“So he murdered her?” Poor princess.
“It’s believed so.”
Vivian wondered if the royal family had the connections to divert a submarine for a revenge killing. Probably, but it seemed an odd and expensive way to kill someone. “Was his attempted murder about the princess’s family taking revenge?”
“The princess’s value to them wasn’t so high as you might think from your Disney movies. After her death, the family betrothed the second sister, a twin, to the prince, and he had a second chance to become king.”
Vivian’s stomach did a slow roll. “After he killed their first daughter, they offered him the second?”
“They wanted the alliance and the path to kingship as much as Prince Timgad, I would imagine. They had sons, but none found favor with the king, so their daughters provided the only way.”
Vivian was going to go home and give her mother a giant hug for not selling her to the highest bidder. “If the second daughter solved his problem and he was on track to become king, why wouldn’t the next guy in succession be a prime suspect?”
Marina lifted her shoulders in a graceful movement that looked practiced. “He might have been, but the second sister also died.”
“How?”
“Right before the wedding, she and her wedding party were in a plane that crashed into the Sea of Japan.”
“The women in that family seem pretty unlucky.” Vivian had another bite of blintz. It was amazing.
“Perhaps the second sister was luckier than the first.”
“Because she died quickly?”
“Because she escaped from the prince.”
Vivian thought about that. “But she had to die to do it.”
Marina shrugged. “She had to appear to die at least.”
“Do you think she faked her own death?”
“I think nothing. It is not my place to speculate.” Marina took a tiny sip of tea. “Do you have any other questions?”
“If the princess died before the wedding, could the attack on the prince have been from an enemy of the royal family in general? Maybe it’s bigger than Prince Timgad?”
“A submarine accident isn’t a usual assassination tool, nor is downing a plane in the middle of the sea.” Marina refilled their teacups. “Perhaps the deaths were simply accidents.”
Somehow, Vivian didn’t think so.
“So, he’s a sidelined prince?”
“It is said Prince Timgad is in negotiations for a quick marriage to another niece. She’s twelve years old, but they’re hoping to rush the marriage so that it can take place before the next king is chosen. So, he may yet have a chance to become king.”
Poor twelve-year-old. “When will that be?”
“That, my dear, even I don’t know.”
Or wouldn’t tell.
Chapter 23
Joe locked himself in his bedroom, the only place where he could get any privacy. Two (blue) cops in his front yard, two (blue) bodyguards in his house. He appreciated them being there, but he needed to be alone. He wasn’t a social person at the best of times, and this was not the best of times.
He lay flat on the antique quilt and called Maeve. So far, she hadn’t spoken to him since she was shot. She’d spoken to Vivian, who’d stopped by with flowers, and to Dirk who had been assigned to her guard detail, but not to Joe.
“Hello?” Her voice sounded sleepy.
“Joe here,” he said. “How are you feeling?”
“Drifty,” she said. “They have me on some powerful drugs.”
“I’m so sorry about what happened.”
“Me, too.” She sighed into the phone. “Thank you for the flowers.”
“Of course.”
“Your life is a crazy place,” she said. “Did you know that?”
“I’m sorry.” He didn’t know what else to say.
“I understand that it’s not your fault you can’t go outside. I was willing to work around it.”
That didn’t sound good. “Was?”
“At first I thought it was always one-off incidents.” She coughed. “Excuse me.”
He waited.
“But it isn’t. It’s like you need extra excitement. Every few months, you get caught up in something bigger than you, something dangerous.”
“I don’t know what the sub accident was about. Or the shooting. I didn’t do anything to cause them.”
“You never do.”
“In the past, I have investigated stuff that got me into trouble after, but this got me into trouble out of nowhere.” He felt defensive, and he tried to push that down. She had every right to be upset.
“Got me into trouble, you mean.”
“I didn’t mean for that to happen.”
“I know.” She was silent for so long he thought she might have hung up.
“Maeve?”
“And I think it’s best if we don’t see each other anymore.”
She was dumping him, and he couldn’t even argue. She was doped up, in pain, and in the hospital because of him. She’d be insane not to dump him. Still, it hurt. “Why don’t we wait until you’re feeling better—”
“No,” she said. “I want a normal life. A guy I can walk with under the stars. A guy I could marry at any church. A guy who could take our kids to school. A guy who doesn’t ever get shot at.”
Joe was not that guy. He thought about the ECT therapy, about shocking his brain into submission. “Maybe I could be that guy.”
She hung up.
Edison barked from the other side of the door.
Joe got up and let him in. Things had been going so well with Maeve. She was smart and sexy and funny, and he loved spending time with her. She’d seemed happy. He’d worked hard to find places they could meet, finding buildings connected to his house via steam tunnels, making agreements with building managers. A thousand details, but not enough. She was right — he couldn’t walk under the stars. He might never be that guy. She deserved better.
Edison bumped Joe’s hand, and he automatically petted him. “Just you and me again, buddy.”
Edison looked back at the door.
“And our security entourage.”
Edison walked halfway to the door and looked over his shoulder. He wanted Joe to follow him somewhere, not to stay in his room and listen to breakup music and make himself miserable.
Joe followed him down to the kitchen and gave him a bone. Andres Peterson, the dog walker, had picked up a few from a butcher shop the day before. Edison dropped onto his stomach and went to work on it. At least someone in the house was happy.
Not sure what else to do, he went into his study and stared at the printouts he’d arranged on the green felt on his billiards table. Earlier that day, he’d printed out his data about Maeve’s shooting and the submarine crash, hoping that bringing the data off the screen and into the world would help him to see it in a new way.
One pile represented the royal dead — the princess beaten to death, the prince killed in a training accident during a naval exercise, the plane that had crashed into the sea, and the submarine that had been run down. He rolled a cue ball across the piles on the table, banking it off the sides so it ran over each pile before coming back to him. Maybe the ball would reveal something he hadn’t seen, and it helped to have something to do with his hands.
“When did you last eat?” Vivian stepped into the billiard room.
“Breakfast,” he said. “A muffin, or something like that. Something bready.”
“It’s almost six at night,” she said. “Maybe time for a late lunch?”
He lined up a shot and hit the ball, rolling it across the piles in a different order. He didn’t feel hungry. He chalked his cue stick.
She handed him a roast beef sandwich. “I got two for Edison, but he would only eat one.”