Murder at the Masquerade, page 6
"Fair point," I concede. "And the publicity does complicate things. If Ms. Labelle is our killer, she's certainly benefiting from her crime."
"Speaking of publicity," Officer Basilier says, reaching into her bag and pulling out a manila folder, "that brings me to why I asked to meet you here instead of the station."
She slides the folder across the table. Maggie, always quicker on the uptake than me, flips it open to reveal two glossy press badges attached to lanyards. Each badge features the title Jules et Jim in elaborate script across the top, with the words "PRESS ACCESS" printed beneath in bold lettering.
"What are these for?" I ask, picking one up to examine it closer.
Officer Basilier's mouth curls into what might generously be called a smile. "I spoke to Zacharia at the newsstand this morning. Turns out, two of our other suspects— Missy Adeline and her publicist, Sacks— will be at a premiere for her new film Jules et Jim in the city tomorrow night." She taps the badges. "These get you entry as press. Courtesy of the Monrovian Police Department's relationship with the film board."
I frown, setting the badge back down. "But I thought all the suspects were supposed to stay in town! Why does Missy get to leave?"
"Because she's a movie star," Officer Basilier states flatly, as if explaining a fundamental law of physics. "And movie stars get special treatment." At my deepening frown, she adds, "The Captain approved it since it's only an hour away from Atwood. But she must return immediately after the event."
"So we're supposed to, what— pretend to be entertainment reporters?" I ask, already imagining the disaster of me attempting to talk intelligently about cinema to people who actually know what they're doing.
"You won't need to say much," Officer Basilier assures me. "These badges get you onto the red carpet and into the reception afterward. Your job is to observe Missy and Sacks, see how they interact with others, and listen for anything relevant to our case."
"And if they recognize us?" Maggie asks practically. "We did just interrogate them yesterday."
"Tell them Rebecca is there writing a special column for Zacharia. He’s done enough stories on you— tell them he gave you your own corner in the magazine to write about anything you want, and you chose to come see this movie.”
Having my own column in the tabloid doesn’t sound like a bad idea, I think. Maybe I could tell my side of the story for once.
Officer Basilier turns to Maggie, “And tell them she brought you, Maggie, as her plus one. That’s why I’m sending you two well-meaning amateurs instead of me. You have a plausible reason to be there. Royal connections and all. Rebecca’s a public figure now. She’ll fit right in."
Joe shifts beneath the table, his tail thumping against my leg as if voting in favor of this undercover mission. I scratch his ear absently, considering the plan.
"We won't exactly blend in with the entertainment press," I point out. "I know nothing about films, and Maggie's idea of cinema is historical documentaries about royal genealogy."
"Hey!" Maggie protests, then concedes with a shrug. "That's fair."
"You don't need to blend in perfectly," Officer Basilier says. "Just enough to observe without raising suspicions. And if you're worried about Joe being too recognizable..." She smiles, then reaches into her bag again and pulls out what appears to be a small vest. "Police K-9 Service Dog identification. For the night, he's officially working with the security team."
I take the vest, oddly touched by how thoroughly she's thought this through. "You really want us on this, don't you?"
Officer Basilier sits back, cupping her teain both hands. "Look, I've got five suspects, a dead Ambassador, and a political situation that could explode in our faces any moment. I need every advantage I can get." She glances at Joe, then back to me. "And like it or not, Orange, you and your team have a knack for getting people to talk."
"My team?" I repeat, surprised by the term.
She gestures to encompass Maggie, Joe, and me. "The Royal Investigators. Isn't that what you call yourselves? Clearly I’ve learned I can’t beat you, so I’ve joined you. I thought that was obvious after our last case."
Maggie's face lights up with barely contained excitement. "We'll need background on Jules et Jim," she says, already tapping notes into her tablet. "Release date, plot summary, critical reception—enough to sound knowledgeable if questioned."
"And formal wear," I add with a grimace. "I assume we can't show up in jeans and a dog collar." I glance down at Joe, who somehow manages to look offended at the suggestion he'd wear anything but his finest attire to a film premiere.
"I'll have files sent to your office with everything you need to know about the film," Officer Basilier promises. "As for wardrobe..." She gives me a critical once-over. "I'm sure the Duke can help with that."
The reminder of Jack sends a pang through me. Between investigating Ms. Labelle this morning and now planning for tomorrow's undercover operation, I've barely had time to check in with him. And if our suspicion is correct—that the Ambassador was killed because he resembled Jack—then there's the unsettling possibility that the real target is still in danger.
"One more thing," I say, my voice more serious now. "Have you considered the possibility that Ambassador Franklin wasn't the intended victim? The resemblance between him and Jack, especially with masks involved..."
Officer Basilier nods grimly. "It's on our radar. We've increased security at the castle, and the Duke has been advised to limit public appearances until we resolve this." She hesitates, then adds, "But keep that theory to yourselves for now. If word gets out that the Duke might have been the target, we'll have an even bigger media circus on our hands."
"Understood," Maggie says, always the professional.
I finish my tea, savoring the last hints of cinnamon. "So, tomorrow night—film premiere, fancy clothes, press badges, and a police dog." I reach down to pat Joe's substantial head. "Anything else we should know?"
"Yes," Officer Basilier says, her expression deadly serious. "Don't try to make an arrest on your own, don't reveal you're working with the police, and for God's sake, Orange— don't let that mountain of fur eat the hors d'oeuvres at the reception. I had to call in serious favors for those badges and the vest."
"Joe is a professional," I say with mock indignation. "He would never compromise an investigation for finger food." Below the table, Joe makes a small whining sound that undermines my defense entirely.
Now that we’re all in agreement, we clean up our table so as not to leave Jocelyn with any dirty dishes. Then, Maggie, Joe, and I head toward the edge of the village, waving goodbye to Officer Basilier as we start the short walk back to the castle.
Tomorrow night, we become entertainment reporters. Today, we need to learn everything we can about French cinema and how to look like we belong on a red carpet. I glance down at Joe, who stares back with those intelligent eyes that somehow always seem to say exactly what I'm thinking.
"I know, buddy," I murmur as we step back onto the village street. "We're way out of our depth. But when has that ever stopped us before?"
Chapter
Eight
I tug at the hemline of my long black dress for the fifth time in as many minutes, feeling like an impostor in someone else's wardrobe. The fabric falls in elegant lines that somehow make me look taller and more sophisticated than I feel, but all I can think about is how much easier it would be to chase a runaway giraffe in my usual khakis and sensible shoes. Still, undercover work requires sacrifices, and tonight, comfort is mine.
"If you keep fidgeting with that dress, you'll wear a hole in it before we even get to the premiere," Jack says, his eyes crinkling with amusement as we stand outside the castle's main entrance. The evening air carries a slight chill, and the setting sun casts long shadows across the immaculate driveway where we're waiting for Enrique.
"I'm not fidgeting, I'm tactically adjusting," I correct him. "This is what spies do."
"Ah yes, the famous spy technique of constantly drawing attention to one's outfit," Maggie chimes in. Unlike me, she looks completely at home in her midnight blue cocktail dress, as if she attends film premieres every weekend. Her tablet—ever-present— is tucked into a sleek clutch that matches her outfit perfectly.
Joe sits at my feet, his massive form unusually subdued, as if he senses something important is happening. Luma circles around him, her collie energy in stark contrast to Joe's dignified stillness. She nuzzles against his side, then looks up at Jack with those adoring eyes that seem to say, "Why is everyone dressed so strangely tonight?"
"Are you sure you'll be okay with both of them?" I ask Jack, reaching down to scratch behind Joe's ears. Despite Officer Basilier’s generous offer of the K-9 police vest, I’ve decided to leave Joe home tonight because—very unprofessionally— he found his way into a jar of cookies left out for staff and helped himself to the treats. He’s been sick every hour since. Luckily, the cookies didn’t have any ingredients that were toxic to dogs—just loads of sugar and butter— but Joe is still paying for the decision. "Joe can get anxious when I'm gone too long, especially when his tummy is upset."
Joe whines and rolls over as if to say I regret every decision I’ve ever made. I bend down and scratch his stomach. “See, buddy,” I say, “We can’t be super-detectives if we make ourselves sick eating things we’re not supposed to, right?” He licks my hand in agreement.
"We'll be fine," Jack assures me, bending down to pet both dogs. "Won't we, team? We've got a schedule— first, a dignified walk around the east gardens, followed by a nap for Joe, then perhaps a documentary on migratory birds."
"Sounds thrilling," I laugh. "Joe prefers action movies, just so you know. Anything with explosions."
"Of course he does," Jack replies with mock seriousness. "I should have guessed from his sophisticated taste in literature." This is an ongoing joke between us since Jack found Joe sleeping on his first-edition Hemingway last month.
Joe looks between us, his expression somehow conveying that he understands he's being discussed and doesn't entirely appreciate the humor at his expense.
"I'm sorry you can't come, buddy," I tell him, kneeling down despite the dress's protest. "But I saved your special police vest. We’ll use it soon, I promise."
"About that," Jack says, his voice shifting to a more serious tone as I stand back up. "I know Officer Basilier wants you to get information from Missy and Sacks, but please be careful. If what we suspect is true—that Franklin was mistaken for me—"
"Then the killer is still out there," I finish for him. "And might realize their mistake." The thought sends a chill through me that has nothing to do with the evening air. "Maybe I should stay here with you."
Jack shakes his head firmly. "Absolutely not. We need answers, and you and Maggie are our best chance at getting them." He takes my hands in his. "Besides, I have the entire Royal Guard on high alert, and these two fierce protectors." He gestures to Joe and Luma, who are now engaged in what appears to be a very gentle game of tug-of-war with Luma's favorite rope toy.
"Ferocious," Maggie deadpans.
"You know," Jack says, his expression softening as he looks at me, "I'm actually quite relieved not to be your date for this particular event." When I raise an eyebrow in question, he continues, "Movie premieres mean endless small talk with people who think being the Duke is just about wearing fancy clothes and cutting ribbons. I much prefer being your date for events that actually matter." His smile turns tender. "Like our wedding."
The mention of our wedding sends a flutter through my chest— part excitement, part panic, all complicated by the current murder investigation.
"If we ever agree on what kind of wedding we're having," I remind him, though I can't help returning his smile.
"We will," he says with a certainty I wish I shared. "After this case is solved, we'll sit down and find the perfect compromise. Something that honors tradition without making you feel like you're performing for strangers."
I'm about to respond when headlights sweep across the driveway, announcing Enrique's arrival. The town car rolls to a smooth stop in front of us, its black exterior gleaming in the fading light. Enrique emerges with his usual stoic expression, opening the rear door without a word.
"Right on time," Maggie says approvingly, checking her watch. "We should arrive just as the red carpet opens."
"Remember everything we reviewed about the film," she adds to me in a lower voice. "Jules et Jim is a French cinema classic about a love triangle, and Missy plays the modern Jeanne Moreau character in this remake."
"I know, I know," I assure her, though the truth is I've retained about ten percent of the film facts she drilled into me this afternoon. "French movie, complicated relationships, lots of artistic camera angles to comment on."
Jack chuckles, pulling me into a quick embrace. "You'll be brilliant," he whispers against my hair. "Just be yourself— well, yourself pretending to be someone with a magazine column."
"That's...not actually helpful advice," I inform him, but I return the hug fiercely, suddenly reluctant to leave him. "Stay safe. Don't let Joe eat anything from your plate, no matter how pathetic he looks."
"I would never fall for such transparent manipulation," Jack says with dignity, while we both know it's a complete lie.
Joe approaches for a proper goodbye, his massive head butting gently against my hip. I kneel down one last time, dress be damned, and wrap my arms around his neck. "Be good," I tell him softly. "Keep Jack and Luma safe for me."
He burps into my cheek, his breath still smelling like the sugar cookies he ate, then gives me an apologetic look before stepping back to stand beside Jack.
"Ladies," Enrique says from beside the car, his voice as expressionless as his face. "We should depart if you wish to arrive on schedule."
"Of course," Maggie says, already sliding into the back seat with practiced grace.
I give Jack one last quick kiss. "I'll call if we learn anything important."
"And I'll call if Joe and Luma stage a coup and take over the castle," he promises.
With a final wave to the unlikely trio— a duke and two dogs silhouetted against the castle entrance— I climb into the car, my dress gathering around me like a pool of dark water. As Enrique pulls away, I watch through the rear window as Jack kneels between Joe and Luma, saying something to them that makes his face light up with laughter.
"Focus, Rebecca," Maggie says gently, touching my arm. "We have a murderer to catch."
"Right," I say, turning away from the window and toward whatever awaits us at the premiere. "Let's go see what we can find.”
The premiere venue glows like a beacon against the night sky, its entrance swarming with photographers, journalists, and film industry people who all seem to know exactly what they're doing. I, on the other hand, am fighting the urge to check if I've somehow put my dress on backward as Enrique pulls the town car up to the red carpet. Through the tinted windows, I spot the trademark flash of cameras and the distinctive black-on-black outfits of the entertainment press corps we're supposed to be infiltrating tonight.
"We're here, ladies," Enrique announces, his voice as expressionless as ever as he brings the vehicle to a perfect stop precisely where the red carpet begins. He turns slightly in his seat, his eyes meeting mine in the rearview mirror. "I will remain in the vicinity. Should you require extraction, simply call my direct line."
"Extraction?" I repeat, amused by his choice of words. "This is a film premiere, not a hostage situation."
The corner of Enrique's mouth twitches— the closest thing to a smile I've ever seen from him. "If the movies are to be believed, Ms. Orange, they can sometimes be one and the same."
Before I can respond to this unexpected bit of driver wisdom, Maggie nudges me toward the door that Enrique has opened. We step out into the cool evening air, the noise of the crowd hitting us like a physical wave.
"Rebecca! Maggie!"
I turn to see Zacharia waving frantically at us from behind a velvet rope that separates the general press from the more exclusive red-carpet area. His press credentials hang around his neck, looking slightly more worn than our pristine forgeries. He gestures urgently for us to join him.
"I saved you spots!" he calls as we approach. "Front row view of all the action!"
"Thanks, Zacharia," Maggie says, her voice the perfect blend of professional and friendly as we duck under the rope to join him. "Any sign of our... subjects of interest?"
"Missy arrived twenty minutes ago," he whispers, his eyes gleaming with excitement. "Made a grand entrance, of course. Sacks was right behind her, managing the press like a puppet master." He leans in closer, lowering his voice conspiratorially. "Do you really think she could be a murderer? I mean, she plays one in this movie, but in real life?" Before either of us can answer, he continues, "That would sell so many magazines!"
"We're just gathering information," I remind him. “And don’t forget—you’re not allowed to say anything. This is all top secret.”
"Mums the word!” Zacharia agrees. “The cocktail reception is already underway inside," he gestures toward the main doors. "That's your best chance to get dirt on Missy. Once the screening starts, they'll have her cordoned off in the VIP section."
We thank him and make our way inside, flashing our fake press badges with what I hope is convincing nonchalance. The security guard barely glances at them before waving us through, which is either a testament to Officer Basilier's connections or a concerning lapse in event security.
The reception area is a sea of elegant people in formal wear, their laughter blending with the soft classical music being played by a string quartet in the corner. Crystal chandeliers cast a warm glow over the scene, making everyone look airbrushed and perfect.
"I feel like I'm in a foreign country without a phrase book," I mutter to Maggie as we scan the room.
