Elusive Burglar Of Rare Antiques Caught: “Doorknob Bandit” Had One Too Many At Victim’s Friday Night Soiree
 
San Francisco, CA The so-called “Doorknob Bandit” was finally caught and arrested this past Friday night in the home of one Claudia Robertson. Robertson’s Pacific Heights flat had actually been targeted by the burglar as the next stop on his long and bizarre spree of criminal break-ins. The elusive thief has left local investigators puzzled and infuriated by his six month-long chain of robberies.
 
The thief, whose name will remain withheld, focused specifically on high-end, historic residences in the San Francisco area. Entering only when the home was unoccupied, the burglar removed various antique fixtures throughout the house--especially doorknobs, light fixtures, and switch plates. Most frequently, owners returned to their homes to discover all the doorknobs in the residence missing. Other miscellaneous items such as faucet handles would later be discovered to be missing as well. Personal valuables including jewelry and electronic equipment were never disturbed. A local investigation determined that local antique dealers had received a heightened volume in sales of antique fixtures from a “quiet and mysterious private dealer.”
 
“There is a hot market today for quality, vintage fixtures for the home,” said Anthony Hopsdale, owner of Bay Area Antiques on Market Street. “Interior designers and remodelers will pay top dollar for antiques, especially doorknobs. They’re in extremely high demand as the new trend in restoration continues to grow.” As inquiries were made in to the recent business of local antique dealers, it was revealed that one anonymous dealer had made numerous visits to area shops in the past six months, offering a variety of doorknobs and other accoutrements for sale. “I thought nothing of it at first,” Hopkins stated. “The seller was wholly unremarkable, a quiet guy who always had good, quality items. I swear, though, I just can’t remember what he looks like. It’s like there was nothing special about him. But he definitely knew his stuff, and always presented us with the best pieces. We paid him a handsome return.”
 
At Hopsdale’s shop alone, it is estimated that the burglar was paid out approximately $35,000 for the sale of about 100 different items. “You can’t find things like this anymore,” Hopsdale confirmed. “These old Victorians are like museum displays of fine old porcelain and iron work.”
 
The burglar used a string of aliases throughout antique shops in the city and was always paid cash for his sales. Investigators were astonished that the thief would turn around and sell his wares in his ‘own backyard’ but continued to remain unapprehended. “It was maddening,” reported Assistant Deputy Chief John Sales. “We could only obtain a very vague description of the suspect; no one who bought from him could remember what he looked like. It seemed like he was completely forgettable. Meanwhile, we’ve got some very wealthy homeowners in the area who want to know what’s happened to their doorknobs. And we had no answers. Until now.”
 
It is unusual that on this final spree the Doorknob Bandit chose to enter a home that was not only occupied but in the middle of a large social gathering. Ultimately this proved to be the Bandit’s downfall. It would appear that he was unable to resist his urge to imbibe, a weakness that perhaps clouded his judgment and heretofore unflinching elusiveness. As it was, at the time of his capture the Bandit was “completely soused,” agreed numerous witnesses.
 
The final burglary of the mysterious “Doorknob Bandit,” as he was nicknamed, came this past Friday night. Claudia Robertson, a top San Francisco advertising executive, was hosting a costume party in her Pacific Heights home. The thief entered the premises dressed in costume and proceeded to blend in with party guests. As the night progressed, it appears that the thief was able to enjoy himself while secretly removing various items throughout the house. A string of peculiar circumstances led finally to his capture. The distressed Ms. Robertson described: “We caught him red-handed and three sheets to the wind. I was furious at the whole situation and thoroughly exasperated to find that this was not only the “Doorknob Bandit” but that he was completely drunk and at my party. I wanted my doorknobs back.” The police were called and he was arrested and taken to the Hall of Justice where he was detained for questioning.
 
In total, the suspect faces 48 counts of Grand Larceny and additional damages. Arraignment will take place this Monday in a local court. If convicted, the man may serve up to ten years in prison.
 
Local citizens are relieved, if not still angry. Many of the stolen items that were sold to local dealers were then immediately bought by other collectors, leaving most of the victims unable to recover the priceless antiques that were once a part of their historic homes. Only Ms. Robertson has regained what was stolen, as her belongings were returned to her after the thief’s arrest. She is currently in the process of reattaching all the missing fixtures. Ms. Robertson summed up the feelings of the Doorknob Bandit’s victims: “I’m so grateful that we were able to stop him and that my possessions were returned to me. On behalf of the other victims…it must be terribly frustrating to think that someone else here in the Bay area is currently remodeling their home with our stolen items. Ironically, those of us who were struck will now have to remodel as well.”
 
***
 
“Well, there you have it.” Claudia looked at me over the edge of the newspaper. “It’s all over the papers and that stinking little weasel is in prison where he belongs.”
 
“Yes, darling, I know. But you were lucky enough to get all of your things back unlike these other poor people. And it was rather funny how we succeeded in catching him. Bother, though--it’s only been two days and I can no longer remember what he looks like. Come to think of it, I think I forgot him by the time he was hauled away.”
 
I set down my cappuccino and looked around Chez Farisse. Our Sunday morning brunch brought with it much more weekend excitement to discuss than usual. Claudia, Gwen, Isobel, and I were reeling from what had happened, and I was still favoring a most unlovely headache. On a positive note, Chez Farisse catered to my every culinary craving with the utmost perfect brunch menu. After all, when a girl has a headache and some extra luggage around the eyes, prompt—and pretty—service lavishing one with mimosas is the only acceptable remedy. Basking in the lazy morning sunlight, I felt properly pampered and therefore slightly better.
 
Isobel, however, was not doing so well; judging from her rather unseasonably languid pallor she had yet to recover from the Unspeakable Champagne Incident. I shuddered to even think of it. And it pained me more to think of my lovely coat. Isobel has promised to buy me a new one if the drycleaner can’t take care of it. But some grudges, especially over cashmere, take a while to get over.
 
Isobel let out a tiny groan and motioned to the waiter. “I need more orange juice.”
 
“A mimosa, you mean, Isobel dear?” Gwen smirked. “Oh that’s right, I forgot. You’re probably not in the mood for champagne right now, are you?”
 
“Ugh,” she squeaked. “I’ll never drink champagne again.” I glared at her, still thinking about my coat. “Is that a promise?”
 
***
 
This past Friday morning I awoke with a long, luxurious yawn and a near dreamlike glimmer of the antics to come. I’d taken the day off work to help in preparation for Claudia’s party, obstinately having decided that that pornographic literary hack whose book I was editing could read his own work for all I cared. I had unwittingly coaxed Larry in to coming with me to pick up the alcohol and other party necessities. Claudia had an important meeting taking place that day and couldn’t even think about preparing for the party; I figured it was superbly helpful of me to make such a concession. Besides, any day I could scamper around with my little boy wonder and hit up the sale at Diesel was a day I would enjoy.
 
After a suitable morning cappuccino and a re-watching of last night’s Souls of Fury, I felt somewhat grounded and ready to start the day. Having neither the time or the patience to tolerate a man in a department store, I met Larry at the Grand Café after picking up enough discounted Diesel gear to more than compensate for what that hellhound Peebles had done to my favorite jeans.
 
With Larry in tow I decided that we would pass by the costume shop and choose our disguises for the evening, then get the liquor and head over to Claudia’s to set up. Larry had considered wearing his bellboy uniform but the girls had chided it would be too much of a cruel and obvious joke. Currently, I was considering that it might be fun to dress as a Greek or Roman goddess. It provided great possibilities for Larry as well; I believe Diana had that poor stag that followed her everywhere and Aphrodite was sleeping around with the god of war. While I wasn’t sure if Larry was better suited to be a follower or a war-time god. I thought I’d just choose the costume that looked best on me and that would be more than decisive as to what role he would play.
 
When we arrived at the costume shop I encountered a bit of difference in opinion as I perused the more sophisticated collections and Larry immediately made his way to the kids’ section. Twirling two plastic six-shooters on his fingers, he called to me, “Hey, Maddy! Look at this! I could be the biggest gun in the West!”
 
I scoffed. “You already are, dear. And not everyone needs to know that. If you didn’t notice, honey, you’re in the kiddie section; I think you’ve outgrown your guns…and those chaps too, good heavens.”
 
Larry lowered his guns with a look of glum disappointment. “Aw, shucks. Well that was the point…”
 
“Look, I’m not saying that chaps aren’t your thing; I’m just saying that if you want to go around bursting out the backside like a ‘poppin’ fresh’ breakfast roll, I’m not going to be anywhere near you when you do.” To console him I held up the Zeus costume. “Now, here…look at this. Does my big cowboy want to be the god of war?”
 
Larry brightened at the thought. I had found an elegant get-up befitting that of the goddess Aphrodite as well as someone like me to play the part. A shimmering satin gown with headdress, it was the color of burnt sugar and not unlike something I’d seen in Barney’s last week. My legs would look fantastic with the skirt. Plus, toting the adulterous god of war as an accessory could only make the costume better.
 
Grabbing his costume, Larry made his way to the dressing room. “I’m going to see how this looks,” he called.
 
Several minutes later I was still waiting for him to reveal himself. Suddenly the curtains parted with a dramatic swoosh and the skinny, chain mail-clad god of war appeared. Beating his chest, Larry bellowed across the costume shop. “Behold! I am Zeus, the mighty god of war. Kneel before your god!”
 
He looked a little ridiculous but I admit I was helpless to contain my attraction to him. He was somewhat skinny but in excellent shape, tan and muscular. On top of his curly blonde hair a crown of olive leaves replaced the bellboy’s cap that was his standard costume. Draped across his chest was the most ridiculous vest of chain links, complete with a Romanesque skirt and lace-up boots. Giggling, I dropped to my knees in praise. “Oh, mighty King Larry! Miss Milquetoast is at your service.”
 
“Good, then come here and help me get this vest off. It’s pulling at my chest hair.”
 
“We can’t have that. You don’t have that much of it.” Still on my knees, I crawled into the dressing room to assist the god of war. Twenty minutes later, Zeus and Aphrodite left the costume shop and proceeded to the liquor store.
 
At the Wine and Jug Shop on Polk Larry and I encountered unexpected difficulties. Claudia had called ahead to order all the liquor so that it would be ready for me to pick it up when I arrived; however, it seemed there had been some miscommunication when Claudia placed her order or at least I hoped so. Knowing Claudia as well as I did I knew she had better taste than to serve us all Pabst Blue Ribbon beer. But I wasn’t sure if she had scruples enough not to buy the stuff and try to pass it off as something better to save a few dollars. I had a copy of the order Claudia had submitted in hand and was comparing it to the list the shopkeeper had there with him. Already halfway down the list, numerous items were not matching up. Korbel instead of Mumm’s, Popov vodka instead of Ketel One, Old Crow in place of the scotch, and Pabst where beer should be. Oddly enough, the price seemed to match that of our top shelf choices so I felt something was amiss. If Claudia was trying to dupe us with cheap hooch, someone was duping her, too. I decided to give Claudia the benefit of the doubt and take it up with the shopkeeper.
 
“…And that’s two kegs of Pabst Blue Ribbon. Extra fifty bucks for the ice.” The shopkeeper looked at me over the top of his glasses and grinned slightly. If he thought he was going to get away with this he obviously had no idea that Miss Madison Milquetoast did not tolerate swill swindlers.
 
“Ah, no, sir. I believe you’ve made a mistake. Actually, I believe you’ve made many mistakes as nothing on the list you have there matches what I have here. The only thing I believe you are correct in is the price, which seems appropriate for what we originally ordered. But in the next minute or two I believe that is going to be wrong as well.”
 
The shopkeeper looked at me dubiously. “Don’t know what you’re talking about, miss. This is the list I got. Billy took the order, left this list here for me.”
 
“I see. So you didn’t speak with us directly when we called? Then surely you understand how a mistake could be made. Who is this Billy, anyway?”
 
“No mistake, miss. Billy’s a good kid. If this is what he wrote down, I’m sure this is what you ordered. Prices have gone up lately, I don’t think it’s irregular for an order of this size.”
 
At that point Larry chimed in, “Aw, come on Maddy, I’m sure—“
 
“I’ll handle this, Larry.” I was getting aggravated. “Now look here, sir. It’s not Miss. It’s Miss Milquetoast. And I’m telling you I have never bought Old Crow and I didn’t just start now. Why don’t you tally up how much that list in your hand actually costs, and I’ll prove to you that ol’ Billy isn’t the good kid you think he is.”
 
“Look, Miss Milkcow--whatever it is, even if you’re right, there’s not much I can do for ya. I doubt we have all this on hand if the order is wrong. Billy says you asked for Pabst, we call the distributor and we order Pabst. Now you got Pabst. Nothin’ else.”
 
I swear, the level of service provided these days is so wretchedly inadequate I’m surprised capitalism hasn’t folded in on itself. I had no tolerance for this Pabst crap he was feeding me and it only riled my anger. Glaring at the shopkeeper, I grumbled: “I don’t know who you think we are, but we are not a bunch of beer-slurping college groupies. And since beer-slurping, google-eyed, moon-faced, neophyte college groupies are the only people I know of who enjoy drinking copious amounts of Pabst, you must clearly be mistaken. If you actually were charging one hundred and fifty dollars for a keg of Pabst, do you honestly think those moon-faced morons could afford it? Paint thinner costs less and tastes better! Now get rid of that swill and fetch me some decent beer before I start throwing bottles of dime store hooch straight at you!”
 
The shopkeeper was instantly humbled by my heated and completely deserving display. Soon afterwards we were able to negotiate and he conceded that the prices indeed did not match the items on his list. While he didn’t have everything on hand that we had asked for, we were able to reach an agreement. As a conciliatory gesture he also decided to throw in three free cases of champagne as a peace offering. After he loaded everything in to my car for me, I thanked him and Larry and I left.
 
Expelling a long, deep breath, I glanced over at Larry in the car. “I’m sorry, dear. It was just such a terribly frustrating situation. I can’t believe he thought he could get away with that!”
 
Larry smiled. “No, I’m sorry to have doubted you Maddy. I didn’t mean to get in the way—you were really impressive.”
 
“No, it was nothing,” I replied. “I wasn’t about to be taken by that guy. You know how I hate cheap scotch. And I’m not entirely certain this wasn’t Claudia’s doing. But it worked out all right in the end.”
 
At this Larry broke in to a huge grin. “My god, you’re right! I mean have you seen how much champagne we have? It’s absolutely ridiculous.”
 
I smiled delightedly. “It’s true. It’s going to be such a blast. We practically have a bottle for everyone what with all that free stuff he gave us. This party is going to be excellent.”
 
Larry agreed. “Definitely. Come on, let’s get to Claudia’s and unload all this liquor. And then maybe we should crack open one of those bottles for ourselves. We deserve it.”
 
Giggling, I turned on to Broadway and headed toward Pacific Heights. “You’re right. I’m going to need it after we get that ridiculous keg of beer up all of Claudia’s stairs. Argh. Let’s go.”
 
I was right. After we arrived at Claudia’s, it was mid afternoon and it took a good forty minutes to lug the keg up the front steps and the additional flight of stairs to her home. It was a combined heroic effort between Larry and I, giggling and falling over each other as we gradually pushed and pulled our way to the top. Halfway through the process, I decided that I could no longer wait to open the champagne and instead we popped open a bottle at mid-stairs to provide a motivational boost. Sweating with exertion I felt slightly intoxicated by the time the keg was finally in the house. Laughing in relief, Larry sank to the floor beside the keg in Claudia’s front hall. I collapsed on top of him and we lay there for a bit, giggling and passing the half-empty bottle back and forth between us.
 
“Ahhh…” I giggled, stroking Larry’s foot. “All that effort for a bunch of alcohol? Ha!”
 
“I know,” Larry replied. “It’s such a pity. Boy, I could really use a nap. Sure is comfortable here; I could just lie on the floor all day.”
 
And just like that, the devilish notion popped in to my head. “Well, ya know…Claudia’s not going to be home for hours…I’m sure she wouldn’t mind if we just took a little siesta in her bed.” Rubbing his leg a little more suggestively, I rolled over and looked Larry in the eyes, grinning.
 
“Exactly what do you mean by ‘siesta,’ Miss Milquetoast ?” Larry countered. I recognized the same, mischievous glint in his eyes and knew he was thinking the same thing.
 
“Oh, you know, just…a little… siesta ,” I whispered as I kissed him. Nudging him gently I giggled and said, “Let’s go. It’ll be funny. She’ll never know!” We rolled up from the floor and tiptoed in to Claudia’s bedroom. Feeling very much like I was sneaking in to a museum after hours, we carefully shut the door behind us. And then, letting out a terrific laugh, I jumped onto her bed. Larry followed behind me.
 
***
 
Several hours later I arrived back at my apartment to get ready. Larry came with me and thankfully no one spotted him returning to our building in his regular clothes. I tend to like to keep a low profile around the building; it simply wouldn’t do to be seen cavorting with the bellboy after hours. While I don’t think anyone has linked me yet to the unusually high turnover of male staff in the building there have been a few uncomfortably high-pressured moments with the management, which unfortunately happens to be Larry’s grandmother.
 
Once in my flat I was greeted by a string of seven messages waiting for me. All were from Isobel, and each grew increasingly frantic. By the seventh message I could hear her voice piercing throughout the apartment: an All-Present, All-Knowing, Whining Deity. I gathered from her somewhat scattered messages that something had gone wrong at the costume store. When I heard her mention sacrificing her shower curtain, I thought it best to give her a ring.
 
“Isobel, dear. It’s Madison. What in the world is going on?”
 
“Maddy, it’s terrible! I picked up my costume at the shop but I didn’t look at it until I came home. There’s a huge burned mark on the bust! I can’t wear it.”
 
“What? Honey, what are you talking about? Cigarette burns are nothing—it’s a rented costume. Pin a flower on your chest and I’m sure you’ll be fine.”
 
“No…I can’t. It’s much bigger than that. I can’t be seen in this.”
 
How big could it be, I wondered? All this over a silly little burn hole; some people simply cannot solve their problems on their own.
 
“Or, rather,” she continued, “I would be seen much too much in this dress. Maddy, there’s a hole in the chest the size of a basketball. It looks like the entire front caught fire. I shudder to think of whatever happened to the girl who was wearing it.”
 
“Ugh. Well darling, that sounds dreadful. I guess you will have to improvise. What are you supposed to be again?”
 
“Little Bo Peep. I was thinking of pulling down my shower curtain.”
 
At the mere thought of the thing, my eyes bulged from my head. Imagining Isobel in her slightly plastic-like, slightly polyester, paisley print shower curtain, I let out a huge yelp of laughter. I tried to suppress my giggles as I answered her: “I don’t really think that’s a good idea, dear. Although you could have a little row of shower rings as an accessory! It’s the innovative, sheep-herder type thing to do.”
 
“Argh! Maddy, you’re no help at all. I just don’t know what to do.”
 
“Well, be creative, I’m sure you’ll figure something out. I’ll see you there at 7.” I hung up, laughing at the thought of Izzy and her costume. Maybe she could bring the dog as a prop. On second thought, that was a terrible idea.
 
***
 
The girls and I had all decided to meet at Claudia’s early to help with last minute preparations. Claudia is such a dreadfully unpleasant person when she’s stressed and it takes her forever to get over it; we felt that our additional efforts on her behalf would save hours of tension later in the evening. We all arrived promptly at 7. I had no idea exactly how prompt we were.
 
Amusingly enough, Claudia arrived home from work at the exact moment that Gwen was pulling in to Claudia’s driveway. I was about a block away and drove up shortly after the two of them to witness a typical and yet entertaining incident. In the tradition of their longstanding rivalry, Gwen drove in to Claudia’s driveway precisely one second before Claudia did. Forced to park behind Gwen in her own driveway, Claudia slammed on the brakes and bolted out of the driver’s seat to confront Gwen. After having been in a meeting all day at work, I imagined that Claudia was not in the best of moods. I sat parked in the middle of the street and rolled down the window to hear what would happen next.
 
Gwen got out of the car and turned to meet Claudia, already standing over her. “Claudia, hi! How are you?”
 
Not well, I thought, as I could hear Claudia shouting clearly from the drive. “Gwen! Gwen! What are you doing? Get out of my driveway! Move it. Move it, right now. ”
 
I couldn’t see Gwen’s face but I assumed she was frowning. “What? What are you talking about? I just got here; I came over early to help like you asked. So did Madison.”
 
Nice of her to mention me. I always choose not to get involved in the girls’ silly quips—it would be like playacting along to Invitation to Love —no longer so entertaining to watch for fun.
 
Claudia was not subdued. Still shouting she replied, “Yes, yes I know. I see Madison right there.” I waved. “But she has not parked her ridiculous BMW in front of my Audi! This is my driveway. My car goes in the front. Not yours—now pull out of the way so I can park and go get ready.”
 
Gwen’s voice grew in volume. “What? No way. I was here first. What’s so big a deal about it? I was here first and you can just move your car and let me out later when I’m ready to leave.”
 
“What?! You’re kidding me.” Claudia exploded. “There is absolutely no way I am letting you park in front of me in my house. I’m throwing a party for god knows how many guests and apart from being the perfect hostess I’m expected to come down here when you’re ready to leave and move my car from my driveway—to let you out? Is that what I’m hearing? Because you’re absolutely crazy.”
 
“Honestly, Claudia.” Gwen was getting huffy, bristling in competition. “I was here first. You’re stressed. You’ve had a long day; let’s just go inside and relax.”
 
“You were here first? What do you mean, you were here first? I live here, for crying out loud. That means I was, am, and always will be here first. It’s not like there’s any preference given to me--it’s my driveway. When it comes to who parks where, I park anywhere I want to and you get to take what’s left. If I wanted to park in the living room I would and I’d expect you to get out of the way. Now move!”
 
I was getting bored with the whole thing; it was hard to see Gwen, which was taking the fun out of it. Very sweetly, I called out, “Gwen, honey, it is her driveway.”
 
Gwen looked over at me, waving her hands in some annoyed-looking gesture, then got into her car and put it in reverse. Once everyone and everything was in its proper place, we went inside.
 
Ten minutes later Isobel arrived. She walked slowly up Claudia’s stairs and we met her in the front living room. With one glance, we exploded with laughter.
 
Still howling, I called out, “Pardon the pun, but you’re looking sort of sheepish!”
 
Isobel looked out at us sullenly from a wig of blonde, doll-like ringlets topped with a pink satin bow. “Ohhhh, funny,” she moaned. She held a crooked staff in one hand. I was reminded of Nelly on Little House On The Prairie. She was wearing a pair of flouncy, ruffled, lace pants that epitomized the word “pantaloons.” The outfit continued with the lacy white skirt of what I assumed was the original dress from the costume store. I noticed some brown singe marks streaming down from the waistline. But it took me a good minute to figure out what she had on as her top. It could best be described as a short, fuzzy mu-mu for a pregnant buffalo. There was some strange fringe hanging off it at the top. I was stumped.
 
“Isobel, what exactly are you wearing?” I asked. Gwen and Claudia could only snicker. Larry, however, was behaving more like a gentleman and had fled to the deck to conceal his laughter.
 
“It’s no good,” she wailed. “I tried everything. You’re right; the shower curtain was a terrible idea. And now I need a new shower curtain. And new curtains. And new lingerie. But I can’t sew, so this was all I could come up with.”
 
“What is it, your dog?” Claudia asked.
 
“No!” Isobel looked down sadly at the floor. “But you’re not far off. It’s the pillow cover from the dog’s bed.”
 
At this we all exploded, laughing. I could even hear Larry from his hiding place on the deck howling.
 
“It was the last white-colored thing I could find. But that’s why it’s sort of fluffy looking. I couldn’t bear to cut the fringe off, though—I thought maybe I could save it.”
 
It was true. Isobel had somehow draped the large, rectangular piece of fabric around her bodice and cleverly tied it up with a lace in the back. The fit wasn’t superior; it looked like a frumpy cross between a corset and a straight jacket. And it was indeed furry; a fake, shearling wool. Perfect for the dog’s bed, but less spectacular for Little Bo Peep. The evening was already shaping up to be enjoyable.
 
The three of us couldn’t allow poor Izzy to go around like that all evening. After all, it reflects poorly on a girl’s character to keep company with frumpy friends. I had my pride, after all. And yes, some part of me felt even a little bit bad for her.
 
Having composed herself, Claudia took Isobel by the hand. “Come along, dear. I’m sure we can find something in my closet that you can wear. I’m sure I’ve got one of last year’s peasant blouses that will be perfect. What a silly trend that was…damn that Kenneth Cole. At least he’s fit for costume parties.”
 
An hour later, Claudia’s apartment looked stunning. Isobel looked wonderful. Claudia had also pulled herself together and Gwen had recovered from their spat. I found Larry next to the bar and handed him a glass of champagne—one in a series of the half dozen or more he appeared to have already consumed--and waited for things to start happening.
 
The doorbell started to ring and guests began to trickle in. The first ones to arrive were Claudia’s friends from her office—very much like them to show up early, drink free martinis, and leave. Next came some of our mutual friends from the health club. I was highly unamused to find that one couple was wearing a French maid’s costume and a bellboy uniform. Unnervingly, the costume looked dreadfully similar to Larry’s, including the gold fringe on his cap. What further miffed me was the French maid’s costume; if Gwen had gossiped about my secrets that I had told her in the strictest confidence I would save her the thousand dollars she was keeping for the nose job and crack it out of line for her myself. But being as confident as I am I wasn’t about to show my distaste. I swaggered up to Larry and pointed rather nastily in the direction of Marianne and Wiley.
 
“Look, Larry—someone thinks they’re us,” I said.
 
Larry took one look and spit his champagne across the bar. “My god; do you think my grandmother buys my uniforms at the costume shop? That’s way too uncanny.”
 
I laughed. “It looks like Gwen’s been gossiping about us. No one else knew about the maid thing. If our silly friends think they’re having some joke at our expense they’re crazy.” I glared at them. “She thinks she’s me! Not even close. No one looks as good in that get up as I do. She wouldn’t even know what to do with it.”
 
“But I sure do,” Larry countered. He pulled my face close to his and ran his hand up the length of my satin gown. “We’ll show them.” As I leaned in to kiss him, Larry lost his balance and took a swaying step back in to the bar. “Whoaa,” he stuttered. “I think another drink will fix my little balancing problem.”
 
“Larry, honey, I think you’re soused,” I exclaimed.
 
“Getting there!” he replied happily.
 
The guests continued to arrive and the drinks flowed freely. The atmosphere was wonderfully festive and the costumes were a hit. Our friends were superbly dressed. I saw a dragon, the Village people, Madonna, Cher, a fighter pilot, a chef, what had to be a plumber, and even a two-person zebra suit which looked fantastic standing next to Isobel. Claudia was wearing a Belle Époque-styled, lady-in-waiting get up that suited her wonderfully, complete with powdered wig. There was the usual array of Mardi Gras-masked guests, dressed formally enough and hidden behind sequins and feathers. I thought they looked acceptable enough but found their lack of creativity to be disappointing. There was another French maid wandering around, but thankfully that bozo was dateless and so I was spared the possibility of a second bellboy. I was certainly not impressed by Gwen’s apparent lack of secrecy. One of the last guests to arrive I didn’t recognize at all. And had Larry not been at my side I would’ve been quite tempted by the mysterious appearance of the alluring stranger. Dressed like a Zorro-esque swordsman, he seemed quite at ease in Claudia’s home and I wondered whom he had come here with.  
 
A while later I was feeling quite tipsy. I sauntered in from the deck and found the girls next to the food, of course. I caught Gwen rearranging the hors d’oeuvres and offering them to the guests. Claudia appeared not to notice, talking with Isobel, whose blonde curls were bouncing around her head with laughter.
 
“Claudia, I’m having such a good time! You’ve staged an excellent bash here, darling.”
 
“I know, isn’t it wonderful?” she replied. Her eyes shone and she looked quite pleased with herself. I decided not to question her about the earlier confusion with the drinks.
 
Isobel giggled. “And have you seen the guy dressed as a plumber? What’s up with him?”
 
Laughing, Gwen replied, “I know! It’s such a hoot! He’s got the crack thing going and everything. I think it’s one of Bob’s friends; I’m pretty sure the beer belly is supposed to be fake. But I simply have to know who’s dressed as Zorro. He’s positively stunning.”
 
I looked at Gwen with surprise. “Oh? He’s not a friend of yours? I certainly thought he was.”
 
“No, I don’t even know him. I thought he was here with Denise, but he’s not. I’d sure like to meet him.”
“Mm, I would too,” I replied.
 
Claudia looked at me with a smile. “Madison, thank you so much for putting everything together for me. How you managed to get all these cases of free champagne I’ll never know. It’s such a terrific surprise.”
 
I smiled. “Isn’t it great? There’s practically a bottle for everyone here. Plenty to go around. Here, Isobel, let me pour you another glass.”
 
Isobel shook her curls and smiled. She was obviously getting drunk. “Oh…no, thank you, Maddy!” She reached behind her and picked up a glass from the table. “I’ve got a full one right here…and right here as well!” She held up a different glass in her other hand. “Looks like I’ve got drinks for both my hands. Cheers to you girls!”
 
Gwen looked up from her hors d’oeuvres trays and smiled. “Careful, there, Izzy; you better pace yourself.”
 
Isobel scoffed. “Eh, I’ll be fine. Wally’s not here and I want to flirt. It just gets my courage up.” And with that she took another big gulp.
 
Gwen, Claudia, and I exchanged dubious glances. Isobel squealed. “Oooh! Who is that? I have to go find out. Bye, girls.” She took her two glasses and sped off towards the hall.
 
With Isobel gone, Claudia’s attention turned to Gwen’s undertakings. “Gwen, um, what exactly are you doing?”
 
Gwen looked up from the trays of food that she had been arranging in star-shaped patterns. Canapé in hand, she smiled sweetly and said, “Nothing, dear. Just helping you out with your presentation a bit.”
 
Claudia raised an eyebrow and looked at me as if to say do you see what I have to put up with? Thinking about the maid costumes, I looked back and rolled my eyes in thorough agreement.
 
Gwen turned to a couple of nearby guests and offered them the tray of food. “Would you like a canapé?”
 
“Thank you, Gwen,” a Queen Elizabeth replied. “Mm, they’re delicious.”
 
“Oh, thank you, I made them myself,” Gwen replied. Claudia’s eyes bulged in wonder.
 
The queen looked at me and said, “Great costume, Madison. But I thought you’d be dressed as a French maid.”
 
With my best looked of haughty composure, I shot a look at Gwen, who had suddenly busied herself with the snacks, and then looked at the queen. “I think it makes me look wonderful, thank you, Elizabeth…is that you under there? I can’t tell with all that makeup, but then, what’s so unordinary about that? Seems like nothing different from your usual look.” I then turned my attention back to Claudia, who was growing upset with Gwen’s actions.
 
 “Gwen, what are you doing?” She and I turned on Gwen and exclaimed in unison.
 
“Why does everyone know about the maid thing?” I demanded.
 
“Why are you pretending to be the hostess?” Claudia demanded. And then to me, “I don’t know about the maid thing.”
 
“Never mind,” I replied.
 
Gwen looked at both of us. “I don’t know, Maddy. And I’m not, Claudia. Here, just have a drink and relax. Make yourselves at home.”
 
Claudia sniffed. “I am home!”
 
Just then Larry came staggering up to us. “Did I hearrr someone mention…drinksss?” he slurred. My god, he was completely blotto. The night was just getting started, too. “Madissson,” he whispered to me loudly. “There you are, sexpot! I keep bumping in to you everywhere! But why are you wearing that maid’s costummme here? I thought that was just for us, baby. Oh, wait…that’s not the maid’s costume. Huhhh.” He hugged me and then, losing his balance, grabbed hold more tightly for support. I was bent forward under his awkward weight, trying to keep my fabulous dress from slipping off.
 
Claudia feebly attempted to suppress her laughter. “Are you enjoying yourself, Larry?” she asked politely.
 
“Yes, would you like some more champagne?” Gwen offered.
 
“Ohhh…no thanksss,” he replied. With his free hand he proudly held up the bottle he had in tow. “I’ve got plenty.” Straightening up for a bit, he grabbed at his chain mail and looked at the girls. “I am a god! I am the god of war! Look at me, I’m ferrrrrocious. Yarrr! Maddy picked it out for me…she’s such a peach. Aren’t you, Maddy? What a great girl.”
 
The girls and I exchanged a look and smiled. Larry wasn’t ready to quit anytime soon.
 
He took another unsteady step and said, “You’ll have to excusse me. I’m a little drunk. But I’m the god of war!” he shouted. “The god of war can do whatever he wants! No, really, Claudia, this is a great party. You know what you need? A toast! A toast from the god of war!”
 
Now, when a girl plans her outfit for the evening she carefully considers her accessories. Often times, however, she does not consider that her accessories are going to be stark raving drunk or exhibiting a budding god-complex. But as long as Larry didn’t throw up on my sensational dress I thought I could tolerate it.
 
He turned to Claudia and got down on one knee. Raising his bottle he proclaimed, “Attention, everybody! I’d like to make…a toast…to Claudia! The supreme hostess of a seriously blazin’ party! The god of war is pleased. Here, here!” With that he shook his bottle of champagne around his head, raining foam down on his crown.
 
Everyone around us laughed and raised their glasses. When Larry stood up I grabbed him gently by the arm and held on.
 
“What a hoot!” Claudia shrieked. “Maddy, he’s absolutely adorable but he is soooo drunk!”
 
“You’re right.” I said. “Come on, Larry honey, I think maybe we better have you lie down on Claudia’s bed for a bit.”
 
His eyes lit up. “Again?” he asked.
 
With a jolt I turned and walked quickly away from Claudia. As I ushered him down the hall, still giggling, I heard Claudia shouting over my shoulder, “Again, Madison? What’s ‘again?’ What is that supposed to mean?”
 
After I had settled Larry onto Claudia’s bed—this time without me but I had thoughtfully left the bottle of champagne next to him for when he woke up—I thought I would take a quick turn at the loo before returning to the girls. There was already a tremendous line forming in the front bathroom but I found the line in the back bath to be much shorter. When I entered the dark hallway I saw the shadowy outline of only one other figure waiting in line. Much to my surprise and delight, it was the curious masked stranger I had spotted earlier. A tingle ran up my spine and I sauntered up to him, radiating conviviality.
 
“It’s very fitting to find a mysterious stranger like yourself lurking in the shadows,” I cooed.
 
He started at the sound of my voice. He was wearing a black silk mask tied around his face. His eyes glittered in the light of the window. Up close I could see he had a thin mustache and when he smiled, absolutely perfect teeth.
 
“Oh, hello there,” he replied. “I’m just waiting on the person ahead of me.” He had a slight accent; it was vaguely European yet wholly unidentifiable. I wondered if it was an accessory to his costume much like my own drunken counterpart. Overall, his costume suggested the great Zorro from old Disney movies and black and white films. The moonlight through the window in Claudia’s dark hallway only added to the allusion and I couldn’t help but imagine a naughty and brazen encounter with him.
 
“Is that your date?” I inquired.
 
“Oh, no. Not at all. No, I came here…alone.” He paused ominously in his reply; I thought only that he was trying to impress me.
 
Intrigued, I continued to question him. “Claudia never mentioned that you were coming. You can’t possibly be one of her friends from work. They’re much too boring. You are Claudia’s guest, right?”
 
At this he stammered a bit, looking flustered. I thought that my dress might have been distracting him. “Um, yes, yes, why of course. Who else’s guest would I be?”
 
“So how do you know her, exactly? We’ve never met. I am Miss Madison Milquetoast.”
 
“Charmed, Madame,” he bowed to kiss my hand and looked at me playfully. I felt very much that this was all a part of his act. Nevertheless, he was making a proper effort and I thought the glint in his eyes was a certain sign of his interest in me. “I am Jean-Pierre. Claudia, she is a friend from…I mean I know her from…from the neighborhood.”
 
“Oh, so you live in Pacific Heights as well? I’ve never seen you around here. You know, she and I go running in the mornings quite frequently.” At this I took a step closer to him and leaned forward enticingly. “You can see me every other morning…I get quite…flushed…when I work out,” I said with promise.
 
“Ah, no, no,” he replied hastily. Just then the door opened and a girl dressed as a swan came flitting out.
 
“I must go,” Jean-Pierre muttered and turned to enter the bathroom.
 
“Well, you know, I could come with you,” I said, and was met with the door being promptly shutting in my face. He was timid despite sporting such a daring costume. Ah, regardless, I’m sure as the night wore on I would have countless opportunities to tempt him further. With Larry sleeping I couldn’t help myself; I needed something to do.
 
He soon opened the door and ushered me past him. I walked by him graciously without hinting to any affront at the door being shut in my face. Once inside the bathroom I freshened up a bit and dreamily thought about possible ways to surprise the stranger. Ready to return to the party, I snapped out of my reverie.
 
I reached for the doorknob, turned the knob and pushed. As the door swung open, I was left holding the doorknob in my hand. It had fallen off completely. Puzzled, I stared at the doorknob unwittingly. I was a little intoxicated, surely, but I am never the cause of such silly accidents. Standing outside the door was a befuddled looking man. I noticed he had no costume about him—he was wearing some simple, boring black outfit—and yammering uselessly as he looked at me, looking at the doorknob.
 
“Um, um um…” the man muttered.
 
“Um, nothing,” I replied. “It’s all yours, hon, just mind the door.”
 
I turned and walked down the hallway, still amused about the doorknob and wondering where the mystery man had gone. Perhaps he could’ve helped me to fix it. As it was, I thought Claudia could handle it. When I turned the hall I heard Isobel’s shrill laughter wafting towards me. I came upon her and could see already that she was absolutely silly with champagne. It was a funny sight: she was draped around the suit of armor that stood in Claudia’s hallway, waving and motioning as if talking to an old friend, while standing slightly unsteady in her Little Bo Peep Peasant Shirt costume.
 
With her crooked staff in one hand and a glass of bubbly in the other, she was laughing delightedly and gesturing madly with the champagne glass. I could hear her muttering, “Oh, yes, yes… while I do concur that the Crusades were by far the most interesting period in British history, I think that the story of Robinhood makes far better drama when you watch the version with the fox and the bear.”
 
When she saw me, she squealed. “Oooh, Maddy!” Isobel exclaimed. “I’m so happy to see you!”
 
“Izzy, honey, how are you? Who are you talking to?” And what in the world were they talking about, I wondered.
 
“Oh, oh, have you met my new friend here? This is George.”
 
I looked at her querulously. Isobel was the only other person in the hallway besides myself. Leaning closer I whispered to her so as to remain polite and conceal my puzzlement. “Izzy, honey, where is Sir George? I don’t see him.”
 
“What??” she screeched. “Why, he’s right here. He’s such a clever chap; he’s come dressed as a knight, tonight, and it’s so fitting as his favorite topic is jolly old England!” She hugged the statue affectionately and said, “Sir George, meet Madison Milquetoast!”
 
I burst out laughing; I simply couldn’t help myself. Isobel was an endless source of entertainment to me.
 
Leaning off the suit of armor towards me she whispered fiercely in my ear, “I don’t want him to think I don’t know my history. I’m trying to make him think I’m smart! I’m going to pretend so I can impress him.” Hiccupping briefly she continued, “Then maybe I can have a little fun while Wally’s not around.”
 
“Oh, Izzy, you are hilarious! Looks like ol’ Wally has some pretty, er, stiff competition.” I exclaimed.
 
As I took off down the hall I heard her gallantly call out: “You think that’s something, Sir George? Let us not forget Queen Catherine DeNeuve. Why, she was the most influential queen in all of British history.”
 
I rejoined Claudia and Gwen in the main room. Gwen was making her way through the guests, graciously offering them cocktails and trying to one-up Claudia’s hostessing abilities. When Claudia saw me she grabbed my arm and grumbled angrily, “If I didn’t know any better, I’d think she came to this party in costume pretending to be me. ”
 
“What?” I laughed. “That’s ridiculous. The whole point of a costume party is to pretend to be something you’re not. Although, I’d say it would be an appreciable trend, seeing as how everyone is attempting to be some rendition of me. Which is, of course, all thanks to your doppelganger over there. But I say that those half dozen French maids out there will never be me, and that Gwen, Claudia darling, could never be as wonderful or as gracious a hostess as you.”
 
“Thanks for the reassurance, Maddy. And what about you—does that mean you’ll never be a Greek goddess?” Claudia quipped.
 
“Are you kidding? I’m the exception,” I replied. Laughing, I told her, “I think we better keep an eye on Isobel. She’s hanging out in your hallway with your suit of armor, muttering on and on about Queen Catherine DeNeuve.”
 
Claudia doubled over in laughter, clutching her belly. When she had composed herself she paused and looked at me. “What’s that?”
 
I looked down at my hand. I was still clutching the bathroom doorknob. “Oh, that. It just came off in my hand when I left your bathroom. It was the strangest thing.”
 
“What? That’s no good,” Claudia looked pained. “Let’s go see if we can fix it.”
 
We took off down the hallway, waving spiritedly at Isobel who had not left her new lover’s side. The bathroom door was open and Claudia eyed the gaping hole where the knob belonged. Grabbing the edge of the door, she attempted to fit the knob back in its hole. Suddenly, she let out a little gasp.
 
“Why, what’s this? Maddy, look at the other side of the door—that doorknob is missing, too!”
 
“Hmph.” I looked at the door curiously. I had no idea if it was like that when I left it or not.
 
“Well, give me the other one.” Claudia looked at me in bewilderment. “What, don’t you have it?”
 
“I don’t,” I replied. “I didn’t even know it wasn’t there. This knob just came off in my hand when I left the bathroom. I guess that’s why it fell off; the other side must have been loose as well.”
 
“Nothing in this house has ever been loose,” she asserted. I eyed her, stifling my laugh at her unconscious joke. Claudia got down on her knees and crawled around the hallway. “It’s got to be here somewhere. Here, help me look.”
 
I considerately crouched down as well, hoping not to get dust on my dress. We looked around for a while and found nothing. Our heads met in the middle of the hallway and Claudia and I looked at each other.
 
“Madison, this is the strangest thing. It’s simply not here at all. I think someone has taken the doorknob!”
 
“What?” I exclaimed.
 
“No, it’s true.” Claudia replied. “I was reading about this in the paper the other day. There’s some sort of thief who’s breaking in to homes all over town and stealing their antique fixtures—doorknobs, switch plates, faucet handles, everything! They call him the Doorknob Bandit. Do you think someone here is trying to play a joke on me? I mean, this would be taking the costume bit a little too far.”
 
“I seriously doubt that, Claudia. Not even Gwen is that crazy. Come now, don’t let all that hype go to your head. Relax; enjoy your party.”
 
“Madison, quick: tell me who was here while you were in the bathroom. I have to know.”
 
“No one, darling…it was just me and that mysterious friend of yours, you know, the man in the Zorro costume. But he was in line in front of me; he wasn’t there when I came out.”
 
“Zorro costume? Was anyone else there? –when you left the bathroom?”
 
“What? No, I don’t think so. I can’t remember a soul…wait…oh, that’s right. I believe there was one person. Some totally faceless no-name. I can’t even remember what he looked like. It was no one.”
 
Claudia’s eyes sparked. “Well, we’ve got to find who did this. I want to know if he has my doorknob. It’s a part of the original house and I want it back!”
 
I was disappointed; it sounded like much too much work for a party. “Come on,” I tried to reassure her. “If you spend all your time hunting down one silly doorknob Gwen really will steal your place as hostess. I’m sure it will turn up.”
 
“No way,” she said vehemently. “I won’t relax if I’m still thinking about it.”
 
We stood up. As Claudia turned to leave she reached her hand inside the bathroom to turn off the light.
 
“Oh my god!” she screeched at me.
 
We both turned and looked inside the bathroom. The switch plate was missing as well.
 
“Madison…” Claudia looked at me with genuine distress. “This is not an accident! I think…I think the Doorknob Bandit is here in my house!” Her face crumpled in dismay. “We’ve got to find him. I may be dressed as a maiden, but I’m going undercover as a sleuth.”
 
Claudia rushed off suddenly, leaving me to puzzle at her impending detective work. I thought it best to make my way back to the party and check on the guests and also keep my eyes on Gwen, who was apparently The New Claudia for parties.
 
The party was wildly successful. I commended myself for the excellent fortune to have acquired so much additional champagne. Music came rolling through every corner of the house. Claudia had borrowed my cds and I was happy to hear Siouxie and the Banshees echoing through the house.  Everywhere I turned our friends were thoroughly enjoying themselves. I accidentally interrupted two friends of Claudia’s from the office necking in the claw foot bathtub; apparently not everyone at that place was a dreadful bore. I found our friend Eileen completely intoxicated and sitting, perched, on the back of the couch, insisting to the people around her that she could in fact levitate with another shot of Frenet. The three French maids had conspired around the hors d’oeuvres table and I caught them tracking me with their every move. When I approached them with Claudia’s feather duster and told them to make themselves useful, they glared at me and I triumphantly walked away smirking. In the kitchen Gwen’s friend Matt appeared to be hypnotized by the motion sensor burglar lights which he had somehow activated and I watched as he swayed, transfixed, back and forth, commanding the lights as they flashed on and off with his stagger. The balcony, I decided, was the best place to be. People in the yard below had devised some sort of rope swing that hung off the bottom of the balcony—it was made out of god knows what although I thought I recognized Claudia’s tablecloth—and were now attempting to make a short, squatty dragon, otherwise known as Louie From Accounting, take his first spacebound flight. I was delighted.
 
I was chatting away when I noticed the masked Jean-Pierre staring at me through the French doors. I glanced at him and offered a hint of a smile yet remained aloof. With Larry sacked out amidst the heap of coats piled on Claudia’s bed, I couldn’t resist having a little fun. After all, parties are not to meant to be enjoyed alone. Between one’s friends and one’s guests there are numerous social obligations to be navigated through the course of the evening.  But what is a slightly intoxicated obstacle course of friends and acquaintances good for if not to avoid them completely for the promise of a frisky and enticing chase?
 
I wanted to have a little fun. I left the guests I was chatting with and headed back to the kitchen. Passing Jean-Pierre on the way, I gave him the slightest look and flitted on to see if he would follow. I pretended to be absorbed by mixing a drink and yet noticed he had followed me in to the kitchen. He also pretended to be very busy in selecting an array of olives from the olive tray.
 
Trying to be subtle he gave me a short glance and then tossed one of the olives in the air to catch it in his mouth. Leaning back to catch it, he missed terribly and knocked over Matt who was still staring at the motion lights. Stumbling to regain his balance, he straightened up and looked at me to see if I had noticed. In the now-dim room--sans motion lights--I couldn’t help but smile at his lack of grace. He smiled back at me. Tossing my own olive in to the air, I caught it perfectly, gave him a wink, and left the kitchen.
 
I passed through the dining room and came upon Gwen. She was loudly talking to several of our friends and I heard her say, “Oh, thank you so much for coming to my party. I’m so glad you’re having a good time.”
 
I stopped long enough to join the group. Sliding up to Gwen I looked graciously at the other three guests and said, “I do love your costume, Marianne. And what do you think of Gwen’s costume here? She’s come tonight dressed as Claudia. Perfect, isn’t it?”
 
Gwen stammered helplessly as the group burst out laughing. She glared at me as I excused myself and left.
 
Once I was alone I stood off to the side of the room, waiting to see if Jean-Pierre was still following me. Presently I saw him duck his head around the corner. He looked straight at me. I smiled.
 
When he finally approached me I looked at him and said, “What took you so long?”
 
With an air of nonchalance he looked at me and replied, “Well…I needed another olive.”
 
I laughed. “I can’t believe Claudia has never introduced us. Are you sure you’re friends with her?”
 
“Oh, well, I, er, I’m on the move a lot. You know, traveling around…”
 
The conversation paused for a bit and he looked at me intently.
 
“So, Madison…tell me. What is the worst thing you’ve ever done?”
 
“Oooh!” I grinned. “This is not your standard, boring, get-to-know-you party talk. This is intriguing. Why do you want to know?”
 
“Well I guess I’m just not a standard, boring type of guy,” Jean-Pierre replied.
 
“You first,” I said. At that point I realized that I, too, was fairly intoxicated and well on my way to joining Matt watching the motion lights. It was certainly the best time to be honest; I always thought that a girl can’t be held accountable for what she says when drunk, so it was fair game.
 
“No, I asked you,” he said. “I’ll tell you, but first you must answer me.”
 
“All right, all right. You are playing hard to get.” I took a long drink from my glass and polished off my umpteenth cocktail of the night. Looking him straight in the eye, I let loose with it: “Alright, I confess. I am guilty, horribly guilty, of committing dangerous and illicit acts with my boyfriend in my best friend’s bed.”
 
“Ah.” He let out a short sigh, clearly amused by my honesty. Was she home?” he asked me.
 
“Nope. We were all alone,” I replied.
 
“Does she know?” he asked, keenly interested by now.
 
“Nope. Not one bit. But this was fairly recently.”
 
“How recently?” His eyes lit up, enticed by my story. I could tell he was interested in me, having chased me all throughout Claudia’s house. Whether or not I was ready to completely divulge my entire story to him in the interest of a little favorable attention was another matter entirely.
 
“Eh, sorry Zorro. Story time’s up. Now it’s your turn.” I replied with a glint.
 
“Ah, well…I’ll tell you soon enough. I have to keep you in suspense,” he said ominously. He furled his cape about him in a grandly overdramatic gesture and then stalked out of the room, leaving me there to wonder.
 
I stood there for a bit musing, and then I took off down the hallway after him.
 
Sometimes a girl can find herself easily overwhelmed. An ill-chosen outfit, an uncontrollable hairstyle, or too much champagne in three hours’ time can easily send the most composed in to a fit of exasperation. Sadly, Isobel was suffering from all three. When I passed her again in the hallway I found her situation to be rather unlovely even if her only companion was a suit of armor. Her peasant blouse, her hair, and her countenance all seemed rumpled. She looked at me with glassy eyes and said, “Oh…Maddy…thank god it’s you. I don’t think I feel so well.”
 
I looked her in the eyes and called out, “Izzy…Isobel, are you in there? Anybody home underneath that little mop of curls?”
 
She swayed a bit and replied, “I, I don’t know. I think I am schnockered. ”
 
“Well, you’re not the only one. The whole house is drunk,” I replied.
 
“I think I better go lie down.” Releasing her grip on the suit of armor she took a step towards Claudia’s bedroom and immediately fell in to my arms. “Whoopsie,” she mumbled. “I might need some help.”
 
“I know, dear. Just mind that you don’t fall asleep and stifle poor Larry. He took his place on the bed a couple hours ago.” I steadied her and lead her towards the bedroom. She plopped down on the bed next to Larry, who was lying spread-eagled atop the pile of coats with his mouth open, snoring happily. Within seconds Isobel’s eyes were closed as well, and I thought they looked like the Romeo and Juliet of the party—two star-crossed partygoers doomed to the long sleep of Hangover’s cruel touch.
 
Just after I left Isobel, Claudia came running up the hallway and grabbed me. “Madison!” she hissed, and pulled me in to the library. Shutting the door, I followed her over to the window. In the dark library she started whispering to me frantically.
 
“Look, I don’t know if you believed me before but you should believe it now. The Doorknob Bandit is in my house! I’ve counted six switch plates missing, eight doorknobs, and now even those funny brass plates that cover my wall outlets are starting to go, too. I tell you, I was in the bathroom looking around and everything was fine. I freshened up a bit and started to relax, but then I came back five minutes later because I left my ring in there. My ring was still there but the doorknob was missing. I probably wasn’t even gone five whole minutes and >blam< …stolen doorknob! The thief is here. And whoever it is, he knows it’s my house and I think he’s following me. We’ve got to do something. I will not let this happen, especially at my party.”
 
They weren’t a pair of vintage Manolo Blahniks and thus not completely of interest to me, but Claudia’s antique accessories did appear to have been stolen. All the more reason, I thought, to avoid musty old Edwardian riffraff entirely and instead furnish with contemporary; Wallpaper was right, after all. Nonetheless, she was my friend, and it wouldn’t do to keep company amongst those who had been bested by some idiotic criminal with a oddly musty fetish. I had to help her.
 
“Ok. I agree that something unusual is happening here—“
 
“Something unusual? Something unusual? ” she hissed. “I’m being robbed!”
“Ah-ah-ah. Hear me out. Yes, something unusual; I don’t doubt that you’re very possibly being robbed. But if this stuff is disappearing before your eyes, I’d say it’s pretty unusual that the burglar is here robbing you while you are, in fact, at home as well. It’s insulting, actually. Does he think we’re so stupid we won’t notice?”
 
“I know,” Claudia agreed. “It’s completely aggravating. And yet here we are, watching everything disappear and so far unable to do anything about it. Stupid costume party. It’s almost impossible to tell who’s who. Nobody is who they seem to be.”
 
“Well, you’re right about that. Between Isobel talking history to a statue, Gwen playing hostess, and Molly and Howard necking in your bathtub, everybody is pretending to be—“
 
Claudia laughed. “ What? Molly and Howard from work? I guess everyone is pretending.” She paused. “The thief is in the house. The thief is here, stealing my things right in front of me, and I’ve got to find him before the end of the night. What should we do?”
 
I thought about it. “I think we should band together and have one person in each of the main rooms on the lookout, trying to sort out the strangers from our regular party guests. Anybody who looks suspicious I say we follow him and try to catch him in the act.”
 
“Yes,” Claudia agreed. “And then we call the police!  Let’s go get Gwen and Isobel and tell them what to do.”
 
“No Isobel,” I said with a laugh. “Queen Catherine’s biographer has passed out silly on your bed, right next to Larry.”
 
Claudia laughed and we turned to leave the library. She opened the door. The doorknob came off in her hand!
 
“No! ” Claudia cried furiously. Clawing open the library door she found the doorknob on the other side missing. “He came and went while we were in here talking about him!” she snarled. “This is too much. When I find that creep, I’m going to wring his scrawny little neck.”
 
It was true; we had been in the library for no more than ten minutes. The thief had come and gone right in front of us and we hadn’t heard a thing. I was offended by the audacity of it all. As a smart and independent woman, nothing escaped my scrutiny. I felt like the thief was laughing at me and I took it personally. When I found him, I’d do more than wring his neck; the only thing he’d be stealing would be the rave reviews of the next prison production of My Fair Lady.
 
Claudia and I found Gwen by the stereo, shuffling through various Cds. Snatching a Swingle Singers CD out of her hands—was she trying to make this a bad party? Would she then step in and “save the day” by changing the stereo? Did she just have abominable taste after all?—I approached her and explained the situation. With a wee bit of ego-stroking and over dramatization, I gave Gwen the impression that her role in catching the thief was the most important role of the whole party. Maybe this would get her away from the hors d’oeuvres table and focused on something besides her fierce competition with Claudia. With Gwen watching the living room and Claudia in the kitchen, I went to the deck to watch for anyone trying to sneak away unseen.
 
I was concentrating intently on everyone around me and didn’t see my mysterious suitor approach me. He tapped me lightly on the shoulder and I turned with a start.
 
“Oh! You surprised me,” I exclaimed.
 
He smiled at me. “I’m sorry, Miss Madison. Is that a bad thing?” God, he had great teeth. I really couldn’t focus on much else but his smile and that handsome little mustache he sported. It tempted me terribly to throw this whole watch to the wind, buy Claudia some cheap doorknobs, and go curl up in the last doorknob-laden closet with this guy. But I persevered; a girl can’t go gallivanting around with the first wickedly…alluring…man that she finds. Oh dammit. Then again maybe she could.
 
“You know,” I cooed, “you never did confess to me the worst thing you’ve ever done.”
 
“Would it really make a difference if I did?” he asked me slyly. “Maybe then you wouldn’t run away with a heathen like myself,” he said kiddingly. “I’m afraid I have nothing to confess,” he said. “My conscious is clean. Although, there are others here who have a lot to confess, it seems. While I might have nothing to say there was a funny younger guy I spoke with earlier who was feeling very guilty.”
 
This was fascinating. Did Jean-Pierre know about the burglar, too? Had Claudia told him? Maybe he knew something about it. “Oooh, you are full of interesting stories. Tell me more,” I said, smiling at him coaxingly.
 
“Well, I was waiting in line for the loo, and this sleepy-looking blonde fellow comes stumbling up behind me. He looked rather drunk, and he’s rubbing his head and muttering, ‘I feel terrible.’ So I ask him what’s wrong, thinking maybe he’s just had too much to drink.”
 
“Yes?” I said excitedly.
 
“You won’t believe it. He looks at me, all puzzled, and says, ‘I think I’ve just slept with my girlfriend’s best friend.’”
 
I gave him a light shove. “What? You’re kidding!” This was not the story I was hoping to hear that would solve the case, but it was rather good gossip for the next lunch at Chez Farisse. “Tell me more,” I insisted.
 
“Oh, well there’s not much to tell. The chap seemed terribly confused; he wasn’t sure exactly how it had all happened. All he could keep saying is that ‘she’s going to be furious’ and that it was unfortunate because this had really been such a ‘killer party.’ ”
 
Uh oh. I stopped laughing. That sounded much too much like Larry. Had the sleeping god of war awakened? And what could he possibly have done? Giving no hint of my inclinations, I smiled sweetly back at Jean Pierre and said, “That is an excellent story. It seems you certainly have a knack for drawing secrets out of people. I suppose it’s a good thing for someone with as few secrets as yourself.”
 
“Perhaps,” he said. “And what would you do in that situation? What would you do, Madison, if your boyfriend had cheated on you? Tell me.”
 
Well, this was starting to sound like an interview straight out of Sex, Lies, and Videotape. When I considered it like that, I was incredibly turned on. Playing along I said, “Well, I’d probably grab the first handsome stranger I saw and run off with him to the nearest broom closet and lock the door. Not that I could, though,” I said with a laugh, “there aren’t any more doorknobs left in this house to lock!” I threw back my head and cackled.
 
Suddenly, Jean-Pierre stiffened. Although I couldn’t see much of his face, covered as it was by the black silk eye mask, I thought he turned slightly red. “Ah…well…yes,” he stammered. “You’ll have to excuse me. I need another olive” He turned suddenly and left.
 
I was standing there and musing over the conversation and also watching the party guests. Looking towards the kitchen doors, I saw Larry come slinking up to me.
 
I kissed him and smiled brightly. “Honey! You’re awake. The god of war is not affected by hangovers, I see.”
 
“Listen, Maddy,” he said. He scratched his neck and looked sort of frustrated. “We should get out of here. I think…I think we need to talk.”
 
“Why, what’s wrong?”
 
“Well, I don’t want to talk about it here,” he said reluctantly.
 
“What?” I was intrigued by the look on his face; he seemed troubled by more than just the liquor. “We can’t leave. Oh, and that’s right, you don’t know, I’ll have to tell you…never mind all that. Why don’t you just out with it and tell me what’s wrong? Come on, I won’t be mad.”
 
“Er…you might be,” Larry said. “Gosh, I don’t even know what came over me.”
 
“Tell me, ” I insisted.
 
Larry looked out across the backyard for a long time and then turned back to me. “Ah, jeez. All right. Here it is. You’re going to throw me off the deck when I’m done. I think…I think…I think I slept with Isobel.”
 
“Ha! Haha!” I burst out laughing. I couldn’t help it. Larry looked so incredibly sheepish, standing there toeing at the ground and rubbing his neck like he’d just been caught with his hand in the Ultimate Cookie Jar. I thought of Isobel, who was so drunk when I put her down on the bed she thought that she was the Queen of England, and I only laughed harder. In my haste I think I had inadvertently set it up to look like Larry and Isobel had hooked up. If I had joined their hands and scattered roses on the bed it probably wouldn’t have been more perfect.
 
“Oh, Larry, honey…oh, no!” I gasped for air, wiping tears of laughter from my eyes.
 
“What? What is it? You’re not mad?” He looked perplexed.
 
“No! No, I’m not mad! In fact, I feel a little guilty—I think this was all my fault.” “What are you talking about?”
 
“Larry, you didn’t sleep with Isobel. My god--I laid her down in bed there to pass out the same as I did for you after she drank too much champagne. Maybe if you were wearing a suit of armor she’d have come around, but I know without even looking that she’s still sleeping now, isn’t she? She can’t hold her liquor, you know. And you, honey--the only thing you slept with was an empty bottle of VSOP and a growing urge to vomit.”
 
Larry looked at me, blushing furiously. “I…I did that for sure. That I know. Whew. What a relief. You mean it’s really not true?”
 
“Of course it’s not true. Everyone’s had little blackouts but do you honestly think that even if you’re stark raving out of your head you’d actually try it? Besides, the instant you’d go for the Little Bo Peep of Frumptown over the goddess of love I’d dump you strictly for having such seriously questionable taste. Now look at me. Who do you want? Bo Peepy or your little French maid?” At this point, I wrapped my arms around his neck and stroked his leg with my toe.
 
“Aw, Maddy, you of course,” he said. He kissed me full on the mouth and smiled. “You don’t know how confused I was. I woke up and saw her there and freaked out. I mean, no, I couldn’t imagine doing anything with her for so many different reasons. But she looked so…weirdly happy,” he said.
 
“She’s probably dreaming of her knight in shining armor, literally. She thought that suit of armor in Claudia’s hallway was a party guest.” Larry laughed. “I do apologize, though. I probably could’ve put her in a different bed—I know how your dirty little mind works.”
 
“I’m glad that’s over,” he said. “I could use a drink. What else have I missed?”
 
“Oh, that’s right, you don’t know! You’ll never believe it, it’s such a scandal. We’re going to need your help.”
 
***
 
I proceeded to explain the entire burglary situation to him. At the back of my mind, I was also thinking about my earlier conversation with Jean-Pierre. Now that Larry was back by my side I wasn’t so interested in the mystery man anymore. But I did wonder if he had intentionally told me Larry’s story. Claudia’s mysterious friend was more bizarre than I knew. Perhaps he had some secrets after all.
 
With Larry involved it was easier now to keep watch over the party guests. The night was drawing on and although I was still having a good time, I knew we all felt a growing sense of urgency to find the burglar before everyone started leaving. None of the guests had any clue as to what my friends and I were doing. If anything, everyone was giddy with late night party stupor. After about an hour of panning the crowd I felt that our tactics were getting us nowhere. I decided that someone needed to take control of the situation, and no one better to do it than me. Of course.
 
Claudia, Gwen, Larry, and I gathered in the living room to review the situation. “Did you see anything?” I asked.
 
“No, nothing,” Gwen said. “Did you?”
 
“No. Everyone looks normal,” said Larry.
 
“I didn’t see anyone either,” I said. “I know everyone here, I think.”
 
“Well, somebody’s got to have seen something,” Claudia said anxiously. She was slowly growing more frantic.
 
As we debated what to do next, Isobel came trotting up to our group. She looked a little out of it and her peasant blouse was as frumpy as ever, but she had apparently left medieval times and was back with the rest of us in the present.
 
“Well if it isn’t the Queen of the Empire,” Gwen said with a laugh. “How’re you doing, Isobel?”
 
Isobel wrinkled up her nose in a grimace. “I’m standing. And I’m still drunk. But I’m here aren’t I?” She let out a little moan. “I threw up. A lot.”
 
“Well, that’s to be expected, dear,” I said. “Bo Peeps don’t usually drink champagne.”
 
“Let’s get on with this,” Claudia insisted. “We have to find the burglar!” “Burglar, what burglar?” Isobel asked.
 
With a collective moan amongst us, I launched into the rigmarole for a second time. “How many more times will I have to explain this?” I complained. “Look, the Doorknob Bandit is in Claudia’s house dressed as one of the party guests and he’s stealing stuff out from under us as we speak. And we’ve got to find him before he leaves but no one can tell who’s a friend and who’s a weirdo because it was Claudia’s sparkling idea to have everyone come in costume.”
 
“Wow, really?” Isobel asked excitedly. “This is more fun than a raffle.”
 
“At my party, I’ll have everyone dressed normally, in all black,” Gwen asserted with a smirk.
 
“Shut up!” Claudia hissed.
 
At the hors d’oeuvres table behind us, the three French maid cronies had not left their position by the snacks. Having overheard Gwen’s last comment—which was said much too loudly to be considered polite, I thought—one of them let out a cluck of disapproval. With a sneer, the short one declared: “At your party, I should hope that you won’t go making last minute changes to the beverage selection. I would like to drink real scotch, not “Early Times” out of a plastic bottle!” She sniffed and turned away from us.
 
Claudia looked mortified. Gwen was frozen in shock.
 
I was furious. “Wha-a-t? Gwen, that was you? That is terrible!”
 
She snapped out of it and looked at me. “I…I was just trying to save Claudia here some money. I thought she was being…er…too generous with the liquor she ordered for the guests. I didn’t think anyone would notice if she just bought regular alcohol instead. It was just a little prank. I thought it’d be funny.”
 
“You have got to be kidding me,” Claudia stammered. “That’s the last time I ask you to help with anything. Throw your own parties.”
 
I could see it now; the two girls would be old cronies together, most likely spinsters at seventy-five, yet they would still be vying with each other over tawdry little things. “Gwen, I’ll have you know you wouldn’t have saved Claudia a thin dime. Had I not been there today to sort the whole mess out at the liquor store, we all would have been taken. And we wouldn’t have had all this free champagne.”
 
Isobel burped. “I think I could’ve done without that,” she murmured.
 
Gwen stammered. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry. But wait…how in the world did those three know that I had changed the liquor?”
 
Claudia sniffed. “What, you didn’t tell them yourself to try to make me look like a bad host?”
 
“No! No, I didn’t tell them. It’s not like I wanted everyone to know.”
 
“Well, someone must have told them,” Larry pointed out. “How else would they know?”
 
Gwen thought for a second. “The only person I told about this—“
 
“Which apparently wasn’t me, ” fumed Claudia.
 
“—was that friend of yours, Claudia. The guy dressed in the Zorro mask. While we were on patrol, you know, he approached me while I was watching the guests. And he asked me ‘What’s the worst thing you’ve ever done?’”
 
I raised my eyebrows in surprise. It seemed that Jean-Pierre liked to use that line with all the ladies. I was glad I hadn’t run off to the silly old broom closet with him after all.
 
Gwen continued. “And I laughed in his face and said, ‘Well, I don’t know about ever, but tonight I certainly played a little prank.’ And then I confessed to him how I had called the liquor store and changed Claudia’s beverage order. Just to be funny.”
 
“Right, just to be funny,” Claudia quipped. “I hope you do have a party soon, Gwen, and we’ll see how funny I can be, too!”
 
“So he must have told Marianne,” Gwen concluded. “Why would he ambush me like that?”
 
“I don’t know,” said Claudia. “But maybe now you know how it feels.”
 
Larry looked concerned. “Er…well, there is something,” he said. “You say the guy you talked to was dressed in a Zorro costume, Gwen?”
 
“Yes,” she said. “What about it?”
 
“I think I might’ve talked to the same guy,” Larry said uneasily.
 
“Really?” asked Isobel. “What happened?”
 
“I had just woken up, and I left the bed where you were sleep-- …er, anyway: I got up, and I went to the bathroom, ‘cause I was a little sick. And I’m standing in line there, and the guy in front of me, he’s dressed all in black so I guess it could have been a ‘Zorro’ costume, and he asks me what’s wrong. And then he asks me if there’s something I want to confess, and I’m all confused about this because I’d just woken up, but I didn’t think he was in a priest’s costume, like it was all a part of his act. So I figure he’s just being polite and all, but I was a little upset at the time and I just kind of came out with it and told him what was bugging me.”
 
“What was bugging you?” asked Gwen.
 
“Nothing. Nothing at all,” I said haughtily. That girl had caused enough gossip about me for one night, I thought.
 
Larry went on. “So, yes: I told the man in the black mask a little something I thought had happened…but it didn’t, really…but then I think he went and told Maddy here.”
 
“That’s so bizarre!” Isobel exclaimed. “I wonder why he’d do a thing like that?”
 
“My god, Larry, why’d you tell him that?” I asked in frustration. “You should have just come to me first. Whatever. But yes, the man in the black mask, oh, well, Jean-Pierre, I mean—he did come up to me and told me about Larry’s story. I think he was trying to use it to his advantage,” I said.
 
I stopped for a second in alarm. I hoped I wasn’t caught as well. “Oh, no,” I said. “He did tell me Larry’s story, but then I also told him a little…something…too. Oh, god; I hope he didn’t go spreading my secrets around as well.” I glanced over at Claudia in dismay but she seemed to be ignorant of what I was implying.
 
“Wait a second,” Isobel said slowly. “I’m still a little out of it, but I think I saw the man in the black mask, too.”
 
Claudia’s eyes widened with excitement. “You did? Did you tell him anything? Did he tell you anything?”
 
Isobel thought about it. “Um, no. The only person I talked to…well, there was this short, squatty man in the bathroom when I was in there.”
 
“Short squatty man?” Gwen asked. “It must be one of your friends from work, Claudia.”
 
“Yes,” Isobel said. “I had to throw up. A lot. And he was in there when I went in the bathroom to clean up.”
 
“He was in the bathroom while you were throwing up?” Larry asked.
 
“I don’t know where he was. I wasn’t throwing up in the bathroom,” Isobel said reluctantly. “But I went in there to splash some water on my face, and there’s this funny, pudgy looking guy crawling around the bathroom floor, saying he’s looking for something he lost.”
 
Claudia and I exchanged a glance. It sounded much like the two of us crawling around looking for the first missing doorknob.
 
“And I started to cry a little bit,” Isobel said in embarrassment. “Don’t laugh; I cry a little when I get sick, and I was sick. So he stands up, and he comforts me a bit and gives me this black silk hanky to wipe my eyes with. And I told him what I’d done…well, I mean, that I’d gotten sick, that’s all,” she said hurriedly. “And I told him how I felt silly for pretending to be someone I’m not—“
 
Claudia glared at Gwen significantly.
 
“—what with pretending to be a British historian to that one guy in the hallway, and I told him how I felt bad for throwing up like I did and that I didn’t want anyone to know it was me—“
 
“Too late,” I said with a laugh.
 
“—And then he comforts me and gives me the hanky and you know what he says? He says, ‘That’s ok. Everyone pretends to be someone they’re not in order to chase down what they’re after. Why, I’m pretending to be someone I’m not as well.’ Isn’t that weird? Then he bent over and picked something up with his black hanky—I guess he found what he was looking for—and I said thanks and he left.”
 
Claudia was agitated. “Well, Isobel, that was the most thrilling and completely unhelpful story I’ve heard all night. Thanks for telling us.”
 
“Wait!” Gwen interrupted. “That’s not so, Claudia. I want to know what this man looked like? Did you get his name?”
 
“No!” Claudia interjected. “I want to know if you saw the man in the black mask or not!”
 
“Jean-Pierre,” I said helpfully. “His name is Jean-Pierre.” No one heard me; they were all focused on Isobel for once, which I thought was rather unusual.
 
“I don’t know!” Isobel cried in a small voice. “I don’t know what the man looked like; god, I can’t remember at all. He was wholly unremarkable. All I remember is that he was short and squatty. Maybe he had a mustache, but I swear that’s the most forgettable face I’ve ever seen. But…but you know what?” She paused in realization. “But I did see the man in the black mask again.”
 
“You did?” Claudia asked.
 
“Jean-Pierre; I’m telling you, his name is Jean-Pierre,” I was getting annoyed with this lack of attention. These people ought to listen to me.
 
“Yes,” Isobel said. “Wait, Maddy, how do you know his name is Jean-Pierre?”
 
Finally; someone had sense enough to turn their attention back to me. All of a sudden, things started happening very quickly. “Why, he told me, of course. I had never seen him before and he told me his name was Jean-Pierre and that he was a friend of Claudia’s. Says he’s seen us in the neighborhood. And now that I think about it, Claudia, you never told me that he’d even be coming to the party, let alone introduce me to him!”
 
With my reply, everyone wanted to start talking at once. There was a flurry of conversation filled with speculation over the man in black. But ultimately, Claudia’s voice pierced the confusion like a knife to cut to the ultimate link in the mystery. In the seconds that followed, we finally gained the one missing piece of information that we needed to connect all of our stories.
 
Claudia was distraught. “Madison!” she shrieked. “I don’t have any friend named Jean-Pierre! What on earth are you talking about?” She turned back to Isobel. “Isobel, you’ve got to tell me when you saw the man in black again.”
 
“He came back in to the bedroom where the coats were piled,” she said quickly. “I was getting ready to go back out to the party. He picked up his coat and said something to me.” She paused for a second. “Oh my god, he said my name? How did the man in black know my name?”
 
“What exactly did he say to you?” I asked excitedly.
 
Isobel hurried on: “He said, ‘I hope you had a lovely evening, Isobel.’ And then he said, ‘And don’t worry about the coat, I already know. It’s alright.’”
 
“’Don’t worry about the coat?’ What does that mean?” Gwen asked.
 
 “Wait!” she cried in distress. “Wait, wait! There’s more! Oh my god, I just figured it out!”
 
“What?” We all cried out again.
 
“So the man in black picks up his coat and tells me that not to worry and that he already knows. I was so embarrassed. I reached for his coat and I told him that he better let me check; I thought maybe his was all right. He was really reluctant to give it to me but I was so worried I grabbed it. And when I did, I shook one of the pockets and something fell to the floor, wrapped in a black handkerchief!”
 
We all stopped in silence. “ What was it?” Claudia asked incredulously.
 
Isobel burst out: “How could the man in black have known my name? I never met him! And how could he know about the coats? The only person I told about that was the short, squatty man in the bathroom—the same man who let me dry my eyes with a black silk hanky! The man who said he had lost something in there!”
 
“Isobel, what fell out of the man in black’s coat pocket?” Claudia pleaded.
 
“It was a doorknob!” Isobel was completely distraught. “I didn’t think about it at the time, I didn’t even know what was going on with all of this. Had I known, oh only if I had known, I would have done something!”
 
Realization struck us all simultaneously as the pieces of the puzzle dropped in to place like olives in the perfect martini. One, Two, Three. And with that, we realized the identity, albeit in costume, of the Elusive Doorknob Bandit.
 
“That means—“ Larry said.
 
“Then the man in black must be—“ I exclaimed.
 
“And the short, squatty man is—“ Gwen cried.
 
“The man in black and the short, squatty man are the same guy! ” Claudia burst out. “It’s the Doorknob Bandit!”
 
“We’ve got to catch him before he gets away.” I said. “Hurry, let’s go!”
 
***
 
We all turned to leave but oddly enough no one moved. Glances were exchanged among our group and it was Larry who courteously put forth the question we were all thinking.
 
“Um, how do we do this?”
 
“What do you mean, how do we do this?” Claudia hissed hysterically. “We go find this guy and wring his neck. Then I call the cops.”
 
“Er, no,” Larry returned. “I mean, how do we find him? It seems to me that, well, if he’s not wearing the Zorro costume, how will we know it’s him? Isobel’s the only one who’s seen him without the mask.”
 
“I’ve seen him too,” I added. “But good heavens, Larry’s right; he is wholly unremarkable. About as interesting as a blob of oatmeal. I can’t remember what he looks like.”
 
Isobel grimaced. “I’m not even sure Ican say I remember what he looks like.”
 
“Oh, this is ridiculous,” Claudia moaned. “Every minute we stand here talking he stands a better chance of getting away. Just split up, go from room to room, and look at all the party guests. If you see Zorro then for the sake of my doorknobs, grab him by the ass!”
 
“Mmm…lovely,” I said dreamily.
 
“And if you see anyone suspicious,” Claudia continued, “or rather, anyone boring, homely, pudgy, or possibly resembling an accountant, grab them too and we’ll sort it out later. If we can’t say what this guy looks like, just sort out the weirdoes at this party who are definitely not our friends. And fast.”
 
“Well if that was the case, I’d start with that trio of French maid harpies,” I said gallantly. “And then maybe Gwen.”
 
“Hey!” she whined.
 
“Well, she did monkey with the liquor list,” agreed Claudia. “But you know what I mean. And be careful not to worry the guests. As a matter of fact, don’t say a word to anyone. We don’t want this to get out; the Bandit could be listening and that would be disastrous.”
 
“Alright, I’ll take the kitchen and the deck,” Larry said.
 
“I’ll take the living room and dining room,” said Claudia.
 
“I’ll look in the yard and the garage,” Gwen offered.
 
Swallowing, Isobel said weakly, “And I’ll search the bathrooms, I think.”
 
“That leaves me with the bedroom and the study,” I finished.
 
We now successfully split up and turned our separate ways to seek out the Doorknob Bandit.
 
Five minutes passed when I bumped in to Isobel in the hallway. She was looking a little green but persevered nonetheless.
 
“Any progress, Izzy honey?”
 
“I don’t think there’s anything left in my stomach to come up,” she replied. “Oh, wait, you meant with the Bandit. No, I’ve seen nothing. Well, that’s not exactly true; I did see two of Claudia’s office friends behind the shower curtain necking. Walked right in on them; they didn’t even look up, even while I was…well…puking.”
 
“Ha!” I laughed jovially. “Molly and Howard? That’s hilarious—I saw those two hours ago in the same spot. They haven’t moved an inch!”
 
Gwen trotted up and joined us in the hallway. “See anything?” she asked.
 
“Nope,” I replied. “You?”
 
“Well, I must say,” Gwen giggled, “I wish I wasn’t looking for a burglar right now. Eileen successfully levitated right up and off the couch. Last I saw she was sprawled on the floor behind the sofa, passed out with the dust bunnies.”
 
“Now this is why I don’t drink Frenet,” I said firmly.
 
Gwen continued, “And Matt is still in the kitchen playing with the motion light. I think he’s figured out how to make it flash out Morse code.”
 
We exploded in laughter.
 
“No wonder we haven’t found the burglar,” Isobel ventured. “He’s blended right in with all the freaks.”
 
Larry hurried up to us. “Maddy, I’m glad I’ve found you. You’ve got to come quick—I think I spotted him and he’s headed inside!”
 
“What?” I said excitedly.
 
“Yes, I think he was out on the back deck,” Larry replied. “I saw him start to make his way towards the kitchen door. We haven’t got much time, but I think we can cut him off. Let’s go.”
 
“Oooh!” Isobel gushed. “I want to help.”
 
We all rushed past the guests in to the kitchen. I shoved Matt the Motion Sensor out of the way and he stumbled backwards in a daze. “Quick, what should we do?” I asked Larry.
 
“Well, that’s a help,” he said, indicating the motion light which had now gone out in Matt’s absence. He reached up to the light and switched it off. “Gwen, you get the other guests out of here.”
 
Gwen turned instantly and put on her brightest smile, quickly coaxing those lingering in the kitchen out towards the dining room.
 
“Quick, I think I see him, he’s coming!” Larry gasped. “Isobel, kill the other lights.”
 
She did so quickly.
 
I looked at Larry. “What do I do…I need some sort of weapon!” I searched around frantically. Suddenly my hand landed on a smooth, cool, and familiar shape. Picking up the empty champagne bottle, I raised it firmly over my head. I looked Larry in the eye. “I’m ready,” I said with conviction.
 
He licked his lips and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. Picking up an empty bottle he said, “Good idea.”
 
Seconds passed. Larry and I tucked into the dark shadows. He looked anxiously out the window. “Alright, I see him. He’s coming. He’s coming, get ready!”
 
I poised, ready to strike.
 
“One…Two…Three…
“NOW!” Larry shouted.
 
As he yelled, the door flung open. I swung my champagne bottle forward with a mighty blow. I heard a dull thud as the bottle smacked in impact with its target. The body before me fell to the ground in a heap. But then, before it landed…a giggle.
 
“Larry, quick! Turn on the light!” I pleaded. “I think we got the wrong man!”
 
Larry reached up and switched on the motion detection light. The bare spotlight shone down on our suspect, illuminating her fallen body in the darkness.
 
It wasn’t Zorro.
 
It was one of the French Maids.
 
Larry gasped. “That stupid girl! She slipped in front of him just as he was coming towards the door. Then he turned and went away. I can’t bel—“ he trailed off. “Wait a sec, there, Maddy. Why’s she dressed like you?”
 
I didn’t know whether to laugh, to fret, or to cry out in victory. Seeing as how she was not completely unconscious, writhing and moaning like she was, I let victory get the better part of me. “Hah!” I cried out. “That was another one of Gwen’s evil tricks, and that’s the last time I tell that girl anything. She and two of her other trollish friends thought it’d be funny to mock our little boudoir drama.”
 
Larry smiled. “Oh, well, I’m glad you clobbered her, then.”
 
“Larry!” I gasped.
 
“What, Maddy? The bird’s all right. No damage done, I’d think.”
 
By this time I had turned on the remaining kitchen lights, bringing the room back to its prior cheery glow. In full light I could see that the girl was, in fact, okay and I laughed. “Here,” I said, bending over. Let’s just smoosh her under Claudia’s breakfast table here, and she can have a nice little sleep on the tile.” So we did.
 
“Well, that’s that,” Larry said.
 
“That’s that.” I said.
 
“Shall we go and resume our search?” Larry asked.
 
“I think we better,” I replied. He offered me his arm and we turned and left the kitchen.
 
***
 
We lingered together in the living room briefly, discussing with Claudia how the burglar had escaped us and why there was a French maid sleeping under her breakfast nook. Had my eyes been following the room instead of Larry’s Adam’s apple, I would have spotted Zorro lurking in the corner behind the bar. As it was, I didn’t and I eventually trailed off from the living room to keep looking.
 
I wandered down the hall somewhat idly attempting to think like a burglar. While I was unable to relate to his sadly frumpy demeanor and his odd penchant for all things doorknob I tried to imagine what I would do in his situation. If I had surreptitiously crashed someone’s party and had slunk around stealing the Isaac Mizrahis from their closets, and possibly, their guests’ feet, how would I manage to pull off the deed unseen?
 
Well, I thought, I might try to blend in. Perhaps I’d even wear the shoes…
 
I was musing over this as I wandered into Claudia’s study, looking there once again in vain hope of finding something I had missed earlier or perhaps something else that was now gone. The room was empty.
 
Had I entered the room a few minutes earlier, I would’ve seen our man, muttering nervously to himself, “Gotta, think, gotta think,” and downing large shots of Claudia’s secret brandy reserve with noticeably shaky hands. I had no idea, but the burglar had learned we were on to him and the news was anything but welcome.
 
I crossed to Claudia’s desk, observing her private stash of brandy that she claimed “helped to flush out new ad concepts.” Two more suits of armor--what I jokingly referred to as her “Rich Little Goth Girl” obsession, flanked Claudia’s desk. Someone with a small mind for bad party tricks had jokingly placed a bottle of brandy in the bent right arm of the suit. I ran my finger across the fine wood of the desk, noticing that her liquor decanters were unusually almost empty. It better be a damn good ad.
 
Chiding myself for sounding like a bad B movie, I admitted that I had the strangest feeling. As they say in Hitchcock, I did feel like I was being watched. I stood with my back to the suit of armor, quickly scanning the room for any irregularities. Feeling very much like Ms. Peacock in a bad game of Clue, I turned and looked over my shoulder. Nothing there.
 
I tried to shrug it off. For someone so brazen and independent I had nothing to be spooked by. If anything were to happen to me I would simply slip off my high heels and beat the attacker with my shoe. That would teach him to mess with Miss Madison Milquetoast. Or Prada’s new aluminum heels. I thumbed through some of the papers on Claudia’s desk, noticing her tax statements. Unable to help it, I turned and looked again.
 
Had the brandy bottle been moved? I thought that the suit’s arm had been bent at a ninety-degree angle. Now, it looked slightly straightened.
 
The others would certainly be missing me by now; I thought I would quickly check everything out and then I would return to my friends. I leaned down to check that all the electrical plates were still there. I had my head under the desk, checking out Claudia’s safe, when I heard a soft thud on the tabletop above me. I jerked my head in surprise, cracking my fragile skull on the underside of the desk.
 
“Ow!!” I cried out.  
 
I backed out from under the desk. Raising my head, my eyes now level with the desktop before me, I stared directly at a large, empty bottle of brandy that could not have been there a minute earlier. Suspiciously, I eyed the statue. It no longer held its bottle. What had happened?
 
Frustrated by the crack to my head and feeling both confused and somewhat spooked, I walked over to the window and stood there rubbing the sore spot, careful not to mess up my curls. I started to drift away from the mission at hand, concentrating unhappily on the pain. I heard someone burp. It was a long, strangely echoey belch and I absently replied, “Excuse you.”
 
Then I snapped from my reverie. Spinning on my heels I whirled towards the suit of armor and shrieked.
 
“Oh my god, who’s there? I knew I wasn’t alone! Stop! It’s you, I know it’s you, STOP!!”
 
In a second I understood. It was not my imagination. The Doorknob Bandit had been hiding in the suit of armor and had been caught when I walked in with bottle in hand. His belch had been an innocent giveaway: the Doorknob Bandit was drunk.
 
With a clatter the brandy-snifting suit of armor came to life with the gluttonous jolt of a deranged marionette. Like a Tasmanian whirling dervish, the suit of armor appeared to be straining in every direction at once. Then with a splashy attempt at coordination the burping suit took off running down the hall, slipping, sliding, and dressed like a knight in shining armor.
 
I took off running after him in full pursuit. Shouting I yelled, “It’s him, it’s him! By god, stop that armor! It’s the Doorrrrrrknob Bannnnnndit!”
 
The party guests in the hall all stopped and stared in bewilderment. The Bandit bolted past them, skidding and slipping on the marble tiles. He knocked over the other suit of armor in the hallway with a tremendous clamor. Isobel was standing nearby when she saw the collision. Still somewhat tipsy, she yelled out in dismay.
 
“NOOO!! That’s Sir George! You knocked over Sir George, you bastard! Don’t you hurt him. Get back here, I’ll tear you apart!” Then she realized what was going on. “Oh, shit, wait—that’s the burglar! Get him!” And in an ungraceful heap she joined the chase and ran down the hall.
 
The bandit neared the end of the hallway. He was forced to push his way through the gathering crowd. With a forceful shove he knocked over the couple in the zebra suit, landing the furry, four-footed ensemble kicking on their backs and sending a ripple of unsteadiness through the already unsteady crowd.
 
As the word spread that something unusual was taking place, Larry, Gwen, and Claudia came rushing to the hall to see if the burglar had been caught.
 
“Larry!” I shouted. “It’s him, in the armor. You’ve got to get him!”
 
As Larry pushed through the guests, the burglar reached the end of the hall. Still running, he blindly rounded the corner of the hallway, having forgotten that the stairwell was but a step away. With one final, awkward, giant leap, he fell: ass over teakettle, down, down, down the long flight of marble stairs, half sliding, half somersaulting, vainly trying to rescue himself from his rapid decline, he fell--the noise sounding like a pack of mad cows running through a bathroom, like Isobel’s jar of ten years’ worth of change spilling in a tin shed, like the racket of the Marina harpies at the dawn opening of Saks’ fall sale—he fell, landing in a twitching, disheveled, aluminum heap.
 
We all stood there amazed for just a second. And then we sprang to life, Gwen, Claudia, Isobel and I shouting, “After him! After him!”
 
The Bandit tried to pull himself up, scrambling to grab the doorknob. Larry leaped down the stairs ahead of us, reaching the bottom just as the burglar gained purchase on the slippery doorknob. What a shame that he didn’t already nab that one, I thought. In a second he was out the front door and we all headed after him like a band of warriors with Larry leading the way.
 
Several steps out on to the front landing, the Doorknob Bandit found himself foolishly ill-prepared for the second flight of stairs. Once again he tumbled down, down, down the stone stairs. He appeared to reach the bottom in a slightly more efficient manner, perhaps accustomed to his punishment. His recovery, however, was somewhat slower and completely comical.
 
“Larry, you can take him!” I yelled. “He’s totally smashed! He’s drunk!”
 
“Gosh, Maddy, so am I—but thanks for the tip,” he said in passing and raced ahead.
 
The Bandit remained a couple steps ahead of Larry. With enough time for a head start, he turned a sharp right and ran towards the back of the house. Larry followed. Claudia quickly started barking orders in an attempt to bring the chase under control.
 
“Gwen and Maddy, you head in the opposite direction as Larry. I’ll head through the garage and we’ll try to cut him off. Let’s go!”
 
We all bolted in opposite directions. I assume that our frantic yelling didn’t help to conceal our positions.
 
It was Larry who tripped over the first piece of armor. Lying discarded in Claudia’s immense backyard was the breastplate; however, it was directly in Larry’s path. As I rounded the corner to the back of the house, I heard Larry yell out with a loud, “Cripes!” and then dimly saw him land with a bouncing thud.
 
Still running, I shouted to him, “Quick, Larry, which way did he go?”
 
Wincing, Larry replied, “Towards the back. Cut him off before he goes around the hedge. I’ll catch up.”
 
Well, that gives it away, I thought. Gwen and I continued running, practically running into Claudia as she popped out through the back door of the garage. “Head for the bushes!” I yelled at her. Claudia skirted around an arm and glove that was discarded in the grass and we sped on.
 
With a second’s notice I successfully jumped over the abandoned helmet lying in front of me. At least he was leaving a trail—but he was becoming quicker with every piece of the shell that he shed. I heard branches popping and leaves rustle as he scrambled through the hedge. Instinctively, I grabbed Gwen and we turned back towards the front of the house.
 
Gwen squealed with excitement as I yelled, “Come on, hurry up!”
 
As we ran the second aluminum arm flew through the air above the hedge as the Bandit chucked it away.
 
Ducking, Larry met up with us as we all reached the front yard. The Bandit had emerged from the hedges about ten steps in front of us. When I saw him I came to a grinding halt. Claudia smacked in to me with a loud yelp. Gwen ran in to Claudia. Larry managed to stop without tripping on anything. I vaguely noticed that our party guests had all gathered outside the front door and were now watching, silently stunned, at the antics before them.
 
He stood there, hopping up and down unsteadily on his right leg, holding his left foot in the air. Desperately he clawed at the armor that encased his leg, with little relief. His efforts to maintain his balance were staunchly hindered by the rapid succession of brandy shots he’d consumed earlier. Twice I saw him fall nearly flat on his face as his uprightness deserted him. Alternately, he would actually hop over the leg he was grasping, reminding me of the classic disco move of the early eighties. The whole time he howled like a loon—drunk, desperate, and questionably sane.
 
We were ashamedly transfixed by this bizarre display until Isobel broke through the nest of party guests and came running up to us. “Why are you standing there? Let’s get him!”
 
In that moment the Bandit successfully pulled off his leg of armor. Larry snapped from his daze and lunged forward with a ferocious yell. “Yaaargh!” he growled and charged at the Bandit.
 
The Bandit froze for just a second as Larry came pummeling towards him. He stopped laughing. His eyes widened as he stood there, holding the free leg of armor. The burglar looked down at his other leg, still trapped in its steel case, then looked at Larry. Then in a burst he turned and ran down the street at top speed.
 
“NO!” Claudia cried. “My armor is getting away!” She ran after Larry. Gwen, Isobel, and I went running after her.
 
We chased him up the dramatic incline of Pacific Avenue, a frenzied mob hurtling insults, shouts, complaints, and nonsense. He barreled on ahead of us, laughing hysterically the whole time and still wearing only one leg of armor. Why that dope chose to run up the hill merely indicated he was much stupider than we had originally thought. Pushing ourselves harder up the steep grade I held my skirt and thanked all the designers in Italy that my heels could do the job. His laughter trailed out behind him, inciting us to yell and curse back.
 
The Bandit was near the top of the hill. We were close behind, trying to gain enough distance to tackle him. I saw Larry nearing the top. This was it! We were going to get that rotten Bandit.
 
And then he did the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever seen.
 
When he reached the top of the hill the Bandit pivoted on his heels. Looking us dead in the eye, he paused and dropped to the ground. Then he rolled down the hill, speeding right by us.
 
“What the fuck was that?” Larry cried.
 
“I certainly didn’t expect that,” I said, infuriated.
 
“He’s scratching that armor. God, I’m so angry!” Claudia exclaimed.
 
“Well, come on, we better go get him,” Larry said. Then he turned and started running, gaining momentum as his legs churned down the hill.
 
“Ha!” Isobel scoffed. “I may be drunk, but Larry’s never gonna catch him that way. Leave this to me!”
 
And then, my dear, ditzy, intoxicated friend Isobel dropped to the ground and started rolling down the hill—Muppet curls spinning, petticoats flying. She screeched like a kid on a rollercoaster as she spun. But it was true: she proceeded to overtake Larry.
 
I looked sidelong at Claudia and Gwen. In unison they replied, “No way.” I nodded and we ran down the hill after everyone else.
 
With the Bandit out in front, Isobel gaining on him, Larry following close behind, and the rest of us bringing up the rear of the chase, we neared Claudia’s house at the bottom of the hill. I assumed that the Bandit would for some reason stop in front of the house and go on to do something equally nutty. But no, the idiot reached the house and continued to roll on by. We followed as well. I saw the guests looking at us all as we came down the hill, shouting and cheering, and then I watched as their gaze followed our progress from their left to the right, a one-sided tennis match.
 
Half a block past Claudia’s house I could finally see an end to the hill as the street dropped out levelly in to an intersection. We were nearing the end. With Larry and Isobel closest behind the Bandit, what would we do? The distance closed between us and the end: seventy-five feet, fifty feet, twenty-five…
 
The Bandit reached bottom first. Still running, I watched as he quickly pounced up on to his feet and then immediately doubled over, dizzy from all the rolling. He took a few staggering, disoriented steps, trying hopelessly to quickly recapture his balance. Wheeling around, he took one large step and stood fully upright.
 
And just then Isobel came rolling down the hill and smacked right in to him. She knocked him over like a spare pin in a bowling alley. The Bandit catapulted forward and plunged to the ground. Isobel rolled a few more feet and stopped. And Larry reached the bottom of the hill and tackled the fallen burglar. He put up hardly any fight at all as Larry pinned him to the ground.
 
I cheered when I saw the fabulous display. Claudia exploded in cries of victory. The three of us soon reached the bottom of the hill and flocked to Larry to investigate our criminal. Farther up the hill I heard the cheering of the crowd echoing around us.
 
“Yes!” Claudia shouted. “We got him!”
 
“We got him!” I cheered. “Finally!”
 
Larry looked up at me, trying to catch his breath. “We got him, all right. Somebody had better call the cops.”
 
“I’ve got it,” Gwen said. Helpful for once that night, she pulled her cell phone from a pocket and dialed the number.
 
“Larry, do you need help?” Claudia asked. “Do we have to worry about him getting away?”
 
By now, Larry had released his grip on the burglar and had instead turned around to sit on the man. The Bandit was knocked senseless from Isobel’s successful hit and he lay there, limp. “I think it’s okay,” Larry said, looking at Claudia. “He’s not going anywhere anytime soon. And neither am I.”
 
“Good,” Claudia said firmly. She then approached the pair and kneeled down on the pavement. Looking the dazed burglar in the eye she glared and told him, “So, you thought you could steal my doorknobs, eh? Run off in my armor? Use it as a Radio Flyer sled? Well, tough luck there, bucko. There are no doorknobs in prison. Just row after row of tightly locked cells, which is where I’m going to put you. The only doorknob you’ll see will be ten years from now, if and when they let you out!”
 
I laughed out loud at her Dirty Harry-styled preaching. “Nice one, Claudia.”
 
She looked at me and then glared back at him. Leaning closer, she pressed him “Just who do you think you are?” Suddenly, she reeled back on her feet. “Whoaaa! Larry did you get a whiff of this guy?”
 
“Pretty smashed, I’d say.”
 
“He’s drunk off his rocker! Maddy, he’s totally wasted.”
 
“Well, I knew that,” I scoffed. “I figured that out when I—“
 
I stopped suddenly as I heard a small moan over Larry’s shoulder.
 
“Ohhh…” she cried.
 
“My god! Isobel!” I screeched. Gwen and I ran over to her. “Oh, honey, are you all right?”
 
She lay sprawled in the street, not having moved after she made contact with the Bandit. Her skirts were in a flurry around her limp form. Oddly enough, her wig had stayed on. Opening her eyes, she asked weakly, “What happened?”
 
I stroked her forehead. “You caught the Bandit, sweetie. You nailed him!”
 
“I sure did. Ouch,” she said. “I must’ve been drunk.”
 
“Well, that’s the last thing you said,” Gwen agreed.
 
“It’s a blessing,” she replied. “I can’t feel a thing.”
 
“Don’t worry, you probably will tomorrow,” I assured her. “Do you want to try and sit up?”
 
“Sure. Let’s see how this goes…” Weakly, Isobel pushed herself off of the ground and sat up. Swaying back and forth, she rubbed her head and looked around. “Whoa,” she cried. Then her eyes lit up. Spying the burglar she asked, “Did I do that?”
 
“You sure did,” Claudia said.
 
“I couldn’t let him get away. He knocked over Sir George.”
 
Claudia raised her eyebrow and looked at me. I shrugged.
 
The Bandit moaned underneath Larry. Gwen looked at him and said, “Well, the cops should be here in about five minutes. Maybe we ought to march him back up to the house.”
 
“Yeah, I think we could,” Larry said. “Come on, chump, let’s go.”
 
Together we raised both the burglar and Isobel to their feet and brought everyone back up the hill to Claudia’s house. The guests gathered around us in the front yard, some of them still unsure if this had been merely an excellent party stunt or a real happening. The Bandit had started to regain his senses and struggled to get away. Larry held him securely in a full-nelson. Some of the guests gathered near us; everyone was asking questions excitedly and wanted to know what was going on.
 
Claudia and I were trying to contain the commotion when the Bandit started to get unruly. He squirmed and started yelling.
 
“That’s right! That’s right, I…did…it! I would’ve taken each and every one of ‘em too, and made a killing. You wouldn’t have caught me! You wouldn’t even have known I was there!” He twisted under Larry’s grip but could not get away.
 
Larry looked at me. “What’s he talking about?”
 
“Who cares?” I said.
 
But the Bandit continued. Presently, the guests grew hushed to listen to his strange carrying-on.
 
“That’s rightttt,” he drawled. “You’re all no better than I am. You’re all pretending. Everyone tries to be someone they’re not. But everyone confesses in the end. If you want to save yourself, you’ll confess! You will!”
 
Claudia spat at him in fury. “Confess! You’re a hypocrite and a thief! Shut up!”
 
I rolled my eyes. “Great; pontificating from a hoodlum. And a squatty one at that. Just what we need.” Dimly, I heard sirens in the distance.
 
Gwen, Claudia and I had gathered around Isobel. “Say, Isobel, that sounds exactly like what he told you in the bathroom,” I said to her.
 
“That’s right,” Gwen said over the continuing protests and ramblings of the Bandit. “That’s what he said to you right before he said ‘not to worry about the coats.’”
 
“What exactly did he mean by that, anyway?” I asked her.
 
Isobel looked down at the ground. “Oh, nothing. It was nothing.”
 
Claudia grew interested. She had to raise her voice over the Bandit ranting in the background. “No, what did that mean? You remembered it when you identified the burglar. What you said helped us to catch him; I’d be very curious to know what that meant.”
 
“Well,” Isobel replied slowly. “It was just that—“
 
Suddenly, we heard the Bandit shout out Isobel’s name. “—but one person who confessed to me was Miss Isobel! She confessed, yes, yessss, she did.”
 
At that moment the police arrived, screaming up to the house in four cars with sirens blazing. The Bandit was shouting to be heard over the noise. The cops sprang from their cars, killing the sirens. They hustled over to the Bandit and grabbed him from Larry’s hold.
 
The Bandit continued to shout as they did so. Pushing him towards the car, he carried on his tirade relentlessly: “And for all of you who want to know at the end of the night, when you pick up your coats and shove your hands in your coat pocketses …when you find that all your pocketses have been puked in, I leave you with that final confession: Isobel did it!”
 
And with that, the police tucked him in to the car and slammed the door. The guests were quiet. We were disgusted. Isobel stood there, mortified.
 
“I...I threw up in his coat pockets.” Isobel said in a small voice. “I…I threw up in everybody’s coat pockets. Just a little bit at a time. I couldn’t make it to the bathroom, and I didn’t want to puke on the bed. So I just opened up the coat pockets and started puking—a little here, a little there, everywhere, until I was done.”
 
“What?” We all cried out in disbelief.
 
Thankfully for her sake, the chief officer interjected. “Sorry to interrupt, folks. Ms. Robertson, we’re going to need a statement from you.”
 
Claudia separated from our group to talk to the officers. We were left to try and understand Isobel’s goofy reasoning that led to the ruin of numerous coats that evening. People surrounded her, flooding her with questions. Other guests ran off to check if their own coats had been spared. Frustrated, embarrassed, and still confused from her heroic roll down the hill and her intoxication, Isobel stood there not knowing what to do.
 
Isobel looked over at me uncertainly. In a tiny voice she stammered, “But…but…but I caught the burglar.”
 
It was true. Swallowing my own exasperation, I stepped forward to defend poor Isobel to the guests around us. Claudia finished talking to the police and returned to appease the ensuing commotion.
 
From the backseat of the police car, the Bandit watched the fray with satisfaction. Laughing hysterically, he hollered with glee as the police car drove away.
 
***
 
We had nearly finished our brunch at Chez Farisse. I felt significantly better and Isobel seemed to have brightened.
 
“Don’t worry, honey,” I said. “I’m sure you’re not still hung-over; it was probably just all that rolling that made you feel so ill.”
 
Isobel smiled. “Well, I’m sure it couldn’t have helped the champagne,” she said with a shiver.
 
Gwen laughed. “It probably just shook up all the bubbles even more. I’m surprised you didn’t explode.”
 
“But wait, she did!” Claudia said triumphantly. We laughed.
 
“I am never going to hear the end of this, am I?” Isobel slumped.
 
“Probably not,” I conceded. “Or at least until I get the dry-cleaning bill.”
 
“Are you kidding?” Claudia scoffed. “People are going to be talking about this for years . Everyone will remember how we caught the Doorknob Bandit.”
 
“But Icaught him,” Isobel squeaked.
 
“Well, I did quite a lot, too,” Claudia argued.
 
“So did I,” I said.
 
“Hey, you’re forgetting what I did,” added Gwen.
 
“But what about—“
 
And so our brunch concluded with the good natured back-and-forth of our squabbles. We parted ways on Green Street and I retired to my home for the day to relax and watch some Fabian.