Murder at the Cosmopolitan
Part 4. Beatriz's Story
Thaumont 9, Paparazzi Glantri Headquarters, Glantri City.
“The Paparazzi Glantri has to find out who tried to kill Princess Dolores Hillsbury,” announced Beatriz Dominatore as she entered the studio.
She was expecting cries of bewilderment or protestation from the motley crew of the Paparazzi, but instead she was met with the silence of a room with one person.
“Where is everybody?” Beatriz asked in an authoritative voice.
Kassar Krinagar, the only one who was sitting alert at table obliged Beatriz with the information.
“Well, Felicidad has an evening with a former paramour (from the Constabulary, I think). Olga, of course, is not here. Melisante is incommunicado. Noussoir is staying with Princess Dolores, tending to her injuries—”
“The only thing that woman injured was her pride!” Beatriz interrupted. Kassar had an idea why Beatriz would know.
“Did you,” Kassar began to inquire, “just meet with her?”
“Yes, I did,” Beatriz said, her face wrinkling up in sour annoyance. “And that woman is absolutely incorrigible!”
But before Beatriz could continue to issue her caustic judgments about the Princess of Fenswick, a cheerful inebriated voice burst out from the couch.
“Bonsoir, Madesmoiselle Beatriz! Je suis ici! I’m ‘ere to attend yer meetin’. Eh-eh-eh!”
Beatriz turned to see the reclined figure on the couch.
It was Gaston, unwashed and unkempt, probably since before that fateful gala night. His clothes and face were covered with filth, his chemise were stained with some offensive substance, and his grimy hands around a half-empty bottle of cheap wine. Despite his repulsive state, Gaston was smiling insouciantly, as he exuded a fragrant odor of champagne, canal water, and bile.
If Beatriz could kill Gaston with her dread gaze, she would have. But she decided to wait for some other opportunity.
In any event, Kassar interrupted her deadly scheming.
“And why would the Princess of Fenswick employ the Paparazzi for the investigation? That’s not our job. Let the Constabulary handle that!”
“Si, that is what I said to Princess Dolores. But she said that she doesn’t trust them, and she doesn’t believe they will ever find out, so she has come to us.”
“Well, I agree. Princess Dolores is right in thinking that we would be able to discover who tried to kill her. (If there is anyone who can find out anything, it’s the Paparazzi!) But that might not be in our best interest…”
Beatriz bowed her head slightly to hide her eyes. Then looking up slightly, keeping her face shadowed, she replied, “Oh, but Kassar, she has promised to repay us handsomely for our services.”
Beatriz had taken her hand out from under the table, and was displaying an exquisite bracelet of silver and diamonds.
Kassar’s eyes opened wide. He did not have to be told that the bracelet had once belonged to Duchess Margaret Hillsbury, Princess Dolores’ (alleged) late mother, and a famed collector priceless jewelry.
Kassar’s eye met Beatriz’s, and she gave a quick glance at their inebriated associate, who would not see what they were doing from his reclined position. Beatriz lay a small velvet pouch on the table and slid in across to Kassar. He understood and deftly palmed his share of Princess Dolores’ generosity.
“So,” Kassar said, suddenly open to the idea of investigating the assassination attempt, “where do we start?”
“I think we should review who was in attendance at the theatre that night,” Beatriz said.
“That would be difficult, Beatriz…”
“Bene, we must begin somewhere. Let’s start with the Princes.”
“Well, Prince Jaggar, Prince Malachie, Princess Car—”
“Where were they? Who were they with? Prince Jaggar?”
“Prince Jaggar. He was with his sister and his mother. They were in their theatre box, front, stage left, middle floor.”
“Prince Malachie?”
“Princess Malachie, also in his theatre box, with Dame Suzanne and Dame Diane (the new one, of course).”
“Prince Morphail?”
A shiver ran down Kassar’s spine at the mention of the name. He looked up and Beatriz was smiling a sinister smile. She had seen him get spooked.
“No,” Kassar said, defiantly. “His box was empty. As it always is.”
“They say that box is haunted…” Beatriz remarked, half-asking, half-stating.
“Glantrians will say anything,” Kassar said, dismissing the thought.
Beatriz continued, “Princess Carlotina?”
“She never attends the theatre anymore.”
“Princess Juliana?”
“At her box, upper floor, stage left. With the Black Eagle in prominent display. (Quite a garish spectacle, I say!)”
“Princess Carnelia?”
Kassar paused. He couldn’t see the point of how the attendance of the Princes could relate to an attempt at murder.
“Well, Kassar?”
“I couldn’t say. They were on the same side as our box…”
“You were with your brother, si?”
“Yes, and with my sister, Lan-Syn. Our box is on the stage right. We…”
“Si, Kassar? You have an idea?”
“Ralindi. His box is across ours, but closer to the stage. (It was Jherek’s choice of box, of course.) Lan-Syn commented how she missed the view from there, and I remember that when Act Two began, I looked over there and it was empty. Ralindi hadn’t returned from the intermission…”
“Ah! Now, we have something, Kassar,” Beatriz said conspiratorially.
“Kassar, you have something against that nephew of yours, ¿no?” came a voice from behind Beatriz.
Felicidad de Fedorias made her entrance. In her petite hands, she held a bulky scroll, which she handed to Beatriz, as she would to a maidservant.
“That,” Felicidad said, referring to the scroll, “is from Olga.”
Then, promenading around the table, giving Kassar an enticing caress (which he shrugged off), and stopping to give a sickened stare at Gaston (who responded with a crooked smile), Felicidad insinuated herself in the seat beside Kassar.
With all eyes still on her, Felicidad make her proclamations. “Carnelia was with Diego, Ricardo, and Miguel at the gala.”
Then turning seductively at Kassar, Felicidad said in a cooing voice, “And your nephew, Prince Ralindi, ‘ad a rendezvous with my cousin, Ysabel, between Acts One and Two…”
“Eh-eh-eh! I could’ve told ye zat,” piped Gaston from his couch. “I was zere when it was ‘appening. Right in ze gondola! Eh-eh-eh!”
Gaston made humping motions in the couch, which the others looked at in disgust.
“Why didn’t you tell us before, Gaston?” Kassar said, irritated.
Felicidad, leaning forward provocatively, a finger tracing the designs on Kassar’s sleeves, said, “Kassar, is it true what they say about Ethengar men?”
The room was silenced by Beatriz’s commanding voice.
Her eyes focused on the open scroll, Beatriz announced, “I think you should all hear this.”
