Princess Diana Wasn't Murdered

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Mystery and Crime  |  House: Booksie Classic

When teenager Madrigal is framed by his own Aunt for the murder of Princess Diana, he runs away to America and bumps into Cameron, a fired writer coming from the Press and puts his faith into her to figure out the mystery of Princess Diana's death.

“It’s a priceless story! You have to let me work on it!” Cameron argued in frustration

“I’m not going to let you, Cameron!” The editor, buff and brawly, crossed his arms and lowered his eyebrows.

Cameron exhaled, “Listen, James. I understand that it’s been done before but I can do it in a different way. She’s going to be in Paris next Tuesday, so if you let me to the expo she’s going to be at then maybe I can get an inside scoop.”

The rest of the workers were huddled around the slightly open door to the office. James shot his gaze to his co-editor and yelled out his name to enter, “Get in here Patricks!”

“Y—yes sir!” Patricks saluted.

“Do you think this woman deserves to go all the way to Paris just to get another cliché story on Diana?”

Worrying about his answer, hesitantly Patricks shouted, “N-no, sir!”

“Unbelievable.” With her straight forward and sharp, slanted eyes, she spoke face to James, “Sexism isn’t going to get this company money, stupid.” And left office, slamming the door behind her, shuttering the room around.

“Sir,” Patricks began. “I don’t think it’s alright if you—“

“Patricks! She’s a woman; women don’t and will not get recognition in this company. I may not have hired her but I can do the opposite.”

“Are you saying you’re going to—fire her?”

In a split second, Cameron barged into the office and threw her golden name plate down onto the tiled ground and stepped on it, bending the outer edge with her four-inch heel.

“Oh,” she began. “And I quit.” Her cherry lips lunged out those words in pure wretchedness, knowing that Cameron had got to it first.

“Fine then,” James smirked. “You’re choice, but I’m not going to pity you.”

“I don’t need your pity, James,” Cameron pulled a tissue out of the box that was stacked on top of old prints. “But you sure as heck need mine.” With a press of her lips to the tissue, her red lipstick stuck onto it and she gently tossed it to land on James’ desk. “I’m going to get that story, and you ain’t gonna stop me, James.”

Cameron shut the door and headed to her desk where chaotic organization awaited her arrival. Her other co-workers watched and stared at her as she filled a cardboard box up with the belongings that lay upon her assigned area. James walked out of his office to meet up with her while packing up.

“I don’t know what you’re trying to do but—“

“James, I’m not doing anything. But since you won’t let me do what I want to do most, I’m going to have to figure out a different approach, now aren’t I?”

James sneered at the woman who disgusted him most. Her bright red lips stood out amongst the grays and blacks of the rest of the team and being the only woman who did the best of jobs annoyed him out of everything. James was promoted three months ago to head chief while the former chief was relocated at the district office for secretarial work and every since he got the job, James has hated Cameron. Cameron was a sweetheart who got her way usually by taking the hardest route. Always looking for a challenge, she didn’t seem to mind the sexism she got from her boss but when she found out that Princess Diana was going to be in Paris, Cameron had to go investigate her arrival and reasoning but a certain someone wouldn’t let her, taking toll on the jar that had filled up with severe anger that had opened up a few hours ago. There was only one thing that stopped both of them from ripping each other’s heads off.

“You’re making a mistake, Cameron.”

“James,” Cameron seized her packing and looked straight into her boss’s eyes. “If I were making a mistake I wouldn’t be able to dent my seal of writer’s approval. That piece of metal meant the world to me but someone didn’t like how a woman had full right over it so I took it away from that woman to make you happy but you’re a really tough person to please so I believe that leaving would be the best thing to do, wouldn’t you agree?” Sticking out her tongue, Cameron snatched her box now filled with her belongings, and walked out of the room. The rest of the writers were looking at the situation at hand and were scolded by James to get back to work.

“I’m calling off the wedding!” James screamed to her.

“That’s one thing off my list to do!” Cameron waved her arm in nonsense and walked into the elevator.

“Sir?” Patricks slowly called out to his boss as he stormed into his office, tossing himself into his seat.

“What?” he answered, flames burning on the inside.

“Nothing—anymore.” And he left the room. As the door closed, James mumbled to himself about the dilemma he’d just been in. It was true, and as painful as it was, James and Cameron were engaged, before he was promoted even. They were very happy together; they spent every waking moment as a couple but soon that changed when he overheard that the Chief was going to promote Cameron to be the new chief for the company instead of himself who had been working there for three more years than she had. In rage and in fury, James sabotaged Cameron’s  admits for the paper to make it seem that she wasn’t doing her best job, taking her off of the promotion list, and instead and without her slight knowledge, James became the new chief and not Cameron. His hate for women began to grow from then on, always being a believer that men rule women and nothing else.

While walking down the street to her apartment , Cameron was stopped by the deli shop man, who was good friends with her for many years.

“You don’t look so happy, Missy.”

“I’m not Robert.” Cameron sighed, setting down her box onto the counter, slumping down into a chair next to it. “My fiancé just fired me, and he called off the wedding.”

“That’s terrible,” his Scottish accent flew through his words.

“I know, but I don’t know what’s gotten into him lately and by lately I mean a few years, ever since we began dating. He’s just so angry.”

“Bad tuna?”

“What? No, Robert. Not bad tuna; I don’t let him eat tune.”

“That’s harsh.”

“Sorry,” Cameron stood up from the stool and placed the box back into her hands again. “I’m going to be in Paris for the next few weeks so I’ll see you later.”

“Have fun, Lass,” Robert smiled, slicing up pork as Cameron left the shop. The wind picked up and in an awkward moment the rain began to fall, leading Cameron to run so that she wouldn’t get wet. In her running stance, he ran into a lanky teenage boy was dressed in black, causing them both to fall over onto the wet sidewalk. The object that was in his hands flew out of reach, a few feet away.

“Ouch! I’m so sorry!” Cameron’s box’s objects were scattered across the walkway, littering the other people’s path as they walked by. She got up to help the boy to his feet but the police officers ran into the situation before Cameron got the chance.

“Come with us, punk,” one of them said.

“You can’t get away from us that easily!” The other yelled into his ear. The hood that covered his head fell down, revealing a scarred face, a bleeding wound, and a shaven head that was sprinkled with teal paint.

“What’s this?” Cameron asked the officers.

“This boy’s a murderer of the princess.”

“Excuse me? Do you have proof?”

“We have all the proof we need, ma’am. Now please let us do our job.” With a forceful hand, the boy’s neck was crooked downwards. Though a line of vision, his lips moved in words to Cameron.

Help me.

Without their knowledge, Cameron quickly cleaned up her mess made on the street and followed the officers to the station, where the boy was placed into captivity. Cameron threw her box to the side and asked to see the supposed criminal. The officer that was in charge of the kid let her through. As she entered the dirty, ratty cell, the kid’s eyes shot daggers and he ducked his head into his knees that were scrunched up on the bench.

“Listen, you don’t have to speak but it’s clear to me that you’re in a lot of trouble. You’re hurt, you’re being hunted and you’ve obviously been accused. I can’t say that I trust that you didn’t steal anything but—“

“I didn’t murder anyone!” The boy screamed, a wavering voice echoing in a French accent.

“Alright,” Cameron set her tone to soft. “So what did happen?”

“I came here to America on a trip—but why should I tell you?”

“I can help. I don’t know your situation but I know I can! You just have to trust me.”

“Trust isn’t something I’m accustomed to.”

“It’s something you never learned to do?” Cameron finished his line of thought. “I know. It doesn’t look like it, believe me but will you allow me to be of assistance and be that exception?”

His eyes filled with tears and his gangly voice cried, “I’m so scared.”

Cameron relocated herself to sit next to the boy and hugged his trembling body as tears poured out of his eyes. “I know.”

After a few minutes or so, the boy let go of Cameron and wiped his eyes with his black hoodie, “I came here on a trip with my Aunt from France. It was before we left that Princess Diana was in a car accident. I witnessed it myself—“

“Diana—is dead?” Cameron’s voice hollowed in shaking fear. “No…
“I stood there watching as the paramedics ran to rescue but it was too late by the time they reached the bodies; they were dead, all of them.  My aunt and I were supposed to leave that day but we called off the trip because of the death. Later that evening, she called me into the room and asked me if I plotted it. She accused me of murdering Diana and after that she went bonkers. She yelled at me, saying that I was a cursed child and that it was me; it was my fault. Diana was the most influential person to my aunt so I didn’t blame her for being upset. The next morning, I found out that she had called the police and told them of the accusation. I don’t know how but she found evidence that it was me and before I knew it was trapped inside a cell, similar to this one.”

“How are you here now?”

“I escaped from that prison, somehow and forged my way into this county. My aunt found out where I was and sent the police after me. They found where I was, and now they’ve got me locked up again.”


“Madrigal, Maddie for short.”

“Listen Maddie. Do you know what proof your Aunt had against you?”

“Absolutely. They told me on what charges and what proof.”

“What was it?”

“I had all of the plans of the ‘murder’ drawn out at my desk in the house.”

“But you didn’t draw them.”

“No, of course not.”

Cameron was told by the officer that it was time for her to depart but while giving Maddie a hug, she whispered into his ear, “I’ll set you free.”

Cameron left the station and headed home. Tossing her things aside, she heard a peculiar sound of a piece of plastic breaking. Searching through the box, she found a voice recorder with the side cracked. Pressing the ON button a strange noise came out of it; it began with a loud voice.:

“Madrigal Lupis, you’re under arrest for the account murder of Princess Diana.”

“What? On what grounds?”

“Proof, my boy.”

“Aunt Tabby, what are they talking about?! What’d you do?!”

“Be silent boy and may I might add that’s a wonderful painting?”

“Thank you.”

“I have the right to either remain silent or be loud. What proof?”

“Drawn out plans on the murder. We have it all, Madrigal.”

“You can’t be serious! It was all the Aunt!”

“Don’t lie boy! You’re the murderer! It’s been proven!”



The next day, hail began to fall as Cameron made her way to the station to bail Maddie out. After bailing, the news that she had was to shock the poor boy.

“What do you mean we’re going back to France!” Maddie yelled.

“Look I know it sounds dangerous but we need to see those plans if you want to get out of this mess.”

Though hesitant, the two headed for the airport and flew themselves to Paris, France where more police officers awaited their arrival. Maddie showed a fake Private Investigators badge to the gentlemen and they let them go through to the outside.

“You’re not a private—“

“Shh!” Maddie pressed his hand against Cameron’s mouth. “They can’t know that.”

The two made their way out of the airport where he was able to tell Cameron the deal.

“I forged my way out, and I can do the same in. Now pick up your phone.”

“What?” Cameron reached into her purse to pull out the phone that, unknowingly, was riniging.

“Hello?” She answered.

“Sweetheart, were are you?” James smacked his lips. “I need new stories and frankly, these men don’t do the best job.”

“You just don’t get it do you? I thought we were going to be over?”

“I thought so too  but c’mon, did you really think that little fight was going to end—“

“Yes James, I did think and I know. You know that I love to write about what my heart goes for but if a force tries to stop me then let it try, I’m going for it. I’m a woman, remember?”
“Yes, I remember. But you’re being irrational about this. You can’t accuse me of being a sexist if I decided to propose and marry you.”

“No, I can call you a sexist because you sabotaged my work just so you got the promotion! Because you thought a woman shouldn’t run a beaver dam company! Forget it James, I’ve got a new job, actually doing something.”

Cameron hung up first and shoved the phone back into her purse.

“Bad relationship?” Maddie asked.

“Tell me about it.”

The two made their way to the police station where the evidence would be stored. Maddie and Cameron made a plan to sneak into the back to look at the drawings. During the configuration, an interesting conversation arose.

“Maddie, is your aunt an artist?”

“Yeah, how’d you know?”

“No—nothing, really. Interesting thought.”

They entered the station and Maddie, now dressed in female clothing (belonging to Cameron), walked up to the front desk while Cameron, dressed in male clothing, made her way around the desk crawling down the stairs to the evidence room.

“Excuse me sir,” Maddie began. “Can I ask you a question?”

Meanwhile, Cameron shuffled though recent entries of evidence and found a bag marked with a ‘P’ and a ‘D’, for Princess Diana, the word  ‘evidence’ written afterwards. A different officer, put onto the field a few days ago, confronted her in suspicion.

“Excuse me miss, you shouldn’t be here.”

“Oh!” Cameron shoved the bag back into the pile. “This isn’t the bathroom!” With a swift motion, Cameron  ran up the stairs and grabbed Maddie’s wrist to lead him out of the station.

“That was too fast!”

“I know the truth,” Cameron began, slowing down the run. “It’s all the proof we need.”

“Alright, what is it?”

“Princess Diana wasn’t murdered, she died in that car accident on accident! Your aunt, as you said, was influenced by her causing her grieving mind to go wild, blaming it on the first person she saw, and completely denying that it was an accident. I had your recording device. When we bumped into each other in America, that’s when it fell among my other belongings. I listened to it and I heard one of the officers complimenting a painting, with your aunt replying. So if she’s an artist, she’d obviously sign her work with something that has to do with Tabby, or Tabitha in full.”

“Also spoken on the recording I suppose?” Maddie asked.

“Yes. After a quick glance at the plans I found back in the station, and literally that’s all it took, I found a very interesting thing: a signature written “TABITHA”, sneakily blended into the sketches but still visible to the close eye. Your aunt couldn’t possibly draw something without labeling it as her own. She’s not very clever.”

“It was my Aunt?”

“She didn’t kill Diana but she did frame you for it. We have all the proof we need.” Cameron smiled, hugging Maddie, him hugging her back.

And so, dear James. The mystery was solved with pure proof. Madrigal’s aunt was arrested for false accusation, and Madrigal himself was arrested for foregery, for less years at least. I flew back to America alone, to write this letter to you to explain that I forgive your incompetence and your rude behavior. I decided a very large thing for my future. I decided to become a private investigator, and take care of Maddie after prison. The ring will be shipped to your office; give it to someone who will be okay with your ‘gender issues’, and have a wonderful life of editing terrible writings that are sure to come your way. And if you’re wondering, a story on Princess Diana won’t be coming out; she’s dead, sadly. With all my love that I tried to give, Cameron Abigail Harrison.


Submitted: September 17, 2015

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