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“When Jeannette Mussey was fifteen years old,” Von Dietz replies in my stead, “she committed her first arson. She set fire to the foster home where she lived with your betrothed, my lord, who was twelve at the time.”
“Did you know about it?” Louis asks me.
I glare at him. “What do you think? Of course, I did.”
If only I could tell them the fire wasn’t arson, that it was an accident, and that the police had made a terrible mistake! Except, I can’t. Because Jeannette did set that house on fire. I know why she did it. Our foster family knows it, too. But we all kept the truth from the investigators.
Von Dietz turns his computer screen so that we can see the arson report he’s so judiciously pulled up.
“Want to know what I think about it?” I look from Von Dietz to Louis.
They nod.
I straighten in my seat. “Those two things only corroborate my theory that Jeannette was framed.”
Von Dietz folds his arms across his chest. “How so?”
“Say some bad people were plotting to murder Prince Theodor,” I begin. “If they made it look like the fire was the work of a serial arsonist—a lone wolf who had the means but no motive—then MESS wouldn’t look for the real culprits.”
“And you think Jeannette was that scapegoat?” Louis asks.
“Can’t you see it?” I appeal to his reason… or maybe to his heart. “It was common knowledge how good she was with electronics. Add to that her first arson, and you have the perfect goat!”
Lous scratches the back of his head, and I wonder if he’s trying to figure out how Jeannette’s supposed gold-digging fits into that scenario. If I’m being honest, it doesn’t. Which is why I didn’t mention it.
“Your hypothesis that the palace fire was an attempted murder of the crown prince doesn’t hold water,” Von Dietz says.
“Why not?”
“A murderer would pick a more surefire way.” He gives me an overbearing look. “You may not know or remember this, but Prince Theodor used to be a ladies’ man six years ago and a barfly.”
“That’s right,” Louis confirms. “I remember he’d often spend the night with some socialite he’d just met, disregarding his safety and driving his attendant Gaston bonkers.”
Von Dietz zeroes in on me. “Say bad people were plotting Prince Theodor’s murder. Why not seize one of those multiple occasions and spike his drink, or inject him discreetly, or stab him in a crowded bar?”
I don’t answer because I don’t have an answer.
“Why opt for setting the royal palace on fire,” Von Dietz continues, “hoping that Prince Theodor is in his room and that he wouldn’t be able to get out in time?”
Louis nods. “It’s like targeting a fly with a nuke. Sounds inefficient to me.”
“Arson is rarely used for murder precisely for that reason,” Von Dietz adds.
Fine, I’ll play the other card.
“Was one of the security guards that died in the fire a MESS agent?” I ask Von Dietz.
“I’m afraid I cannot answer that question.”
“You cannot or you will not?”
He stretches his lips into a synthetic smile and stands up. “Madame, my lord, please give my regards to Rudolph.”
“Will do,” Louis says, rising to his feet.
To my quizzical glance he adds, “Rudy worked at MESS before.”
As we leave the building, I replay the interview in my head.
