eb93c43e214c621f9157c05b4b6a6878

“Do you think they’re going to film together again?” suddenly a voice spoke in his rear. Stepping to the fore, his second-in-command, Manuel Menzies, emerged from the depths of the maze of offices behind the reception desk. Manuel, a swarthy man with a mustache much more impressive than Barnabas’s delicate specimen, had been part of the hotel’s inner workings for as long as Barnabas. In fact the two had started together on the same day, Barnabas as receptionist and Manuel as a cleaner. They’d become firm friends that day, and still were now.

“I doubt it,” said Barnabas. “Don’t let the polite nature of that meeting fool you, Manuel. They still hate each other. I could tell from the way Astra and Amalia looked at each other.” He sighed. “No, the day those two will ever step in front of a camera again is the day hell freezes over.”

“I thought they looked pretty chummy,” said Manuel, fingering his mustache.

“Last I heard Astra said the only reason she kept working on the show for as long as she did was because she needed the money. But now that she’s financially secure, nothing and no one in the world will ever lure her back to that show.”

“Amalia wants her back, doesn’t she? And so does what’s his name—the show’s writer-producer…”

“Oscar Kinetic,” Barnabas supplied. “Yes, I’ll bet they want her back. It was the golden formula. Their ticket to global fame. Without Astra the show will never be the same, no matter how many people they replace her with. Astra has that—”

“Je ne sais quoi?” Manuel supplied with a slight tilt of his left eyebrow.

Barnabas smiled.“I couldn’t have put it better, my friend. She has star power. An elusive allure. Astra is that rare thing: a woman the camera absolutely adores, and so do we,” he softly added as he watched Astra step into the elevator and allow gilded doors to close on her regal form, like a queen sayingau revoir.

“Well, let’s hope she changes her mind,” said Manuel. “So we can all enjoy her work on screen once more.”

“Doubtful,” Barnabas murmured. But the time for idle speculation had passed. The reception was suddenly busier than ever, and so the time to step in had come.

A couple walked up to the counter, a tall muscular man and a petite fair-haired young woman with a pleasant open face. The woman was smiling at him, while the male glanced around in a curious fashion, his stance wide and his expression alert. They’d brought with them two pet carriers and from them he could hear the soft mewling of two cats, who obviously weren’t all that happy or used to being confined to such small spaces.

“Good morning, good morning,” he said, chipper and bright. “And welcome to the Fritz-Parlton Hotel. Do you have a reservation?”

“We do,” said the woman, showing a document on her phone and supplying him with two passports and a credit card. “Under the name Kingsley. Chase and Odelia Kingsley.”

“And I see you have brought your pets with you?” he said, leaning over the counter and inspecting the pet carriers. From behind the respective divider grilles two pairs of eyes studied him intently. One belonged to a fairly stout orange specimen, and the other to a small fluffy cat. Both seemedunhappy but resigned.

“Yes, these are Max and Dooley,” said Mrs. Kingsley, introducing the cats with a distinct note of pride.

“I have a cat myself,” Barnabas confessed. “Marion. She’s always roaming around, treating the hotel as her personal property, which I guess it probably is.”

“Wait until I release these two from their carriers,” said Mrs. Kingsley. “They’ll take over your hotel and start acting as if they own it.”

“Oh, I have no doubt,” said Barnabas with an indulgent smile, and proceeded to process the paperwork preparatory to checking the American couple in. “So what brings you to Paris, may I ask?” he said as he picked up the credit card.

“I’m here for a conference,” Mr. Kingsley said, now leaning on the counter and looking only slightly more at ease than his cats.

“My husband is a police officer,” the man’s wife explained. “He’s here for an international police conference.”

“And you,madame?” said Barnabas, who was happy that his instincts had proved him correct once more. He’d immediately pegged the man as either law enforcement or some form of private security. “Are you also a police officer?”

“Oh, no,” said the woman with a pleasant laugh. “I’m a reporter, actually, but I’m not working right now. No, I’m strictly here as a tourist.”

“Oh? So you have visited our fine institution before?”

“No, first time in Paris and first time staying at the Fritz-Parlton.”

“I hope we’ll be able to accommodate your stay to your satisfaction,” he said smoothly as he produced the couple’s electronic badges.

Mrs. Kingsley leaned in a little closer and dropped her voice.“Is it possible I just saw Amalia Pulpweed and her costars? I’m a big fan ofHearts& Roses, you see.”