“I don’t understand what just happened,” she said, brushing debris from her skirt and tossing her tousled hair in a way that made him happy to be alive just then.
“Henderson did it,” he said.
“Wait, what? He did all of it?!”
“Yep. The murder, the frameup, the theft of the Eiffel Tower, he was behind it all.”
“But his wife was the victim!”
“First one you suspect is the husband.”
“But he was in Jakarta when it all came down! How did he pull it off?”
“That’s where I came in,” said a sudden voice, attached to a menacingly dapper man holding a gun.
“OMG, Henderson! But you just died.”
“No, that was my twin brother, Oleg Henderson.”
“You mean —“ she said.
“Yes, I’m Sven. And now you die — ULK!”
The blade that protruded from Sven Henderson’s chest surprised all three of them. The second twin to die in the last 30 seconds slid to the ground to reveal the grinning face of Graham Fox.
“Graham!” he cried. “You survived the plane crash!”
“Obviously,” grinned Graham. “I’m too tough to die.”
“So the Henderson twins pulled it all off,” she said breathlessly.
“Almost,” he said.
“But they didn’t count on one thing,” Graham said. “You can’t outfox the Fox boys.”
“I guess not,” she said with a fetching smile, “I guess not.”
And they all laughed and linked arms as, somewhere, a crescendo crescendoed.