I playfully leaned toward the prince and pretended to whisper. “We’re going to do the story whether you talk to us or not. So you might as well give us your side.”
The prince nodded that he understood. “The police don’t suspect me of anything. And rightfully so. And I’m sure the people of Hannawa are as curious about Petru’s old life as I am about his new one as Violeta Bell. We’ll all fill in the blanks together.”
Tinker nodded back at him. “We’ll go ahead then.”
Prince Anton was visibly pleased. He reached out and patted my hand as if to say thanks. “Is it my turn to exit stage right?”
“If you don’t mind, we do have a couple of things to hash out,” Tinker said.
The prince gave us an even grander bow than Scotty Grant had. He left.
I started to get up. “Time for me to bow out, too, I suppose?”
“Not so fast, Maddy,” said Tinker. “You know more about this story than anybody else. We’re going to need your wisdom.” He turned to Bob Averill. “If that’s okay with you, Bob.”
Bob was still playing with his tie. “If it were up to me, I’d wear those clip-ons,” he said. “But the wife says I’m too important a man.”
That was Bob’s way of playing Pontius Pilot, washing his hands of the whole mess. And why not? He’d been forced to get involved because of Jeannie Salapardi. And now Eddie was no longer a suspect. Jeannie had thrown a wonderful barbecue for him.
Tinker happily continued with his ideas for our coverage. “As I see it, the story is this: An exhaustive Herald-Union investigation uncovers Violeta Bell’s shocking past. Finds her brother living on an island in Canada. A brother who, lo and behold, is a pretender to the Romanian throne. Which means Violeta’s claim to be royalty was true. How will these revelations affect the police investigation? Which plods on with little success.”
“Sounds more like a book than a story,” I hissed.
“We’ll give it all the space it needs,” said Tinker, undeterred by my sarcasm. “And of course we’ll do a story on you, Maddy. How your dogged research once again saved the day. We’ll recap your work on the Buddy Wing and Gordon Sweet murders.”
It was time to for me to rain on his parade. “Absolutely not.”
Pontius Pilot was suddenly interested in throwing his weight around again. “You’re a big part of the story, Maddy.”
I wasn’t intimidated. “Let me put it in the clearest English I can. No way, Jose.”
Unfortunately, Tinker wasn’t intimidated either. “To quote one Dolly Madison Sprowls, ‘We’re going to do the story whether you talk to us or not.’”
I looked to Bob Averill for mercy. His grin told me none was coming.
Tinker moved on with his plans. “It’s not exactly a police story. But I think Dale Marabout’s the guy for the job.”
Dale Marabout is my best buddy at the paper. A terrific reporter, too. So I was as surprised as Bob and Tinker when I heard myself squeak, “Marabout?”
Said Tinker, “He’s the best we’ve got when it comes to a big investigative piece like this.”
I surprised myself again. “What about Gabriella Nash?”
“She’s a gutsy girl,” Tinker said. “But I don’t think she’s ready for something this complex.”
His “gutsy girl” crack stuck in my craw. “You want me to cooperate, you give the story to Gabriella.”
Tinker put his foot down. “I’m giving it to Marabout.”
“Then I’m keeping my lips zipped,” I threatened.
Pontius Pilot metamorphosed into Solomon. “You could put them both on the story, Alec.”
Tinker immediately saw the wisdom of his suggestion. “Gabriella did interview Bell before her murder. And she could certainly add a lot of background color to the story. There’s no question about that.”
“And she is a gutsy girl,” I added.
It was decided. Dale Marabout and Gabriella Nash would do the story together.
The next thing to do was break the news to Dale and Gabriella. I cautioned against it, but Tinker had them summoned upstairs together. And of course both immediately balked at working together. “I’m not a big fan of double bylines,” Dale said.
I knew what his real objection was. Gabriella had not only cried when Violeta Bell was murdered, she’d had a hissy fit when Dale was given the story. “Gabriella will behave,” I assured him. “Won’t you, Gabriella?”
“I don’t like double bylines either,” she said, slumping back into an about-to-explode pout.
Bob Averill now played his best role. God. “We assign the stories. You write them.”
Of course even God needs a little help from time to time. “I don’t know beans about the news side,” I said. “But couldn’t they do separate stories? Dale a hard news story for tomorrow on Violeta’s previous identity and how we found the prince. And then for Wednesday, Gabriella could do an in-depth feature on the prince. And then for Thursday Dale could write about the police investigation going nowhere. Friday you could run that worthless story on me you want, written, of course, by Gabriella.”
Tinker loved my suggestion. “A four-day, page one series. Outstanding!”
Dale and Gabriella now quibbled about who should interview the prince first that afternoon. Gabriella said she should go first, since her feature was going to take a lot longer to write than Dale’s hard news story. Dale saw it differently. Not only was he not a fan of double bylines, he wasn’t a fan of “sloppy seconds” as he crudely put it. On top of that, he also had to cover Eddie French’s court appearance at four o’clock. So he’d have two stories to write for tomorrow.
And so it was decided that they would interview Prince Anton together, in Tinker’s office, in fifteen minutes, with him sitting in as a referee. I would sit in, too. His idea, not mine.
We gathered in Tinker’s office. There was coffee for everyone. Dale Marabout and Gabriella got their notebooks ready. Clicked their ballpoints. Tinker punched the button on his nifty little digital recorder. I sat there like the bump on the log I wanted to be. Yawning.
Dale Marabout asked the first question. “All these years you didn’t know your brother was still alive? Is that right?”
Said Prince Anton, “I thought he’d drowned himself.”
Gabriella asked her first question. “What was Petru like as a boy?”
“He was a wonderful big brother,” said the prince. “He teased me, of course. But not as much as most younger brothers get teased.”
Gabriella followed up. “How exactly did he tease you?”
“Knocked my toys about. Pinched my buca when we were saying grace at the dinner table.”
“Buca meaning backend?”
The prince nodded and spelled the word for her. “B. u.c.a.”
Asked Dale, “So you never knew he had a sex change operation?”
“Like I said, I thought he’d drowned.”
Asked Gabriella, “Was he a good student?”
“Our parents insisted that we both be good students.”
“Was he athletic?” she asked. “Did he play sports in school?”
“We both played tennis and football,” said the prince. “Soccer you’d call it. And we both loved swimming and boating. We spent our summers on the island. So, we’d better.”
Asked Dale, “So it’s feasible that he faked drowning and then easily swam to shore?”
“There’s no such thing as an easy swim in the St. Lawrence,” said the prince. “Not out in the current where he left the boat.”
“But he was capable of swimming to shore?” Dale asked more firmly.
“Yes, of course.”
“Did you and your brother have a happy childhood?” Gabriella asked. “Your parents treated you well?”
“Poppy was quick with the strap if we talked back or shirked our duties, and mama was a stickler for etiquette. We were royals, after all, but no two boys had better parents.”
Asked Dale, “Any hint that your brother wished he was your sister?”
“I never caught him trying on mama’s delicates, if that’s what you’re getting at.”
The interview went on like that forever. Dale asking hardball questions about Petru’s disappearance and sexual orientation. Gabriella lobbing softballs. Out in the newsroom, the desks were filling up and keyboards were starting to click. The pace would pick up little by little throughout the afternoon, with total bedlam breaking out just about the time when the rest of the city was going home for supper.