Murder Misstery Melange
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A Murder Misstery Grounded free porn video
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."
Nadene
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