A foxy tale: Episode 3

A collaborative serial by Catherin J Pascal Dunk and Jessica Perini

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EPISODE 3

Marguerite Bagué, journaliste extraordinaire, did not suffer a fool gladly. While she was ostensibly here to report on the day’s fashion parade, she had her eye, as she almost always did, on a bigger prize.

Her detective sister, Celeste, had tipped her off that someone in attendance today was up to no good. Something about corruption – and most likely money laundering. A man was involved, certainly. Possibly two of them. Celeste was unable to say more without compromising her own investigation.

This was often how the two sisters engaged. They’d play off against each other, competing, but ultimately complementing each other’s insights and arriving at quite an accurate picture of the truth. Fuller than either might accomplish alone.

Before long, Bagué had narrowed the field down to three suspects: (1) her long-time nemesis Brandon De Bras; (2) the foppish model agent in the front row (Belarte); and (3) the toothy, incompetent new model (Jammy Beau? – it was something like that).

She was pretty sure she could line up an interview with Belarte and his new starlet after the show. But De Bras…Marguerite was at a loss…how could she possibly get close enough to that arrogant cad to find out what he was up to?

Doors of possibility unexpectedly opened the moment the toothy model tripped over his own pj-come-daywear pants sending the beanbag baby and rose he was holding flying; the rose of course landing in Bagué’s hair. Delivering an unexpected De Bras into her very lap.

*

‘Mademoiselle,’ her arch-nemesis fawned, gaping at the flower poised atop her head. ‘Permit me?’ he said, reaching over with a trembling hand to remove the offending floral display. In one moment presenting the journalist with the in-road she needed to mount her investigation.

She’d never once been attracted to De Bras. Even if she had been, there was no way in hell she could ever have seen past his ultra-right-wing politics long enough to entertain the thought of spending one more moment with him than absolutely necessary. Creep.

‘Might I humbly request the honour of your company this evening, Ms Bagué?’

Marguerite paused, then accepted the proffered rose from bowing Brandon. Suppressing her natural response, which was to scowl and pivot away on her Gucci stilettos, she composed her face instead into something suggesting amiability.

‘What did you ‘ave in mind?’ was her eventual, husky reply.

… TO BE CONTINUED …

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