Queen of the Masquerade (Rosie Maldonne's World Book 3)

by Alice Quinn

  We brushed the water out and threw away everything that was ruined beyond repair. We bagged up all the refuse and left it on the sidewalk. The local authorities were sending out garbage trucks to collect everyone’s trashed lives. I know that sounds exaggerated, but it’s how it felt. I had to get rid of all our linens, most of our clothes, our mattresses. It was back-breaking work and one hell of a cleanup, which was not easy with my wrist.

  Gaston went to pick up the car and bring back some heavy-duty plastic trash bags from his house. It made the job a lot easier. It was heartbreaking. Truly. Bags and bags of memories. The kids’ schoolbooks, letters, comics, the carpets! I tried to get as much of the irreplaceable stuff as I could out in the sun to dry, including a couple of photos of my mom and my grandmamma.

  We managed to save some clothes. They were all thrown into the trunk of the Jag. I could launder them and they’d maybe come back all right again.

  The dishes and cutlery were fine—just very, very dirty. Easy enough to take care of. Anything electric was a goner.

  I sponged, emptied, washed, mopped, cleaned, and then did it all over. Oh, the kiddies’ toys! My aching heart! So much had to go!

  I found an old leather bag that had been my Ruth’s. I’d forgotten all about it! It was full of papers, letters, postcards, diaries, tickets, bills, photos of people I didn’t know. It was a little pack of treats and treasures. There was even a small brass key in there. I didn’t know what it opened. I’d often wondered. Everything was sodden, but I couldn’t bring myself to throw any of it away. Out into the sunshine it went.

  The last thing I got to were my personal documents, which I kept in a big box. There was a heap of sentimental old stuff in there too. Things from the births of my daughters, adoption papers, all my momma’s documents. My family heritage. Everything. I couldn’t bring myself to look. I spread it all out on the plastic table outside. It would dry. I prayed it would dry. I couldn’t bear to think of the alternative.

  We eventually got to the stage where my trailer was “clean,” an empty box. The electricity hadn’t come back on, though, and it stank. Oh well! I cleaned up the dishes, pots, and pans and put them back in the cupboards. I also collected the bits of paper that had dried and found new homes for everything. I certainly had plenty of room now!

  We stood outside and took stock. We sensed we’d accomplished something. And we had! The next time I did any cleaning at my place, it wouldn’t take too long, that was for sure. There was next to nothing left. Silver lining and all that.

  Bintou gave me a good tip about burning herbs to get rid of the smell. I couldn’t wait to try it out. She divulged how eucalyptus leaves were a gem too. I’d seen a ton of them in Gaston’s yard. I’d do it the following day.

  The Jag was so full of stuff that I wanted to try to clean back at his place, there was only one seat left. It had to be for the youngest member of our gang, Léo. Gaston said he’d stop off and pick up some fruit on his way home.

  The rest of us returned to the enchanted castle on foot. Laroche and Bintou. Me and Tony.

  As we walked, I couldn’t help but feel down. My spirits were low and I felt shattered. Tony picked up on this and told me jokes to try and buck me up. He’s such a pal. When his jokes ran out, he told me about a couple of funny movies he’d seen recently. He made me giggle a few times, but my heart remained heavy.

  There was still no news from Linus Robinson.

  So much had happened, and my mind hadn’t really been on him all that much, but my brain was starting to catch up with reality now. I guessed I’d deserved it. That’s what you get when you try to fake-ass your way through a situation. When you’re not yourself. When you pretend you’re someone else. When you’re a big liar masquerading.

  Tony only joined us part of the way. He had decided earlier to head back to Sélect. He wanted to open up for the evening. He didn’t like losing business, however little of it there was. An afternoon off was more than enough for my Tony. Bintou and Laroche had been invited to dine with us.

  When I met up with my babas, they told me what a great afternoon they’d had. Pastis was up in a tree. Oh, the life of a cat! I gave Emma her Princess Sarah doll. Smiles all around! Even Erina seemed peppy. She was in the backyard with Léo, chatting away.

  I hung up the wet things that were already in the machine and started sorting out the muddy clothes. Maybe we’d have something presentable to wear the next day!

  We ate what was left of the fantastic midday meal, with raspberries and watermelon. Delish. If I ever have the blues, they soon disappear when I’m with my little ones. The evening wound down with a game of Monopoly.

  The group was split into teams. Emma was with Gaston, Kholia with Erina, Lisa with Léo, and Sabrina on her own (now that she’s all big and can read, she has more of an independent streak). I watched the fun.

  Laroche and Bintou washed the pots and put everything back in the cupboards. Rachel Amar kept to herself in a little corner, scribbling away in a notebook.

  Sabrina was on a winning streak! She had houses and hotels all over the board. My little brainiac. Suddenly she dug around in her pocket and got out her Happy Families game that Antoine, alias Monsieur Charles, had given her. She was fast fancying herself a real-estate mogul. She turned the cards over and started placing them on the board. Little “For Sale” signs everywhere.

  “I’m thelling everything,” she announced. “I’d rather uthe the money for other thingth. I don’t want a big pile of houtheth. What’th the uthe? A perthon only needth one houthe, don’t they?”

  Shit. That was it! Why hadn’t it come to me earlier?

  The houses. Real estate. That’s what Monsieur Charles did! All those places on his books! The houses, the shops, the apartments . . . they’d be full of drugs, weapons, girls. I’d seen a sign outside Murrash’s place and outside the body shop. That’s how he was getting away with it. That’s where the evidence would be! There were “For Sale” signs all over that cruddy part of town.

  I cried out, “‘For Sale!’”

  “What?” said Léo. “You’re not even playing, Cricri.”

  “Are you selling your station, Sabrina?” asked Gaston.

  I shouted, “Monsieur Charles! The houses. That’s his cover! All those ‘For Sale’ signs! That’s how we can tie all this together! This is how we prove the links to Murrash and all the other baddies! Through his agency! He must have the keys to half the places in town! He can store anything he likes, almost anyplace he likes. Goods, people . . . all the evidence that’s not so easy to hide. Oh God. I’ve got it! He’s going down!”

  I called up Borelli to explain what I’d known all along, but which had taken some time to come out of my frazzled brain. He was a lot colder with me than I thought he would be. Probably because there I was, doing his job for him again. He promised he’d examine any evidence and that it was an interesting lead. Interesting lead? It was his proof! He explained how he would organize a systematic search of all the empty properties on Antoine’s books. Well, thank God for that. I didn’t like to imagine what he’d find, but Antoine was sewn up. Job done.

  The Monopoly game went on forever. They always do. Does anyone actually know how that game ends?

  I fell asleep, but I think everyone gave up in the end because my Sabrina was too far ahead. As always. She’s the best.

  Sunday: Shiny Happy People

  68

  I woke up extra early on Sunday morning. Nothing playing on the mind-radio. A bit of peace. Maybe Mom thought she’d give me a rest. I’d had a packed week.

  I put my own clothes back on. They’d all dried on the line outside. What a relief! Flowery shorts, a skimpy tee with a glittery pattern . . . back to my normal self.

  I found Rachel Amar glugging down coffee in the kitchen. She smiled at me and served me a big cup of the delicious black stuff.

  We had been mulling over what to do about the Albanian kids, and she told me she’d come to a decision. “I’ve been in touch
with a friend of mine who works for the local authorities. The best solution here would be to send the children home to their families. That’s the long-term goal. I’ve decided to focus my research on trauma faced by economic migrants, particularly minors. I will take care of the children until we can find a way to get them home. I want to be of some use here. I know something’s happening with the Russian gang and that they’re after me. I pick up on these things, Rosie! I’ve been assured that I’ll have full police protection until the situation has calmed down. I’ll be able to do my research at the same time as taking care of these little people and ensuring they’re out of harm’s way.”

  Speechless. I’d had no idea what to do with the latest additions to the gang! Not an inkling. This couldn’t have gone any better.

  Gaston had been eavesdropping. He entered the room and told us that he knew very little about Eastern Europe but had always been fascinated. Was there a subject he wasn’t fascinated by? He explained how he now planned to go on a tour of Greece, Italy . . . and why not Albania? They could travel with him when the time came. That would certainly avoid deportation and all the potential issues it might entail. Another heroic move from Gaston.

  “But that’s for later, of course. I’m sure that Léo and Erina would be delighted to learn a little about the Impressionists in the meantime. I haven’t been to the Musée des Beaux Arts in quite a while. I’m going to take them both down there today. Would you like to come along, Cricri?”

  Fits of laughter followed from yours truly. “I think I’ll skip it, thanks!”

  Rachel wiped her brow and uttered, “If there’s air-conditioning down there, I wouldn’t say no.”

  I was sure they’d all have a super time. It just wasn’t my thing. Never was, never will be.

  Before they left, I asked Gaston about the eucalyptus leaves in the enchanted garden, and he showed me where the best picks were, tucked away in the back.

  Léo wanted to see his mother, so they all agreed they’d visit her on their way back from the museum.

  The girls were playing with Kholia in the grass. He’d definitely become a favorite.

  As for me, I made a mental to-do list. As soon as I’d fixed up Rachel Amar’s place, I was going to head over to Sélect and pick up a few shifts. The summer season was about to start, and Tony would need a lot of help, especially since Mimi was out for a while with her wrist.

  The fact that Erina and Kholia were now going to be with Rachel Amar was a big worry off my plate.

  Victor, Teddy, and Murrash were under lock and key. Monsieur Charles would be picked up soon enough. Borelli was on it. He’d get it taken care of, I was sure.

  Once Antoine was brought in, the whole network would collapse. Borelli had a lot of baddies to deal with. He’d be a busy boy!

  Linus Robinson had gone off to follow his own destiny and left me to follow mine. I was back at Go. Well, with my love life, at any rate. It was sad, but as my Sabrina always says, “That’th life!”

  No more thinking about Canada for me. Over and done.

  Time to spend some precious moments with my little ones. That’s what weekends were all about. Sunday was picnic day in our world. We needed some time out after our week, and what better way than to head off somewhere nice with something yummy to munch? As I breathed in, I felt a wave of Zen flow over me. Sunday . . . reeeeellllaaaaaax! The sun was out, and you’d never have known we’d all just survived a tornado or hurricane or whatever it was. It wasn’t too hot either. Not for me, anyway. It was just right!

  The beach was the best option for us.

  I found swimsuits, towels, and a big beach bag. I got some munchies together from the kitchen. Gaston had a good little snack stock: bread, tomatoes, tuna, watermelon. I turned on the radio.

  The local news station was reporting on the state of our beaches. They were all no-go zones because of flood damage. The water was polluted, and there was garbage and mud all over our beautiful sandy shoreline. It would take a while for everything to get back to normal. That put an end to my plans.

  Damn. I’d have to move on to plan B. Did I have a plan B?

  I suddenly felt weary again. Friday’s events and the shock of what had happened at Tony’s place were catching up with me.

  The kidlets were still enjoying the backyard, and Pastis was flicking lizards around out front. I felt alone and a little abandoned. Linus must have thought I just wasn’t worth it.

  He was right.

  Maybe if I’d told him the truth and not gone around pretending to be someone I wasn’t, I might have stood a chance with him.

  I felt discouraged. I had a picnic basket good enough for Yogi Bear and nowhere to go. One of my faves came on the radio. The R.E.M. classic “Shiny Happy People.” What a most excellent song! Something to cheer me up. I started dancing around the kitchen. I cracked up. Momma! She’d put this on for me. She knew I needed a boost.

  I made a new plan. We’d finish up in the trailer, take the eucalyptus leaves, and have ourselves a little exorcism back there. The walk would do us all some good. After that, we’d head back and enjoy our picnic in Gaston’s beautiful enchanted backyard.

  Seriously, why was I even thinking of going anywhere else? We had exactly what we needed right there.

  I got my pack together and off we went.

  My thoughts turned to Linus again as we strolled along. He was the most perfect man on earth.

  No, he wasn’t. He’d been a dick.

  No. I was the dick.

  Had his reaction been totally normal? To just dump my ass like that? Did he feel cheated?

  Was I going to get over him?

  Jeeeez! Out! Out of my brain, Robinson! Your loss!

  The girls played in the mud while I got some of the eucalyptus burning in a wok. A bit of gas, a bit of oil, and whhhoooooossshhh! It smelled like minty fire.

  I heard a motorbike in the distance. The roads had cleared up some and traffic was now getting though.

  Someone was talking to Sabrina.

  A man shouted, “Is something on fire in there?”

  He was right. I was starting to choke! The minty fire had turned to minty smoke, a cloud of the stuff. I headed to the door, spluttering.

  Next to Sabrina stood a real cutie—a Mediterranean type with curly black hair, dark eyes, a helmet in his hand. His T-shirt said “Professional Lover.” Quite a sight. He gazed at me, his delightful eyes winning me over in a second.

  “Well, well! I’ve been searching for you!”

  Rémi. Drugstore Rémi himself. Wrist-fixer extraordinaire and rescuer of Russian kidnap victims. It seemed ages ago . . .

  He ambled slowly toward the trailer.

  “How’s the hand doing?” he asked in a husky, sexy voice.

  I replied warily, “Good. Very good. You certainly know a thing or two about bandaging. What are you doing here?”

  I wasn’t expecting what came next.

  “I brought you Snoopy. It seemed like you hadn’t quite finished with him, right?”

  I didn’t think my heart could stand it.

  I gave him my widest, bestest smile.

  About the Author

  Photo © 2014 Chris Melek

  Alice Quinn has worked many jobs, from theater hostess to waitress, and has traveled the world, often relying on her wits to make ends meet. After the success of her first novel, Queen of the Trailer Park, in her native French, she quit her day jobs and now makes her living writing full-time. She lives in the South of France with her two teenage children and several cats.

  About the Translator

  Photo © 2015 Kirsten Claire

  Back in 2001, after studying philosophy and French at the University of Leeds and realizing that writing a decent essay on Kant’s categorical imperative didn’t leave her with a great many career options, Alexandra Maldwyn-Davies decided to move to Paris, where she embarked on her career in translation. She’s worked on popular video games (Game of Thrones, In Memoriam), top-rated apps (Human Defense
), bestselling fiction (Queen of the Trailer Park, Queen of the Hide Out, The Boy Who Dreamed of Flying in a Cadillac), and seductive travel guides (Fermes-Manoirs du Bessin). She has steadily built a successful freelance French-to-English translation business and can now boast that she does what she loves every day of her life: telling people’s stories. Alexandra lives in rural Finistère with a motley crew of thirteen rescued dogs and cats.