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

by Alice Quinn

“It’th because of them, Mommy. They were hith prithon buddieth. People he met inthide. They told him that he could go off with them and thet off pretty fireworkth everywhere if he thtarted with Madame Amar. That’th really bad of them, becauthe Teddy knowth that fire ith bad, but he liketh fire. He loveth fireworkth. He didn’t want to keep thetting fire to thtuff. He jutht wanted thomeone to like him. And now nobody ever will, becauthe of them.”

  “And you managed to get all that from what they were talking about in the car?”

  “Yeth, you know when they were all arguing? They thaid loth of really nathty wordth about Pirate Anorak. They thaid he wath garbage and that they weren’t thurprithed that he’d got the wrong woman. They thpoke about Madame Amar a lot too. They were going to make her dithappear. Give it to her good and proper. Have themthelveth a little party afterwarth. That’th what I underthtood. What were they going to give her? Why would they have a party for thomeone they were tho angry with, I wonder?”

  “I don’t know, Sabrina. People can be very strange sometimes. Their ideas don’t always make sense. They’re not as logical as we’d maybe like them to be.”

  “I know, Mommy. That’th why they need to be helped, ithn’t it?”

  “Exactly. And that group of baddies certainly needs help. But it won’t be us helping them, agreed? We need to help ourselves first. Because I’m starting to get worried about the twins, OK? And Léo and Erina! Oh, I dread to think!”

  I sat upright, nursing my wrist and feeling very sorry for myself. I always try to keep a brave face on in front of the kidders, but we’re all allowed a break every now and again. To let rip. That’s what I figure, anyhow.

  “I can’t believe this! Where in the heck are we? And I’ve only got one flipping shoe! How am I supposed to get home?”

  “Hey, you’re like Thinderella, Mommy! Why don’t you jutht call Gathton? He liketh coming to the rethcue.”

  “They have my bag in that car, and my cell’s in the bag, my sweetie pie.”

  “No, I got tonth of thtuff out of your bag and thtuffed ath much ath I could in my pocketth.”

  And out came my wallet, elastic bands, hairpins, toothpicks, a lipstick, supermarket receipts, hand cream . . . And my cell phone! Yeeeaaahhhh!

  We came back down to earth with a bang, though. Dead battery.

  Back to square one. This was going to be hard to get over. My little Sabrina had been so brave. The disappointment was gutting.

  She wanted to cry. I could see it on her angelic little face. I didn’t want her to lose confidence in herself. She’d done an excellent job! She’s very intelligent, but she can be a little fragile and sensitive. She’s not always so sure of herself, despite the heroics.

  So we started making a move (except I wasn’t moving all that fast, more like limping with only the one shoe). We just had to get to a house. We needed people. Or a person. Anyone. We needed another living soul. We really were up in the mountains, the middle of nowhere.

  It took us almost an hour to find some buildings that at least looked like they were inhabited by humans rather than sheep. And in the middle of the little hamlet, a teeny-weeny drugstore! No way!

  50

  We headed inside. It was a little store that was all things to all people. Books, newspapers, canned goods, cigarettes, baguettes. The only clerk behind the counter.

  He had his head stuck in a giant book. He didn’t move, sitting in a comfy chair, with a long-haired spaniel-type doggy by his feet. He was a nice-looking guy, an Italian type with curly black hair, dark eyes, bronzed skin. His T-shirt said, “Professional Lazyass.” What a case.

  He lifted his head and glanced at us. He actually seemed a bit pissed off that we were bothering him. It must have been a good book.

  “What are you reading?” I asked politely.

  “War and Peace,” he grunted. “What do you want?”

  I stretched over so I could get an eyeful of the front cover and I saw the title: Lost Treasures of the World by Joseph Caron. Not exactly War and Peace. Oh well. Over it. Moving on.

  “We’ve had an accident. Can I make a call?”

  I was expecting to have to fight tooth and nail to get this guy to let me use his phone, but then I noticed his head moving up and down, checking me out. After this routine that I’d grown so accustomed to over the years, he gave me a cheery smile and put his book down. He stomped over to the fridge and offered us a cold drink.

  “I’m Rémi. What’s your name?”

  I hesitated and then croaked, my breath catching a little. “Hmm . . . Cricri.”

  He had a deep voice. “Very original.”

  This guy was coming on to me but gently, in the old-fashioned way. I hadn’t seen an attempt like that in eons.

  He pointed to his phone. He wasn’t exactly big on the small-talk front.

  I ran over and picked up the receiver. I was out of luck. Gaston wasn’t picking up. Or maybe he didn’t have any battery left either. That seemed possible. The call went straight to voice mail. Everything was all just so annoying. One fiasco after another.

  There was no point calling Véro, Ismène, or Mimi. Their numbers were in the cell memory, not in my brain’s memory. I couldn’t phone my “patients” either. Or Rachel Amar. Or Borelli. Perish the thought!

  “Why don’t you jutht call the polithe, Mommy? They can take uth back to our trailer.”

  Rémi had already dialed and he passed the phone to me. Nice! I asked for Borelli, I told him I had vital information for him, but that I was stuck up in the mountains with no way of getting home and that Sabrina and I were in danger.

  “Oh! Finally! It’s you! What was that ridiculous spectacle? A way to evade questioning, or was it a real kidnapping?”

  “Is this some kind of joke, Borelli? Is that all you have to say to me? Me and my daughter were just carted off by a bunch of crazies!”

  “OK, Maldonne, I’ll send a car. I hope whatever information you have for me is worth it. But I’ll say this. I’ve had it with you!”

  I explained where we were. We had to wait twenty minutes.

  Rémi got out a first-aid kit, massaged some homeopathic cream into the cuts on my wrist, and then bandaged it gently. He was quite the nurse!

  My face was his next port of call. He disinfected the scratches with witch hazel. It stung, but not too much. I was coping fine. His eyes were close to mine, very close, too close, dangerously close. We could smell each other and we smelled good.

  I turned away and picked up a Snoopy comic book from the shelf behind me. We needed some distance between us. He packed up his medical bag and put it away. I could feel him keeping an eye on me, and I could sense his smile.

  Borelli’s car showed up. I shook myself down and mentally prepared for what lay ahead. I put the comic back. Shame. We all said our thank-yous and good-byes.

  Rémi shook my hand. I felt that he maybe squeezed a little too tightly and held on a bit too long.

  As quick as you can say “Jumpin’ Jack Flash,” we were in Borelli’s office. He shook his head slowly when he saw me.

  I think we might be OK this time. Everything seems to be in order. The raindrops have stopped falling now and things are getting back to normal. I’ll just have to explain everything to my old best bud here, and then I’ll be on my way. He just needs me to shed some light on a few odds and ends. Easy.

  Amar and Gaston were at the station too. No Linus Robinson, but that was no real surprise. What was I expecting? I guess he’d hit the road and gotten as far away as possible. Like a rat out of an aqueduct—as my favorite Monty Pythons would say. I had a gift. A gift for getting mixed up with Russians, hostage crises, Albanians . . . Linus was better off as far away as possible from this gift of mine.

  Gaston looked like a broken man, but when he caught sight of us, he changed before my eyes. His sparkle came back!

  Borelli ranted for a good ten minutes before actually asking me any important questions. Or even any unimportant questions.

  “I
knew it was all just too good to be true!” sighed Borelli. God, that guy can be so fatalistic. “I knew you had something up your sleeve. And I knew we’d have more trouble from you.”

  “That’s not fair,” I whimpered in as quiet a voice as I could manage, not wanting to aggravate him further. Yet I still had the audacity to ask, “Do you think you could stick this cell in the outlet there, please? It needs some juice.”

  Borelli rolled his eyes, but connected it to a charger he found in his drawer and plugged it in.

  I really needed him to hurry things up. It wasn’t the right time to be spending the night down at the station—especially as I had to move everyone out of Amar’s place and finish up Véro’s work. I mean, I really needed that money.

  Before taking down my statement, Borelli gave a passing female officer a special kind of nod and a wink, pointing to my shoeless foot with his chin. I was in a bad state around the old feet.

  “What are you up to there, Maldonne? Is this a new way of drawing attention to yourself?”

  The girly cop came into the office with a pair of trainers or baseball boots or whatever they’re called. There was no way I was putting those monstrosities on my feet. Not a chance. They were a size too big, anyway! But I guess that was better than a size too small. They had bits of pink on them, so at least there was that. I love pink. The color of roses. Like my name.

  I had to put them on. I didn’t want to cause any more trouble.

  51

  As Borelli interviewed me, I was finally able to put together a few pieces of the puzzle. Sabrina did a lot of the talking, because she’d been right! My little baby had been right all along about Pirate Anorak and everything!

  After what seemed like endless discussions and explanations, Borelli said, “Kevin, could you read back the statement to us, please?”

  Kevin was a young trainee. He’d been typing like an insano on the computer keyboard since the beginning of our interview. There were lots of boring details at the beginning: “The hereunder do solemnly declare” and all that bull.

  The statement then went over all the main questions that were asked of us—our names, professions, addresses—followed by our responses. Simple enough. Toward the end of the report, there were fewer questions—it was more of a monologue from my little princess. There weren’t many interruptions from Borelli. It was better to just let her speak. Out of the mouths of babes and all that. She was the key to the whole thing.

  The statement ended up being a pretty interesting read in the end:

  Mademoiselle Sabrina Maldonne-Mendès declares that she noticed a man matching the suspect’s description following her mother. She found the suspect to be amusing at first. She considered him to be clumsy, as she had witnessed him banging his head and falling. However, after listening to the news on the radio, Mademoiselle Maldonne-Mendès remarked on some similarities between the suspect and the Full Moon Pyromaniac, as the media was referring to him. Once in closer contact, at a later stage, the suspect often spoke of flames, burning cars, and setting people on fire, which confirmed her suspicions. She also had the opportunity to study the suspect’s bag, where she found a collection of matches, lighters, and small containers of gasoline. She recognized these objects because she had seen similar paraphernalia at the café-bar, Sélect, where her mother sometimes works.

  The gentleman in question spent some time at psychiatrist-psychologist Madame Rachel Amar’s apartment, where the mother of Mademoiselle Maldonne-Mendès (Madame Rosie Maldonne, hereby present) was fulfilling her role as a replacement housekeeper.

  The man had entered the building dressed as an electrical repairman. His intention had been to set fire to Madame Rachel Amar’s apartment, but he had been too disturbed by the number of people at the residence.

  Mademoiselle Sabrina Maldonne-Mendès took it upon herself to guard the suspect, alongside her younger sisters, and did not go to school. They were helped in this by one of Madame Rachel Amar’s patients, who had an altercation with the man in question. Twice, she attacked him physically. Mademoiselle Sabrina Maldonne-Mendès was successful in detaining the suspect in a walk-in closet using nylon yarn (which remains in her possession). She fed him meals at regular intervals.

  This morning, the situation unraveled when Mademoiselle Sabrina Maldonne-Mendès agreed to treat the suspect following psychology methods she had witnessed her mother using. For the record, it should be noted that Madame Rosie Maldonne, although unqualified, had been giving clinical consultations to Madame Rachel Amar’s patients during Amar’s absence.

  The suspect agreed to follow this treatment and developed a certain affection and trust with Mademoiselle Sabrina Maldonne-Mendès. According to her analysis, the suspect formed an attachment to her.

  As the report came to an end, Rachel Amar, who was listening from the doorway, said, “Stockholm syndrome.”

  None of us took any notice of her.

  52

  So what had my little girl been up to? After Kevin had finished reading us the report, I had a little chat with her. Sabrina gave me the lowdown on how this had all started. The others listened patiently.

  Apparently, she’d only gotten really worried when she’d opened up the closet to give Teddy Pirla a hot chocolate. That’s right! I remembered that! She’d been carrying it down the hallway earlier in the day! Teddy had been mean to her, to start out with. He’d fallen on her feet as she’d opened the closet and blamed her. What was his problem? I needed to have a word with that guy. Being mean to a little kid who was just trying to help out?

  She explained how he’d cried a lot. But he had appreciated the stuff she was pilfering for him from the kitchen. Cheese, chocolate, all sorts of goodies. She was worried she wasn’t really getting anywhere and that she’d soon have to come clean with me about who she was hiding.

  He was still acting pretty moonstruck (ha!) and threatening her. When he’d called me a “snooty bitch” and said he’d “burn me down to the ground,” Sabrina devised a plan of action. She knew I liked my plans of action, and girls like to copy their mothers.

  She said he’d used a lot of really bad words, and that he must have been very unhappy, because “happy people uthe happy wordth.” And so she got him to talk through his childhood with her. Bless that little baby’s cotton socks. She thought she could help him, that she’d make it better. Oh, to be innocent again!

  She went on in some detail about the hot chocolate bit of her story. I think she thought it was important. It was what had initially relaxed him and gotten him to agree to her “treatment.”

  That’s when she’d led Teddy into my office. She wanted to use the couch with her patient like she’d seen her mommy do. Once inside, Teddy had started snooping around the room, and that’s when he’d found Bintou’s gun. The one she’d put in the drawer just minutes earlier. He’d grabbed it and started giggling.

  Sabrina had asked what he was doing. She was probably getting worried at that point. She wouldn’t have liked the idea of her patient having a piece in his pocket. Obviously! Who would?

  He wouldn’t give it up, though. Apparently, he’d declared, “He who laughs last laughs longest.” Sabrina didn’t know what it meant. I’m not sure I did either.

  And then Sabrina’s work began.

  He stretched out on the couch . . . and that’s when she tied the nylon yarn a bit tighter.

  53

  So Kevin had a bit more writing to do at the end of that statement of his! There was one question on everyone’s lips . . .

  “Where is the gun now?”

  Actually, the cops should have had more than that one question—you know, like whose gun was it? What type of gun was it? Where exactly did he find it? Blah, blah, blah . . . It was Laroche’s gun, but nobody asked. Nobody wanted the details. I raised my eyebrows at Borelli. Nothing. He told Sabrina to go out into the corridor and grab a drink from the vending machine before coming back to sign the finalized documents. Sabrina left to join Gaston and Amar, and Kevin he
aded off to make copies. I stayed on my own with Borelli.

  “So Pirate Anorak was the pyromaniac all along. Wow. Teddy Pirla.” I sighed.

  “Yeah, we’ve got one copycat nutcase who’s obsessed with your psychoanalyst friend and another arsonist maniac who is clearly narcoleptic, from what I’ve heard. I wonder what will become of him.”

  “That’s not even your department, is it? You don’t work much in narcotics, do you?”

  “You really should invest in a good dictionary, Maldonne. I said narcoleptic. Narcolepsy. Oh, forget it.”

  “Whatever. And the Russian Mafia was behind it all again. Incredible.”

  “How do you know that?”

  “Well, they’re the guys who picked us up. I didn’t want to mention it. I didn’t want to say much in case Amar was listening (which she was!), because I didn’t want to scare the living daylights out of her. She’d be a wreck if she knew they’d been after her all along. And all because she’d given her expert opinion on a few lowlifes. They thought I was her. That’s all it was.”

  “You were supposed to be making a truthful statement, and there seem to be lots of details missing. Why Pirla?”

  “He met them in prison and they sent him in to do their dirty work. They wanted to throw a wrench in the works with Amar. Well, more than that. They wanted her burned alive.”

  “OK, what is it you’re saying here, exactly?”

  “Listen, it’s pretty simple, Borelli. I thought you were more on the ball than this. All the members of the Russian gang in France were put in the can. The Russians sent in reinforcements, OK? And now the network is being built up again. And the boss of the French branch is giving all the orders, probably from inside! They saw that Pirate Anorak was dying to be in on it all. He likes a little action. Some attention. And a bit of fire! More than a bit! And now he’s been caught. So they’re trying to get their act together now. It’s a matter of honor. Things are going to heat up for Amar here. I’d say all that was pretty clear, wouldn’t you? Christ, you’re not too bright today, are you?”