Diplomatic Deceit Read online

  Madeleine rolled her eyes. "Maybe it's better that you call me Maddy," she said.

  "Great family," Joe muttered to Frank as they headed for the elevator.

  Frank nodded. "Very friendly."

  "So," Callie said as they got into the elevator. "Where would you like to go, Maddy?"

  Madeleine immediately took Callie's arm. "Shopping," she said with another dazzling smile.

  Callie glanced over at Frank. "That might not be much fun for the boys. I thought maybe we could grab a snack and talk - "

  "We can do that, too," Madeleine said. "But first, we shop."

  They headed down Connecticut Avenue, popping in and out of the expensive boutiques that lined the street. Frank and Joe sighed and rolled their eyes as Callie and Madeleine flitted from skirts to shorts, from blouses to silk scarves.

  Maddy was like a little kid, grabbing Callie's arm to show her a special item, hugging her. That brilliant smile kept lighting up her face.

  Callie smiled back, but Frank thought she looked a little embarrassed as Maddy got louder and more excited. It was almost as if she'd never seen really good clothes before. How could that be when she came from Paris, the world capital of fashion?

  Frank and Joe finally stopped going into the stores when the girls entered. They just watched through the window as Maddy moved through shops like a whirlwind, throwing an arm around Callie to point out a special bargain or a beautiful outfit.

  They stopped by the door to check a display of scarves, Maddy giggling and hugging Callie again.

  As the girls came out, Frank asked, "More stores? Or have you had enough yet?"

  "I've think I've had enough," Callie said. "Everything we've seen here I couldn't afford. How about you, Maddy?"

  "Oh, I don't know - " Madeleine suddenly broke off. "What have you got there?"

  The French girl pointed to the pocket of Callie's jacket, where a tiny piece of brightly colored fabric stuck out. Maddy tugged on it, pulling out a silk scarf - just like the ones the girls had admired inside the store.

  "Callie, I never guessed. You are a clever one!" Madeleine burst out, handing the scarf back.

  "Not so clever," a cold voice came from behind them.

  The kids turned to see a salesclerk standing in the doorway. Her blond hair was wrapped in a bun, and her icy gray eyes were staring hard at Callie.

  She pointed at the scarf in Callie's hands. "Most shoplifters don't flaunt stolen goods right in front of the store they took them from."

  Chapter 3

  Callie's face went from bright red to dead white. "W - what are you talking about?" she asked, staring at the blond woman in the doorway.

  "I'm talking about that scarf you just stole." The saleswoman's face was grim as she gestured to the door. "Now come back inside and we'll see what other 'bargains' you and your friend picked up."

  The woman's glare included the Hardys. "You guys, too. They may have passed something on to you."

  The four teens stood in a huddle by a rear counter, getting sidelong glances from customers as the manager of the store demanded IDs from them. Callie appeared to be numb as the manager turned to her. "I - I don't have any," she stammered. "I just got into town, and my purse was stolen - "

  The manager cut her off with a toss of her red curls. At any other time, Joe might have considered her pretty. He didn't right then, though - not with that superior sneer on her face. "Look, don't try some stupid sob story on me - I've heard them all. Now, how about some ID?"

  Callie shrugged helplessly. "It's all been stolen. My friends will tell you what happened, and the police - "

  "Oh, don't worry, honey, the police are coming, all right." The manager looked up as the saleswoman rejoined them. "You called the cops?" she asked.

  The saleswoman nodded. "They're on their way."

  "Police?" Callie repeated, still in a daze from the turn of events.

  "That's what you usually do when you catch a thief," the salesclerk said.

  "Take this one into the dressing room." The manager pointed to Callie. "I want her searched - thoroughly." The young woman moved to the Hardys. "You guys turn out your pockets on the counter, here."

  Robotlike, Callie began to reach into her pockets, as well.

  "Not you," the manager snapped. "I told you already - you're going in the back for a full search."

  Callie recoiled from the angry face glaring at her. "This has never - I mean, I've never - " she began haltingly, but the other woman cut her off.

  "'Done this before in my life?' " The red-haired woman's voice mimicked Callie's. "Well, maybe you should have thought of that before you tried to take something that didn't belong to you."

  The saleswoman took Callie's arm. She was shaking as she was led off a couple of steps. She glanced back at Frank, her tear-filled eyes begging him to do something to help.

  "Let's just cut this nonsense right now." Frank's voice was angry as he stepped forward to protect his girlfriend. "You'll see from our ID that I'm Frank Hardy and this is my brother Joe."

  "Hardy, huh?" The manager was definitely not impressed. "As far as I know, we don't have a Senator Hardy. So who are you? Some congressman's kids? Or maybe your dad is a big mucka-muck at the State Department?" She seemed rather amused by Frank's outburst. "We get all kinds here."

  Frank sighed. This wasn't Bayport, where people knew the Hardys and their reputation. And from the look of things, claiming a famous detective for a father wasn't going to cut much ice with this woman.

  Like it or not, Frank - and Callie - would have to put up with a lot of flak until the Washington police checked with Chief Collig back in Bayport. Frank tried to dig up the name of any of his dad's friends on the D.C. force. No luck.

  "Let's just get on with it," the woman said. Callie was marched to the back.

  Frank's mind had already leaped ahead to the next problem - the police. Callie had been caught with a stolen scarf in her pocket. That would be hard to explain - even if he got a sympathetic ear from one of his father's friends. He knew Callie hadn't shoplifted!

  He said so to the manager, but she only shrugged.

  "Kids think the world owes them everything - always coming in here trying to lift stuff. Rich kids, college kids, even tourists," the woman growled, checking out the Hardys' Bayport High IDs.

  The manager whirled on Madeleine. "Don't you grin, girlie. You're the next one going back to be searched."

  That got her a murderous glare from the French girl.

  The saleswoman returned. "This one is clean - all she had was the scarf." Callie walked behind the woman, her clothes rumpled and her face a picture of humiliation. Tears began to spill out of her eyes. "I don't know how that scarf got in my jacket, but I didn't put it there," she insisted.

  Neither the saleswoman nor the store manager listened to her. "This one goes next," the manager said, pointing to Madeleine.

  The French girl looked ready to deck the two women. "No one touches me," she snarled.

  Glancing out the store window, the manager shrugged. "I see the cops are here. They can take care of searching her at the station."

  Two police officers entered. "These the kids?" they asked the manager, pointing to the Hardys and the girls.

  The woman nodded. "Hold on a moment," she said, stepping into the back of the store. A moment later she reappeared, holding a videocassette. "Another piece of evidence. We tape everything that goes on in the store. You'll probably have a lovely shot of Blondie over there stealing the scarf." Without another glance at the kids, she turned to a customer.

  ***

  The ride to the local police station was quiet and cramped. All four kids were squashed into the back of the police squad car. Callie cried quietly the entire way. Frank held her hand, his face stiff. When he found out who was responsible for getting Callie in trouble, he'd make the person pay - and pay hard.

  Madeleine squirmed in her seat, then grabbed Callie's free hand. "Don't worry," she said. "Everything will turn
out okay. I'll take care of it."

  Callie stared at her for a second. "How?" she finally asked.

  They arrived at the station and were unceremoniously led into a waiting room. After they'd spent almost an hour sitting on a wooden bench, a man in shirtsleeves and a shoulder holster came in.

  "I'm Detective Cook," he said. "Follow me." They filed silently along to what looked like an interrogation room. This one, however, had a television set and a VCR. The policeman gestured to a group of wooden chairs spread out in front of the set. "We thought you might like to see this," he said, punching a button.

  On the TV screen, the image of the boutique appeared. The angle of the shot was weird - it seemed to come from the ceiling. Of course, Frank realized, that's where the security cameras must be hidden.

  In spite of the strange point of view, the picture was clear. There were Frank and Joe standing outside the window, pacing up and down as if they were bored out of their minds. And there, by the doorway, were Callie and Madeleine, looking at the scarves.

  Maddy turned to Callie with a big grin, hugging her. At the same time the French girl slipped the gaily colored silk scarf into Callie's pocket.

  Callie jumped in her seat as if it were electrified. She turned to Madeleine, her eyes still red with tears. "You did this to me?" she finally managed to say.

  "Oh, Callie," Madeleine said, grabbing her hands, "I am so, so sorry. It was only supposed to be a little plaisanterie, a joke. Then that fool of a salesgirl came out and made so much trouble. I... didn't know what to say."

  She turned to the detective, giving him her 150-watt smile. "These are my American friends, you see," she said, her French accent becoming a bit more pronounced. "I met them today for the first time. What I did with the scarf, that was only a joke."

  Maddy patted Callie's shoulder. "Poor Callie, here, she had her purse stolen. So I thought to make her laugh, you see? I would have paid for the scarf, but the woman wouldn't listen, and the manager was insulting to me. I will pay now, and then everything will be okay, yes?" Joe thought that Maddy looked downright cute as she looked up at Detective Cook.

  The frowning police officer didn't seem to think so, however. He was shaking his head. "I'm afraid it isn't as easy as that," he said. "The manager of the store has sworn out a complaint for theft. You admit you took the scarf without paying for it. Under the law - "

  Madeleine's face turned ugly as she glared at the man. "What do I care about the American law?" she burst out. "I am a French citizen."

  "That doesn't - " Detective Cook started, but Maddy cut him off again.

  With a contemptuous toss of her head, she said, "And I have diplomatic immunity."

  Chapter 4

  Joe Hardy felt as if he were watching a very fast tennis game. His eyes moved back and forth from Maddy to Callie, to Frank, who looked as if he were going to burst a blood vessel when he heard Maddy was responsible for the whole mess. His eyes darted back to Maddy when she claimed diplomatic immunity.

  She dug through her bag and came up with a small blue booklet, which she pressed into Detective Cook's hand.

  He paged through it, sighed, and went to the door. "Our shoplifter has a French diplomatic passport. Better call Lieutenant Grant."

  They had a much shorter wait for this investigator than for the station house detective. I guess international incidents get a lot faster service from the D.C. police, Joe thought.

  Lieutenant Grant turned out to be a tall black man, dressed in a well-cut gray silk suit. Comparing his expensive clothes to the rumpled, cheap ones of Cook, Joe decided the Washington police did make a big deal out of possible international incidents.

  The lieutenant held the gaily colored scarf that had turned up in Callie's pocket. Grant spoke for a minute with Detective Cook. As they conferred in whispers, the lieutenant kept shooting glances over at Madeleine - the way a person would check out a strange animal that could be dangerous.

  The detective ran the videotape again while Grant watched. The lieutenant then rubbed his face with one hand and began speaking. "I've gone over the reports on this case and gotten the latest wrinkles from Detective Cook here." He nodded at the other man. "I'd like to get statements from all of you - "

  A "harrumph" from the doorway interrupted Lieutenant Grant's flow. Everyone turned to see a short man standing just inside the door. His blue suit, elegantly cut, just called attention to his skinny frame and knobby knees. With his white shirt and red bow tie, Joe thought he looked like a cross between Jiminy Cricket and Uncle Sam.

  The man cleared his throat again. "Ambrose Wilmer - State Department," he announced.

  "Nice to see you again, Mr. Wilmer." From the tone of Lieutenant Grant's voice, Frank figured that was an out-and-out lie. "Been a long time."

  "Approximately three weeks," Wilmer corrected him prissily. "You failed to inform me of this new case, Lieutenant. Luckily, I happened to be in contact with your office just now. I've taken the liberty of informing the young lady's father already. He assured me that he would be arriving momentarily."

  Henri Berot appeared behind the State Department man just then. The look on his face reminded Frank of Joe's earlier joke - how Mr. Berot was ready to start World War Three. Right then, if Mr. Berot would have had anything to say about it, the French army would be on the march.

  He spared one searing glance for his daughter, then turned on Lieutenant Grant. "This - this Wilmer person called me at my home to tell me that the police are holding my daughter," he said angrily. "He said something ridiculous about her stealing a scarf."

  "Now, now, Mr. Berot." Wilmer's voice tried to sound soothing but came across more like a set of fingernails on a blackboard. "I'm sure the report is exaggerated."

  "I'm afraid not, Mr. Wilmer," Lieutenant Grant said. He stepped over to the VCR and rewound the tape. As it started playing again, he said to Madeleine, "I guess you're getting pretty tired of seeing this."

  She only shrugged. "Good practice in case I decide to become a movie star."

  Fuming, Mr. Berot almost shouted the words, "Start it!"

  He sat in absolute silence as the scene of Madeleine's slipping the scarf into Callie's pocket played. When Lieutenant Grant moved to stop the tape, he suddenly spoke up. "Bring it back - all the way back to when they entered the store."

  Lieutenant Grant paused in midmotion to stare at Mr. Berot.

  "I want to see everything that happened in that store," Berot said.

  Grant's eyebrows rose. "You think we're hiding something here?"

  "I know my daughter would not do something like this - unless she had been led into it." Berot glanced at the Hardys and Callie. "In the few weeks I've been here, I've found America to be a very dangerous country. People - especially young people - have no respect for the law."

  Lieutenant Grant started the VCR again. They watched the girls' entire visit to the boutique - right up to the unfortunate ending.

  "It appears that Miss Shaw did nothing suspicious," Lieutenant Grant said. "In fact, she seemed somewhat embarrassed even before the shoplifting incident."

  Mr. Berot shook his head. 'This videotape proves nothing. I think it is these wild American kids - they are responsible. Maybe they dared my Madeleine to steal something before they went in. Did you think of that?"

  "In any event, Ms. Berot is indeed protected by diplomatic immunity," Mr. Wilmer said. The State Department man gave them all a rabbity smile. "We would prefer to end this incident with as little publicity as possible."

  Berot nodded abruptly, pulling out a wallet. He quickly counted some bills onto the table beside the VCR. "This should cover the price of the scarf."

  He snatched up the silk scarf that had started all the trouble and thrust it into Madeleine's hands.

  Maddy, however, lagged behind her father. She pressed the scarf into Callie's hands. "Callie, you keep this. I'm very sorry for what happened. At least you aren't in trouble anymore. I'll call you tomorrow at your hotel. Maybe I can find some
way to make this up to you." She ran from the interrogation room before Callie could say anything. Wilmer had already set off after Mr. Berot.

  "Wilmer is usually more interested in soothing a diplomat's ruffled feathers than dealing with American civilians," Lieutenant Grant said to Frank, Joe, and Callie. "He usually leaves that menial stuff to me."

  The lieutenant gave them all a long look. "Officially, you are free to go. Unofficially, I have some advice for you." He raised his hand when he saw Callie jump from her seat and head for the door. "It's not a long lecture - just a quick line. When Madeleine Berot calls you tomorrow, don't answer the phone." Grant shook his head. "Trust an old cop's instincts - that kid is trouble."

  A few minutes later Callie, Joe, and Frank were out of the police station and on the street. Callie made her exit on wobbly legs. "I feel like a dish towel that's been wrung out - about five times."

  "It's a long walk back to the hotel," Frank said.

  Joe nodded. "Yeah - I wish Lieutenant Grant had given us a lift back instead of his advice."

  Callie shook her head. "No way. I've had enough cops today."

  Joe dug a guide to Washington out of his back pocket. "There's a Metro station nearby. Feel up to a short ride, Callie?"

  Callie glanced at her watch. "It's not rush hour yet. So far, this has been the worst day of my life."

  They took the escalator down to the station lobby, to find a rank of fare card vending machines. "I'll pay for each of us," Joe offered.

  He slipped a dollar into the machine, hit a button, and out popped a fare card, which he handed to Callie. Another dollar went in, and out came another card. Joe handed it to Frank. But when he tried to slip his next bill in, the machine spat it out.

  "Look at this thing," Joe said, holding it up. "This has to be the world's worst-looking dollar bill. It must have gone through a washing machine." The dollar was limp and worn, looking almost chewed on.

  Digging another bill out of his jeans, Joe slipped it in, got his card, and headed for the turnstiles.