25-07-2026, 03:26 PM
“Oh yeah, she died 20 years ago and you never re-married. Have you even been serious about another woman? Talk about being hung up on somebody.”
“I was raised in a little town near Marseilles,” she told me. “Just the smell of paella de marisco gets my mouth watering.”
“They serve a good seafood paella here. And I love their Sangria. I’ll order a pitcher of the real stuff and a couple of glasses of virgin for me because I can’t afford any tickets for drunk driving.”
She leaned into me and said, “Are you trying to get me drunk?” “Well, it wouldn’t be a bad idea.”
“Why? You’re going to get lucky whether I’m drunk or sober.” “I love easy women.”
“Don’t get me started sailor, or I’ll turn us around and take advantage of you in your car in this parking lot, Unless you can find a spot on the Beach.”
I looked at her. She was dressed in a blue skirt and a gold v-necked top that showed the curves of her breasts but not much more. She was slender and casual and I wondered for the thousandth time how in the hell I’d wound up with her. It was only luck and chance that led me to Debbie’s bed, and again it was only the wildest coincidence that led Aline to me.
I don’t know if somebody up there likes me, or hates me with a passion.
We ate two plates of paella and it was as good as I remembered it. It had been a couple of years since I’d been here. As usual, Debbie had insisted on the paella with chicken and pork. For an intelligent woman, she was as traditional in her tastes and unwilling to experiment as any Southern mom whose tastes were limited to pork, chicken and mashed potatoes.
Or maybe our differing culinary tastes were just another indication of the chasm that had been growing between us that finally led to our divorce.
Aline polished off at least a half a pitcher of hard Sangria and was laughing and clinging to me as we walked out the door. It was nearly 9:30 p.m. and I figured we’d just head back to the condo and try to find at least one room we hadn’t already christened. We’d done the bathroom, the tiny living room, the kitchen/dining room. Come to think of it, there wasn’t any place else to christen.
As we walked across the small parking lot to where my Escalade was parked, her cell phone began to trill the “Marseillaise”, the French national anthem. We both stopped and looked at it at the same time. I didn’t have to look at the number. She hadn’t received a call since she’d gotten to Jacksonville. I didn’t know of anyone, other than the obvious suspect, who would be calling her.
She gave me a look and punched the button to answer the call. At least she didn’t turn away from me to talk to him.
There was a rapid stream of French that I could barely follow. All I knew was she had said “hello” in French. Philippe of course sounded the same in any language. There were questions and she responded in rapid French. There was a smile that broke my heart and more French. Then a pregnant pause and “Jacksonville” and “Bill Maitland.”
The conversation proceeded for a little while and then she handed me the phone.
As she did so she mouthed the words, “He knows.” I didn’t know how much he knew, so I assumed he simply knew that Aline was vacationing in Jacksonville and I was showing her around. It had been stupid to assume he didn’t keep some kind of eye on where and what his wife did. That was the way I’d play it.
“Hello, my friend.”
“Hello, Philippe. How have you been?”
“You know how it goes,” he said in almost perfectly unaccented English. “Evil never rests. Of course, the Angel of Death must be aware of the depths to which men can sink.”
“I’m famous over there?”
He laughed, that deep rich chuckle that reminded me of the nights we had gone drinking and he had flirted with three or four women, at least a couple of whom I had no doubt he’d be banging after he left me.
“You’re famous everywhere, Bill. With the Internet, anything is possible. I’ve read of the ‘Killer Granny’ case. That was a bold stroke on your part. I would have bet against your winning. But, I thought when you were here with us that you are a man it’s not safe to bet against.”
“It’s all PR Philippe. Just a matter of luck and timing. I’m the same guy I was when I was a grunt prosecutor hitting the dives with you and your Gendarme friends.”
He laughed again.
“We had some good times. I am sorry our paths never crossed again.”
“So am I, Philippe. I appreciated your sending me the followup. It took you a solid year, but you did nail those bastards. Too bad that the head man chose to shoot it out rather than face trial.”
“It was actually rather fortunate. You and I both know it would have been hard to get a conviction. There were too many layers between him and the slavers. He saved the state a great amount by taking a bullet to the brain rather than wasting the time of many good men and women.”
I had no doubt then and I had no doubt now that the rich man who profited off the sale and use of '. teenage girls hadn’t put a bullet into his brain voluntarily. Philippe had never admitted in his file which he’d emailed me that he had had the man murdered, but he made it clear when you read between the lines.
And I knew from hints that cops and thugs both dropped in Parisian dives that, like me, Philippe was owed favors by some of the worst of the worst, and I had the feeling that he had called in at least some of those favors over the years.
“When Aline decided to wait until I brought Andre back to Paris, I had assumed she would stay with the Bonne Chance or stay in Miami,” he continued in a friendly voice. “But friends told me she had left the ship. Imagine my surprise when I learned she was staying in Jacksonville, the stomping grounds of my old American friend.”
I didn’t say anything.
“I haven’t been keeping up on your activities,, but when I learned that Aline was in Jacksonville I thought of you and made some calls. I learned of your—troubles. I was very sorry to hear about the end of your marriage. I remember the photo you showed me of your Debbie. A very beautiful woman.”
I didn’t say anything.
“I know that you loved her very much. It was evident in every conversation we had about your life in America. You remember that second night we went to that bar near the Seine? Lilly, the bartender, was taken with you. She was always strange for Americans. Must be the accent. She practically threw herself under you, but you never took the bait.”
He laughed that laugh again.
“She was very upset with you when I talked to her later that morning. You hurt her feelings. I explained to her that you loved your wife and Americans take a different view of recreational sex than we French. You have a—stricter—view than most French.”
“I was in a bad place when I met Aline, Philippe. If she didn’t tell you, I was close to being suicidal. Debbie tore my heart and my balls out when she left me. My time on the Bonne Chance and Aline’s friendship helped me take my life back. I can never express my gratitude to her. You are a luckier man than you know to have her in your life.”
“I know I am, my friend. It never hurts to be reminded though. A married man sometimes forgets what he has, until he sees it through someone else’s eyes. She is very fond of you, you know.”
“I hope so.”
“No, truly. When I asked her just now, she told me of how you had met on the Bonne Chance and that you had volunteered to show her around your city.
She said you have been very gracious with your time, taking her to restaurants and seeing that she has not been bored. I would have expected no less of you, my friend, but I am grateful.”
“It’s been my pleasure, Philippe. I can honestly say I’ve enjoyed every minute I’ve spent with her. And since my divorce, I have the time to show her my home town.”
“You have my thanks, Bill. When you’re separated as much as we are by our professions, you can worry. It can be hard to keep a marriage alive. When she is with you, I can rest assured that she is safe. And that you would not do anything to jeopardize our friendship because you are not that kind of man.”
“You know I consider you a friend, Philippe. And I would treat your marriage with the same honor and fidelity that I know you have shown it.”
This time there was a long silence on his end of the line. Finally he said, “I will be back in Paris with our son in a week’s time, Bill. I am looking forward to Aline’s return. I have missed her, in my life and in my bed.
“I only hope that someday in the near future you can come visit us in Paris. You have never seen the two of us together. I don’t know if we have a marriage to equal the one you had with your Debbie, but I would like to show you what our marriage is like, what we are like together.”
“I hope you have a better marriage than Debbie and I had, and I hope yours lasts longer than ours.”
“Can I speak to Aline again, Bill? I wish you good fortune if we do not speak again.”
“And you also, Philippe. Here she is.” I handed the phone back to her
Her face was white in the moonlight as she brought the phone to her ear. I heard the whisper of voices in the darkness and then she said, “Andre...”
Her face was lit with a smile as tears rolled down her face. Finally she said, “Je t’aimerai toujours, Andre.”
The tears stopped as she spoke for a little while longer to Philippe and finally, “’Je T’aime. Au revoir.”
As she clicked off the hand holding the phone dropped to her side. She looked across A1A toward the sound of the rolling surf and swayed. I stepped in behind her and put my arms around her. I could feel the silent sobs she fought to hold in. I didn’t say anything because I didn’t know what I could say.
We walked to the car in silence and drove home to my condo without saying a word to each other. In bed she grabbed me hard and burrowed her head into my chest, wetting my chest with her tears. We didn’t have sex, merely held each other until her breathing slowed into the natural rhythm of sleep. I stared at the ceiling until dawn.
SUNDAY, SEPTEMBER 4, 2005 5 P.M.
We stopped at The Columbia on A1A south of St. Augustine. I’ve always loved their paella and found out that Aline loved it as well.“I was raised in a little town near Marseilles,” she told me. “Just the smell of paella de marisco gets my mouth watering.”
“They serve a good seafood paella here. And I love their Sangria. I’ll order a pitcher of the real stuff and a couple of glasses of virgin for me because I can’t afford any tickets for drunk driving.”
She leaned into me and said, “Are you trying to get me drunk?” “Well, it wouldn’t be a bad idea.”
“Why? You’re going to get lucky whether I’m drunk or sober.” “I love easy women.”
“Don’t get me started sailor, or I’ll turn us around and take advantage of you in your car in this parking lot, Unless you can find a spot on the Beach.”
I looked at her. She was dressed in a blue skirt and a gold v-necked top that showed the curves of her breasts but not much more. She was slender and casual and I wondered for the thousandth time how in the hell I’d wound up with her. It was only luck and chance that led me to Debbie’s bed, and again it was only the wildest coincidence that led Aline to me.
I don’t know if somebody up there likes me, or hates me with a passion.
We ate two plates of paella and it was as good as I remembered it. It had been a couple of years since I’d been here. As usual, Debbie had insisted on the paella with chicken and pork. For an intelligent woman, she was as traditional in her tastes and unwilling to experiment as any Southern mom whose tastes were limited to pork, chicken and mashed potatoes.
Or maybe our differing culinary tastes were just another indication of the chasm that had been growing between us that finally led to our divorce.
Aline polished off at least a half a pitcher of hard Sangria and was laughing and clinging to me as we walked out the door. It was nearly 9:30 p.m. and I figured we’d just head back to the condo and try to find at least one room we hadn’t already christened. We’d done the bathroom, the tiny living room, the kitchen/dining room. Come to think of it, there wasn’t any place else to christen.
As we walked across the small parking lot to where my Escalade was parked, her cell phone began to trill the “Marseillaise”, the French national anthem. We both stopped and looked at it at the same time. I didn’t have to look at the number. She hadn’t received a call since she’d gotten to Jacksonville. I didn’t know of anyone, other than the obvious suspect, who would be calling her.
She gave me a look and punched the button to answer the call. At least she didn’t turn away from me to talk to him.
There was a rapid stream of French that I could barely follow. All I knew was she had said “hello” in French. Philippe of course sounded the same in any language. There were questions and she responded in rapid French. There was a smile that broke my heart and more French. Then a pregnant pause and “Jacksonville” and “Bill Maitland.”
The conversation proceeded for a little while and then she handed me the phone.
As she did so she mouthed the words, “He knows.” I didn’t know how much he knew, so I assumed he simply knew that Aline was vacationing in Jacksonville and I was showing her around. It had been stupid to assume he didn’t keep some kind of eye on where and what his wife did. That was the way I’d play it.
“Hello, my friend.”
“Hello, Philippe. How have you been?”
“You know how it goes,” he said in almost perfectly unaccented English. “Evil never rests. Of course, the Angel of Death must be aware of the depths to which men can sink.”
“I’m famous over there?”
He laughed, that deep rich chuckle that reminded me of the nights we had gone drinking and he had flirted with three or four women, at least a couple of whom I had no doubt he’d be banging after he left me.
“You’re famous everywhere, Bill. With the Internet, anything is possible. I’ve read of the ‘Killer Granny’ case. That was a bold stroke on your part. I would have bet against your winning. But, I thought when you were here with us that you are a man it’s not safe to bet against.”
“It’s all PR Philippe. Just a matter of luck and timing. I’m the same guy I was when I was a grunt prosecutor hitting the dives with you and your Gendarme friends.”
He laughed again.
“We had some good times. I am sorry our paths never crossed again.”
“So am I, Philippe. I appreciated your sending me the followup. It took you a solid year, but you did nail those bastards. Too bad that the head man chose to shoot it out rather than face trial.”
“It was actually rather fortunate. You and I both know it would have been hard to get a conviction. There were too many layers between him and the slavers. He saved the state a great amount by taking a bullet to the brain rather than wasting the time of many good men and women.”
I had no doubt then and I had no doubt now that the rich man who profited off the sale and use of '. teenage girls hadn’t put a bullet into his brain voluntarily. Philippe had never admitted in his file which he’d emailed me that he had had the man murdered, but he made it clear when you read between the lines.
And I knew from hints that cops and thugs both dropped in Parisian dives that, like me, Philippe was owed favors by some of the worst of the worst, and I had the feeling that he had called in at least some of those favors over the years.
“When Aline decided to wait until I brought Andre back to Paris, I had assumed she would stay with the Bonne Chance or stay in Miami,” he continued in a friendly voice. “But friends told me she had left the ship. Imagine my surprise when I learned she was staying in Jacksonville, the stomping grounds of my old American friend.”
I didn’t say anything.
“I haven’t been keeping up on your activities,, but when I learned that Aline was in Jacksonville I thought of you and made some calls. I learned of your—troubles. I was very sorry to hear about the end of your marriage. I remember the photo you showed me of your Debbie. A very beautiful woman.”
I didn’t say anything.
“I know that you loved her very much. It was evident in every conversation we had about your life in America. You remember that second night we went to that bar near the Seine? Lilly, the bartender, was taken with you. She was always strange for Americans. Must be the accent. She practically threw herself under you, but you never took the bait.”
He laughed that laugh again.
“She was very upset with you when I talked to her later that morning. You hurt her feelings. I explained to her that you loved your wife and Americans take a different view of recreational sex than we French. You have a—stricter—view than most French.”
“I was in a bad place when I met Aline, Philippe. If she didn’t tell you, I was close to being suicidal. Debbie tore my heart and my balls out when she left me. My time on the Bonne Chance and Aline’s friendship helped me take my life back. I can never express my gratitude to her. You are a luckier man than you know to have her in your life.”
“I know I am, my friend. It never hurts to be reminded though. A married man sometimes forgets what he has, until he sees it through someone else’s eyes. She is very fond of you, you know.”
“I hope so.”
“No, truly. When I asked her just now, she told me of how you had met on the Bonne Chance and that you had volunteered to show her around your city.
She said you have been very gracious with your time, taking her to restaurants and seeing that she has not been bored. I would have expected no less of you, my friend, but I am grateful.”
“It’s been my pleasure, Philippe. I can honestly say I’ve enjoyed every minute I’ve spent with her. And since my divorce, I have the time to show her my home town.”
“You have my thanks, Bill. When you’re separated as much as we are by our professions, you can worry. It can be hard to keep a marriage alive. When she is with you, I can rest assured that she is safe. And that you would not do anything to jeopardize our friendship because you are not that kind of man.”
“You know I consider you a friend, Philippe. And I would treat your marriage with the same honor and fidelity that I know you have shown it.”
This time there was a long silence on his end of the line. Finally he said, “I will be back in Paris with our son in a week’s time, Bill. I am looking forward to Aline’s return. I have missed her, in my life and in my bed.
“I only hope that someday in the near future you can come visit us in Paris. You have never seen the two of us together. I don’t know if we have a marriage to equal the one you had with your Debbie, but I would like to show you what our marriage is like, what we are like together.”
“I hope you have a better marriage than Debbie and I had, and I hope yours lasts longer than ours.”
“Can I speak to Aline again, Bill? I wish you good fortune if we do not speak again.”
“And you also, Philippe. Here she is.” I handed the phone back to her
Her face was white in the moonlight as she brought the phone to her ear. I heard the whisper of voices in the darkness and then she said, “Andre...”
Her face was lit with a smile as tears rolled down her face. Finally she said, “Je t’aimerai toujours, Andre.”
The tears stopped as she spoke for a little while longer to Philippe and finally, “’Je T’aime. Au revoir.”
As she clicked off the hand holding the phone dropped to her side. She looked across A1A toward the sound of the rolling surf and swayed. I stepped in behind her and put my arms around her. I could feel the silent sobs she fought to hold in. I didn’t say anything because I didn’t know what I could say.
We walked to the car in silence and drove home to my condo without saying a word to each other. In bed she grabbed me hard and burrowed her head into my chest, wetting my chest with her tears. We didn’t have sex, merely held each other until her breathing slowed into the natural rhythm of sleep. I stared at the ceiling until dawn.
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