The music—Swan Tiger’s new album, I’m A Showgirl, Show, Show, Show—was back on in the party room, a deliberate attempt to drown out the anxiety. Talk and laughter filled the hall. It looked as though people were trying hard to forget the Ambassador’s death, even with the FBI agents still working in the room. What choice did they have but to enjoy the moment?
The only thing that genuinely upset people was that half of the Premium Zone had been isolated, which meant most of the delicious exotic fruits and desserts were now evidence.
“At least the bar is open. I see Daniel is in there, shaker in hand,” Spion offered. “Who wants a drink? Tonic for the Report Man, gin for Lady News, and orange juice for Dr. Fit?”
“You still remember our favorites. Very kind of you,” Report Man said.
“I already had apple juice tonight. The bar had five Queen’s apples for juice and cocktails, so no more juice for health reasons,” Dr. Fit said with a beam. “Water is enough.”
“Sparkling water, please. I can’t drink alcohol tonight; my driver is on vacation, and I’m driving myself,” Lady News explained. “I can’t even try Bob’s new creation, Frog’s Kiss.”
“Yeah, I suggest you try Frog’s Kiss,” Report Man said. “I drank one, really good. It uses tequila with some herbals he refuses to name. And it’s limited; he only has a few of those special herbals.”
“I’ll try it. Always interested in a new drink,” Trevor said. “I’ll go with you.”
“I can’t believe Bob is hiding a new drink from me after we worked together for months,” Spion said, feigning disappointment.
“It’s the first showing,” Lady News said with a grin.
Trevor and Spion struggled to make their way to the bar. The available space was now choked by guests trying to dance or simply move, and at least six FBI agents were walking through the room, surveying everything, while servers moved around with trays of freshly baked desserts.
Spion snatched two small bear chocolates from a passing tray, gave one to Trevor, and tossed the other into his own mouth. “Childish,” Trevor grinned.
When they arrived at the bar, several businessmen were already sitting there, chatting loudly over shorts.
“Hi, Daniel, one tonic, one water, one sparkling water, and two Frog’s Kisses,” Spion requested, leaning on the counter.
“You’ll have to wait, Spion. Bob is under interview, and only he can make the Frog’s Kiss,” Daniel replied, pouring gin into a shaker. “I need to make two Martinis and one Margarita first.”
“We can wait.”
The businessmen next to them were making a loud noise, then all drank their shots simultaneously. A younger one spoke up: “The tariff war is going to get worse. Last week, I had to sell my last ghost-hunting gear factory in Seres. That was a family business.” He looked close to tears.
“Sam, we’ve all been there. Politics dominate the country now,” his long-faced friend said. “Maybe moving the factory back home isn’t a bad thing, as long as the government pays a subsidy.”
“What I’m more afraid of is her wanting to be a Czarina, to destroy democracy,” another younger guy with brown hair said nervously.
“Be quiet,” a dark-skinned, older man among them cautioned. “Rumors say she has secret agents in every public place to watch everyone who speaks against her policy.” Their voices dropped significantly.
After Daniel finished one Martini for the brown-haired guy, an FBI agent and the Head Waiter, Ali, approached with Bob, the other bartender. “Daniel, your turn,” the Head Waiter said.
“Good luck,” Bob patted Daniel’s shoulder.
“One Martini and one Margarita for those gentlemen,” Daniel quickly pointed to the crowd, “and one tonic, one water, one sparkling water, and two Frog’s Kisses for Spion and his friends.”
When Daniel followed the FBI agent and the Head Waiter away, Spion asked Bob how the interview went.
“They just asked when I arrived and what I was doing the whole time,” Bob replied, putting two glasses on the counter and pouring spring water into one and sparkling water into the other. “When I told them I took five Queen’s apples before the party began for making drinks, they asked more about those apples.”
“Do you still have apples? I want to try one apple drink,” Trevor asked.
“No, all apples were used out,” Bob said as he started preparing a Martini. “We didn’t plan to make any apple drink. But once we told everyone those apples were from the White Palace, and delivered just half an hour before the party began, they all got interested.”
“Hmm, it’s really just one apple that was poisoned,” Trevor muttered, looking back toward the isolated Premium Zone.
“You didn’t know the Queen would send apples here earlier?” Spion asked, surprised.
“No. We didn’t even know the Ambassador and the Secretary of Commerce were attending. They only informed us one hour before the party began,” Bob said, shaking the shaker. “Ali said it was the Ambassador’s proposal. He’s a premium member here, but I never saw him; he always took a private suite, never came to the first floor. But I saw his wife here sometimes. She attends the reading club and art lectures. A lovely woman. Sorry for her loss. Negroni is her favorite.”
“So the Gossip News is true. They did come here a lot, but never together,” Trevor summarized, surprised.
“Well, I’m more concerned: since the Ambassador informed the Salon so late, who had time to plan the poison?” Spion said thoughtfully.
“You sound like the FBI,” Bob grinned.