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

by Blake Pierce

  She sat down and took a few long, slow breaths to gather up her courage.

  This isn’t going to be easy, she thought.

  Then she called Mr. Lapham’s personal extension. His secretary put the call directly through to him.

  “Good morning, London Rose,” he said. “Although of course it’s afternoon where you are.” Then with a sigh, he added, “But I suppose you’re calling with bad news. It seems as though that’s always the case.”

  “I’m afraid so, sir,” London said.

  “I’d better hear it, then.”

  “Yes, sir. I’m sorry to say … there’s been another death.”

  A short silence fell.

  “Oh, no,” Lapham said. “Please tell me it’s not another case of foul play.”

  “It’s too soon to say for sure but … the police think probably so.”

  “Was the deceased one of our passengers?”

  “No.”

  “And did the incident occur aboard the Nachtmusik?”

  “No.”

  “Where did it occur?”

  “In the auditorium of the House of Mozart.”

  “How dreadful! And are any of our passengers under suspicion?”

  London swallowed hard.

  “For the time being, the police can’t eliminate the members of a tour group I was conducting through Salzburg at the time.”

  “So I feared. Do you think any of them are guilty?”

  “I … I can’t imagine why, sir,” London said. “None of them knew the victim, at least not as far as I know. I’m sure the Salzburg police will soon eliminate our clients as suspects soon.”

  “The Salzburg police, yes …”

  London detected a note of distaste in his voice. She knew from the awful events back in Gyor that Mr. Lapham had scant respect for local law enforcement anywhere in the world.

  “They never get to the bottom of anything,” he’d told her. “They always look for the laziest explanation.”

  “The police director seems like a very capable man, sir,” she said.

  “I do hope so. Meanwhile, I suppose the Nachtmusik won’t be able to leave Salzburg on schedule.”

  “I’m afraid not.”

  “And there will be a delay in reaching Regensburg.”

  “I believe so.”

  Mr. Lapham heaved a long, weary sigh.

  “Very well then,” he said. “Keep me apprised of any new developments.”

  London was taken aback by the note of resignation in his voice. He’d reacted very differently when she’d told him about Mrs. Klimowski’s death. Then he’d been angry with her and had even held her responsible.

  I ought to be grateful he’s not mad at me, she thought.

  But in a way, this was worse. She’d come to like the eccentric Mr. Lapham, and she hated the thought of him being disappointed.

  I’ve really got to fix this, she thought.

  “Mr. Lapham, I just want to assure you, I’ll do everything I possibly can—”

  “Don’t say it, London,” Mr. Lapham interrupted. “Don’t say you’re going to solve the crime. I talked you into playing Nancy Drew back in Gyor. And I very nearly got you killed in the process.”

  “Sir, it wasn’t your fault that—”

  “It certainly was my fault. I put you up to it. You were following my orders. And I want no more of your amateur sleuthing, do you hear? That’s what Bob Turner is there for.”

  London remembered the email Mr. Lapham had sent to the captain.

  “He will assist you on security matters during the rest of your voyage.”

  “Um, sir,” London said cautiously, “who is Bob Turner exactly?”

  “He’s a former New York City police detective. He’s also a cousin of mine, although we’ve never been close—in fact, I’m not sure we’ve ever met. He retired to Miami a few years ago, and I heard he was restless, and I figured he was exactly the kind of man you need aboard the Nachtmusik. After all, the Nachtmusik seems to be a bit trouble-prone as tour boats go.”

  “I see,” London said doubtfully.

  “So leave the investigating to him. That’s what I hired him for, to keep you safe and out of trouble. Mind your own business. Stick to your job. Keep the passengers happy. That’s all you really have to do—and I know you’re good at it.”

  “I’ll do my best, sir.”

  “Glad to hear it. Now let’s both get back to work.”

  They ended the call, and Sir Reggie jumped up into London’s lap.

  “I don’t know about all this, buddy,” she said, petting him. “What do you think of Bob Turner?”

  Sir Reggie let out an uncertain growl.

  “I’m not sure what to think of him either,” London said. “But I guess I’d better follow orders and mind my own business.”

  Or try to, anyway, she thought.

  Then she heard the captain speaking over the PA system.

  “Hello, Epoch World Voyagers. This is your captain speaking. I am sorry to report that we will be experiencing another delay on our cruise. Due to our proximity to a suspicious death in Salzburg, the authorities have ordered us not to depart for Regensburg on schedule. Also, passengers must stay within the city’s jurisdiction. Hopefully we won’t be detained for long. Meanwhile, enjoy your stay in Mozart’s beautiful hometown.”

  London’s heart sank at the captain’s words.

  He did that well, she thought. As well as anyone could have, anyway.

  Even so, his message would come as scant comfort to the crew and passengers, who now had more questions than answers—and plenty of well-founded anxieties. London’s mind boggled at the thought of trying to keep everybody’s morale and spirits up until the ship could set sail again.

  London was just starting to think through the rest of her day when her cell phone rang. It was a text message from Bob Turner.

  Meet me at once in the ship library.

  London sighed and said to Sir Reggie, “This can’t be good.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY ONE

  Sir Reggie trotted alongside London as she left her room.

  “You don’t have to come if you don’t want to,” she said to Sir Reggie. “I sure would skip this if I didn’t think it would cause a scene.”

  The dog let out a little yap of interest and continued along at her side.

  “OK, then,” she said. “I guess I might need your support.”

  They took the elevator back up to the Menuetto deck, then went straight to the ship’s library, a room at one end of the lounge. The walls were completely covered with books, and the space was equipped with a large-screen computer and folding chairs for lectures to small groups of passengers.

  Six people were already there—Emil, Letitia Hartzer, Rudy and Tina Fiore, Cyrus Bannister, and of course Bob Turner. Emil was leaning against a bookshelf, looking annoyed at this invasion of his space, and Bob was pacing energetically. The others were seated and waiting for whatever was about to take place.

  “I’m glad you could join us for the beginning of my investigation, London,” Bob said. “Have a seat, make yourself comfortable.”

  The beginning of his investigation! London thought as she unfolded another chair. She had no idea what Bob might be up to, and the possibilities boggled her mind.

  Feeling anything but “comfortable,” she sat down, and Sir Reggie jumped up into her lap. Bob nodded at the dog with approval, as if pleased to have a professional colleague on hand.

  “I don’t want the five of you to feel singled out for suspicion,” Bob said, peering at everybody through his mirrored sunglasses. “I’m going to meet with everybody who went on your morning tour, in small groups at a time.” Then with a chuckle he added, “That is, until I find out the truth. Who knows? That might happen during the next few minutes.”

  Emil rolled his eyes.

  “Kindly get on with it, Mr. Turner,” he snapped.

  Bob’s eyebrows popped up above the frames of his sunglasses. “I’ll do just that,
Mr. Waldmüller,” he replied, taking out a notepad and a pencil. “But I don’t see any reason why this needs to be unpleasant. Let’s all try to be polite and civil.”

  London bristled a little herself.

  Now he’s sounding like a grade school teacher, she thought.

  Still pacing, Bob said, “All of you were ashore at the time of Moritz’s murder.”

  Turning to London with a frown he said, “Or should I say, at the time when Moritz’s body was discovered by this young lady here.”

  London couldn’t help but cringe at the remark—but not just for her own sake. Bob seemed determined to subject about twenty passengers to exactly this sort of pushy questioning. It would definitely hurt morale aboard the Nachtmusik.

  Am I really going to let this happen? she thought.

  On one hand, as the boat’s social director, she felt like she ought to put a stop to it.

  But on the other hand …

  She didn’t see that she had any choice about it. She wasn’t in a position to order Bob to stop disturbing the passengers, especially since Mr. Lapham had put him in charge of such matters.

  Meanwhile, Letitia Hartzer drew herself up haughtily.

  “Sir, you can strike me off your list right now,” she said. “I went nowhere near the House for Mozart after our group visit there.”

  “Is that so, Mrs. Hartzer?” Bob said, sounding as if he knew that already.

  “That’s Ms. Hartzer,” Letitia said sharply.

  “I beg your pardon, Ms. Hartzer,” he said, starting to take notes. “Where did you happen to be at the time?”

  “Well, if you must know, I was in the Museum der Moderne Salzburg looking at a rather obnoxious contemporary painting. I can’t say I much liked their collection as a whole.”

  “Can anybody confirm your whereabouts?” Bob asked.

  Letitia’s mouth dropped open with incredulous annoyance.

  “There were other people about, if that’s what you mean. But you’d be very hard-pressed to track them down, much less get them to remember seeing me. I certainly don’t remember anything about any of them.”

  Bob peered at her skeptically.

  “That’s kind of … inconvenient,” he said.

  “For you, I suppose it is, since you seem to suspect me of doing God knows what, which you can’t possibly prove,” Letitia said huffily. “If you’re going to accuse me of something, why don’t you just come right out with it?”

  Bob smirked without replying, then turned his attention to Rudy and Tina Fiore.

  “And what about you two?” he said. “You happened to come back to the Nachtmusik accompanied by the local cops, along with London, Herr Waldmüller, and Mrs.—Ms.—Hartzer.”

  Rudy shrugged, looking perplexed.

  “We hurried over to the theater as soon as we heard sirens and saw the police arrive,” he said. “But they wouldn’t let us anywhere near the building.”

  Tina added, “The truth is, we still don’t know exactly what this is all about—except that someone got killed there.”

  “And where were you when you heard the sirens?” Bob asked.

  “We were at a café—the Altstadtcafé, I believe it’s called,” Rudy said.

  “We’d just sat down for snacks there with London when I noticed that my cell phone was missing,” Tina said.

  “And London went to the theater to look for it?”

  “That’s right,” Tina said.

  “Can anybody confirm that you were at the café?” Bob said.

  “Well, there’s London herself, I suppose,” Rudy said.

  Bob shook his head.

  “I mean someone who can confirm you stayed there until you heard the sirens.”

  “The waiter, I guess,” Rudy said with a shrug.

  “I think his name was Max,” Tina added.

  “That’s very helpful,” Bob said, jotting down the name. “And London returned your missing cell phone?”

  “Yes, she did—when we were walking back to the Nachtmusik.”

  “Very interesting,” Bob said, jotting something down.

  London couldn’t imagine what could possibly be interesting about Tina’s cell phone. She also still didn’t see how this questioning was leading in any productive direction.

  Then Bob turned his attention to Cyrus Bannister.

  “And may I ask where you happened to be during the events in question?” he asked.

  Cyrus crossed his arms and scowled.

  “I was having a look around Stift Sankt Peter—St. Peter’s Abbey,” he said. “I suppose you could ask some of the monks if they remember someone answering to my description. But I’m afraid that’s rather a long shot.”

  Bob let out a discontented grunt, then turned again to Emil, who had finally taken a seat.

  “And you, sir—why did you happen to show up at the scene when you did?”

  “London called me from the theater,” he said. “She told me to come there right away. She did not say why. I did not find out about the tour guide’s death until I got there.”

  “And where were you when you got the call?”

  “I was taking a pleasant stroll along Hoffstallgasse, viewing the architecture. And no, I have no way to confirm my whereabouts. And if I did, I am not sure I would bother to tell you. The local police are already investigating this matter. By whose authority are you pestering us about it?”

  London almost spoke up to warn Emil against making matters worse with his sour attitude. But she was afraid a full-scale quarrel might ensue. The last thing she wanted was for all hell to break loose right here and now.

  Bob looked unperturbed as he answered Emil’s question.

  “By the authority of Jeremy Lapham, CEO of Epoch World Cruise Lines. He hired me, and he flew me out here from Florida. It’s my job to deal with these sorts of shenanigans whenever they come up.”

  Looking as if he were trying to keep his temper, Emil turned his face away.

  “Well, now,” Bob murmured as he moved among the group. “None of this is especially informative. But maybe I’m asking the wrong questions. Did any of you happen to know Olaf Moritz prior to today?”

  Everybody murmured that they hadn’t.

  “Let’s get right down to the nitty-gritty,” Bob said. “Did any of you have a motive for killing Olaf Moritz?”

  What a silly thing to ask, London thought as the rest of the group grumbled in protest. Bob looked around the group skeptically for a moment. Then he turned toward Rudy and Tina Fiore.

  “What about you two?” he said to them. “Did either of you know Olaf Moritz?”

  “No,” Rudy said.

  “Certainly not,” Tina added. “How could we have known him? We haven’t even been in this country before.”

  Bob kept steamrolling right along. “And did either of you have any reason to mean him harm?”

  “How could we if we didn’t know him?” Rudy said.

  “He seemed like a nice guy,” Tina said. “I liked him.”

  “I did too,” Rudy said.

  Bob peered at them through his mirror glasses for a moment, then turned to Letitia.

  “And as for you, ma’am—what was your relationship with the deceased?”

  Letitia laughed aloud. London couldn’t help smiling herself at what seemed to be a cliché and ridiculous question.

  “I knew nothing about him, of course,” Letitia said. “I never saw him until this morning. I thought he was quite likeable.”

  Cyrus let out another snort of derision.

  “You did at first,” he said. “But you didn’t like him so much after he talked you into singing the Queen of the Night’s aria from The Magic Flute, and then you fumbled it so badly.”

  Letitia’s eyes widened with embarrassment and anger.

  “My voice wasn’t properly warmed up,” she said. “Surely he knew that. He shouldn’t have tried to talk me into it, and I shouldn’t have let him.”

  “So you admit being angry with him,
then,” Cyrus said.

  “Certainly not enough to kill him,” Letitia said. “And now that he’s dead, I’m quite distraught about it. Just how vain do you think I am, anyway?”

  Cyrus let out a yelp of cynical laughter.

  “I’ll do you a favor and not answer that question,” he said.

  “Well I never …!” Letitia gasped.

  Bob turned next to Emil.

  “What about you, Herr Waldmüller? Did you know Olaf Moritz prior to today?”

  “Of course not,” Emil said. “And as for my having anything against him, the very idea is ridiculous.”

  Cyrus Bannister let out a noisy scoff.

  “Nothing against him, eh?” he said. “Olaf made a fool of you right in front of the rest of us.”

  “I am sure I don’t know what you mean,” Emil said stiffly.

  “No? What about your little musical request?” Cyrus said. “You asked him to play Austria’s national anthem, ‘Land der Berge, Land am Strome’—because Mozart wrote the melody, you said. And you were mistaken. As he told you, Mozart didn’t write it.”

  Emil’s face reddened.

  “So the man claimed,” he said. “I have yet to check out the truth of his assertion.”

  Cyrus scoffed again.

  “Go ahead and look it up,” he said. “I can tell you right now, Mozart didn’t write it, as anyone with any real knowledge of classical music knows.”

  “Now look here …” Emil said, almost rising out of his chair.

  “Ah, ah, ah,” Bob said, tapping Emil on the shoulder so that he stayed seated. “Let’s keep our cool, OK? You’re not going to make your case look any better by losing your temper.”

  “My ‘case’?” Emil snarled. “You have got no case against me, you meddling fool.”

  For a moment, London worried that Emil might be on the verge of starting a fistfight with Bob. But Bob was nothing if not composed, and he seemed almost amused by the insult.

  “Don’t worry, Herr Waldmüller,” Bob said. “You’ve got nothing to worry about—as long as you’re innocent. The truth will out, as they say.”

  Still seated, Emil sputtered with wordless exasperation.