and he almost bowled Mom over on his way to the rear of the plane. We could both hear him retching violently as we gathered up our purses and hunted for our shoes. “How unusual,” Mom observed. “I didn’t know pilots got airsick.” I shrugged with feigned disinterest as I stepped into my heels and followed her off the plane, down the stairs and into the cold French morning.
The gloomy weather brought back bittersweet memories of my first trip to Paris, a lifetime ago. Would that desperate young man on the run even recognize the wealthy woman he had become? At least she used to be wealthy! I was pondering this as we hurried across the tarmac into a well-appointed lounge to wait for our suitcases. After a cursory inspection of our passports by an unctuous civil servant, I was surprised when Mom handed me an envelope and told me to sit down.
“What’s going on?” I asked her.
“I’m leaving you now,” she said. Before I could protest, she pressed on. “I love you with all my heart, even more as a daughter than as a son, but a young woman should have space to spread her wings, and the last thing she needs is her mother looking over her shoulder. In that envelope you will find the number and password for an account I’ve opened for you at a bank in Geneva. It’s for the same amount of money that you donated to those fraud victims in Chicago.”
“I don’t understand…why are you doing this?”
“Your life is here now, and a private jet was the best way to get you through customs and immigration. I’m sorry I led you on about wanting to live in France, but it was the only way I could think of to get you on that plane.”
“But what are you going to do?”
“I’m booked in first class on a flight back to Chicago this afternoon. Your life may be here, but my life is there, and I could never abandon your brothers or my grandchildren. I hope you’ll let me visit you again soon, and often…April in Paris?” she asked as she got up to go.
Tears were streaming down our faces as we hugged each other. “Mom, I get all that, but why do you have to leave so soon?”
“I think it’s best that I return to Chicago before your friends in the FBI discover I’m gone and get suspicious.”
I hadn’t thought about that, and I knew she was right. “Thanks for the money,” I stammered.
“I’m only giving you what’s rightfully yours. Now that I have the daughter I always wanted, I only wish I could take her shopping for dresses again,” she said with a wry smile. “At least now you know your deep, dark secret, and I hope you’ll find it in your heart to forgive me.”
I hugged her again. “I love being your daughter, Mom. I just wish we didn’t have to say goodbye.”
“Don’t worry, I’ve become quite the computer expert in my old age, and I’ll send you an email with an address you can use without worrying about anyone tracing us. You’ll have to tell me how it goes with Jacques. After the spectacle you made of yourself with your flyboy last night, I’m warming up to him.” Before I could sputter a denial, she said, “A mother has eyes in the back of her head. Someday, if you become one, you’ll know what I mean.” And with that, she kissed me on the cheek, nodded to her waiting chauffeur, and was gone.
I felt terribly alone as I watched them drive away. Of course, I knew my mother was right. My world was here now, and I had my whole life ahead of me. The immediate question was whether I’d be able to reclaim my place in Jacques’ life, and without hesitation I retrieved my Paris cell phone from my luggage and placed a call to his office. His officious secretary put me through to him at once.
“Madeline, where are you?”
“In Paris.”
“I see.”
“Jacques, I’ve behaved terribly and I wanted you to know that I’ll never forgive myself.” No response. “If you haven’t already cleared my things out of the apartment, I can do it this afternoon,” I said despondently.
“That won’t be necessary, cheri. Your things are just as you left them. Why don’t you go back to the apartment, take a nice warm bath, and put on your prettiest dress for lunch at Le Relais.”
I couldn’t believe my ears. “Really? Oh Jacques, I have so much to tell you! You won’t believe what I learned about myself….”
“As I’ve said many times, you never cease to surprise and delight me. I’ll clear my schedule for the afternoon.”

By the author of The Jessica Project http://snurl.com/thejessicaproject