Froggy Style (12 page)

“F
ather,” I said to the man in the doorway, a man who looked nothing like me. The Frog King stood just over six feet with sandy brown hair tinted gray at the tips. He wore an inexpensive linen suit and loafers with a small scuff on the toe. His chiseled face looked carved in stone. No expression, no happiness or joy at seeing his only son, a son he hadn’t bothered to see in over two years.

“Jean-Michel.” The Frog King nodded in my direction. “You look... well.”

“What are you doing here?” I asked, staring into his sapphire eyes. My eyes. The only feature we shared. Admittedly, I should’ve asked something like, “No wedding? What are you talking about?” but the shock of seeing my father, here, in Lollie’s shop after years of absence affected me more than I was willing to admit. The Frog King rarely left his castle, let alone ventured anywhere near his black sheep of a son.

The Frog King cleared his throat. “May we speak in private?”

“Of course, sir.” Karl quickly jumped to his feet. “If you need anything. Anything at all. I’ll be right outside.”

“Thank you, Karl.” The Frog King frowned, his nose wrinkling. “What’s that smell?”

Karl blushed.

“Hmm.” I sniffed the air. “I’m not sure. Smells a little like Candi. What do you think, Karl?”

Karl ran out the door.

We watched as my manservant nearly toppled a newspaper stand on the corner. He righted it in time, and disappeared from view.

Lollie also stood, but at a slower pace, her long, lean legs looking longer and leaner in the gleaming sunlight. I gulped. Lollie stuck out her hand. “Hi. I’m Lollie. Lollie Bliss.” The king glanced down at her outstretched hand, his wrinkled brow wrinkling more. Her smile grew as she added, “This is my shop.”

The king lifted his sandy-colored eyebrow. “A pleasure, Ms. . . . Bliss, was it?”

Lollie nodded, her smile slipping a bit under the king’s obvious disapproval. Having been on the receiving end of the king’s censure more often than not, I knew exactly how Lollie felt. With one harsh word the Frog King could turn a mere mortal to quivering mush. Not that Lollie was mere, nor mortal.

“Forgive my rudeness, Father,” I said, gaining the old man’s attention. “But I repeat, why are you here?”

The king sighed. “I heard a rumor.”

“I can explain!”

“That you are engaged to Princess Vaniteuse,” my father finished with a frown.

“Oh,” I said. “That one? Yes, I am engaged to Beauty. Now, if that’s all, I’ll show you the way out. . . .”

The Frog King’s eyes narrowed, but before he could question my outburst, Lollie spoke. “You must forgive Kermit.” At the nickname, my father raised a sandy-colored eyebrow. Lollie grinned, adding, “He recently suffered a grave injury and hasn’t quite recovered.” Lollie motioned to a red plastic chair. “Please have a seat. You must be tired after your long journey. Can I get you a drink? Bottled water? Coke?”

“Arsenic?” I mumbled under my breath like a petulant child, which, given our relationship was an apt description.

Glancing between Lollie and me, the king did as she suggested, sitting down gingerly on the hard plastic. “Tap water. Ice. Three cubes.”

Figured. The penny-pinching Frog King loved to save a buck, be it drinking tap water rather than Perrier, or sending his only son to the Row, Row, Row a Borrowed Boat with a Cracked Hull summer camp instead of the more expensive and safe version.

“Right. Three cubes. And you, Jean-Michel?” she asked, sneering my name. “Would you like something?”

“No thanks. I’m good.” I crossed my arms over my chest.

“Why don’t you take a seat next to your dad?” She gestured for me to sit. “I’m sure you have plenty to talk about.”

“Not really.”

Lollie smiled.

I shook my head.

Her grin grew wider, exposing her teeth in an almost threatening manner. I dropped into a chair next to my father. Lollie nodded, apparently satisfied by my obedience. “I’ll be back in a minute,” she said. “Please make yourself at home.” With those parting words, Lollie strolled from the room, her hips hypnotically swaying back and forth.

“She seems . . . nice,” my father said with only a hint of disapproval.

“She’s not,” I said. “In fact, I think she’d like nothing more than for me to croak.”

My father frowned, as if my sense of humor left a lot to be desired. “I see.”

Anger burned in my chest. Like my father saw anything beyond his pile of money. He’d spent all my life locked away in his castle, counting his pennies. He knew nothing about my life, about my relationship with Ms. Bliss. About me. Sometimes I hated him for it. But more often than not, I hated myself for the years I wasted seeking his approval.

“Let’s get this over with,” I said. “You don’t want me to marry Beauty. Good to know. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have a wedding to plan. A very expensive wedding, I might add. . . .”

“You can’t marry Sleeping Beauty,” he said, harshly. “I forbid it.”

“What objection could you possibly have to Beauty?” I gave a bitter laugh. “She’s a rich princess with an unblemished pedigree, for frog sakes.”

“Not for long, son.”

“What are you talking about?”

“Your princess is mortgaged to the hilt.”

B
efore I could question my father further, Lollie strolled back into the room, a glass smudged with ink in her hand. A small chip ran down the side of the glass. “Here you go,” she said, handing the glass to my father.

He took it, his mouth twisting with disgust. Lollie tapped her finger to her lips, waiting, until the Frog King grudgingly drank a sip. “Thank you,” he said, clearing his throat.

Lollie nodded, and then turned to me, her dark eyes glowing. “So what’d I miss?”

I was pretty sure she didn’t miss much. Ever. But Lollie was the least of my concerns at the moment. “Father,” I said, “do you have a shred of evidence to support your ridiculous claim? Or are you making this up to avoid buying a tuxedo for my wedding?”

“I am not making this up. Besides, it’s much cheaper to rent a tuxedo by the hour.” He pounded his fist into his palm. “But that’s not the point. Jean-Michel,” he began, ignoring Lollie, “I order you to break off your engagement and return to New Never City to find a more appropriate bride.”

“I’m sorry, Father.” I took a deep breath. “But I can’t.” Even though I wanted nothing more than to do just that. But Beauty was my One. Forever. Until death did us part. I cleared my throat. “Beauty will be my wife.”

My father slowly rose to his feet. “Then you leave me with no choice.”

I nodded, knowing exactly where he was going. “So be it,” I said with a calm I didn’t feel. The Frog King closed his eyes, as if in pain, nodded once, and left the shop.

Lollie stared after him, confusion etched on every tiny line of her face. “What was that all about?”

“Not much,” I said, carefully rising to my feet. “My father just disowned me.”

A
fter my father’s announcement, I left a confused Lollie at the tattoo shop and headed for the limo, my father’s words ringing in my ears. Disowned. Alone. And no closer to finding Spindle, or getting Lollie naked. My visit to Lollie’s had accomplished nothing. I closed my eyes and let the full weight of my upcoming nuptials wash over me. Karl opened the door of the limo, his face full of concern. “Sir?” he ventured.

I shook my head.

He swallowed and closed the door, leaving me alone in the car. I pulled out my p-Phone and dialed a number I hadn’t called in over three years. A number I’d promised to never to dial again, or so I told the judge.

Three rings later, a woman answered. “Detective Locks.”

“Hey, Goldie,” I said, my tone infused with princely charm. “Been a while.”

She groaned. “What do you want, Jean-Michel?”

“I’ve missed you. Remember all the good times we had together?”

“We went on two dates,” she said. “The second one ended... badly.”

I rubbed at my chest where Goldie had tased me after a small misunderstanding involving her roommate and a can of whipped cream. “Good times,” I said with a smile. “Good times.”

“I’m busy here, Jean-Michel.” She huffed. “Just tell me what you want so I can say no, and we can both get on with our lives.”

I winced, but got to the point. “I need your help—”

“I can’t fix another ticket.” She paused. “No matter how many times you deny it, indecent exposure is a real crime.”

“Funny, but you know as well as I do that those charges were trumped up. I still had my boxers on. I don’t care what that Contrary Mary said.” I gave a small laugh. “But that’s not why I called. Today I need a little information. About a princess.”

Now it was Goldie’s turn to laugh. “Tell me she’s not pressing charges.”

I winced, realizing too late that Goldie, while the best detective in New Never City, couldn’t see through the phone line. “Nothing like that. I just need some financials for a woman named Beauty Vaniteuse.”

Goldie chuckled again, this time with real humor. “Jean-Michel, I’m a homicide detective with a stack of case files a mile high. Not an accountant.”

“Please,” I said, mustering up all of my French charm.

“Fine,” she said, hurriedly. “I’ll see what I can come up with.”

“Thank you,” I said and hung up. A sudden wistfulness came over me. Perhaps I should’ve tried harder to win Goldie’s heart. Then I considered the fact that she was pretty picky, had a bit of a temper, and carried a gun, one that fired real bullets instead of ink, and my regret instantly evaporated. I had enough women wanting me dead already.

Speaking of which, I cranked the window down. “Karl?”

“Where to, sir?” he said, snapping to attention.

“Vaniteuse Palace,” I said, my eyes locking on Lollie’s face in the window of the tattoo shop. “It’s time I had a little talk with my bride.”

 

Twenty minutes later, we arrived at the Vaniteuse palace. Surprisingly, it looked much like it had the day before, when Beauty was just a sleepy chick, and not the woman who’d just destroyed the lifestyle I’d become very accustomed to. Yet being poor felt remarkably like being rich. Of course, I still had seventy million dollars in my trust fund, which, if I was frugal, would keep me from having to rub-a-dub-dub guys on the street corner for Armani.

Workers watered beds of roses, trimmed hedges, and mowed the jade-colored lawn into impressively straight rows for less money than I spent on a pair of shoes.

Out of the corner of my eye, I caught sight of a shiny black vehicle parked in the palace driveway. A very familiar, shiny black car complete with a large, almost phallic horn attached to the hood. “Son of a bitch,” I whispered. “She really did try and kill me. What did I ever do to her?” I asked Karl.

“You hired an assassin to kill her.”

Oh yeah. I’d almost forgotten about that. All my anger at being run down vanished, replaced by an odd sense of relief. “Guess we’re even, then.”

“The foundation of many a great marriage,” he said.

My eyes narrowed. Was he mocking me? His blank expression suggested he wasn’t, but the gleam in his eyes spoke volumes. “Like you know anything about women or marriage. Your last girlfriend was made from recycled Tupperware.”

Without waiting for his comeback, I jumped from the limo and stormed up the sidewalk. Stupid Karl, like he knew anything about what made relationships work. Well, I’d show him. Beauty and I would live happily ever after, even if it killed her. I pounded on the diamond-encrusted door. “Open up.”

The door swung wide. The butler, Marvin, stood to the side, a frown on his block-like face. “Prince La Grenouille, whatever are you doing here?”

“I’m here to chat with my loving bride,” I sneered, glancing at my watch. A little past noon. Just in time for Beauty’s naptime. “If you’d be so kind as to wake her.”

“But, sir—”

“Wake her,” I repeated. “Now.”

Marvin jumped to attention and all but flew up the staircase. I grinned; years of torturing my own servant had finally paid off.

From down the hallway, the king’s voice boomed. “I will not!” A door opened and then slammed shut. I caught sight of a flash of pink before it disappeared around the corner. The scent of gin floated down the hallway. A few seconds later, Jimmy Cockroach appeared in front of me, his top hat askew.

“Hey,” I said in greeting.

The cockroach looked up, his lips curled with disgust. “Oh goody, it’s you again. The Frog Prince. Whoopee.”

“What’s the supposed to mean?”

“It means,” he glared at me, “not everyone is overjoyed by whatever crap falls from your stupid mouth.”

Was I just insulted? By a roach? I took a step back. “Whoa. Ease back on the hostility a little. We’ve only just met.” It usually took years, okay months, occasionally a few hours, for someone to genuinely hate me. Since I’d exchanged no more than ten words with the cricket wannabe in the last couple of days, I wasn’t quite sure what was going on. Not that it mattered. If I wanted to I could squash him like a . . .

“Bug! The word you are looking for, you moron, is bug!” he yelled. “You’re all alike.” He smashed his stick-like leg against the ground. “Think you’re a fairy’s wet dream, but you’re not.” He clasped his tiny hands behind his back. “And who will pay the price when your true colors emerge? Poor Princess Beauty. That’s who.”

I gave a bitter laugh. “I’m sure Beauty will survive.” “Poor” was an interesting choice of words, though. Did the roach know about Beauty’s recent money trouble? If so, that explained twenty-eight broken engagements. What prince wanted to marry a pauper? Other than a cursed prince with little choice in the matter.

“How I wish that was true,” he said, dragging me back to the conversation at hand. “Unfortunately, Beauty is doomed as soon as she says ‘I do’ to the likes of you.”

“Doomed? Aren’t you being a tad melodramatic? Marrying me isn’t the worst thing in the world.” The black plague still existed, right? If not,
Fairyland’s Ugliest Stepsister
was just picked up for a fourth season. That show had to be worse than a wedding night with me.

“Doomed!” he repeated, tapping his tiny walking stick against the hardwood floor. “If Sleeping Beauty marries you, she will suffer a fate far worse than death.”

“Oh yeah? What’s that?”

“Marriage to a moron.”

“Hey, let’s not bring religion into this.” I folded my arms over my chest. “Besides, I’m agnostic.”

“Idiot.” With that insult hanging in the air between us, Jimmy Cockroach spun on his tiny heel, and slipped through the crack under the front door.

“Wait,” I called after him, but he had vanished. A feeling of dread washed over me. Was the roach right? Would marrying me literally ruin my bride? I rubbed the B-shaped birthmark over my heart and shook my head. Nonsense. She was my One. That was all that mattered.

What was taking Marvin so long? I glanced at my watch. I’d been waiting in the hallway for five minutes now. Time was money, or so poor people often said. To me, time was just time, but maybe that would change now that I was on my own. Or not. I yawned and checked my watch again.

“Jean-Michel!” Sleeping Beauty’s stepfather materialized in front of me. “No use standing by the door. Come in, son. Come in.”

Son? Really? Hell, my own father rarely called me by name, let alone used the term “son.” Of course, he’d just disowned me, but that was a moot point. “Thanks, but I’m waiting for your daughter.”

“Pretty?”

“No. Princess Beauty. We have . . . something to discuss.” Something like the little matter of wanting me dead, I thought.

“Yes, well,” he said, “don’t be too hasty, son. Beauty meant well.”

Yeah, I’m sure she had my well-being utmost in mind when she tried to kill me. “So you know what she did?” I asked, my blood heating. What was wrong with this family? They discussed outright murder like others did the weather.

The king nodded. “Don’t get too upset. Her dear mother did the same thing to me a couple of days before our wedding.”

“And you still married her?”

“Let’s have a drink and I’ll tell you all about it.” The king grabbed my arm and pulled me inside his “library,” which consisted of a collection of unread literary classics and dog-eared fairy-on-fairy pornography. “Have a seat, son. Have a seat.” He motioned to an empty recliner on the far side of a faux fireplace.

“Nice room,” I said, glancing around. Every surface spoke of wealth and privilege, like a commercial for Viagra and overcompensation. The rug alone must’ve cost a hundred thousand, not to mention the ivory fireplace and diamond-covered lampshade. Ali Baba and his forty light-fingered friends would’ve loved to spend five minutes alone in this palace. Hell, even I was tempted to pocket the ruby paperweight the size of an oversized little lamb on the coffee table. All this extravagance explained the king’s current financial woes. I wondered if Beauty knew the king was selling her to anyone willing to pay for her hand in marriage. It gave her one hell of a motive for murder.

“Can I get you a drink?” the king asked. “I have a fine eighty-year-old scotch from my private stock with your name on it.”

Private stock. If he hadn’t stuck me with the dinner check, his words would’ve told me all that I needed to know about Sleeping Beauty’s stepfather. The greedy bastard. “Why not,” I said.

The king beamed as he poured two fingers of scotch into a crystal glass. “This bottle,” he held the liquor bottle to the light, “cost me ten thousand dollars at auction last year. But what’s a few dollars when it comes to family.” He handed me the drink and poured three fingers for himself. “To the great institution of marriage,” he said in salute.

I hoisted my glass and then downed the smooth amber liquid in one gulp. Wiping my mouth with the back of my sleeve, I bowed to the king, enjoying the flash of anger that crossed his face. “Hit me again,” I said, hoisting my glass.

Had his stepdaughter not been about to marry me, I’m pretty sure the king would’ve done just that. Instead, he smiled tightly and poured a half inch of scotch from his “private stock” into my highball glass.

Taking pity on the poor guy, I took a small sip first before knocking back the rest. “Not bad. Not bad at all.”

“I’m glad you approve,” he paused, sneering the word, “son.”

He wanted something badly. Badly enough to share his ten-thousand-dollar bottle of scotch with a guy he’d only days ago wanted to boil in oil. I wondered if his newfound friendliness had something to do with Sleeping Beauty’s recent attempt on my life.

“So?” I began when silence descended over the room.

“So,” he repeated as his eyes misted. “Beauty is very special.” So I’d heard, numerous times. But the king wasn’t finished. “She’s been like a daughter to me since her father, rest his soul, was killed in a freak climbing accident.”

“Rock climbing?”

The king’s eyes grew damp, almost amphibian-like. “Scaling Rapunzel’s palace wall. The rope he was using just gave way mid-climb. The coroner declared it an accidental death by split ends.” He stopped, tilting his head to one side as he stared at me. I grew increasingly uncomfortable under his gaze until he finally spoke again. “You remind me of Beauty’s father in a lot of ways.”

“Really? How so?”

“He loved his family. Wanted the best for them and would do anything to reach his goals. A prince among men. That he was.” The king’s eyes grew moist with unshed tears. “Sadly, he left little in the way of support for his wife and young daughter. Just this dinky, run-down palace in the middle of nowhere and a small dowry, pennies really.”

Run-down? Dinky? Mind you, my collection of shoes had a palace twice this size, but this castle was far from being either dinky or rundown. The bastard king had likely squandered away Beauty’s dowry on his hundred-thousand-dollar rugs, three-thousand-dollar shoes, and ten-thousand-dollar bottles of scotch.

I could see it now. He’d homed in on a grief-stricken queen and her semi-orphaned and sleepy child and set himself up in the lap of luxury. But I’d be damned if he’d continue to pick Sleeping Beauty’s bones clean. Once Goldie came through with Beauty’s financial picture, I’d devise a plan to rid her of the greedy king for life. Neither the king nor his offspring would ever touch another dime of Sleeping Beauty’s money.

It was time for King Vaniteuse to pay the piper, by which I meant Phil, the piper the king had hired for the wedding ceremony. The guy cost a fortune.

The king was saying, “So you can see why this day means so much to me,” he jabbed his finger into his chest, “her dear stepdaddy.”

“Oh, I see.” I patted his shoulder hard enough to leave a mark. “I see everything.”

Not that any of this mattered. I wasn’t here to chitchat with the king. I’d come to see my future bride. Not that I had a clue as to what I’d say to her when she honored me with her presence. ‘What the fuck?’ held a certain dignified appeal. I glanced at my watch. “Listen, sir,” I said. “I really do need to speak with Sleeping Beauty, so if you’ll exc—”