A spa in Paris

Annie gaped at the extravagant spa lobby, her gaze darting between the glittering chandeliers and polished marble floors. The soothing scent of lavender mixed with eucalyptus filled the air, calming her jittery nerves.

"Holy smokes, this place is faancy!" Annie breathed out in awe.

"It's just a spa," Laura countered dryly, completely unfazed by her assistant's excitement.

"Well, it's way fancier than what I'm used to."

A cheerful receptionist greeted them with a practiced smile. "Good afternoon! How can I help you ladies today?"

"We've got a reservation under García," Annie chirped excitedly.

"I see that you do. Right through here." The receptionist motioned toward a plant-lined corridor. "Our tanning beds are quite the attraction if you'd like to start there!"

"Lovely," Laura replied with disinterest as they headed toward the changing area.

Annie emerged from the changing stall wrapped in a plush white robe, the soft fabric gripping her like a warm embrace.

“Are you seeing this?” she exclaimed, her gaze drifting over to Laura as she tightened the belt of her own robe. “Boza really pulled through with those spa passes! Who knew clowns had such perks?”

“Correction,” Laura cut in, crossing her arms and giving Annie a pointed look. “The pass was only given to me. You’re just a plus one who guilted me into coming along.” She tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear, irritation flickering in her eyes.

Annie’s grin wavered. “Well, I just figured—”

“Annie, just keep your distance today” Laura interrupted, her tone clipped. “We’ve spent way too much time together this past month. I want some damn privacy for once. Are we clear?”

“Crystal.” Annie murmured, the familiar ache of dismissal settling in. She knew Laura was a lone wolf by nature, and this trip had to be wearing on her boss. Sharing a cabin on the cruise ship had been bad enough, but then they had been stranded naked in a foreign country, and **** to spend their days running from angry mobs, and their nights cuddling in the wilderness for warmth. While the Cirque De Nue had offered salvation in the form of employment, clothes and a free ride back to America, it still meant sharing a trailer, and reliving their humiliating adventures on stage before ending every performance cramped in a cage together. Plus, the lack of any real cases to solve had to be grating. The only mystery at the circus was who swiped Tabitha’s leftover panna cotta from the fridge, but Annie was fairly certain Laura was the guilty party.

Laura’s eyes flicked to a handwritten sign taped crookedly to the wall—“Tanning Salon →”—looking oddly out of place in the otherwise pristine spa. “You should hit the sunbed,” she remarked without turning around. “Get that tan from Italy back. I'm sure the audience will appreciate not being blinded by your full moon."

Annie swallowed hard but kept her smile intact, masking the sting with **** cheer. She trailed the sketchy signs toward the tanning room, wondering if the tanning beds were some new addition they hadn't made proper signs for yet.

As Annie entered tanning salon, her initial excitement rapidly deflated. The space resembled a forgotten storage closet more than a pampering retreat—with cheaply assembled walls peeling plaster and a too bright overhead lamp that buzzed incessantly.

“Uh, is this the right place?” she questioned, staring at a booth that looked decidedly fresher than it's surroundings. A woman in a lab coat slouched nearby, absorbed in her phone.

“Yep! Lose the robe and hop in,” the attendant replied without looking up. “Oh, and take these” She shoved a container of chalky face paint and a set of white gloves at Annie. "The face and hands are sensitive to this kind of tech, so you'll need the sunscreen and gloves for protection."

Annie hesitated but pushed aside her unease, the woman was a professional, she probably saw naked bodies on the regular. Annie shed her robe and smeared the paint over her cheeks, before completing the bizarre ensemble with the gloves.

“Now hop in there,” the attendant directed, nodding toward the booth. “Don’t freak out if it shakes—it’s got a built-in massage.”

“A tan and a massage? What a boon!” Annie clambered inside, sinking into the plush surface. The lid sealed with a soft snap above her. Then came a second, sharper click—the unmistakable sound of a padlock sliding into place.

The woman stuck two fingers in her mouth and whistled loudly, and the salon walls folded away, exposing an empty loading bay. The Queen of Pranks stood just outside in her drab grey coveralls, smoothing her hair before pulling on a matching cap. She strode up to the booth attendant, who had already shed her lab coat to show identical warehouse attire beneath.

“You’ve got the target?” The Queen’s tone was sharp with urgency.

The attendant gave a quick nod, gaze flicking around the space. “Positive. The woman inside fits the receptionist’s description exactly.”

“And the soundproofing—you’re certain it’s in place?” The Queen lowered her voice, leaning in with suspicion.

“Done and tested,” the attendant boasted, knocking on the metal cylinder. “She won’t hear a peep.”

“Excellent.” The Queen’s lips curled in satisfaction, schemes already unfolding in her mind. With practiced ease, she nudged the tanning booth onto a waiting cart.

After passing over a thick stack of euros and waving the attendant off, she wheeled the booth into her delivery van. “Laura, caught in my trap,” she snickered, “A detective who's completely clueless.”