Birthdays of a Princess by Helga Zeiner

Princess Tia. The other mothers and their
daughters always shunned us, jealous of my unbelievable feat of having won the
Grand Supreme and the Ultimate Supreme four times in the last five pageants before
I even turned six.
    On my sixth birthday we finally went to Disneyland. Gracie joined me
on all the rides. We stayed in a suite with a princess theme, of course, and
Princess Tia wore her sparkling tiara all day long. Every picture Gracie took
on this trip shows me grinning from one ear to the other, eating hot dogs and
ice cream, carrying a larger-than-Tia Mickey Mouse, having the time of my life!
    It made up for the photo sessions, which I did nearly every week now.

 
     
     
    Chapter
22
     
     
    “She can’t be serious! She gives an interview without talking to us
or consulting with her lawyer first?” Macintosh was more surprised than
annoyed. “What’s the matter with that dumb bitch?”
    He and Harding stood around the computer, watching a replay of last
night’s news clip, containing snippets of Melissa’s interview, to be aired in
full on one of the afternoon talk shows.
    Harding shrugged. “They have run those teasers for days now, it
keeps the interest alive.”
    “Great, that’s all we need. We are running in circles here, chasing
our own tail, and the press has a field day with the mother, who is
whitewashing herself like the inside of a church.”
    Harding put his hands behind his neck and stretched. “We don’t have
a lot to go on.”
    “Don’t just stand there. Relax, Harding, take the weight off your
legs, it might help you think. Sit down.” Macintosh said while slumping into
his own chair. “Let’s talk. What have we got so far?”
    Harding did as he was told. “Suspect or victim?” he asked.
    “Let’s start with the victim.”
     “Still comatose.” Harding glanced at his notebook. “The docs told
me she had her appendix out and she’s diabetic. Aside from that and guessing
her heritage, we got nothing. Nobody is missing anybody of her description.”
    “What have we done to establish her identity?”
    “We can’t fingerprint without her or a close relative’s consent, but
we gave the data as we know it to all hotels as well as the cruise ship
currently in the harbor. We have supplied the TV stations with it and they have
been good about it and mentioned it three days in a row.”
    “And still nothing. That’s odd.”
    “Yeah, it’s really weird, considering she was right in the center of
busy Metro Vancouver when she was attacked, so she wasn’t exactly hiding. Which
just about eliminates her being a courier of sorts. We alerted the border
crossings, thought maybe she was noticed coming over.”
    “What are the chances she’ll come out of it so we can question her?”
    “Slim, nobody can say for sure.”
    “Damn it.” Macintosh shook his head and kept going to sum up their
existing knowledge. “The girl. What about her?”
    “Not much there either.” Harding was still tense. He was sitting on
a wooden chair designed by a torture expert, which didn’t exactly relax his
back.
    “Did you check her mother’s comments that she was a famous, sought-after
child model?”
    “Patience, my friend. We checked with all major ad agencies down
south, but no Tiara Brown has been registered with any of them. We keep at it.”
    “What about the drug test?”
    Harding’s notebook was on his lap but he didn’t need to consult it.
    “Surprisingly, the drug test came back negative.”
    “Really? Maybe she was on something we don’t know yet. They come up
with new crap all the time,” Macintosh said.
    “Stop being so paranoid.”
    “Oh yeah? What do you know about drugs?”
    “If she was using, she hasn’t been for a long time. We must assume
that she’s as clean as a whistle. She refuses to cooperate with us, but
apparently talks to the shrink at the Youth Custody Center in Burnaby, a Dr.
Stanley Eaton. That’s the guy who called us after his first interview with