Crime (and Lager) (A European Voyage Cozy Mystery—Book 3)

by Blake Pierce

  “Who is it?”

  “It’s London Rose. I’m just checking in to see how you’re doing.”

  “Leave me alone.”

  “Are you all right?”

  “Just leave me alone, I said.”

  Audrey sounded as though she might be crying. London was worried now. Of course she had a master keycard that would open the door in case of an emergency. But was this an emergency? Should she take the liberty of letting herself into the stateroom?

  “I just want to make sure you’re OK,” London said.

  “I’m OK,” Audrey replied, rather sharply.

  “Are you sure?”

  “Of course I’m sure! For Pete’s sake, Ms. Rose, when are you going to learn to mind your own business?”

  London felt stung now. But again she reminded herself of her motto.

  “The customer is always the customer.”

  And if someone in London’s charge wanted to be left alone, she had no choice but to comply.

  “OK, then,” she said. “Call me if you need anything.”

  London took the stairs down to the Allegro deck. She didn’t see another soul as she walked the rest of the way to her own stateroom.

  When she went inside, Sir Reggie came running up to her and jumped up into her arms. She plopped herself down on the bed with her dog in her lap.

  Reggie immediately started sniffing the damp part of her blouse.

  “Like that smell, do you?” London said.

  As if in reply, Sir Reggie licked the spot. London gently thumped his nose.

  “Stop that. Beer is not for dogs.”

  Reggie whined and crouched in her lap. London sat there for a moment, relishing the peace and quiet after the noisy fiasco she’d just been through. She thought about calling Amy to check in with her, but decided not to. Amy would probably just find some new way to put London out of sorts.

  Anyway, she’s probably in town just like everybody else, she figured.

  If so, London could hardly blame her.

  The words Bryce had said when they’d parted a few minutes ago were still running through her mind.

  “I really hope you’ll decide join me. It would make things much more fun.”

  She also remembered his flirtatious smile.

  London thought it over as she scratched Sir Reggie’s head.

  It’s really pretty silly for me to stay here.

  After all, there seemed to be absolutely nothing for her to do aboard the Nachtmusik except maybe sit right here feeling sorry for herself.

  She set Sir Reggie down on the floor and headed to the closet. It would feel good to get out of her uniform and put on regular clothes again. She took out one of her basic black mixable pieces, a pair of swingy gaucho pants. She chose a colorful blouse, dangly earrings, and a pair of cute flat-heeled shoes, and went to the bathroom to wash up and change.

  When London came out of the bathroom, she found Sir Reggie sitting right next to the room door with his leash in his mouth.

  “Sorry, Reggie,” she said. “I’m—”

  She stopped herself before she said she was going out on a date.

  This isn’t a date, she told herself.

  There surely wasn’t much chance of anything romantic happening in the midst of all that revelry. Which she figured was just as well. Surely it was best to stick to her vow to keep things between herself and Bryce Yeaton perfectly professional.

  “Come on then, let’s go,” she told Sir Reggie.

  She clipped the leash on Sir Reggie’s collar, and they headed out to find out what adventures might be in store for them.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  “This is not going to be a date,” London said to Sir Reggie as they wended their way through the streets of Bamberg toward the raucous sounds of the Hoffmann Fest in full swing.

  Sir Reggie let out a yap that actually sounded sarcastic, as if he were saying, “Yeah, right.”

  London sighed. Of course, she’d been trying to convince herself, not Sir Reggie.

  Even my own dog doesn’t believe me, she thought.

  And the truth was, London more than half wished it did turn out to be a date, unprofessional though that might be. The thought of spending the rest of her time in Bamberg with Bryce certainly put a renewed spring in her step. Reggie had to trot especially fast just to keep up with her.

  Soon they arrived at the edge of the broad Maximiliensplatz, which was much more crowded than it had been earlier—and much noisier. London looked out over the sea of people with mild dismay. Many of them were still in costume, but some had reverted to more ordinary clothes.

  How am I ever going to find Bryce in this crowd? she wondered.

  If only she’d accepted his invitation from the start, they could have arranged to meet in a particular spot—the Maximilian Fountain, perhaps.

  “Do you think you can find Bryce, pal?” she said to Sir Reggie. “Can you catch his scent, maybe?”

  Sir Reggie let out a doubtful growl.

  London said, “I guess that’s too much expect even from a crack canine detective like you. Come on, let’s start looking.”

  She picked up Sir Reggie to avoid having him trampled by the many moving feet, some of which were already quite unsteady. As soon as they entered the crowd, she bumped into a tall man who made an unexpected turn. Looking upward, she saw a familiar face. It was the security man who had intervened during her rant at the obnoxious man who had splashed both Audrey and her with beer.

  London felt herself blush with embarrassment.

  “Guten Tag, mein herr,” she said.

  The tall young man smiled and tipped his cap.

  “Guten Tag, fräulein,” he replied.

  London sputtered a bit as she started to explain herself in German.

  “I owe you an apology, sir. You see, I work as Social Director aboard the tour boat that arrived this morning, and that man had just been terribly rude to one of my tourists, and—”

  The man laughed as he interrupted.

  “No need to apologize, miss. You are not in the least to blame, nor the first to tangle with that man. He has been disturbing people ever since he showed up. He does this every year, I am sorry to say. And every year I wish I could …”

  The guard paused a moment, looking very serious now.

  “Well, I wish I could have him arrested, at the very least. But I’m under strict orders not to antagonize him. You see, he’s a rather influential gentleman from Munich, and our mayor and town councilors are afraid it would cause a bit of a scandal.”

  Now London laughed.

  “He doesn’t strike me as much of a gentleman,” she remarked.

  “No, I suppose he doesn’t. And I am sure he doesn’t behave that way in his home city. But he looks down on us Bambergers, thinks we’re ignorant provincials, and that he is slumming just to spend time here. I suppose he gets drunk and disagreeable to show his contempt for us.”

  He shook his head and frowned.

  “It really makes me angry,” he added. “I wish I could do something to teach him a lesson. But the choice is not mine to make.”

  The guard offered London his hand.

  “My name, by the way, is Willy Oberhauser,”

  “Mine is London Rose,” London said, shaking his hand.

  “You must introduce me to your little friend,” Herr Oberhauser said, nodding at the dog.

  “Oh, yes,” London said. “This is Sir Reggie.”

  Herr Oberhauser’s smile broadened as Sir Reggie let out a yap at the sound of his name.

  “We’re both pleased to meet you,” London said to the guard.

  “The pleasure is all mine. Enjoy the rest of your visit.”

  Herr Oberhauser headed back into the crowd, chatting with people he knew.

  Still holding Sir Reggie, London moved on looking for Bryce. As she wove through the gathering crowd, she recognized a few familiar faces from the Nachtmusik.

  The enigmatic and aloof Cyrus Bannister was
making his way along, observing all that he saw with typically cool self-possession.

  The same wasn’t true for Kirby Oswinkle, who was weaving along a bit unsteadily, clutching an enormous half-full beer stein.

  London stifled a sigh. Kirby was obnoxious under the best of circumstances.

  Will he be worse after a few beers? she wondered.

  Her mind boggled at the thought of most of their one hundred passengers ashore drinking their fill. They wouldn’t even have to spend much. Most of the beer vendors were offering free samples in small paper cups.

  How much trouble was London going to have corralling them when it came time to set sail later on? And what shape would they be in tomorrow morning?

  She hoped that at least some of them would also be eating the enticing snacks the vendors were also offering. She accepted a huge brezen herself, a big fresh pretzel that was deliciously crunchy and salty.

  Sir Reggie whined, and she broke off a small piece for him.

  When she spotted Elsie, her bartender friend waved and nodded her head to indicate the handsome young man at her side. London knew that the multilingual Elsie made friends easily and often managed to find a local date wherever the ship docked. With a laugh, Elsie slipped her hand through the man’s arm, and they wandered happily away into the crowd.

  London was sure that tomorrow morning Elsie would have the bar in the Amadeus Lounge well supplied with virgin Bloody Marys and other supposedly therapeutic cocktails.

  A flash of light on mirrored glasses drew London’s attention to two men sitting at a table off at the edge of the festivities. The men were Bob Turner and Stanley Tedrow. It looked as though the security man and the aspiring author had just shifted their conversation from the ship to the shore as they kept discussing how to solve mysteries. Now they both had steins of beer on their table, and the conversation seemed to be more animated. London had to wonder just what would go into Tedrow’s book now.

  “Everybody seems to be having a good time,” she told Sir Reggie. “But I still can’t find who I’m looking for.”

  Sir Reggie woofed in agreement.

  She spotted Walter and Agnes Shick sitting at another little table. She was glad to see the elderly couple out for the festival, but to London’s surprise, seemingly unrelated words ran through her mind.

  “There’s so much going on around here that you don’t know about.”

  For a moment London wondered why she had connected Amy’s petulant claim with one of her favorite couples from the ship. Then her heart sank as she realized that Amy could have been taunting her with a secret about these very people. Had Amy found out about the Shicks being in witness protection for decades? Would she make some kind of trouble for them?

  But then London’s thoughts were interrupted by another sight.

  Audrey Bolton was there in the crowd, wearing a nice new dress. At first glance, London was glad to see that Audrey had freshened up and left her room to join the party.

  Then she saw that Audrey’s expression was quite angry.

  The gangly woman seemed to be speaking in a scolding manner while jabbing her finger into someone’s face.

  Who was Audrey angry with this time?

  London could only see that it was a man. As she moved closer, she saw that he was holding a mug of beer in his hand.

  Oh no! London gasped as she hastened toward them.

  It was the same annoying man who had splashed beer onto her and London—the man that Willy Oberhauser had called “a rather influential gentleman from Munich.”

  Was the earlier crisis about to get worse?

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  Hoping to prevent another ugly scene, London pushed her way through the crowd toward Audrey.

  But a group of revelers momentary blocked her way and obscured her view. By the time she could see where she was going again, the man from Munich was nowhere to be seen.

  Audrey was standing there with a self-satisfied expression.

  “Is everything OK?” London asked anxiously.

  “Oh, everything’s just fine!” Audrey said with an uncharacteristically happy smile.

  “Was that man bothering you again? Where did he go?”

  “He just faded off into the crowd,” Audrey replied with a chuckle. “And I’m sure he won’t try to bother me again. In fact, I don’t think he’ll be rude to anyone from now on.”

  Without another word, Audrey turned away and stalked toward one of the stalls.

  London stood there watching her go, wondering what the woman might have said to the obnoxious gentleman,

  “At least the crisis seemed to be averted,” she told Sir Reggie. “But do you suppose that Bryce has already left?”

  Or gone off somewhere with someone else? she added silently.

  In response, Sir Reggie let out a yap. He scrambled against her shoulder, staring off at something behind her and wagging his tail.

  London turned around and felt her breath quicken. Her dog had spotted the man she was looking for.

  Bryce Yeaton was sitting on the edge of the makeshift curtained stage that had been mounted at the end of the square. His arms were crossed, and he was watching the human traffic with a look of amused pleasure.

  London made her way over to him, and his smile broadened when he saw her.

  “Well, hello, there!” he said. “I was hoping you’d change your mind.”

  “I decided I just couldn’t miss it,” London said. She hoped that the warmth she felt in her cheeks wasn’t a visible blush.

  Pointing to the curtain, she asked, “Is there going to be some kind of performance here later on?”

  Bryce let out a peal of hearty laughter.

  “Well, in a manner of speaking,” he said. “It’s going to be the grand finale of the day. I’ve read about what’s supposed to happen. It’s pretty crazy.”

  “What’s going to happen?” London asked.

  Bryce tugged on the curtain.

  “I don’t suppose anyone will object if we step back there to have a peek for ourselves,” he said.

  London put Sir Reggie down on the stage and she and Bryce climbed up on it too. Bryce parted the curtain, and they stepped behind it. London gasped at what she saw—and what she smelled.

  “What on earth!” she said.

  In the middle of the stage was a staggeringly huge wooden barrel, with a small flight of stairs leading up one side to the top. An odd-looking chair was mounted over of the barrel.

  “Is that smell what I think it is?” London asked.

  “It sure is. That barrel is entirely full of beer.”

  “But who’s going to drink it?”

  “Nobody—I hope. But somebody’s going to get a good taste of it, that’s for sure.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  Bryce grinned as he explained.

  “At the beginning of every Hoffmann Fest, all of the beer vendors draw lots. The winner—or maybe I should say the loser—is made to wear a cat costume, and is declared to be Katers Murr, ‘Tomcat Murr.’ The tomcat is a comical character from a novel by E.T.A. Hoffmann. Tomcat Murr is enthroned in that chair, but it’s hinged and he gets a ritual dunking in the barrel of beer. Tomorrow, he gets to come back in a dry royal robe and reign over all of the continuing festivities.”

  “Wow,” London said, trying to imagine the scene. “But isn’t that kind of a waste of good beer?”

  “Don’t worry, it’s not good beer—at least not according to the refined tastes of Bambergers. It’s just cheap commercial German lager, all kinds of brands just dumped in together. It’s sort Bamberg’s way of showing their scorn for lagers and any other kinds of beer that aren’t made right here in town.”

  “When is this supposed to happen?” London asked.

  “Later this evening. Hopefully we’ll have time to catch it before we set sail. Have you had dinner yet?”

  “No.”

  “Me neither. Let’s get a sandwich and some brew.”

  “Yes,�
� London said with a big smile. “Let’s do that.”

  It had just hit her that she was having a good time. The festival was more interesting than she had expected it to be, but her smile was definitely for the man she was with.

  As they got down from the stage, she took the hand he offered her—not because she actually needed the help but because she welcomed his humorous display of gallantry.

  London and Bryce headed toward the stalls at one edge of the square. At a food vendor, they stopped and each ordered a Fischbrötchen sandwich. They set their sandwiches down on a free table and put Sir Reggie in one of the chairs.

  Bryce gave the little terrier one of his kitchen-made dog treats, then headed off to a beer stall. He soon came back with beer in two large glasses shaped rather like tulips, wider at the top than at the base, and narrow in the middle.

  “I think you’re going to like this,” Bryce said.

  London lifted the glass to take a sip.

  “Hey, not so fast!” Bryce said with a laugh. “First savor the bouquet!”

  The bouquet? London wondered.

  That was a word she’d always heard in reference to wine, not beer. Of course, she knew better than to be surprised that Bryce was something of a beer connoisseur.

  She held the foamy head near her nose and breathed in the enchanting aroma.

  “Oh, my,” she said. “I don’t think I’ve ever had beer that smells like this.”

  “I’m not surprised,” Bryce said. “Not unless you’re familiar with Hefeweizen—served here in its own specially shaped glass. Can you describe the smell for me?”

  “It’s very rich,” London said, sniffing the beer again. “Almost warm, somehow.”

  “You know German, right?”

  “Pretty well.”

  “So what does the word Hefeweizen mean?”

  London was rather amused by the question.

  Bryce is quizzing me, she thought.

  “Well, hefe means yeast and weizen means wheat,” she said.

  Then something clicked in her mind, and she was able to identify the smell.

  “Of course!” she said. “It smells yeasty—much more so than beers I’m used to.”

  Bryce nodded, obviously enjoying himself as he introduced London to this new taste experience.