Ministry Protocol: Thrilling Tales of the Ministry of Peculiar Occurrences
Page 48
*****
Anne-Marie did her best thinking while baking. By the time Joe squeezed through the front door, her face shone with sweat and her arms ached from furious kneading. She led him into the office where she did the bookkeeping.
“What’d you find?”
“Don’t bark at me, monsieur. What did you find?”
He sighed and emptied his pockets onto her spotless desk. “Receipts, bills, bits of his bloody poetry. No reason for the poor lad to be murdered.”
“The girls hadn’t heard about Gilly’s death. Described him as a nasty piece of work. They didn’t care for Dickie or Badger, either. Said their mistress hates the English and one of the three dead was responsible for murdering her daughter.” Joe grunted and pawed through the crumpled papers, holding up a wine-stained bill.
“He owed the Folies Bergere a decent sum. Payable to Madam Allemande last week. Guess it might be worth keeping the debt to get your revenge.”
She tapped the piece of paper. “We know they were all customers. We know they were all suspects, according to Allemande. Should we visit Dickie and Badger’s flats next?”
Joe removed his bowler to run a hand through wild brown hair. “Forget them. Worry about Gilly. We find how he was murdered, we know what happened to the others.”
“Is that the usual Ministry procedure?”
He bristled. “You correcting me? On the job less than a day, and you’re telling me what’s what?”
She calmly raised an eyebrow.
“Bien sûr, I’m telling you. This is my city, my home. Until you’re the head of the Ministry, I do not work for you. I work with you.” They locked eyes, and she refused to look away. He blinked first. “But in this case, I think perhaps I do agree. Did you bring a dinner jacket?”
He grunted. “I can get one.”
“Bon. Tonight, we’re going to the Folies Bergere, and you’re going to chat with the other Brits, see what they know.”
“Let’s say I agree to it, just out of curiosity. What are you going to do tonight?”
She grinned.
“I’m going to pick every lock in the cabaret until I find Madam Allemande.”
He thought a moment and nodded. “Roight.”
“You’re giving in, just like that?”
“File says you’re good with locks, love. Besides, what man wouldn’t want to spend a night at the cabaret?”
Anne-Marie looked him up and down, contemplating how one found a behemoth-sized dinner jacket in just a few hours and whether it was possible anyone would believe him a gentleman. “Are you sure you can pull this off? You never told me of your past training or specialties.”
His grin was as crooked as his nose. “Don’t worry, pet. Undercover is my specialty.”