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

by Alice Quinn

  “She’s right!” barked the electric dude. “You blind? You need us to draw you a picture?”

  Sabrina looked over at me. “Mommy, let me prethent my friend Teddy to you. Teddy Pirla. He’th the Full Moon Pirate Anorak. He’th here for me to fixth hith head for him. You know, like you do with people.”

  Gaston ran to get a glass of water for Rachel Amar. She looked grateful when he returned with it and she swallowed it down in giant gulps.

  “Ahhhh!”

  “There you go. It’s OK. You’re just in shock,” he chirped.

  She was in a full state of panic but seemed happy to be taken care of. “Who are you again?”

  He’d already told her, but she was so mixed up that her thoughts were clearly jumbled.

  “The poet. But I’m more of a chauffeur at the moment.”

  “Oh?”

  “You need to pull yourself together. They’re waiting for you in court. These gentlemen will take you there.”

  “Oh?” Rachel Amar said again, half-comatose.

  “Yes, come on, everything will work itself out.”

  “Work out? For me? Do you really think so?” She stared forlornly at her big desk and the space around her . . . her life. Gaston placed her book into her hands: Psychoanalysis and Criminality. As she scrutinized it, the color returned to her cheeks. She stood and addressed the room. “I’ve just made a big decision. If I’m needed in court, that’s where I’ll go. I’m handling the Full Moon Pyromaniac case, you know, and I’ll deal with all this when I get back.”

  Sabrina shouted, her voice almost earsplitting, “Pirate Anorak ith right there, I already told you!”

  “This is no time for fun and games, child!” said Rachel, regaining her confidence.

  “It’th Pirate Anorak!” insisted Sabrina. I could see the pity in her eyes. She turned to me, her voice pleading. “I wath his thpykayakitht and now he’th going to get all better, Mommy. Thith ith the real Pirate Anorak. You believe me, don’t you?”

  I believed her. Of course I believed her! I believe every word that comes out of that kiddo’s mouth. And the twinnikits were on her side too. I should have seen it. She’d found the real Full Moon Pyromaniac and the little sweetsie hadn’t wanted to add to my worries, so she’d tried to take care of the problem herself.

  Borelli looked like he had a thousand questions.

  “She means the pyromaniac,” I explained calmly. “The Full Moon Pyromaniac.”

  It was the first time I’d seen Borelli so bewildered. He usually liked to play the role of Monsieur Know-It-All.

  “This is how it’s going to go down,” Amar said. “I’ll follow you officers, but I won’t be coming with you. If the man in the courthouse has asked for me—”

  “SSSSSTTTTTOOOOOPPPPP!” hollered Teddy.

  And that’s just what we all did. Stopped and listened.

  “Are you going to listen to this little girl or not? She’s right! I’m the Full Moon Pirate Anorak Pyromaniac! You bunch of turdo ’tardos! How many ‘mistakes’ do I have to make? How many signs, errors, clues do I have to leave behind at the fires? When will you take a good look and actually see them? Pack of crappy cops!”

  “Oh, come on now. Unbelieeeeevable! Keep it together. Who gave you permission to speak to us as if we were nothing but dogs, huh?”

  “He doethn’t mean it. He’th jutht fed up that he never geth any attention!” explained Sabrina.

  “It seems he has a persecution complex based on profound paranoia,” Rachel said, tapping her cheek. She looked at him. “OK, so it’s you? You’re coming with us, then. Are you ready?”

  “No,” mumbled Teddy moodily.

  “What do you mean? Why not?” asked Rachel.

  “No! Not with you! I want to go with her,” he yelled, pointing to my eldest cherub-face.

  Rachel marched toward the exit, each footstep quicker than the last. I heard her whisper, “Sometimes I can’t take any more of these nutcase social misfits!”

  I heard someone coming down the hallway. Heavy footsteps.

  Bertrand stuck his head around the doorway and looked at the sorry scene in front of him. He didn’t seem too impressed. He eyeballed Borelli. “What’s this goddamn freak show in here?”

  Borelli tried to give an explanation using all the correct cop words. “It appears there’s been a misapprehension or a miscarriage of justice, possibly in conflict with the arsonist case, monsieur.”

  Bertrand blew out his cheeks. I guess he’d had more than enough of us all. “Fine! Get the real shrink and whoever this guy is in the back of the police van. Do it now. We’ll see what Judge Amblard has to say about all this. If he’s not already dead.”

  Borelli cleared his throat. “There’s a complication.”

  “What a surprise! A complication? Here?”

  “This guy won’t leave without the little one. Sabrina Maldonne-Mendès.”

  More cheek blowing. “Fine, so we’ll take the kid. We should have left this place ages ago! Hurry! Quick march!”

  Is this cop out of his fucking mind? They’re not taking Sabrina anywhere!

  I opened my mouth just to draw more attention to myself, because I hadn’t quite gotten enough yet. “Um,” I said, “my daughter’s not going anywhere without me. Sorry.”

  “Wonderful!” clamored Bossypants Cop sarcastically. “Put the mother in the back of the van too.”

  Outside, a super classy undercover car was parked nearby. This was used for the commander copster and Rachel Amar, since they were the most important people there, obviously. The rest of us rabble got shoved into the back of a standard police van. Sirens on for the riffraff. Top speed.

  As we turned the corner, I arched my neck to look at the building, hoping to see my Linus. Hoping to see him searching for me. Waving at the van as it sped away.

  “Cricri! Rosie! Cricri! Rosie Maldonne!” he could have been shouting, not knowing what name to use. I might even have seen him hail a taxi to follow us.

  Nice little daydream.

  But it wasn’t going to happen. It was hard to let go of romance.

  Especially for a love addict like me.

  44

  We drove so fast in that mean machine of a van that we arrived at the court before Bertrand, Amar, and the fancy car.

  There were people all over the place in the courthouse. Every seat in the public gallery was taken. People were even sitting on the floor. I could see journalists taking notes, police officers eating sandwiches or drinking takeout coffee. The atmosphere was very casual. The seats where the jury and the judge were supposed to be were abandoned. Ghost town.

  Standing to one side were armed guards, all geared up with special helmets and protective suits. I think they must have been an elite shooting squad. They were standing near a little wooden door. I guessed that was where the hostages had been taken.

  When we walked in, people started to surround us. “That’s her! There she is!”

  “The shrink? What? That redheaded Betty Boop?”

  I turned to see who they were talking about. There was nobody matching that description behind me, so I guessed they were talking about me.

  “And who’s the Frankenstein man with the little girl? This is a whole entourage, not just a psychiatrist! Why does she need so many people with her?”

  The uniformed cops with us pushed the crowd out of the way so we could get through to the door. Borelli knocked on it loudly.

  “Who is it?” asked an oldish-sounding voice from the other side.

  “Well,” Borelli said, “some of Rachel Amar’s staff have arrived as requested by your orders, Your Honor, monsieur, Judge Amblard. We don’t have the full team yet.”

  We heard lowered voices.

  The judge spoke. “We want everyone except her to step back. When we open the door, she must come in, and then we’ll close it behind her. I want to make it clear that a gun is being pointed at my temple. I am being forced to give you these orders. Please follow them with precisio
n.”

  Borelli coughed. “There’s another one. A new one.”

  “What does that even mean? A new what? I have a goddamn revolver pressed against my head, just in case you didn’t know . . .”

  “Sorry. Please explain to your captor that this is in his best interests.”

  “Who is this speaking?” demanded Judge Amblard.

  “This is Lieutenant Borelli.”

  “And who’s coming in?”

  “I can’t say. I don’t want all the journalists to hear.”

  The journalists who’d managed to hear Borelli started booing him. His behavior clearly wasn’t media friendly enough.

  “Everyone back! Stand back!” Borelli shouted.

  There was silence and then the judge said, “How many of you are there?”

  “At the moment, one woman, one man, and a child. Oh, and three police officers.”

  “Wait, I’ll ask.”

  Silence again.

  “It’s fine, but the police can’t come in,” the judge said after several minutes of whispered debate.

  The door opened slightly, and a hand reached out and pulled me in. The very same hand then pushed Borelli out and slammed the door in his face.

  The big bad man, aka Victor Falso, who hadn’t spoken to anyone in days because none of the people he encountered were the oh-so-wonderful Rachel Amar, double locked the door with a big brass key behind us.

  At the same time, he was holding on to the judge by his cheek. The judge actually seemed like he didn’t mind. At his age, he’d more than likely seen and been through worse than that. In the corner of the room, I spotted the defendant’s lawyer, biting his nails down to the quick.

  When he saw me, Victor Falso threw his arms around me and started wailing. He clearly hadn’t taken a good enough look at who he was clinging to. He suddenly seemed embarrassed. He stepped back and looked behind me, as if expecting someone. That’s when he saw Sabrina and the other potential fire starter. He went and sat down a little farther away, morosely. But he still seemed like he was in control. The man was on high alert.

  Nobody was paying much attention to Sabrina or the psycho repairman.

  “Monsieur, this man here says he’s the pyromaniac—” I started.

  “Thith ith my cathe,” interrupted Sabrina. “Ithn’t that right, Teddy? You’re my cathe? You’re my Pirate Anorak?”

  The judge barely even glanced at Sabrina and her Pirate Anorak.

  “Finally! Madame Amar! At last!” the judge said. “You’re certainly one sought-after lady!” He stared at me. I didn’t quite see a wink, but there was a randy sparkle in his eye. He gave me the once-over and spent a bit longer than is normally considered respectful gawking at my legs, shorts, and cleavage.

  Oh, I hoped this one wasn’t going to be another villain in this farce of a play we all seemed to be in. Another crazy who wouldn’t take me at my word. He wasn’t going to make the same mistake as everyone else, was he?

  “Uh . . . I’m not . . .” I faltered, unable to put a string of words together.

  “Yes. The defendant insisted on seeing you and now I understand why!”

  “You know, I’m not—”

  He just spoke over me. Rudo.

  “This is all so exciting. Yes? You were saying?”

  Victor Falso stood up and glowered at the judge. This guy was a nut. A hard one, at that. He still was in no mood for talking, or so it seemed.

  “What now?” said the judge.

  Falso pointed at me and shook his head. I was a no-no.

  The judge rolled his eyes. “What seems to be the problem this time? Is this not good enough for you? Have you changed your mind? Unhappy now that Rachel Amar has finally turned up? Maybe you want someone else, is that it? A speech therapist, perhaps?”

  The accused pyromaniac continued to shake his head vigorously, almost wildly!

  “Cat got his tongue,” muttered the judge. “This was once a pretty cut-and-dried case, but we gave in to his whims. I don’t suppose you could shed any light on this?” he asked me.

  “Yes, I think so. It’s pretty simple, to be honest, monsieur. Mistaken identity—that’s all this is. I’m not Rachel Amar. My name is—”

  The door sounded like it was about to break off its hinges. Someone (or someones) knocking like mad. Like they were out-to-lunch mad.

  45

  We could hear yelps and hollering and God only knows what going on outside that door. I guessed it was all the journalists getting a bit overenthused. I could hear the busy cameras—click, click, click.

  Bertrand’s voice cut through the noise. “Coming through, coming through.”

  And then Rachel Amar’s voice. “Let me pass, please. I’m Rachel Amar.”

  And then my Borelli. “Are you deaf or what? There are people coming through here!”

  I said to Victor Falso, “It’s her! It’s the real one this time. Let her in!”

  His eyes lit up and he got out his big key to open the door. He pulled the same move he had with me, hauling in Rachel Amar and shoving back Borelli.

  We were only in a small antechamber, like a court waiting room, and it was starting to get crowded.

  Rachel Amar glanced at Victor’s gun. “Could you move that thing away from me? I can hardly work well with something like that stuck in my face.”

  “What is this nonsense? Who are you?” the judge asked Rachel Amar.

  “I’m Rachel Amar. Let me introduce you to . . .” She turned toward Teddy Pirla and then looked a little awkward. “What’s your name again?”

  “I’m not telling you,” Teddy-the-Real-Pyromaniac sulked.

  “Fine. It doesn’t matter what his name is,” she continued. Amar wasn’t about to let a little thing like that stop her. “This man is the real Full Moon Pyromaniac. He admitted everything to this small child here.”

  “And who might this small child be exactly?” asked the judge, astonished.

  “She’s my daughter,” I said.

  “You have a daughter, Madame Amar?” asked the judge. He must have felt the need to get to the bottom of things. A lot was going on, and if he didn’t interrogate correctly and add all this new information to what he knew already, he was going to get lost.

  “No, no, no!” replied Rachel Amar excitedly. “There can’t be two Rachel Amars! Please try to keep up! I am Rachel Amar. The one and only. It’s me.”

  Victor had followed every word down to the last syllable. He was gawking at Teddy with increasing interest.

  I got hold of my little Sabrina and squeezed her tight before adding, “She’s right, you know. It’s what I’ve been trying to say for some time. She’s not me. Well, I’m not her. Well—”

  “One moment, one moment, please. I would like to understand this properly. Please start from the beginning. And you there, pyromaniac man . . .”

  Teddy and Victor both looked up and said in unison, “Who? Me?”

  Those words meant Victor Falso’s vow of silence was broken. He bit his bottom lip, then shouted out, “Hogwash!”

  The judge appeared disturbed by this and turned to pyromaniac number one. “Yes, you, the pyromaniac we’ve arrested. My pyromaniac. I mean . . . Oh, what am I saying? You! OK? You! Are you a pyromaniac or not?”

  “No. The shrink’s right. I’ve never set fire to a single thing in my life.”

  “Because it’s meeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee! I’m the pyromaniac!” yelled Pirla. He certainly had a pair of lungs on him.

  But nobody was paying much attention to him. Again.

  “What do you mean you’ve never set fire to anything? What, nothing at all?” the judge asked Falso.

  Teddy, a ball of nerves by this point, started slubber-blubbering like a baby. “Saaabrrriiinnnaaa! It’s starting all over again. They’re not listening to me!”

  Sabrina stepped into the middle of the room and screeched, “All of you! All of you! Thtop it! Would you jutht be quiet? Lithten to him! Thith man ith the real Pirate Anorak!”

 
; I looked at my little one in admiration. Having such intelligent little critters can be a tough job.

  “The little girl’s right,” explained Rachel Amar. “That’s him, all right. Intense paranoia sitting alongside a persecution complex. He fails to take control of his impulses and possesses an extreme fascination for fire. His need to set fire to objects and buildings arises from a desire to release excess tension. It’s what’s called monomaniac incendiary perversity.”

  Here we go again. She loves all those labels, and while she’s giving everyone’s feelings a brainy-sounding name, she’s losing sight of both the real problem and how to help these people. How are you supposed to get ahead in life with all those names and terms stuck to you? I thought we were making some progress, however, and I was starting to get an idea of why Amar’s methods weren’t too hot. At the same time, I still loved hearing all the technical terms for people. All that analysis was nifty stuff!

  I don’t know where I found the courage, but I managed to say, “You got some mighty big words there. And so? Now we know what he suffers from, but what are you going to do about it?”

  “What did you just say? Unbelieeeeevable! B-but what and who . . .” stuttered Rachel, coming undone.

  It seemed like the judge couldn’t care less what was going on between us two Rachel Amars. He simply saw it as a disagreement between expert witnesses. He turned his attention to Victor and Teddy.

  “OK. Very well. Now then, where were we?” he sighed.

  “That’s exactly what I’d like to know,” grumbled Falso. “We’re all a little sick of this, right? We need to get it moving.”

  “Turns out you’re something of a chatty fellow after all,” the judge said to him, holding out his hand. “What effect does speaking actually have on you?”

  “Oh, it’s liberating, that’s for sure,” Victor said. He looked totally out of touch with reality. Strung out! Speaking, it seemed, had transformed him. The drama had come to an end. He was indifferent to what was going on. As he continued to speak, he placed the gun he’d been waving around all day in the judge’s open palm. “It’s nice to be able to say something when you know exactly what it is you want to say. For example, I wouldn’t mind a drink right about now! What about you?” he asked Teddy.