Murder at the Masquerade, page 13
The Prime Minister's face reddens beneath his mustache, while Ms. Labelle wrings her hands nervously.
"At first, our investigation focused on political motives. The Prime Minister openly opposed the compromise, believing Monrovia should control the entire island." I turn to face him directly. "Your nationalist position gave you reason to want the Ambassador silenced."
The Prime Minister steps forward, his mustache practically vibrating with indignation. "This is outrageous! You have no evidence—"
"Please, Prime Minister," I interrupt. "I'm not accusing you. I'm establishing the facts."
He subsides, though his glare could melt steel.
"We also discovered that Gineviève Floridán, the Prime Minister's wife, had a past romantic relationship with Ambassador Franklin— a relationship she concealed from investigators." Murmurs ripple through the crowd. "This gave her a personal connection to the victim, one strong enough that they were seen having an intense private conversation on the terrace shortly before his death."
Next to the Prime Minister, Gineviève wipes her brow. She forces a smile, but tears well in her eyes.
“It was over,” she says, loudly. “It was so long ago.”
“It’s alright,” I say, nodding. “You stayed on the terrace after you spoke to the Ambassador. Which means Gineviève was nowhere near the staircase at the time of the murder.”
I shift my attention to Ms. Labelle. "While Ms. Labelle benefited financially from the publicity surrounding the 'murder fabric,' our investigation revealed she had no access to the ballroom when the lights went out. Her alibi is solid."
Relief floods Ms. Labelle's face as several people around her pat her shoulders sympathetically.
"This brings us to two other suspects who wore the yellow fabric that night: Missy Adeline and her publicist, Sacks." I turn to face them directly.
Sacks takes an involuntary step backward, while Missy maintains her composed expression, though her knuckles whiten around her clutch purse.
"It was something Jack said to me last night,” I say, stepping forward. “He said, ‘there’s safety in numbers.’ and I realized… when the Ambassador was murdered, someone turned out the castle lights. After a quick talk with Douglas, our groundskeeper—”
I wave at Douglas, who’s standing in a crowd of villagers. He gives me a gruff shrug in response.
“—I learned that the electrical breakers that control the entire castle power grid are outside in the gardens, a full five-minute walk from the ballroom where the Ambassador was murdered. Which means that someone… had an accomplice.”
The crowd gasps. Murmurs echo through the square.
“We’re not looking for one killer. We’re looking for two,” I continue, pacing in place. “Someone had to go turn out the lights, and time the movement perfectly, giving the killer a chance to stab Ambassador Franklin in the dark of the ballroom. We know that Gineviève was still on the terrace at the opposite end of the castle at the time of the murder, which means she couldn’t have aided her husband in killing the Ambassador—”
In the crowd, Prime Minister Floridàn sputters. “How dare you—I would never—”
“Which leaves,” I continue. “Another pair. The movie star Missy Adeline… and her publicist, Sacks.”
All eyes in the square turn to Missy, who’s—quite helpfully—standing next to Sacks.
“Sacks is unaccounted for at the time of the murder. No witnesses we spoke to were able to place him in the ballroom. That’s because you were in the garden, turning off the power? Isn’t it, Sacks?”
Sacks throws his hands in the air. “I’m innocent! I didn’t do anything!” He points a finger at Missy. “It was all her!”
Gasps emanate through the Village Square as the crowd realizes the implication of Sacks’ outburst.
"Further investigation revealed that 'Sacks' isn't even his real name. He's used at least three different identities in the past decade, all connected to diplomatic events and political figures." I pause, letting the implication hang in the air. "In other words, Sacks is an intelligence operative for Antanaro."
The crowd erupts in shocked exclamations. Sacks looks around wildly, like a trapped animal searching for escape.
“They promised me they’d wipe my criminal record if I helped her and posed as her publicist!” Sacks says, frantic. “I seek clemency! Please!”
"It was also Sacks who tried to kill Jack by cutting the chandelier at the vote. But he didn’t do any of this alone. He was taking orders from Missy Adeline," I press on, turning my attention to Missy. "Missy isn't just a famous actress from Antanaro. She's been photographed in disguise at numerous political events over the years— as a server, a cleaning staff member, a photographer's assistant. Always in positions that gave her access to sensitive diplomatic information."
Missy's perfect composure finally cracks, her eyes narrowing dangerously.
"In fact, Missy Adeline is also an intelligence operative—a high-ranking Antanaran agent who uses her celebrity status as the perfect cover. Who would suspect an internationally famous actress of espionage?"
Sacks suddenly breaks down, his shoulders slumping in defeat. "I couldn't say no," he blurts out, his voice cracking. "She's my boss. She ordered me to—"
"How dare you blame this on me!" Missy hisses, dropping all pretense of innocence. "You miserable, spineless, lacking in all manner of national pride—"
"It took two people to commit this murder," I interrupt, raising my voice above their argument. "One to shut down the castle lights, and one to stab the Ambassador." I turn to Sacks. "You cut the castle's power, giving Missy the darkness she needed to approach her target."
Officer Basilier moves closer to the pair, her hand resting on her holstered weapon. Two plainclothes officers emerge from the crowd, positioning themselves strategically.
"But there's one thing we still don't understand," I say, turning back to Missy. "Why kill Ambassador Franklin? He was supporting Antanaro's official position on the island compromise."
Missy's beautiful face contorts with rage and something else— frustration, perhaps, or the desperation of someone who knows they're cornered.
"Tell them, Missy," I press. "Or should I say Agent Adeline? Who did you think you were stabbing in that darkened ballroom?"
For a moment, I think she won't speak. Then, with the dramatic flair of the trained actress she is, Missy straightens her spine and lifts her chin defiantly.
"I thought he was him," she spits, jerking her head toward Jack. "Same height, same build, same ridiculous salt-and-pepper hair. How was I supposed to know in the dark? The Duke was meant to die that night, not that weak, simpering, tired excuse for a diplomat!"
The crowd gasps collectively. Jack remains impassive on the platform, though I can see the slight tightening around his eyes that betrays his shock.
"Why?" I ask, though I already know the answer. "Why target the Duke?"
"Because he supports this absurd compromise!" Missy shouts, all pretense abandoned. "Île des Lilas belongs to Antanaro—all of it, not half! The research facility has discovered deposits that could change everything. Our government was too weak to demand what's rightfully ours, so I took matters into my own hands."
"What deposits?" Jack asks, speaking for the first time.
Missy's eyes gleam with a fanatic light. "Rare earth elements. And you were going to give half away for 'peace'?" She laughs bitterly. "Peace doesn't build empires."
Everything suddenly clicks into place— the desperation of their actions, the escalating violence, the willingness to attempt a public assassination. This was never just about a small island with a harbor and research station. It was about what lay beneath its surface.
"And when you realized your mistake," I continue, "when you discovered you'd killed the wrong man, you tried again with the chandelier."
"A much less subtle approach," Missy admits with chilling casualness. "But we were running out of time. The vote was imminent."
Sacks looks like he might faint, his eyes darting between Missy and the exits. "I never wanted anyone to die," he whispers. "You said it would just be a scare tactic! A threat—"
"Shut up, you fool," Missy snaps.
In a sudden burst of movement, she shoves Sacks toward Officer Basilier and turns to run. Simultaneously, Sacks stumbles forward, knocking into a plainclothes officer who reaches for him. The crowd scatters in panic as Missy sprints toward the nearest alley, her green dress flashing like a jungle cat among the marigold decorations.
"Joe, stay!" I command, leaping from the platform to give chase. Behind me, I hear Officer Basilier's sharp commands as she coordinates officers to secure Sacks and create a perimeter.
But it's Maggie who surprises everyone. As Missy nears the alley entrance, Maggie steps directly into her path, tablet still clutched to her chest like a shield. For a split second, I think Missy will simply barrel through her— but then Maggie swings the tablet like a tennis racket, connecting solidly with the side of Missy's head.
The actress crumples to the cobblestones in an elegant heap of emerald silk.
"Administrative skills come in handy," Maggie says breathlessly as I reach them, looking down at Missy's unconscious form with a mixture of shock and satisfaction.
Officers converge on us, securing Missy with handcuffs even as she begins to stir. The crowd keeps a respectful distance, their excited chatter creating a background hum of disbelief and amazement.
I feel a hand on my shoulder and turn to find Jack standing beside me, his face a complex mixture of emotions.
"Are you alright?" he asks softly.
"Shouldn't I be asking you that?" I counter, glancing meaningfully at his injured arm. "You're the one who nearly died. Twice."
"And yet here we are," he says, his eyes crinkling at the corners in that way that still makes my heart skip. "Both still standing."
Around us, candles continue to flicker in the evening breeze, casting dancing shadows across the cobblestones. Officer Basilier supervises as Sacks and Missy are led to separate police vehicles, their brief careers as spies and assassins officially over.
The Royal Council Chair approaches, her expression a mixture of shock and determination. "Given these... extraordinary revelations, I believe we should postpone the vote? Until we can ensure that this was the act of one rogue agent, and Antanaro had nothing to do with the crime, of course."
Jack nods in agreement. "A wise decision."
As they fall into discussion about diplomatic procedures and international protocols, I find myself stepping back, suddenly exhausted. Joe appears at my side, pressing his massive body against my leg in silent support.
"Not bad," Maggie says, joining me with her now cracked tablet still clutched in one hand. “Tell Jack I’m going to need the Castle to buy me a new tablet.
"Where did you learn to swing like that?" I ask, nodding at the cracked piece of glass in her hand.
"Tracey,” Maggie says, referencing the Castle’s fitness expert. The mere mention of Tracey’s name sends a terrible shiver down my spine, making me think of the last painful Pilates class I allowed her to subject me to.
“She said I needed a workout that’s a sport,” Maggie continues. “So she’s been giving me tennis lessons. Though I don't think this is what she had in mind."
We watch as the crowd begins to disperse, the excitement of the evening's drama giving way to a seasonal cheer. Music starts up from somewhere, and the scent of spiced wine and sweet pastries fills the air.
"What happens now?" Maggie asks.
"Now," I say, scratching behind Joe's ears as he leans contentedly against me, "we get back to planning a wedding."
Just then, Jack appears at my side. Despite everything—the attempts on his life, the political intrigue, the revelation of international espionage—he stands tall, already looking forward to the next adventure. “Did I hear someone say wedding?”
"I have an idea for the two of you,” Maggie says slyly. “What if instead of waiting and planning and stressing about a big event, you got married on All Souls Day? Or as Rebecca calls it, Halloween?"
I blink, surprised by the suggestion. "You mean... this Halloween? As in, tomorrow night?”
"Exactly!" Maggie's enthusiasm is building. "A small, private ceremony in the Castle garden. Just family and close friends. The gardens are already decorated for the season with pumpkins and marigolds. Chef Renauld could prepare a simple but elegant dinner. And most importantly—" she pauses for emphasis, "—no time for anyone to get murdered before the ceremony!"
Jack laughs, the sound rumbling pleasantly against my side. "She makes a compelling point."
I consider the idea, picturing the castle gardens with their stone pathways lined with glowing jack-o'-lanterns, the ancient oak trees dropping golden leaves onto the lawn, the moon rising over the stone walls. It would be beautiful, intimate, perfectly us.
"All Souls Day is about magic," Maggie adds softly. "About believing in things we can't see but know are real. About connections that transcend ordinary understanding." She looks between us, her expression uncharacteristically poetic. "Isn't that what you two have?"
"Halloween in the castle garden," I say, testing the idea aloud. "With Alfredo eating pasta in the background and Joe probably trying to steal the cake."
"I'll make sure the cake is on a very high table," Maggie promises solemnly.
"The Queen might not be able to arrange travel on such short notice," Jack points out, though he doesn't sound particularly troubled by this possibility.
"We can have a reception later," I suggest, warming to the idea more with each passing second. "This would just be for us— for the people who matter most."
Jack turns to face me fully, his eyes meeting mine with such tenderness that it makes my breath catch. "Is this what you want? Truly?"
I think about all the plans we've discussed, all the royal traditions and expectations that have been weighing on us. I think about the Castle garden where we've spent so many peaceful mornings, where Joe and Luma chase each other through the roses, where Jack reads poetry to the alpacas when he thinks no one is watching. I think about Halloween—my favorite holiday— with its magic and mystery and sense of possibility.
"Yes," I say, surprising myself with how certain I feel. "I want to marry you in our garden on Halloween, with our animals and our friends, and no international incidents to interrupt."
Jack's smile is like a candle, slow and warm and full of promise. "Then that's what we'll do."
Maggie makes a small sound that might be a suppressed squeal of delight. "I'll start planning immediately. We'll need flowers, and food, and—oh! Your dress! And Jack's suit! And— oh my gosh, I need another tablet right away!"
"Breathe, Maggie," I laugh, reaching out to squeeze her arm. "It's going to be simple, remember? That's the whole point."
She inhales deeply, visibly centering herself. "Right. Simple. I can do simple." She doesn't sound entirely convinced, but her smile is genuine. "A Halloween wedding in the Castle garden. It's going to be magical."
As we turn to walk back toward the square, the last light of day giving way to the soft glow of All Souls Day candles, I feel a sense of peace settle over me. After all the chaos and danger of the past weeks, we've found our way to this moment— this decision that feels so perfectly right — it's as if it was waiting for us all along.
"Halloween," Jack murmurs beside me, testing the word. "A day for magic and mystery and new beginnings."
"And candy," I add seriously. "Don't forget the candy."
His laughter joins the music drifting from the square, a perfect harmony that feels like home.
Because some things— even in the face of murder and mayhem— remain absolutely certain.
Chapter
Seventeen
Thanks to Maggie, the Castle garden is other-worldly. Hundreds of candles float in glass jars suspended from tree branches, their flickering flames creating dancing shadows across the stone pathways. Jack-o'-lanterns line the garden walls, their carved faces glowing with warm, orange light. Strings of marigolds form a canopy overhead, their vibrant blooms a defiant last stand against the approaching winter. I stand at the garden entrance, my heart beating so loudly I'm certain the entire castle staff can hear it. Joe sits beside me, a small velvet pouch containing our rings tied securely around his massive neck with a ribbon. He looks up at me with those wise eyes, as if to say, "Ready when you are." I take a deep breath. Who would have thought that after solving international espionage and multiple murders, getting married would be the thing that makes my knees shake?
"Stop fidgeting," Maggie whispers, adjusting the simple crown of autumn flowers she's placed in my hair. "You look perfect."
I glance down at my dress— not a traditional wedding gown but a vintage-inspired cream dress with delicate lace overlay that we miraculously found in Ms. Labelle's shop just yesterday. Now that I know she’s not a murderer, getting a dress from Ms. Labelle feels like a gift. It fits like it was made for me, which Ms. Labelle insists is pure luck, but I suspect involved some overnight alterations. I'm wearing comfortable boots underneath— practical enough to walk through the village later but hidden by the hem. No way was I risking high heels on cobblestones.
"Are you sure this isn't too..." I gesture vaguely at my outfit, "casual? For marrying a Duke?"
Maggie gives me her patented don't-be-ridiculous look. "You're marrying Jack. The man who reads poetry to giraffes and has been photographed countless times with your enormous dog draped across his lap." She straightens my flower crown one final time. "Trust me, this is exactly right."
