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

by Blake Pierce

  “Right. That explains why it looks white and foggy. And it’s made from different ingredients than you’re used to—mostly unfiltered, fermented wheat, and also some barley. Now go ahead and try it.”

  London took a taste of the foamy head. She found that the beer was every bit as delicious as it smelled—rich and full with an interesting texture and an ever-so-slight and pleasing touch of bitterness.

  “It’s delicious,” she said.

  “I’m not surprised,” Bryce said.

  He took a sip himself, and his face lit up with surprise.

  “Oh, my!” he said.

  “Is something wrong?”

  “Anything but!” Bryce said. “It’s just that …”

  He took another sip and said, “We’ve got to go have a chat with this vendor.”

  London picked up Sir Reggie and followed Bryce over to the stall where he’d purchased the beer. The sign above the stall read Schutzkeller Brauen—“Storm Cellar Brew.” A hearty-looking man wearing lederhosen stood behind the counter.

  Bryce set his beer glass on the counter spoke to the vendor in German.

  “Sir, this is the most unusual Hefeweizen I’ve ever tasted.”

  The man smiled and replied, “It is to your liking, I hope.”

  “Oh, yes. But you’ve really got to tell me just how you achieved this unique taste.”

  The German wagged his finger at Bryce impishly.

  “Ah, ah, ah! Surely you know that is a secret! I cannot tell you that!”

  “Oh, come now, good sir,” Bryce said, wagging his own finger at him. “You’re not being fair! We’re just two visiting foreigners who will be leaving Bamberg this very afternoon. Who would we ever tell? Your secret is safe with us.”

  The beer vendor glanced back and forth, then leaned toward Bryce and London and whispered.

  “It is the hops.”

  “Hops?” Bryce asked.

  “Taste it again.”

  Bryce did so, and a light seemed to come on in his eyes.

  “Of course!” he said. “Hefeweizen is normally made with few if any hops. You’ve blended more hops with the fermented wheat. And maybe some extra barley as well. It produces more carbonation, and also a unique bitter-mellow sort of flavor.”

  “You are a man of discerning taste. I am glad it meets your approval. My name, by the way, is Helmut Preiss. My family has owned the Schutzkeller Brauen for four generations.”

  Bryce shook hands with him and introduced himself and London and Sir Reggie.

  Bryce took another sip of the beer.

  “There’s something else unique about this beer,” he said. “I can’t quite put my finger on it.”

  “Surely you don’t expect me to tell you my whole recipe,” Preiss said with a smile.

  “Fair enough,” Bryce said to him. “In any case, I imagine your brewery has won first prize many years at the Hoffmann Fest.”

  “I am proud to say that is true,” Herr Preiss said. “And I have hopes of winning the gold medal again this year.”

  “I’m sure you will,” Bryce said. “But tell me—does anybody know what unfortunate brewer is going to be this year’s dunked Katers Murr?”

  Herr Preiss laughed gleefully.

  “Not me, I am relieved to say! The lots have been drawn, and that dubious honor has gone to another brewer. We can only hope he is very thirsty!”

  As other customers crowded around his stall, Herr Preiss added, “But I must get back to business. Eat and drink hearty.”

  Back at their table, Bryce gave Sir Reggie another dog treat, and London and Bryce sipped more of the beer. They began to eat their Fischbrötchens, a type of sandwich that was common at food stands. Though hardly a gourmet food, it was still delicious—a slab of grilled mackerel on a bun with a tart, tangy mayonnaise-based sauce flavored with pickles, onions, and horseradish.

  And maybe a little curry, London thought.

  The sandwich and the beer went perfectly together.

  As London looked at the man sitting across the table from her, a thought crossed her mind

  Maybe that’s not all that’s perfect together.

  *

  After they finished eating, London and Bryce took a tour of the beer vendors, sampling just a small cup of beer at each stall. The lagers ranged from light, crystal-clear pilsners to darker, heavier bock beers with their toasty, ever-so-slight hint of sweetness. There were also various types of Weißbier—“white beer” made from wheat—although none of the brands were nearly as delicious as the Hefeweizen they’d first tasted.

  Although the samples were seldom more than a good mouthful, London kept reminding herself not to overdo it. She was already feeling a little lightheaded and would have to pay attention to the passengers later tonight when the Nachtmusik set sail again.

  London and Bryce saw more familiar faces as they made their circuit. The captain, who appeared to be drinking something non-alcoholic, seemed nevertheless to be quite jovial, seated as he was with four pretty, dirndl-clad young women. The staff and crew seemed to be maintaining a fair degree of sobriety, which could not be said for a good many of the passengers.

  London reminded herself that Bryce was the ship’s medic as well as its chef.

  “You might have to deal with a lot of headaches pretty soon,” London said.

  “Don’t worry,” Bryce laughed. “The infirmary is well-stocked with aspirin. And I imagine my own recipe for treating hangovers is going to be quite popular.”

  Bryce then cocked his ear.

  “Listen,” he said. “Isn’t that sound familiar?”

  London listened over the rumble of the crowd.

  “Oh, my!” she said. “I do think I recognize that voice.”

  She and Bryce and Reggie made their way toward the music. Sure enough, they found Letitia Hartzer singing along with a lederhozen-clad accordionist. The song was “Lili Marlene,” a German love song that became popular all over the world during World War II, sung in those days with equal enthusiasm by Allied and Axis troops alike.

  Gus and Honey Jarrett were also here, clad in their faux-traditional costumes and dancing to the music. A crowded circle of local people were watching and listening and singing along with delight.

  When “Lili Marlene” came to an end, the audience offered mugs of free beer to Letitia and the Jarretts to ply them to sing and dance some more. The three tourists downed their beers a bit more quickly than they probably should have.

  “Oh, dear,” London said. “They’re not going to be sober for long.”

  “I’m afraid it’s too late to worry about that,” Bryce laughed.

  Letitia and the accordionist launched into another song, this time in English—“We’ll Meet Again,” another World War II favorite made famous by the British singer Vera Lynn. Some people in the audience knew those lyrics in English, and they sang along while Gus and Honey started dancing again.

  As they walked on, London kept an eye out for Emil. But she soon figured that her moody colleague had skipped the festival altogether. She didn’t see any sign of Amy anywhere either. The truth was, London didn’t miss either of him.

  She and Bryce and Reggie eventually came to a tiny puppet theater, where a marionette performance was in progress in front of an audience of entranced and delighted children.

  London explained to Bryce, “This is a performance of Kasperltheater, a genre of puppet theater in the German-speaking world. See that character with the big grin and the blue hat and the long nose? That’s Kasper, and he’s always the hero in Kasperltheater.”

  A number of stock Kasperltheater characters paraded through the story—Kasper’s wife Gretel, a policeman, a robber, a grandmother, and other colorful personages.

  In this particular story, an evil witch has turned Kasper’s friend Seppel into a chicken. With the help of a good wizard, Kasper puts things right again and is rewarded by the king for his resourcefulness and bravery, while the witch winds up getting eaten by a crocodile. After thi
s happy, triumphant ending, London and Bryce continued on their way.

  Activity in the Maximiliensplatz only got more boisterous as evening started to fall and the time grew nearer for the ritual dunking of Katers Murr.

  Putting his hand lightly on her shoulder Bryce asked, “Tell me the truth, London. Do you really want to spend the rest of our time in Bamberg waiting for some unlucky brewer to get dunked in a huge vat of cheap beer?”

  London felt her whole body grow warm as she looked into his smiling gray eyes. Bryce was suggesting that they get away from the crowd, and right now that sounded good to her.

  “I’d just as soon miss it, if that’s all right with you,” she said, smiling as well.

  She was sure she must be blushing now, but it didn’t matter anymore.

  “What do you say we take a little walk, then?” he said.

  “I’d like that.”

  London had a destination in mind as they left the square and began wending through the quaint streets of Bamberg. She looked down at Sir Reggie and wanted to say to him, “It looks like this is turning out to be a date after all.”

  After the din of the festival, the relative quiet was a welcome change. London and Bryce said very little as they walked along, but London realized she was feeling a little giddy—and probably not just from the beer she’d been drinking.

  When he took her hand it felt perfectly comfortable, just as she had felt when they’d danced together days ago back in Vienna.

  It was getting dark when the two of them arrived at Schönleinsplatz, a picturesque square that was now all but vacant due to the revels over at the Maximiliensplatz. London and Bryce made their way to a circular fountain partly surrounded by hedges and park benches, where they sat down together. Sir Reggie lay down at London’s feet, making himself inconspicuous for once.

  It was only when Bryce began to put his arm around her that London’s reservations kicked in and she drew back a little.

  “I don’t know about this, Bryce,” she said.

  “I know how you feel, but …”

  He paused for a moment.

  “What’s there to know?” he asked.

  London smiled and said, “Good question.”

  Their lips were about to meet when London’s phone buzzed.

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  When the phone buzzed, London and Bryce leaned their foreheads together instead of their lips.

  “You’re going to answer that, aren’t you?” he said with a note of wry disappointment.

  “Of course I am,” London replied with a sigh.

  They both laughed and drew apart. Their anticipated first kiss wasn’t going to happen. At least, not right then.

  When she took the call, London wasn’t surprised that it was Amy who had interrupted her romantic moment.

  The concierge spoke briskly. “I take it you’re rounding up the passengers by now.”

  London glanced at her watch.

  “It might be a little early for that,” she said.

  “I wouldn’t be too sure,” Amy said firmly. “You know we have to be absolutely certain that everybody is back on the boat before we can leave.”

  London stifled a sigh. Of course Amy was being fussy. But maybe she had a point.

  Things are pretty crazy over at the Maximiliensplatz, London reminded herself. Maybe she should start encouraging passengers and crew to head back to the boat.

  Amy was still talking. “I’m hard at work here checking people in. I can’t come out there and get them back myself.”

  “I’ll get on it,” London said.

  “I don’t hear a lot of noise,” Amy said. “Are you all right?”

  “Of course I am,” London said.

  “Aren’t the festivities in full swing?”

  “Yes, they are.”

  “Then why are things so quiet? Where are you exactly?”

  London felt a twinge of annoyance.

  Why don’t you just mind your business? she wanted to say.

  But she resisted the temptation.

  “I’m at the Schönleinsplatz,” she said instead.

  “The Schönleinsplatz? What’s going on there?”

  “Nothing, really.” London had to suppress a laugh.

  At least nothing’s going on now, she thought.

  “Who are you there with?”

  London cringed at Amy’s meddlesome tone. Was it possible that she had some idea of what might be happening between her and Bryce? Was that why Amy was calling her before she really needed to?

  London decided to just ignore the question.

  “I’ll head back over to the Maximiliensplatz,” she said. “I’ll check on our passengers.”

  She ended the call.

  “I take it that was Amy,” Bryce said.

  “It was.”

  “And I take it that it’s time to get back to work.”

  “That’s right.”

  “Well, when duty calls …”

  They got up from the bench and left the quiet plaza, with Sir Reggie trotting along beside them. As they walked through the streets of Bamberg back to the main festivities, they held hands again.

  London felt warm and happy with this new stage of their relationship. True, things hadn’t quite ended the way both she and Bryce had expected. But something had definitely changed between them.

  Maybe it’s best not to rush things, she thought.

  As they neared their destination, they wordlessly stopped holding hands. London didn’t feel ready to go public with whatever was developing between them, and she was relieved that Bryce apparently didn’t either.

  When they got back to the Maximiliensplatz, London picked up Sir Reggie again to keep him safe from the swarm of human feet. The square was more crowded and boisterous than before.

  The people were all gathering in the vicinity of the stage. London realized that the dunking of Katers Murr must be coming up soon. Surely everybody would return to the ship soon after that happened. She would just have to make sure there were no stragglers that could delay their departure.

  London and Bryce and Reggie squeezed among the throng, reminding any of the Nachtmusik’s passengers and crew they met to return to the ship soon, and to spread the word to anybody else they saw. There didn’t seem to be many of them still out, and the ones they spoke with were agreeable.

  When they reached the far side of the plaza, London paused in her steps with surprise at the music playing there. As before, they heard an accordion, a familiar female singer, and a chorus of tipsy voices. But the song was not at all what she’d expected—although the words were certainly familiar.

  Oh, give me a home where the buffalo roam,

  Where the deer and the antelope play …

  “They’re singing ‘Home on the Range,’” she said to Bryce.

  “I thought I recognized it,” her Australian companion said.

  They pushed the rest of the way to where Letitia and the accordionist were still performing. Instead of dancing, Gus and Honey Jarrett were sitting together at one of the tables.

  Honey was singing almost as loudly as Letitia—and at the same time, tears were running down her face. Also singing and weeping a little himself, Gus held Honey’s hand and kept passing her tissues.

  Many of the German listeners were singing along in accented English.

  London heard a familiar male voice.

  “Tell me, Sir Reggie—what do you think of the performance?”

  London turned and saw the dark-clad Cyrus Bannister, who was standing with his arms crossed and taking in the performance with his usual icy detachment. Sir Reggie growled a little, as if in response to Cyrus’s question.

  Cyrus gave Reggie one of the special treats that he and many other passengers were carrying around and looked at London critically.

  “Dogs have very sensitive ears. Sir Reggie shouldn’t have to suffer through this.”

  “But what’s going on?” Bryce asked.

  “Honey got homesick,”
Cyrus explained. “So she requested that Letitia and this so-called musician play ‘Home on the Range.’ She’s from Kansas, you see. And ‘Home on the Range’ is Kansas’s state song.”

  Now London noticed that Cyrus was slurring his words just a little. Even he wasn’t entirely sober, but at least he was still in pretty good control of his faculties.

  Then Cyrus added in a slightly tipsy but authoritative tone, “Although ‘Home on the Range’ was written during the 1870s, it didn’t become the Kansas state song until 1947. It seems to have considerable emotional resonance for native Kansans. Honey got very sentimental about hearing it.”

  “I can see that,” London said, as Honey’s blubbering nearly overcame her attempt to sing.

  Cyrus said, “There are six verses, each with a chorus, and they’re just getting started. They could go on for another few minutes.”

  London stood there for a moment, wondering just what to do. Surely the song would end before Letitia, Honey, and Gus absolutely had to return to the ship. But somehow, she couldn’t bring herself to interrupt the performance. And yet she couldn’t stand around waiting for the song to end when there were other passengers to notify.

  “Maybe we should split up,” she told Bryce. “A lot of our passengers are out here and we really do have to get them back to the ship.”

  “Okay,” he said. “You can work on this bunch. I’ll go around them and notify any I find over that way.”

  “Thanks,” she said.

  “A temporary separation,” he commented with a grin. “Just for the sake of efficiency.”

  With a light squeeze of her arm, Bryce stepped away and disappeared into the crowd.

  As London stood waiting for a break in the performance, Cyrus turned to her and spoke in an uncharacteristically helpful manner.

  “I assume it’s getting toward time to head back to the ship. Don’t worry about these three, I’ll make sure they get aboard with time to spare.”

  London thanked him, then she and Sir Reggie continued on their way. Bob and Mr. Tedrow were still sitting at their table discussing the secrets of detective work. Although they’d obviously had quite a bit to drink, they weren’t disagreeable about being told it was getting toward time to leave, and seemed ready to wrap up their conversation.