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Author's Notes—I always need new fandoms like I do holes in the head. Not sure where this came from, other than the plot bunny had biiig, shaaarp teeth and refused to let go. (Where'd I put that holy hand grenade?) My eternal thanks, as always, to my dear friend, Lanah5280 for her expertise, her patience, and her amazingness… and for betaing this for me. So blessed to have you in my life and so lucky to claim you as a sister, H.
Paper Faces—A prince, a party, and lost shoes. The parallels are not lost on Captain Sean Renard.
The prince approached her, took her by the hand, and danced with her. Furthermore, he would dance with no one else.
He stood, waiting impatiently at the bottom of the stairs. While he knew that his wife took indeterminably long to get ready, it seemed she was dragging her feet worse than normal. They were due at the opera and, at this rate, they'd be lucky if they arrived at all. "Darling, you know I hate to rush you…" That wasn't true. He loved to pester her. It was all part of their routine. As he prepared to mouth her typical response with her, that "One cannot rush perfection," he was shocked at the shrill tone in her voice, and the lack of their normal banter.
"Have you seen my necklace?"
He frowned, resigning himself to missing the show as he began retreating up the stairs. "I believe all of your necklaces are in your jewelry box."
"Yeah, that's what I thought, but the double-strand of pearls, the one I wanted to wear, it's not in here."
Mentally, he checked over the litany of things she'd asked him to have appraised for their new insurance, but he'd sat with the appraiser and had gotten each of them, including her grandmother's pearls, back. While he'd often tried to convince her that they needed a safety deposit box for such things, she'd balked, saying what if she wanted to wear it and the bank was closed. One never knew, after all, when one needed to look fabulous. He'd caved, opting to increase the security around the house instead. "They were there yesterday, weren't they? When you were pondering what to wear?"
"They were here this morning," she said, looking in horror at the open drawers of her jewelry box.
If her brow wasn't creased in concern and her mouth drawn tightly, she might've looked breathtakingly stunning in her black and cream gown. As he strode into their dressing room, he asked: "Are you sure you didn't just… misfile it?" He moved to stand behind her, looking over her shoulder at the numerous baubles she had accumulated over their fifteen years together. Truthfully, he was amazed she remembered what every piece looked like.
She shook her head vehemently. "I always put it in the same place to protect it," she said, unbuttoning the padded case and flipping it open, revealing absolutely nothing.
"And you put it back there this morning." Off her nod, he removed the cell phone from his pocket. Without hesitating, without further question, he called the police.
"Sweetheart?" she asked, looking up at him quizzically.
"Yes, I'd like to report a robbery, please."
Feeling absolutely sick, she nearly fell into the chair in front of her vanity.
Sergeant Wu tossed a file onto the already piled high desks of Detectives Nick Burkhardt and Hank Griffin.
Hank's shoulders slumped. "Man, I haven't even had my coffee yet."
"Our twisted Robin Hood struck again," Wu said, folding his arms across his chest.
"I'm not sure why we keep calling him that," Nick said, sliding into his seat for the day. "There's no proof that he's given any of the riches to anyone less fortunate."
"Sure he has," quipped Wu. "Himself."
"Any evidence this time?" Nick asked, opening the file.
"You mean: did we get insanely lucky?" asked Wu with a half-hearted chuckle. "Wouldn't that be a switch? Good luck on your ghost hunt."
"Just another addition to the things that go bump in the night," Nick muttered under his breath, his eyes scanning the paragraphs of Wu's carefully-worded report. It was just like the eight other open cases they were looking into—somewhere between morning tennis lessons and afternoon tee times, some valuable piece of jewelry went missing. The sentimental value seemed hit or miss, but the monetary one was always extreme.
Hank disappeared for a moment, returning with two steaming mugs. He placed one in front of Nick before leaning against his partner's desk. "Any of our wesen like shiny things?"
"You'd think, if it was hardwired into a wesen, they'd take more than one thing. A whole jewelry box that could be wiped out, but only one piece is missing?"
"Talking about human greed, same thing. Why not take a handful of things?"
"Something spooked 'em maybe?"
Captain Sean Renard emerged from his office, moving directly for his two star detectives. He slid his hands into his pockets as he approached. "You're up to date on the latest, I take it?"
"If this really is Robin Hood, like some are suggesting… is it really so bad?" asked Hank. "It's kind of weirdly poetic if you think about it. A member of the ninety-nine percent taking one percent from the one percent?"
"Political protester or no, I've been on the phone with the Mayor for the past hour. I want this solved. Quickly," he insisted.
Nick pointed at the open file on his desk. "No one unauthorized had access to the house, just like the other eight."
With a sigh, Wu answered a ringing phone.
"Then start rounding up all those who did have access," Renard ordered. "Assistants, drivers, gardeners… I don't care."
Wu covered the mouthpiece of the phone. "Captain?" As Renard looked up at him, he shrugged a little. "It's the Chief."
Renard inhaled slowly, standing at his full height and squaring his shoulders. "I'll take it in my office."
"That's really not necessary," Wu said, wincing. "He'd like to see you in his office."
Hank would never admit, even under penalty of perjury, that the icy look Renard shot them before he vanished was frightening, or that it made him internally shiver. "So…"
"Captain wants a houseful… we'll give him a houseful," Nick said, getting to his feet. "Wu?"
"I'll rustle up some uniforms; we'll take the first four houses," said the Sergeant. "We letting anybody take a pass with a solid alibi?"
Nick shook his head. "I want alibis written up here, where they can't warn the others, in case there's somebody we miss in our roundup."
"Since when did Portland become the Old West?" Hank asked, following his partner toward the door.
"Since Monday," Nick responded, answering with the date of the first known robbery.
By the time Renard returned to the station, it was packed with people. Uniforms lingered in and amongst the groups, keeping them an unearthly kind of silent. By the looks of them, he was certain that his detectives had gotten exactly what he'd asked for—everyone who might've had access to the stolen jewelry.
With a practiced eye, he let his gaze linger over each person in turn, but only briefly, summing them up in no time. Some seemed genuinely scared, but not because they had something to hide, probably because the authority exacted by his officers was unyielding as he'd insisted. A few looked sketchy. All in all, they seemed fairly normal.
When he spotted Nick, Hank, and Wu regrouping, he joined them. "Well?"
"First vic has a nanny with some serious school bills," Hank said. "And some credit card debt."
"But, why not clear out her boss's jewelry? The collection was worth more than enough to square her with all her creditors," Nick responded. "It's not her."
Wu nodded his head at the dark-haired woman at his desk, who was rubbing at the back of her neck while she waited. "This one had access to four of the eight. The cleaning company she works for tidies up after most of our rich and infamous. Plus, her rather destitute father just died after a long, tenuous, and expensive battle with cancer. My money is on her."
Nick shrugged. "There's something about her that just doesn't feel right. I dunno, it's weird, Captain. It's like none of these suspects seem… suspicious."
"You don't like any of these hundred people for the job?" the Captain asked, gesturing around the room.
Nick shook his head, prompting a heavy, deep sigh from Renard.
In the silence that followed, Wu let his curiosity get the better of him. "What did the Chief want?"
Truthfully, Renard's head was still spinning from the surreal conversation. "Not at all what I'd expected." In fact, the tickets the Chief had given him felt heavy and awkward in the interior pocket of his jacket. Worse still, he had mere hours to try to come up with something appropriate to wear, all the while an investigation was brewing and needed his attention. He looked at Nick. "I still want answers."
Nick held his hands up. "We'll talk to them again."
Renard retreated to his office, closing the door and closing his eyes. It made sense somewhat, but he felt like the best, smartest course of action would've been for the Chief to have chalked it up to bad timing and sent along his regards. Instead, he had been presented with two tickets to the biggest fundraising event of the year, a masquerade ball benefiting the children's wing at the hospital. At five hundred bucks a pop, the seats would be filled by the city's elite… the city's newest victims.
Understandably, the Chief's wife was leery about leaving her belongings, even being married to the highest ranking police officer in the city. And the Chief wanted to be available to all who might need police assistance, not just those at the event.
As graciously as humanly possible, Renard had tried to back out of going, saying that they all needed another set of boots on the ground, looking for the criminal, but the Chief suggested that Renard go, schmooze, and reassure the wealthy party-goers that they were well protected by Portland's finest. Renard prided himself on knowing when battles were to be fought and when he knew he was lost. Given the glint of cold steel in the Chief's eyes, Renard knew he had little choice but to accept the tickets, though he didn't have a plus one.
Taking a seat at his desk, he thought for a moment. Where was he going to find an appropriate costume for the night? Sighing, he picked up the phone book and flipped through the pages, before lifting his phone to start the least productive kind of police work he'd done all week.
Stay tuned…
Lines from the Next Installment:
There wasn't enough champagne in the world to stop the ringing in his ears caused by the whining party-goers. After an hour's worth of their crappy interrogation, he was done. He was so through with the party that he started to leave, but stopped in mid-step when he saw her enter.
She was a vision, with rich dark brown curls pinned atop her head and wrapped in sumptuous cobalt blue silk. The fitted bodice hugged her curves, before flowing into a full skirt. Her eye mask glittered silver and, upon closer inspection, he realized that the dress had the most delicate silver detailing. When she bit her ruby-red lower lip, he forgot all about his desires to flee.