Queen of the Masquerade (Rosie Maldonne's World Book 3)

by Alice Quinn

  “Is that what you think? Shame. I thought meeting with him was a pretty neato idea. I’m serious. Maybe nobody has ever actually had a heart-to-heart with this guy and explained how the people who he’s forcing into this work feel!”

  “Don’t be naive. Drop it, Madame Maldonne. And whatever you do, get rid of that girl. If she stays here any longer, he’ll find out about it. And that means anyone in this apartment, any of us who have had anything to do with this, will pay for it very, very dearly.”

  “Ahem,” murmured Laroche. “Not to interrupt you, but do you think we could concentrate a little?”

  “Yes, yes, of course.” She shook the cloth to show she was taking part in my made-up experimental exercise.

  “Listen, Bintou,” I ranted, paying no attention to Laroche. “You know a lot of shit and a lot of people, but you don’t always give the best advice. I’m not getting rid of the girl. I’m going to do everything in my power to protect her and shelter her. Then, I’m going to put Monsieur Charles in the can. A business is hard to run from behind bars, or so I’ve heard. I’ve got cop buddies. You’ll see. And Gaston’s a hard-ass. I bet you didn’t know that, did you? He’s like a martial-arts expert or something. So you get me? This guy had better not piss me off. And he better not threaten me in any way, shape, or form. But first off, you’re going to have to tell me where I can find him. How can I get a meeting with him? A sit-down! I’ll lay a trap for the bastard.”

  She just shook her head with sadness in her eyes. It was as if she already saw me, flat out in a coffin, being lowered six feet. All she said was, “Fine. Just go ahead as if I’d never mentioned a goddamn word to you!”

  She turned to Laroche, who looked to be on the verge of passing out. She pulled the orange dishtowel harder than was necessary, her fingertips pressed tightly together. I felt her rage.

  40

  What Bintou had told me did have an effect on me. She had me worried. I went and found Erina.

  “Could you come with me a minute, sweetheart?” I asked her.

  I decided she needed a good grilling. I took her back to the office and had her sit on the floor in front of Bintou and Laroche, who were doing their special exercise with the cloth. Did she know who this Monsieur Charles character was? Had she seen him? If so, where? She’d spoken to Léo already about some French guy. I also asked her all about what had happened last time with Murrash. What had he done to her when she’d gone home on Wednesday?

  I beat around the bush awhile, because the last thing I wanted to do was make her all uptight. She made it easy for me, though. She knew what information I wanted and told me what she knew. She said her time with Murrash was coming to an end. The big French boss had taken a liking to her. Murrash was scared of the guy. So it was just as Bintou had told me.

  Erina said she didn’t understand how and why she was still alive. She thought it was because she was still valuable in some way. She could still be bought and sold. At first, Murrash had declared that he’d only sell Erina once Kholia knew what he was doing with the deliveries, but on Wednesday, she’d disappeared for a while and even though she’d gone back to him (because she couldn’t handle the thought of leaving the little one on his own), he thought she was trouble and wanted her out of his hair as soon as possible.

  He’d taken her by the throat and told her how much money he’d make out of her. He’d explained that if she ran away again, he’d kill Kholia and she’d have his death on her conscience for the rest of her life. Now she was beyond devastated at the fact that she’d saved herself and left the little boy behind.

  At this heartbreaking moment in Erina’s story, someone rang the doorbell. One of those long, super annoying rings where whoever is doing it doesn’t take their finger off the button. Jerk.

  Léo opened the door, and I heard a deep voice explaining who they were. Cops. I poked my head out of the office and saw there was a good mix. A fancy one in a suit and tie, two humdrum uniformed officers like you’d see out on the street, and my main man himself, Borelli, in a leather-jacket-and-jeans combo. “Civvies,” do they call that? What a pretty sight they all made. Well, I imagined they looked impressive to Léo. I didn’t actually see them until they’d all piled into the office. I could hear them coming a mile off, though! Cops always sound like they’re galloping, don’t they? Even the slow ones who’ve had too many doughnuts.

  This group made such a racket stomping around the place. I was desperate to go check out what was going on, but I thought it better to stay where I was so I could protect Erina. They were looking for something, opening and closing every door they came across. They left the kitchen almost as quickly as they entered it. I heard the big chief cop (I’m sure it was him and I’m sure he had an actual title) say, “Not in there. That’s the kitchen. Find the office.”

  And they all filed into Rachel Amar’s big office. It was a huge room, but there were a lot of us in there all staring at each other. It was a serious standoff.

  Bintou was the first to break the silence. “So, you’re here for Maldonne? There she is! Her work is being recognized at last! Finally! She really is wonderful!”

  What was she doing buttering me up like that?

  I recognized the decked-out boss guy. I’d seen him down at the station ages ago. He was a bit of a looker and in great shape, but what I remembered most about him was that he was one of those gentleman types. He’d told Borelli not to make me wait. I’d appreciated that.

  I slipped as far back in my chair as I could. I felt tiny, crowded. The guy didn’t recognize me. Pastis jumped up onto my lap and from there hopped up around my neck. The chief commander or whatever he was stared at Bintou in surprise.

  She accosted him. “Oh! Bertrand! I didn’t see it was you! What are you doing here?”

  “Oh! It’s Elmer! How lovely to see you! Is your husband here with you?”

  Elmer? Another name? Out with the Bintou, in with the Elmer. I was having a hard time keeping up with all these weird-ass names of hers. I didn’t say anything. The chief man stepped over to Bintou.

  “Bertrand! I already told you not to call me Elmer! It’s not a nice nickname! And no, Naïm isn’t here with me. He’s my ex-Naïm now. So why are you here?”

  OK. How do these two know each other? Why is her nickname Elmer? Ah, I get it! Elmer like the glue! Elmer’s Glue! It’s not the greatest nickname. But it’s true that as soon as she gets an idea in her head, she sticks to it. Maybe it had something to do with that. I wouldn’t be surprised. Actually, it suited her. I might start using it.

  “Oh, so you’re not clued in to what’s been going on?” Bertrand replied. “She’s needed at the courthouse. You know the pyromaniac who’s been all over the news recently . . . Oh, of course you do, it’s your job! Well, he’s taken a judge hostage. We’ve been called in to deal with it. It’s a pretty big emergency. And what about you? How have you been? Are you reporting on this case?”

  “No, I had to take leave. Burnout. I’m feeling chilled out now, though. Especially when I’m here. I’ve been doing manicures, and hair, and the cooking! Helping out around the place, you know?”

  “Really? And you’re sure you’re feeling OK?”

  He looked down at the orange cloth between Bintou and Laroche, a puzzled frown crossing his face. He turned swiftly toward me, but got his jacket button caught on the dishcloth. It was ripped from their hands in one rapid movement before falling to the floor next to Erina in a miserable little heap.

  “Good going! That exercise is over!” I shouted in anger at Bertrand, who didn’t have a clue how much this might upset the pear cart or the banana cart—some kind of fruit cart. “Why have you been sent here? Why are you cops always so clumsy? Look what you’ve done! What is this? It’s like a goddamn circus in here, I swear! Why can’t I just work in peace?”

  Laroche caught Bintou’s eye. He smiled and reached out for her hand. They didn’t need the cloth anymore. They seemed to be at peace, less agitated, and, dare I say it, happy.


  “Out of my office!” I continued. “Out of here!”

  “Sorry, Madame Amar,” grunted Bertrand, “but you’re coming with us.”

  41

  It was at this juncture that Borelli finally chose to speak up. He coughed. “Um. Boss. It’s not her, boss.”

  “What was that, Borelli?” howled Boss Bertrand. “Of course it’s her. This is her place, her office, she’s working in here . . . It’s her. Wouldn’t you agree? I mean, where do you think we’re standing right now? Where do you think she’s sitting? Where are her patients sitting? That’s where shrinks sit, Borelli, and that’s where their patients sit. You never been to see one, Borelli? You should . . .”

  I didn’t know it yet, but Linus, my Linus Robinson, had just arrived in time to catch an eyeful of all these shenanigans. He’d promised he’d be back, and he’d chosen this as his moment to show up. Linus Robinson looking in through the door at the multitudes sitting and standing around me. One of the bambinos must have let him in. He was standing next to Borelli. Right in my line of view, except I hadn’t seen him yet.

  “Excuse the untimely intrusion, Madame Amar,” said Bertrand, “but—”

  “Oh no! Not that again. Stop it right now! This masquerade has to end. It’s gone on long enough. Listen! I. Am. Not. Rachel. Amar. OK? And while I’m at it, I’m not a shrink either.”

  Bertrand was stressing out. He ran his eyes over all the books on the shelves, at the desk, at me sitting in the chair, the couch, Bintou, Laroche, Erina. This was clearly a lot more difficult than he’d thought it would be. I followed his line of vision. Borelli . . . then Linus.

  “Oh! Linus! You’re here!” I bleated, blushing wildly.

  “I told you I’d come by in the morning!”

  Oh wow, that accent . . .

  “Yes, but you didn’t say what time! I’m not even dressed properly.”

  “So get dressed and let me take you out of here—”

  “Ah, no! We’re the ones who’ll be taking you out of here!” cried Bertrand. “You’re expected at the courthouse as we speak. The Full Moon Pyromaniac?”

  He got out some sort of official card from his pocket. The two uniformed cops shook their handcuffs. Those boys were getting a little too excited for my liking.

  “Fine! I give up!” pouted Linus.

  “I suggest you don’t take her in,” said Borelli. “It’s not her. I mean, she’s not Amar.”

  “Listen up, Borelli, you’re breaking my balls here,” grumbled the big boss cop.

  Borelli smiled, turned on his heel, and flung his arms in the air to show that he’d washed his hands of us all.

  “What’s that supposed to mean, Borelli? Don’t start acting like a drama queen! What a diva!” the boss man continued.

  “Is there a problem?” Laroche piped up, coming out of his trance.

  “The lady you see sitting there,” said Bertrand, pointing at me, “is trying to tell us that she’s not the therapist here.”

  “That’s right. We all know that. She’s the maid, the housekeeper . . . Whatever,” sighed Laroche, as if he’d recited it a thousand times that day already.

  He looked utterly fed up with the situation. Bertrand studied him closely. There was one flabbergasted cop if ever I’d seen one.

  “Ha! You see!” I yelled triumphantly. “Why don’t you just listen?”

  “Yes, well. OK, Madame Amar. And this isn’t your office. And these aren’t your patients . . .”

  “What do you want from me?” I asked, trying to wrap it all up.

  “Haven’t you seen the news today?”

  “No, sorry! I haven’t had time for TV today. I’m a busy girl, you know? Oh yes! There are some people in this world who don’t switch the TV on as soon as they wake up in the morning, OK? Those people do exist in real life, and I’m one of them! So your answer’s a great big no! I haven’t seen a thing. So what?”

  “Well, that sure is a shame! Because if you’d been paying attention, you’d have seen that you’re all over the TV news. The Full Moon Pyromaniac. Keep up!”

  “Victor Falso?”

  “Yes! That’s him!” exclaimed Bertrand. “He wants to see you! He’s taken the judge—”

  “Ah! Right! Yes, I saw that on the TV this morning . . . Well, I was told about it. Because, you know, I don’t watch TV. But honestly, I wish I could help,” I explained patiently. “But. He. Wants. Rachel. Amar!”

  “That’s why we’re here!”

  “But. I. Am. Not . . .” I enunciated as clearly as I could. I wasn’t getting anywhere and didn’t like the way this day was unfolding. I desperately hoped that at some point these blockheads surrounding me would understand who I was and who I wasn’t. Linus caught my eye. I could tell he didn’t understand what game I was playing. Oh, but I wasn’t playing a game!

  “Rachel Amar! I know!” Bertrand finished, winking at Linus (who was perplexed, but smiling, at least) and at Bintou (Elmer?), who winked back at him.

  “OK, I’m out of here now. We’re both out of here. See you soon!” called Laroche. It must have all been too much for him. He linked arms with Bintou and started walking out of the room, but Bintou resisted.

  “Wait!” She trotted over to me and stood behind the desk, just next to my comfy chair. She leaned in and whispered in my ear, “I’m giving it back to you.”

  At the same time, right under the noses of all the cops, she opened my desk drawer and, to my horror and surprise, calmly pulled the revolver (the one that had disappeared and that I’d forgotten about, to be honest) from her purse and slipped it into my drawer.

  She stood up straight again and pronounced, “We’ll be back when you’re ready to give us a little more attention. It’s like a zoo in here! Sorry, Bertrand—I don’t mean the fact that you’re here, of course. I just mean that the consultations here have been a little hit or miss recently. You should go wherever it is they need you to go, Madame Maldonne. Get it over with and then come back here. Back to what you do best.”

  “Madame what?” asked Bertrand.

  Nobody answered him.

  Bintou smiled at me encouragingly.

  I didn’t even dare look at Linus. I made a decision then and there: I was going to continue with the charade. Keep going as I had up to that point. Let destiny play its hand. Raindrops would keep falling on my head. But it’s always been like that. Shit happens. Rain happens. What’s the big deal? That’s right. I’d just have to get on with it. Even the police weren’t prepared to believe me when I told them I wasn’t Amar. So what was a girl to do?

  I stood up and walked to the door, followed by the police and then my poor, confused Linus. We bumped into Sabrina, who was tiptoeing down the hallway with a mug of hot chocolate in her hands.

  “You’re still here, my love? Léo didn’t take you to school?”

  “You know that! I’ve already theen you thith morning. And we dithcuthed thith.”

  “Oh, right! I’m getting all muddled up here, my baby! Days! Times! Nothing’s in the right order. So, what are you doing with yourself, then? Where are you going with that big mug?”

  “Nowhere. I’m thirthty, that’th all.”

  “I see. Fine!” As I was leaving, I said, “Bintou, could you take the little one’s temperature, please? I have a feeling she’s still burning up a little.” I also whispered, “I wouldn’t mind if you hung around, if that’s all right with you? Please make sure that Erina doesn’t set foot outside this apartment—even with Léo.” I used my normal voice again. “And you never know, I might be back late, so could you make sure the twinlets are back at school by no later than one thirty? I can pick them up at the end of the day.” I called out to Léo, “You hear that, Léo? Don’t go off anywhere with your girlfriend, OK? Bintou is in charge of the babies.”

  “Cool!” shouted Léo.

  “Anything you say, Madame Maldonne,” said Bintou.

  “What’s with the Maldonne? That’s not her name!” Bertrand said to Laroche, who
simply smiled. “They’re all funny in the head here,” the boss cop muttered.

  Gaston, who’d been watching and listening throughout the whole cop/lover visit, rolled his eyes and headed back into the living room to his favorite armchair. “I don’t know what the heck is going on in this place, but an opera doesn’t write itself!”

  He was driving me insane! He could have stepped in and straightened all this out, but he was too obsessed about those songs of his.

  Borelli simply stood by the front door, waiting, his arms crossed. I knew a Borelli sulk when I saw one. Bertrand did his best to ignore him. He turned to face me and said gallantly, “Madame Amar, after you.”

  I went to open the door, but stopped. “Listen, please. I’d like to have a quick word with my gentleman friend. If you could just give me five minutes?”

  “And then we’re off? Do you promise?”

  “Affirmative! Cross my fingers and hope to die. I, Rachel Amar, personally give you my word.”

  I saw Borelli’s eyebrows head up toward his hairline. They’d never have caught it.

  “OK. I can wait five minutes. We’ll be outside,” snorted the commander chief of detectives or whatever. He nodded to Borelli as if to say, Told you so, dickhead! It is Rachel Amar!

  42

  Linus was holding me in his arms. Heaven! Looking into those eyes of his . . .

  “I really don’t know if I should go or not. I don’t have a great feeling about this.”

  “I don’t want you to think I’m meddling in something that’s none of my business,” Bintou prattled, even though she and Laroche had stayed behind after I’d asked everyone to leave, “but you can’t actually refuse to go with them! You’re the best. You know you are! You’ll straighten all this stuff out down at the court. You’ll be doing everyone a huge favor. It’s the right thing to do.”

  I didn’t say a word. I studied Linus’s face, taking in every last detail. “Linus, do you remember last night when I wanted to tell you something?”

  “It doesn’t matter,” he replied. “You’re the only person I’m worried about. You. And that’s it.”