Romantic Road

by Blair McDowell

  When she left Palmers, she was wearing all new underwear under her all new clothes and carrying two shopping bags.

  Now for a salon. She found one just a few steps away and indulged in everything they had to offer.

  Two hours later, Lacy looked in the mirror at the finished product. Her hair was a soft brown with golden highlights. She was now Alice Ames from Baltimore. Close enough to the U.S. passport photo. She needed only to pick up some large-framed, clear-lens glasses to complete the transformation.

  She found those in a shop just a short distance from the beauty salon. She was delighted with the overall effect. Sort of retro Grace Kelley in It Takes a Thief. Or maybe really antique, Katherine Hepburn as a bespectacled school teacher on vacation in Venice in Summertime. Igor had loved the old movie classics and Lacy had learned to love them also.

  Smiling, she exited the shop and turned toward the hotel. Someone bumped into her, and she felt a prick in her neck, like a bee sting…

  ****

  Lacy roused. Where was she? She strained to look at her surroundings. It was very dark. She shivered with the cold. She seemed to be sitting, no, sprawled out, on a cement floor. She tried to move. Her right hand was fastened to something. She couldn’t see clearly what was holding it, but it was metal. A handcuff? Someone had handcuffed her to a…she felt along the cuff. To a pipe? She tried to stem her rising hysteria.

  ****

  Max was later than he had expected to be. He’d gotten caught up in re-reading Igor’s manuscript.

  He started with the shop he’d seen Lacy enter. Following their directions he went to Palmers. “My wife?” he enquired. “The red-headed lady?”

  “She left some time ago, but she asked about a hairdresser. Perhaps she’s still there.” The stylishly dressed clerk came to the door of the shop and pointed Max in the direction of the salon.

  At the beauty salon, a young woman with purple-and-orange spiked hair and a ring through her tongue told him his wife had left just moments before.

  “I think she was looking for a pair of glasses,” she lisped. “I told her there was an optical shop on the next street over.”

  The elderly man in the optical shop looked puzzled. “There was a beautiful young woman in just a few minutes ago who fit your description except for her hair. Brown hair, she had, not red.”

  “Of course, brown, I meant to say brown.” She’d changed her hair color. He’d been looking for the flash of her red hair.

  “You just missed her,” the man replied. “She bought a large pair of frames with clear lenses. Not sunglasses. Just plain glass. Said she didn’t need a prescription. Why would she wear glasses if she doesn’t need a prescription?” He shook his head.

  “The vagaries of women,” Max agreed.

  He hurried out to the street again. Where was she? Had he missed her when he was in the last shop? Had she gone back to the hotel? By this time he was cursing himself for being all kinds of an idiot. What had made him so sure she hadn’t been followed? How could he have been so certain she was safe? He should have been following her, as usual, not lingering over Igor Telchev’s manuscript. He fought down the first traces of panic.

  Chapter Eight

  The tall, dark-haired man was smoking in his hotel room in Salzburg, staring sightlessly out the window, when his phone vibrated.

  “We have her.”

  “What do you mean you have her? Nobody told you to abduct her!” He listened briefly to a garbled explanation, then cut it short. “Since when do you take your orders from them? They don’t have a clue as to what’s going down here. You work for me. Don’t forget it. You were just supposed to follow her and keep me informed.”

  “But we thought—”

  “You’re not being paid to think. Release her at once.” The man interrupted the flow, his voice icy. “And don’t let her identify you in the process! Once you’ve released her, don’t lose sight of her. You screwed up in Rothenburg. Don’t let it happen again, or I won’t be responsible for the consequences.”

  He closed the phone and kicked the waste basket across the room. Idiots! They had no idea what the hell they were doing. He was surrounded by cretins. What possible use could come of abducting her at this point? She was their only lead to the rest of the manuscript. And everybody wanted that manuscript.

  But he was the one with the inside advantage. He knew how to get it. He’d been smart enough to get the next address out of the woman in Rothenburg. Funny. She hadn’t responded to threats to her person at all, but when he’d started in on her paintings…

  He wondered idly whether she’d recovered from her fall. He shrugged, lit another cigarette from the butt of the one he’d been smoking and moved to the window. He gazed absently down at the rooftops of Salzburg as he tried to figure out his next move.

  ****

  Lacy heard the door open. A man wearing a ski mask came in. He didn’t speak. As he leaned over her she kicked out at him, hoping to connect with his groin. He turned at the last moment, and she hit him on the hip.

  “Bitch,” he muttered, as he held her in an iron grip and gave her another injection. She lost consciousness once again.

  The next time she roused she was no longer tethered to the pipe. The handcuff was gone. All that remained to remind her of it was a sore wrist. She tried to stand. She was a bit dizzy and slightly nauseated, but she was able to stay on her feet by supporting herself against the wall. She waited for a moment for her head to clear. She remembered that the door through which her captor had entered was across from her. Feeling her way carefully along the wall, she inched toward it and turned the knob. Thank God it was not locked. Before her, she saw a long flight of steps ascending to another door. She was in a basement of some kind. She inched up the staircase. Opening the door, she found herself in an alleyway between two tall houses. She ran without sense of direction. She just wanted to put as much distance as possible between herself and that dark, dank, frightening place.

  Suddenly she was in a square filled with light. Sidewalk cafés were crowded with people, and the river was before her. She stopped, puzzled. She was on the other side of the river, across from the old town. How had she gotten here? Trembling, her legs threatening to give way, Lacy decided to call Max to come get her.

  Her phone was gone. Her phone, her money, and her bags with her new clothes, all gone. She plopped down at a nearby café table, her head in her hands, tears streaking down her cheeks. All her beautiful new clothes, gone…

  “Fraulein, please. What is wrong? Is there anything I can do to help?” The waiter hovered, his concern genuine.

  “Please,” she sobbed, “I’ve been robbed. May I make a telephone call?”

  “Robbed?” His voice reflected shock. “It isn’t to be supported, robbery of a visitor in Salzburg. We’re one of the safest cities in Austria. In all of Europe.”

  “A telephone, please.”

  “Of course, fraulein. But please allow me to call the police.”

  “No. No, thank you. Please. May I just call my…my friend?”

  Wordlessly, the waiter handed Lacy his phone. Then he disappeared into the café and reappeared with a cup of coffee and a small side glass of sparkling water.

  “Please, fraulein. Drink.”

  ****

  Fifteen minutes later, Max was there. Lacy threw herself into his arms.

  He held her tight. He shook with relief. He’d been a fool to let her out of his sight even for those few minutes.

  But how had they found her in Salzburg? They seemed to be one step ahead of him all the way. The only good thing was they hadn’t been able to identify him. So far, they didn’t know who he was or even that he was in the picture. That was a decided plus. Maybe he should take her to ground for a couple of weeks.

  Back in their hotel room, after he made sure Lacy was unhurt, Max proposed they go to his place for a couple of weeks. “Just to let the trail cool down.”

  “Your place?”

  “My home
in the Salzkammergut.”

  “But I need to get to Vienna.”

  “Since you brought it up, why Vienna? Who are you supposed to meet there?”

  “I can’t tell you that.”

  “I can’t help you if you don’t level with me, Lacy. And I do want to help you.”

  Lacy sighed. “I’m to meet a woman there, Riana Rolfe. I think she may have the next chapters of Igor’s book.”

  Max whistled. “Riana Rolfe? The diva?”

  “I think she’s an opera singer, yes.”

  “Honey, she’s not an opera singer, she’s the opera singer. Reputed to be the greatest soprano since Callas. Even a country-music-loving plebeian like me has heard of Riana Rolfe.”

  “I know she’s good. Igor had a number of her recordings.”

  Max shook his head. “Your Igor traveled in interesting circles. Didn’t you say Inga Graff was an artist?”

  Lacy couldn’t remember telling Max anything about Inga. She hesitated for a moment, then said, “Yes.”

  “And just what was your husband’s relationship with Inga Graff?”

  “I don’t see what that has to do with anything.”

  Max said nothing more on the subject, but Lacy could see he was chewing on the facts.

  How could she explain to Max about Igor? She couldn’t. She was having trouble enough putting together the realities of his life and her place in it for herself.

  Max brought the subject back to Vienna. “I think you should call Riana Rolfe. See whether she’s there. She’s much in demand and is often on tour.”

  Lacy automatically reached into her pocket. “Damn. My phone’s gone along with everything else.”

  “Use mine.”

  A few moments later they had ascertained that indeed Riana Rolfe was on tour, in Australia. She was singing at the opera house in Sydney. She’d return to Vienna in about two weeks, in time for the opening of the season in there.

  “Good,” Max said. “We’ll spend those two weeks under the radar, at my place.”

  “I’d like that,” Lacy agreed.

  Then she thought about her shopping expedition and all her new clothing, her beautiful nightgown she’d planned to use to seduce Max, now gone. She looked wryly at what she was wearing. Dirty. The cellar she’d been in was not a very clean place. There were dirt streaks on her pants and on her silk shirt, but they could be washed. Her new shoes were still on her feet. Somewhere along the way she’d lost her glasses. At least she still had what she was wearing, including some very nice underwear. It was better than Mickey Mouse.

  “I’m going to take a long hot soak.”

  “Good plan. I think we may as well spend the night here. But tomorrow morning, bright and early, I want to be on the road.”

  Max was staring out the window when she emerged from her bath, all damp and rosy, smelling of soap, her hair piled on top her head, a large towel wrapped loosely around her. She walked over, put her arms around him and reached up to touch her lips to his.

  He groaned. “Not a good idea.”

  “I think it’s a very good idea. The best idea I’ve had in a long time.” She kissed him again, more deeply. Her towel fell to the floor.

  He drew his breath in sharply. For a moment he stood stock still. Then his arms encircled her, and his hands slid down her back to cup her buttocks and pull her close as he took full possession of her mouth.

  “What the hell…” he growled when he came up for breath. He stripped off his clothing in record time and pushed Lacy back on the bed.

  ****

  It was noon when they checked out of the hotel. Max’s plans for an early departure had been waylaid by Lacy’s warm, inviting body in the bed next to him.

  He took her to a nearby café for lunch. After ordering, he looked around, saw no one was paying them particular attention and grabbed Lacy’s arm. “Move,” he ordered. “Take your backpack.” Throwing money down on the table, he pushed her ahead of him, through the kitchen, out the back door, and around the corner to a waiting bus. They were the last customers to arrive. In moments the motor coach was on its way. Without telling Lacy, Max had signed them up for a “Sound of Music” tour.

  “Really, Max. That has to be right up there with the Mickey Mouse shirt.”

  “Hey, I’m not the one who was abducted yesterday.”

  Lacy frowned, looking around the bus at the other passengers. “You think they’re still following us?”

  “Hell, yes, they’re still following us. But I may just have lost them, at least temporarily. I’m pretty sure they’ll have made the bike, and bugged it. They won’t have been expecting us to join a tour. Maybe. I hope. We won’t be staying with this tour bus long in any case.”

  The bus followed the main highway connecting Salzburg and Vienna for a short distance before pulling off onto a smaller road. The tour guide was rattling on over a distorted loudspeaker, in French, English, and German, about the country they were passing through. Lacy blocked off the sound of his voice and looked out the window.

  She was entranced with the scenery. The road wound through flower-filled valleys, picturesque villages, and past small churches with onion-domed steeples. Around and above them rose the rugged peaks of the surrounding mountains. It truly was Sound of Music country.

  At various points along the way, the driver stopped and everyone trooped off to admire a view or to buy souvenirs.

  They’d been traveling for about two hours when the bus stopped at yet another scenic pull-over.

  Max said, “Gather your things.” He took her by the hand.

  They followed the tour guide and the crowd from the bus up a well-worn path to the crest of the hill. Spread out below them they could see a large, blue-grey lake. A boat chugged its way from one shore to the other. At some points the mountains seemed to drop precipitously into the lake, at others they were fronted by gentle hills dotted with houses. Lacy could see three widely separated small towns along the shoreline.

  Max pointed to a town along the northern side of the lake. “St. Wolfgang. My house is just beyond there. You can’t see it from here. It’s hidden by a hill.”

  The tour guide, having given his five-minute spiel, was now shepherding his flock once again toward the bus.

  Max pulled her back. “We’re leaving the tour here.”

  “Max, you’re insane. We’re in the middle of nowhere.”

  “You’ve got good walking shoes. We’re going take the trail down this hill to the lake, then hike along the shoreline to St. Gilgen. From there we’ll take the ferry to St. Wolfgang. Shouldn’t be a problem.”

  Lacy decided for once she was glad not to have more clothes to carry. Her backpack was heavy enough. But the scenery was spectacular, and she was with a man she…

  Good God! The word that popped into her head was loved, a man she loved. How ridiculous. She’d only known Max for what, a week? A couple of months, if she counted from when they were introduced at the Auberge. He was a fling. She was sexually starved. Any port in a storm. The clichés came fast and furious. She couldn’t love him. She didn’t even know him. Not really.

  Her inner voice was saying, and how long did you know Igor before you knew you were in love with him? The answer was disquieting. I loved him from the first moment I saw him. And yes, I’m learning some things about him now that I’m not happy about, but I loved him then, well and truly.

  Max’s voice interrupted her internal monologue. “You’re very quiet today. Regretting last night?”

  Lacy reached up and kissed him, a lingering kiss full of promise. “Not hardly.”

  Max gave a satisfied smile, rather like a cat who’d been at the cream pitcher. Hand in hand they continued down the hillside and along the lake shore.

  An hour later they strolled into the town of St. Gilgen and found the ferry pulling into the dock.

  Max carefully surveyed the passengers waiting to get on. A couple of backpackers. An elderly matron dressed in Tyrolean fashion, three children being
shepherded by their somewhat harried-looking mother. No one to worry about. They appeared to have been successful in shaking off whoever was following Lacy.

  The boat made two stops at other lakeside villages before pulling in to the St. Wolfgang dock. They disembarked with a small group of tourists and locals and made their way up a cobblestone street through a low white archway to the main part of the town.

  A man in a red Mercedes convertible waved at them. “Max, over here!” He got out of the car and handed Max the keys.

  “Thanks for meeting us, Hans. Alice, this is my good friend and next door neighbor, Hans Hallstinger. Hans, Alice Ames, from Baltimore”

  “Ah,” Hans said. “So this is the reason you’re late arriving. We were expecting you a more than a week ago.” He turned to Lacy. “Delighted to meet you.”

  Max glanced uncomfortably around the square. “There are some people we’re anxious to avoid. We’d better get on our way. I’d appreciate it if you wouldn’t mention Alice’s presence to anyone, Hans.”

  Lacy laughed. “It seems to me, if you want to be unobserved, a fire-engine-red Mercedes convertible isn’t the best car to be driving.”

  Hans laughed in agreement.

  “Unfortunately,” Max answered, “I had the car before I had the need for anonymity.”

  “She’s got a full tank of gas, as you requested,” Hans said, “and she’s ready to go. I’ll leave you here. I have some business to take care of in the village. My wife will pick me up later.”

  “Thanks, Hans. See you later.”

  They sped through the village and out along the lakeside. The road became narrower and then turned to gravel before twisting away from the lake, up a hill. Just over the crest of the hill it came to a dead end and Max pulled up before a wide white gate. He got out and unlocked the padlock, then drove through, stopping to lock it again.

  “A foolish precaution, I suppose. Yet it might slow someone down. I’m only here for a small part of each year, and the house is isolated.”

  Lacy looked around her and saw, indeed, no other houses were even visible.