Death (and Apple Strudel) (A European Voyage Cozy Mystery—Book 2)

by Blake Pierce

  “Uh, likewise.”

  Trying to conceal her amusement, London said, “Is there anything else we can do for you, Mr. Oswinkle?”

  “No, no, everything’s … just fine for now.”

  “Well, be sure to let us know if you need anything,” London added.

  “I’ll do that.”

  When she and Archie left the room and the door closed behind them, London couldn’t help laughing.

  “You handled that in a really interesting way, Archie,” she said.

  “I was just presenting him with the facts,” Archie told her. “I’ve found that a little scientific information can go a long way when it comes to dealing with really stubborn problems—and stubborn passengers. They tend to listen to reason sooner or later. I could have gone on like that for another fifteen minutes or so.”

  “I’m glad you didn’t have to,” London said.

  “Me too. I even bore myself sometimes.” Then he added with an innocent expression, “But it is often effective.”

  London suddenly noticed that Sir Reggie wasn’t trotting along with her.

  “Where did Sir Reggie go?” she said.

  Archie chuckled.

  “My guess is he got tired of listening to me talk and took off on his own. Can you blame him?”

  “Well, no, it’s just that …”

  Her voice faded.

  It’s just that what? she asked herself.

  “I wouldn’t worry about that little hero,” Archie said. “After all, you really want to give him the run of the ship. I’m sure he’s able to take care of himself.”

  London didn’t doubt it. It just felt a little odd to not know exactly where Sir Reggie was at the moment.

  I’d better get used to it, she thought.

  “Let’s go down to your room and see how the guys are doing with your doggie door,” Archie

  Archie and London took the stairs to the Allegro deck, where they encountered a fierce racket as soon as they entered the passageway. Two of Archie’s maintenance men had taken London’s stateroom door off its hinges and laid it out across two sawhorses. Several power tools were scattered around, and one of the men was working with an electric sander.

  London realized that she hadn’t gotten word of any more noise complaints. She reminded herself that it was the middle of the day. The crew members or other passengers who lived here must be either relaxing or working on other levels.

  Except, of course, her immediate neighbor, the mysterious Stanley Tedrow. Surely he must be still in that room he hadn’t left during the whole trip.

  Why wasn’t he out here objecting to the clamor?

  The workmen had just about finished fitting the doggie door together. It was a little square frame with a vinyl flap over it. They were smoothing out the opening they’d cut into the stateroom door where the mini-door would fit.

  “They’re doing a good job,” London said to Archie over the noise. “It’s going to look like the little flap was always part of the big door.”

  Archie nodded.

  “You can have this back,” he said, handing her back her master keycard. Then he continued making suggestions to his workers.

  Glancing into the room, London was surprised to see Sir Reggie stretched out on the bed, apparently sleeping quite soundly.

  I guess Archie was right, London thought.

  The dog had gotten bored up in Oswinkle’s room and had come straight back here. He didn’t seem to be bothered by the noise, and certainly wasn’t making any noise himself.

  But as the thunderous rumbling of the sander continued, London decided that she’d better check on Mr. Tedrow. This whole door project had come up in response to his complaint about the yapping dog. Why hadn’t he been annoyed by the racket the workmen were making?

  When she went to stateroom 108 and knocked, she could barely hear a voice inside but she couldn’t tell what he was saying.

  To her relief, the din of the sander finally stopped.

  She leaned her ear closer to Tedrow’s door and knocked again.

  Then she heard the faint voice again. Was he telling her to come on in?

  London tried the knob, but the door was obviously locked.

  “Mr. Tedrow,” she called.

  She pressed her ear against the door. This time, she heard him call out anxiously.

  “Unhand me, sir. You’ve got no right to treat me like this.”

  London’s nerves quickened with alarm.

  Something bad is happening in there, she thought.

  She put her keycard into the latch and opened the door.

  CHAPTER SIX

  London pushed the door open and dashed into the suite. To her surprise, no one was attacking the occupant. In fact, nothing seemed to be happening at all. Although he had called out in apparent distress, Mr. Tedrow sat at his table staring at his computer screen, as if unaware of her arrival.

  He spoke sharply as his fingers kept clacking away on the keys.

  “You’ve got no business laying your hands on me! I’m an innocent woman!”

  An innocent woman? London wondered.

  Then she realized—he was writing dialogue. And as writers sometimes did, he was speaking the words aloud.

  London stood there awkwardly. Stanley Tedrow was obviously hard at work on a book. What she’d mistaken for a cry for help was nothing more than a character’s words.

  “I’m sorry about the noise,” she said.

  “Huh?” Mr. Tedrow said.

  Then he turned toward her and seemed to notice her for the first time.

  “Oh, it’s you,” he said. “What do you want?”

  “I said I’m sorry about the noise.”

  Mr. Tedrow’s eyes moved back to the computer.

  “Noise?” he said. “What noise?”

  London was startled.

  “Uh, there’s a bit of work going on just outside,” she said.

  “I hadn’t noticed.”

  Apparently not, London thought.

  “They’re installing a doggie door for my room,” London explained. “My dog will be able to come and go as he pleases. Just like you suggested.”

  “Is that so?”

  He sounded as though he had no idea what this could possibly have to do with him. London wondered if maybe she should just leave. Still, she felt that she owed him some sort of explanation.

  “You were complaining about my dog barking,” she said.

  “Oh, yeah, that.”

  “Well, it won’t happen now that he’s not cooped up in the room alone.”

  “That’s good.”

  For a moment, London didn’t know what else to say. She half-wondered whether it had been a waste of effort to get the doggie door installed. Didn’t Mr. Tedrow care about noise after all? But she figured installing the door had still been a good thing to do, if only for Sir Reggie’s sake. Life aboard the Nachtmusik was going to be a lot better for him now—and surely more fun as well.

  But again she felt concerned about this passenger.

  How could this elderly gentleman possibly be enjoying himself, cooped up alone in his room like this?

  Maybe he’s the one who really needs a doggie door, she thought wryly.

  “Mr. Tedrow, if you don’t mind my asking …”

  “Well?”

  “What are you writing?”

  “I can’t talk about it.”

  “All right,” London said.

  But as she turned to go, he spoke again sharply.

  “Jeez, you’re not going to leave it alone, are you? You’ll just keep nagging until you hear all about it. OK, if you insist, I’ll tell you.”

  “You don’t have to tell me,” London said.

  “I’m writing a book,” he said.

  “Oh,” London said.

  That was obvious, of course. But now London felt more than ready to leave the topic alone and to get out of the room.

  “It’s going to be a blockbuster,” Tedrow said. “It’s going to be a
bestseller. It’s going to make me rich and famous.”

  “That’s great,” London said, fidgeting a little.

  “And now I guess you’ve just got to know what it’s about,” he said.

  Not really, London thought.

  But would it be rude to tell him otherwise?

  “It’s a murder mystery,” he said.

  London’s eyes widened.

  A murder mystery?

  Was he writing a book about what had happened to Mrs. Klimowski? But of course London knew that was impossible. He’d been so isolated here in his room, he didn’t even know the ship had stopped in Gyor, much less that anyone had gotten killed there. The fact that he was working on a mystery of his own invention was just a bizarre coincidence.

  He stared at her silently, then muttered, “You’d never understand how difficult this is, figuring out how a murder can take place. Leaving clues for my detective to discover, creating a group of plausible suspects, revealing the true culprit at the end …”

  With a shake of his head, he turned his gaze away and started typing again.

  “One of these days, you’ll be able to tell your passengers that Stanley Tedrow wrote his first bestseller right here on the Nachtmusik. People will pay extra just to stay in this room where I did it.”

  “That’s—that’s really exciting.”

  “You bet it’s exciting. But if you think I’m going to tell you the plot, you’re wrong.”

  “OK.”

  “Plead and badger me all you want, I’m not going to tell you that.”

  “OK,” she said again, worried that he was about to tell her the plot in agonizing detail. “I’ll go now. Good luck with your writing.”

  “Thanks.”

  As she left the room, she saw that Archie and his workers had just finished putting her door on its hinges and were cleaning up the mess they’d made.

  “We’ve got it done,” Archie said. “Let me show you how it works.”

  He whistled, and sure enough, Sir Reginald himself popped out of the doggie door.

  “Are you happy with our work, buddy?” Archie asked him.

  Sir Reginald let out a yap of approval, then went through the door back into the room again.

  London thanked Archie and his crew, who picked up their tools and left.

  She realized that she was starting to feel hungry. Fortunately, she was still carrying around the to-go bag that Bryce had given her back in the restaurant. She had a long list of tasks to take care of today, but now seemed as good a time as any to take a lunch break.

  She considered going into her stateroom and having her lunch in private, but she had spent much of the morning in and out of staterooms. London realized she needed some fresh air. She was on a boat, after all, traveling one of the world’s most beautiful rivers, so she decided to take the elevator up onto the Rondo deck.

  When London stepped onto the outdoor deck, she was momentarily surprised by the sight that met her eyes. Instead of hills and forests, the Nachtmusik was flanked either side by a city with both very old and very modern buildings.

  Bratislava, she realized.

  This was the capital of Slovakia, a city that also straddled the border between Hungary and Austria.

  A group of passengers was clustered near the bow, staring at a massive and peculiar-looking bridge that stretched out across the Danube. It appeared to be quite lopsided, with a single gigantic tower near one end that sprouted cables to support a long, broad span. As usual, London had done some studying and was prepared to explain what they were seeing.

  “What do you think of the famous UFO Bridge?” she asked as she approached the group.

  “The UFO Bridge?” one passenger asked.

  “Is that really its name?” another asked.

  London laughed.

  “Well, its official name is the Most SNP, or the Bridge of the Slovak National Uprising. But you can see why people who live right here in Bratislava call it the ‘UFO Bridge.’”

  As she pointed, people let out exclamations of agreement. The round structure perched at the top of the tower, almost 300 feet above the Danube, did look like some sort of flying saucer.

  London explained, “The ‘UFO’ structure has got both a restaurant and an observation deck.”

  “It certainly looks odd,” one woman commented.

  “Don’t let it distract you from some of the city’s nicer sights,” London said, pointing to the shore. “Over there is St. Martin’s Cathedral, where eleven Hungarian kings and queens were crowned between 1563 and 1830.”

  The tall cathedral stood out impressively, with its simple and severe Gothic lines. As the ship passed slowly under the bridge, four broad traffic lanes loomed high above the Nachtmusik. London pointed to the shore again as the boat emerged out from under the bridge.

  “Over there you see Bratislava Castle,” she said.

  The dignified castle with pearly white walls and towers at its four corners looked down upon the city. Perched on a hilltop as high as the Most SNP, the castle was a commanding presence.

  “There are lots of legends about that castle,” London told the group. “For example, a long, long time ago, the inhabitants woke up one morning to find the entire castle had been turned upside-down! It seemed that a giant named Klingsor from Transylvania had stopped by and turned the castle over to use as a table. The queen of the castle summoned a witch for help, and the witch cast a spell that put everything back in its proper place.”

  Indicating the shape of the castle, London added, “Indeed, you might already have noticed that the castle looks like an upside-down table, with the four towers resembling table legs.”

  The passengers chuckled at the story.

  “Anyway, welcome to Austria!” London told them all cheerfully. “We’ll be leaving Hungary and entering a whole different world. I hope you enjoy the time we spend here.”

  After the group thanked London for her little lecture, she went to a table with a wide umbrella and sat down to eat her lunch. When she opened the bag Bryce had given her, she found a tuna salad sandwich served on a toasted English muffin.

  No ordinary sandwich, she realized as she savored a single delicious bite.

  But of course, nothing that came out of Bryce’s kitchen was ever quite ordinary. She closed her eyes and tried to guess the combination of herbs and flavorings.

  Basil, I think … and parsley and tarragon leaves … and grated lemon …

  She couldn’t guess all the rest. She tasted mayonnaise, of course, but also sour cream, kosher salt, freshly ground pepper, and chopped shallot and garlic. She ate slowly, enjoying her break as the charming city of Bratislava slipped behind them, giving way to the beautiful hills and fields of the Austrian countryside.

  London knew that she couldn’t linger here for very long. She soon finished her sandwich, got up, and cleared off the table. Before she boarded the elevator, though, she turned and looked again at the lush scenery.

  Austria, she thought with a surge of emotion.

  She hadn’t been here since she was a little girl. Even so, Austria had a special significance for her. It harbored personal secrets, and maybe personal ghosts. One of the great mysteries of her own life was rooted right here in Austria—a mystery she doubted she could ever solve.

  Don’t think about it, she told herself.

  There’s nothing you can do about it.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  London held her breath in anticipation.

  I hope this is good, she thought.

  Everybody needed a little success right now. Some of the passengers were still quite disturbed by the death and the delay they had encountered in Gyor. London had been on the run ever since her lunch break, keeping them pleasantly occupied. She thought that most of them had put those shocking events behind them.

  As for London herself, she’d made sure she was too busy to consider the mystery that she would face just ahead in Vienna. She’d helped Elsie finish turning a section of the Amadeu
s Lounge into a makeshift casino, organized a ship-wide trivia competition, and arranged for Emil Waldmüller to give a lecture about Austria in the ship’s library.

  Her most ambitious project had been recruiting a small choral ensemble to perform this evening at dinner. She’d sent word out through the ship that she was looking for a few experienced singers and a capable director who could perform unaccompanied by musical instruments. Once she’d put the group together, they’d gone off on their own to rehearse, and London had no idea how they would sound. They certainly hadn’t had much time to prepare.

  Now she was about to find out how well that had worked out. The Habsburg Restaurant was full of diners and the music director was raising her hands to start conducting the group of eight singers.

  At the opening words of the song “Edelweiss,” London breathed again. The lovely, harmonious voices singing the familiar song couldn’t have sounded prettier. She broke into a wide smile, and saw that all the diners in the restaurant also appeared to be charmed.

  It was a pleasant way to end a long, busy day. As she looked out over the happy faces in the restaurant, she really felt as though she’d succeeded at something quite important.

  A woman sitting at a table next to London sighed with delight.

  “How nice to hear the Austrian national anthem as we sail toward Vienna!” she said.

  London cringed slightly at the woman’s mistake.

  For a moment, London wondered—Should I tell her?

  She quickly decided that she’d better do so.

  “Mrs. Cubbage, I’m afraid ‘Edelweiss’ isn’t really Austria’s national anthem.”

  The woman looked shocked, and so did the other people at her table.

  “Oh, but it simply must be,” another woman said.

  London’s heart sank a little. She didn’t want to disappoint anybody. She also didn’t want to come across as a know-it-all.

  Fortunately, before she could say anything else, she heard a familiar, German-accented voice next to her.

  “London is right, madam. Allow me to explain …”

  London breathed a sigh of relief. Emil Waldmüller, the ship’s historian, had arrived at exactly the right moment to put matters straight.