How To Hide A Body

Don't Flirt With Me

The next day I received a new e-mail from BestBuy, telling me about their NEW DEALS and how I could get 50% OFF EVERY PURCHASE OVER 50 POUNDS! Sadly, it was accompanied by a new e-mail from the blackmailer. Why was this guy so obsessed with me?

The French Prime Minister has never been my favourite

It read.

Well, your next task is to do a babysitting job for him. You can choose what to receive in terms of the ransom (consider it a little gift from me to you). Think you can handle that?

So, let me get things straight. I have to kidnap the French prime minister's kids?

I responded.

Problem?

Well, yes, tons, actually, but I don't suppose you care about that.

Not one bit.

I slammed my laptop shut out of frustration, which made Bart wake up with a start. He had slept on the couch, in case the person who had taken the diamond yesterday decided to pay another visit. "What are we doing?" he yawned.

"Breakfast. Then we plan a kidnapping."

I think the most unpredictable force in the world was that of the Hotel Buffet Table. It changed every day, which could be considered a blessing, or a curse. I sat at the small two-seater table, nibbling on a chocolate croissant (although I had been looking forward to a waffle, who's existence I had taken for granted yesterday morning) while I hastily drew on a little napkin, attempting to devise a plan on how to kidnap two spoiled rich kids.

"Bonjour, mademoiselle," a man said, leaning on the back of Bart's empty chair. I was too engrossed in scheming that I didn't look at him directly, so I presumed he was a waiter.

"J' ai choisi, merci!" I said, not taking my eyes off of the napkin, waving him away with one hand.

"I am not a waiter, mademoiselle!" The man did not budge, which annoyed me. He must be an admirer. I held up my hand, showing my fake wedding ring.

"I know that's fake, mademoiselle. No one would believe that someone like you would go for someone like him," he said the last word with a tinge of disgust as he pointed with his thumb at Bart.

This angered me, so I decided to look at him, making sure that my disgust and annoyance was very clear to him. "He is perfectly fine, thank you. Just not my type." I scowled.

I looked him up and down. He was wearing Gucci suit, his shoes were perfectly polished. He had a bundle of different newspapers under his arm, and when he placed his opened phone on the table, I saw he had surprising amount of news apps. A worn-out purple paisley handkerchief peaked out of his pocket, which implied that he had had it for a long time. I guessed that he was a businessman, probably a journalist or an investor, because he had the dire need to be up-to-date (all the newspapers and apps). I caught a glimpse of the white stitching on the handkerchief which had the company name embroidered on it. I couldn't quite make the writing out, but I could see the small edelweiss flower logo, which I remembered belonged to an Austrian clothing company.

He was Austrian then, just like Steve McQueen (Bart and I had come up with an alias for the blackmailer: I refused to call him that any longer, I might as well have been calling him Voldemort. Giving mysterious forces a name reduced them to the mundane, rather than building them up into some overwhelming unnameable force. It was easier to confront them that way.). Was it a coincidence? His accent, though, was somewhat American, so I judged he had spent some time in the Colonies before coming to France on urgent business.