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The rain has stopped now. I make my way down the park’s central alley. Trailers and RVs are laid out in neat rows on either side of it. The premium spots come with awnings, porches, and small lawns decorated for Christmas. Needless to say, my spot isn’t one of those.
In the central area, four benches stand like sentinels around a playground. Currently four adults sit on them, one per bench, and watch two preschoolers burst into peals of laughter as they go crazy on the swings. Three of the adults are thirtysomething men in identical dark coats and aviator shades that are useless at this time of day and in this weather. I’ve seen the fourth one before. She’s the kids’ mom.
A dog barks in a trailer not far from mine. It’s the fluffy little Yorkie. He’s been barking even before I neared, which is unusual. Ever since that trailer arrived with a retired couple and a furball for temporary neighbors, the canine aboard has shown better manners than the human occupants.
Every morning around nine, the couple head into Pombrio, to return in the evening, about the same time as I do. I always say hello, but they never deign so much as a nod. No doubt, they know who I am and who my sister was. Their dog, however, never ignores me. He acknowledges me with a woof blitz, saying, “Hi, stranger! Not only do I know you’re there, but I can also smell your exact geolocation. Stay away from my lair, or else!” As soon as I put a few meters between us, he says no more.
But today he keeps yapping even after I’ve passed his Threat Eliminated mark.
Hmm, weird.
I reach the trailer I’ve been renting since the palace fire six years ago. After my landlord kicked me out of the apartment I used to share with Jeannette, I slept under bridges for weeks. This trailer was a life savior. The siding of my trailer used to be white but it’s gray now and has mildew stains along the bottom. It’s the oldest in this park. Maybe even in the entire principality.
A sound coming from behind the trailer draws my attention. It’s the noise of gravel skittering underfoot.Is there somebody there?A deranged hater stalking me, like that guy two years ago? Or is it just a stray cat? A rat? Unlikely. Management does a decent job of keeping the park free of litter and big rodents.
Intrigued, I dash to the back of the trailer. As I do, I remember that I hung some laundry out to dry this morning, since it wasn’t supposed to rain until eight tonight. It must be soaked now.
Someoneducks behind a bare tree a couple meters away.
What the what?
Forgetting about my laundry, I run to the tree.
“Who the hell are you?” I ask the man wearing a dark gray coat and shades like the guys on the benches around the playground.
Oh, look, they’re rushing toward me now!
The four men surround me.Are they Mount Evor’s worst secret agents, too dumb to blend into their environment? Are they gangsters that mistook me for some runaway heiress? Or are they crazy stalkers out to kill the surviving witch and avenge the royals?
I stand with my arms akimbo. “Answer me!”
Three of the clones shoot an uncertain look to the fourth.
He takes a step forward. “We’re private security, working for Louis Broderick, the Duke of Arrago.”
“What do you want from me?”
“Nothing,” the boss of the clones says. “The duke sent us here on a reconnaissance mission, before his grandson, Marquess Louis-Philibert de Valois, pays you a visit.”
Louis-Philibert, the highborn looker from the covers of gossip magazines?
I shuffle back a step, scowling. “What does a globe-trotting royal emissary who’s hardly ever in Mount Evor want from me, the enemy of the Crown?”
“I see you’re keeping current,” the boss man deadpans.
“My interest in the royal family goes way back,” I retort, pushing my chin up. “Six years, to be exact.”
The three low-ranking agents tense up, jaws hardening and eyes darting to their boss again as if to ask permission to pounce on me.
“In your place, Madame, I’d refrain from making provocative jokes,” the boss man says.
He’s right, of course.That quip was both imprudent and uncalled for.
“What does the Marquess de Valois want from me?” I ask him in a calmer voice.
“The specifics weren’t part of my brief,” he replies. “But I am authorized to tell you that he will make you an offer you’d be wise to consider very seriously.”
“What kind of offer?” I search his face before moving my gaze to the other agents. “To take money and confess to the crime I had no part in?”
