by Blake Pierce
She figured she’d make one more pass amid the revelers …
And then what?
If Audrey wasn’t anywhere near here, where might she be?
And how could London possibly hope to find her?
As she tried to consider her options, she was stopped by the sound of a familiar voice speaking loudly.
CHAPTER TWENTY FOUR
“I am a detective …” the man was saying in deliberately over-simplified English. “That means, uh, I solve mysteries … Catch criminals … A man died here yesterday …”
The confused-looking German woman he was speaking to shrugged and said, “Entschuldigung, ich verstehe dich nicht.”
Although the woman had just told him, “Sorry, I don’t understand you,” the man clearly wasn’t able to manage the translation.
He was nearly yelling, “Do you understand what I’m saying?”
Some members of the small crowd that had gathered around them looked quite amused, but a few looked annoyed.
London sighed.
“I guess I’d better help with that,” she told Sir Reggie.
She headed toward Bob Turner, who was for some reason still trying to describe his qualifications to the uncomprehending woman.
Stanley Tedrow was standing beside Turner, holding his notebook in his hand. London was sure that the would-be mystery author was just as inept with the local language as Bob was.
What kind of notes could he be taking? she wondered.
Just as London reached them, the woman said, “Warum sprichst du mit mir auf Englisch?”
When Bob just stared at her without replying, she shrugged and walked away. The small group of people who had been standing around and listening also dispersed.
“What did she say?” Mr. Tedrow asked Bob Turner.
“I couldn’t catch all of it,” Bob said, scratching his head. “But she says she doesn’t have any information.”
London couldn’t hide a giggle at Bob’s less-than-forthright reply. Of course he didn’t know what the woman had really said. But London had understood her final question perfectly.
“Why are you speaking to me in English?”
Bob gazed all around, as if looking for someone else to question.
London quickened her step toward him. The ship’s overconfident security man had obviously been wandering around for a while now, struggling to make himself understood as he carried out his idea of an investigation. She knew that his German was limited to a few touristy words and phrases, so how could he really hope to solve the mystery of Sigmund Forstmann’s death? Still, he seemed to be valiantly trying. And Bamberg was a very multilingual town, so it was even possible that he had run into some Germans who happened to speak English and actually tried to answer his questions.
As London approached, Bob turned and spotted her.
He said to Mr. Tedrow, “Hey, Stanley! Look who’s joining us.”
“Hi, London,” Mr. Tedrow said, barely looking up at her. He appeared completely absorbed by whatever he was scribbling in his notebook.
Bob said to London, “How’re you doing, missy?”
London cringed. She hated it when Bob called her “missy,” which he tended to do when he felt overconfident.
Then Bob scratched Sir Reggie under the chin.
“I’m sure glad you brought along Sir Reggie the wonder dog,” he said. “Stanley and I could use his help right now.”
He peered into Sir Reggie’s face and added, “So what do you say, pal? D’you feel riled and raring for the hunt? Yep, you’ve got that ferocious wild animal vibe about you, I can feel it. Practically frothing at the mouth, aren’t you? Come on, I could use a snout for crime like yours. Let’s go sniff ourselves out a killer.”
Apparently not interested in Bob’s invitation, Sir Reggie nestled back down into London’s arms. Meanwhile, Mr. Tedrow kept right on taking notes—although London couldn’t imagine why, at this particular moment.
London knew she’d better get right to the point.
“Bob, you’ve got to stop this,” she said.
“Stop what?”
“Whatever you’re doing. Running around questioning people. You could get yourself in serious trouble.”
“Trouble is my middle name, missy,” Bob scoffed.
“I’m serious, Bob. I just talked to a security guard who said he’d tried to stop you from asking so many questions.”
“So he did,” Bob said.
“He wasn’t kidding, Bob. And I think he might …”
London paused as she remembered how Oberhauser had reached for his holster.
How did she think he might react if Bob didn’t start minding his own business?
She knew that as a retired New York City police detective, Bob was able to handle a physical threat. But if the local security guard was armed …
But surely, she thought, he wouldn’t shoot anyone right out here in the open. Not with so many people around.
And yet …
She really didn’t know what Oberhauser might do. His behavior was inconsistent—and it scared her.
Not that Bob was exactly predictable either.
London knew that she needed to get Bob away from any possible encounter. Maybe she could cajole him into going back to the ship.
“Bob, have you found out anything at all?” she asked, feeling all but sure that the true answer was no.
“Maybe,” Bob said instead. “Just maybe.”
“What is it, then?” London asked.
Bob scratched his chin.
“I’m not ready to say just yet,” he said. “The idea is just starting to take shape in my mind.”
London doubted that Bob had a single useful idea in his head right now. But she felt a flash of hope as she realized she might just be able to get through to him.
“Well, then,” she said. “Maybe this is one of those times for … you know, a more cerebral approach. Surely all this activity is overstimulating your brain. Maybe you need to work in a more tranquil setting. The Amadeus Lounge, maybe. Or better yet, your own stateroom. Give yourself a chance to do some abstract reasoning, exercise some pure logic. What do you think?”
Bob scratched his chin for a moment, then spoke to Mr. Tedrow.
“What do you think, Stanley? You’re starting to understand my methods.”
Mr. Tedrow finally looked up from his notebook.
“I think maybe the girl is onto something,” he said to Bob.
London cringed again.
Girl! Missy!
It was all she could do not to tell them both to knock it off.
Another time, maybe.
But she was relieved when Tedrow kept on agreeing with her.
“And we could have a nice brunch while we’re at it,” he said to Bob. “Or maybe relax a little by the pool. I didn’t even know there was a pool on the boat until you got me out learning all about investigations. We’ve got to get some use out of the facilities. We are paying for them, after all.”
“It’s settled, then,” Bob said, nodding to both London and Mr. Tedrow. “I’ll head right back to the ship and put the full weight of my mighty noggin to the problem. I’ll be able to crack the case in an hour or so. Before those grand ceremonies get started, I’m sure.”
He patted Mr. Tedrow on the shoulder and added, “Then later you and me and maybe Sir Reggie here will come back here to par-TAY like the kids we are at heart. What do you say?”
“It sounds like a plan,” Mr. Tedrow said with an admiring grin.
London breathed a little easier as she watched the two men toddle away.
That’s one problem solved, she thought. At least for the time being.
She looked around the Maximiliensplatz, which was quite full of people now. As before, some were in costume, some in basic native dress, and others just wore their everyday clothes. She saw a large chicken and several other farm animals, which she didn’t think were from Hoffmann stories but were costumes she had seen for sale. She di
dn’t see Audrey Bolton anywhere.
London still hadn’t accomplished what she’d come here to do. And now it seemed less and less likely that she was going to succeed.
Worse, she was sure that some of the people in the crowd were staring at her.
She looked at Sir Reggie sadly.
“What do you think I should do now?” she asked the dog.
Sir Reggie let out a slight growl that seemed to ask, “What are you asking me for?”
London sighed and said, “I guess it’s up to me, huh? Well, we’d better head back to the ship and admit to Captain Hays and Detektiv Erlich that we’ve failed in our mission.”
Feeling rather depressed, she headed back toward the boat.
Then a movement in the crowd caught her eye.
A hearty-looking man clad in lederhosen was waving his arm energetically, trying to get her attention.
CHAPTER TWENTY FIVE
Who is that waving to me? London wondered.
In her anxiety about finding Audrey Bolton, she didn’t immediately recognize him. Then she realized that it was Helmut Preiss, the robust-looking brewer of the Hefeweisen that had so impressed both Bryce and her yesterday.
At least this was a friendly face. And since he was neither a co-worker nor a passenger, speaking with him should be free of complications. Surely she could take a minute to be friendly before returning to the ship.
She made her way toward Preiss, still carrying Sir Reggie.
“Guten tag, Herr Preiss,” she said.
“Guten tag.” Still speaking German, he added, “Do call me Helmut, please.”
“I will,” she replied in German. “You may call me London.”
Sir Reggie leaned forward and sniffed at the brewer, then gave a snort of apparent approval and settled down into London’s arms again.
Helmut told her, “I’m sorry for the terrible thing that has happened during your visit.”
“Yes, it … was terrible,” London replied.
Gazing at her with an expression of concern, he said, “I hear that you’ve fallen under some suspicion.”
“I’m afraid so.”
Word certainly gets around, London thought with dismay.
As she glanced around, she again got the distinct impression that people were staring at her.
She wondered how many people in Bamberg thought the worst of her.
“Well, I share no such suspicion,” Helmut said. “I think Detektiv Erlich and his team are being very unfair to you.”
London felt a surge of gratitude.
“Thank you for saying that,” she said.
“Nichts zu danken,” he said. London recognized the German phrase for “Don’t mention it.”
Helmut continued, “I have already talked to the detective about it, stating my opinion in no uncertain terms. Not that Erlich is likely to heed anything I say. Having Americans to blame is very convenient for him—politically, I mean.”
“So I gather,” London said.
Helmut’s expression darkened.
“It’s really quite infuriating,” he said in a voice tight with anger. “A man has been murdered by somebody who lives right here in Bamberg. And does anybody seem to care? No, they just try to shift the blame to Americans. Before long they will let the case go cold—that is their goal after all.”
He shook his head and added, “Poor Sigmund Forstmann. He deserved better.”
London was startled by his words.
“Excuse me for saying so,” she said, “but you’re the first person in Bamberg I’ve heard say anything really sympathetic about him.”
Helmut chuckled sadly.
“Yes, well—he didn’t make a lot of friends in this town. And I’ll be the first to admit that he could behave like a boor, and he definitely looked down upon us Bavarians and wrote some pretty terrible things about us in his Munich newspaper, the Sternenkurier, over the years. But …”
Helmut paused for a moment.
“But I liked him, and he liked me. In fact, he was a great champion of my brewery, Schutzkeller Brauen—and especially the quality of my Hefeweisen. For all the ill he said about Bambergers, he sang my praises far and wide every year after he came here. He appreciated my work like no one else did. Also, he was, like me, a student and scholar of the history of German beer. We used to talk at great length about it. I don’t know anybody else who has that kind of knowledge.”
In a voice choked with emotion, he added, “I will miss him.”
“I’m sorry for your loss,” London said.
“Danke schein,” Helmut said. “It just makes me angry that whoever killed him may never be brought to justice. I only wish …”
Helmut was interrupted by a flurry of phony money flying into his face. Katers Murr had walked right up to them and tossed wads of fake money at the brewer. The man’s voice that came from within the enormous cat headdress was broken up by laughter.
“Why are you so gloomy, Helmut, old fellow? This is supposed to be a happy day, after all! I know that I’m very happy.”
Helmut brushed a few fake bills aside and replied, “Yes, I suppose you would be, Rolf. No more bad reviews from Sigmund Forstmann.”
“Indeed,” the man inside the cat suit said. “But of course I’ll be sad about not ever getting the chance to ask him why he had it in for my beer in particular. Do you have any idea why he chose my beer to denounce so strongly?”
“I can’t imagine,” Helmut said.
From the note of sarcasm in Helmut’s voice, London guessed that the reason must be perfectly obvious—that Rolf Schilder’s beer was simply terrible.
“Oh well, I’ve got other reasons to be happy,” Schilder said, tossing more bills into the air. “I get to enjoy the glory of being Katers Murr, the King of the Hoffmann Fest, without the inconvenience of getting dunked in cheap lager! Sigmund Forstmann was kind enough to get dunked in my place. It’s too bad I’ll never get a chance to thank him.”
“Who knows?” Helmut said. “Maybe you’ll be seeing him sooner than you think.”
The giant cat drew back a bit.
“Why, Helmut, old friend—was that a threat?”
Helmut smiled a less-than-sincere smile.
“Not at all,” he said. “Why ever would you take it that way? But you’d better get back to work giving away all that money. I suspect you still don’t have enough votes to win this year’s award. You’ve got some serious bribing to do.”
Now Helmut’s sarcasm was quite overt. London remembered being told a little while ago that the votes were already being counted, if they hadn’t been counted already. And judging from everything she’d heard, Schilder’s beer didn’t stand a chance of winning any awards on its own merits—and certainly not with the help of useless money.
The cat glared at Helmut for a moment, then turned away and danced away through the crowd, calling out to his followers and throwing money in all directions.
London said to Helmut cautiously, “He seems so happy about Herr Forstmann’s death. Do you think it’s possible …?”
“That he might be a viable suspect?” Helmut said with a laugh. “Oh, hardly think so. He’s nothing more than a cowardly, untalented großmaul—the English word is ‘loudmouth,’ I believe. Don’t give him a second thought.”
London thought for a moment, then said, “Helmut, have you seen a tall woman with wild curly hair? An American woman, not from Bamberg. She kind of stands out in a crowd.”
“I can’t say I have,” Helmut said. “Is she the one Detektiv Erlich told me about—the woman he imagines to be your accomplice?”
“I’m afraid so,” London said. “And he wants to speak with her. I’m trying to find her.”
“If you’ll tell me how to contact you, I’ll let you know if I happen to see her.”
Then with a sly wink, he added, “Before I say anything about her to Detektiv Erlich, if you know what I mean.”
London couldn’t help smiling at his playfully conspiratorial tone.
Given everything she was dealing with, she was glad to have an ally right here in Bamberg. She took out a business card with her cell phone number and gave it to him.
Helmut looked at the card, then at London, then spoke rather shyly.
“Before you go, I was wondering … Would you like to join me for the awards ceremony? It’ll be two hours from now, and there will be a tasty buffet, to say nothing of excellent beer.”
London blushed as she realized …
He’s asking me for a date.
She certainly felt flattered. With his cheerful eyes and ruddy complexion, Helmut wasn’t at all bad-looking—although London couldn’t help thinking that the lederhosen and feathered Alpine hat looked a little silly.
But of course, she immediately thought about Bryce and the thwarted kiss, and especially what they had said to each other when they returned to the ship.
“I hope … sometime soon …” Bryce had begun.
“I hope so too,” London had replied.
The last thing she was interested in right now was a date with a reasonably handsome German she barely knew. And yet, it didn’t look as though the Nachtmusik would set sail soon. And the idea of being here for the awards ceremony really appealed to her.
“Um, thanks for the invitation, but …” she began.
“But?” Helmut said.
“Could I … bring a date?” she asked with a sheepish smile.
Helmut let out a good-natured chuckle.
“A date? Well, yes, of course!”
London was glad that he wasn’t taking her gentle rebuff at all badly.
“Great,” London said. “We’ll see you then.”
As London and Sir Reggie wended their way back through the crowd, London found herself wondering—how would she have reacted to Helmut’s invitation if Bryce weren’t in the picture?
She doubted that she would have accepted. Carrying on flirtations with locals was more Elsie’s style than hers. She preferred to keep her interactions on shore as uncomplicated as possible.
As she again headed for the ship, she almost ran into a person wearing a giant chicken costume, complete with a beaked headdress and a yellow body with stubby wings and cartoonish bird feet.
