Aria in Ice

by Flo Fitzpatrick

  Shay tried to smile; failed. “Well, when you put it that way.” She shivered. “Abby, that storm is bad. I wonder when Trina actually died? That’s important.”

  “You’re right. If she died after the blizzard started that’s a good indication that the only suspects are folks inhabiting Kouzlo Noc at this very moment since not even a chipmunk could navigate in that storm.”

  We stared at each other. I sat down on the quilted spread and started to shake. “Shit. Can we not slide down that hill? At least not yet? My acting skills are not up to pretending to one and all that I’m not petrified to get snowbound in a castle with a killer. The other death didn’t feel like this. I mean Gustav’s. It seemed removed from all of us even though Johnny believed that someone here was involved. But this? It’s close. Way too close.”

  She grimaced. “Are we rushing to conclusions? I mean, who’s to say that Trina didn’t go out to get the mail or something, and suddenly see a—uh,—a stray cat. And try and get the kitty indoors before the cold hit. And wandered too far and couldn’t see in the storm and just fell. It’s a theory, right?”

  I nodded. “I like it a hell of a lot better than imagining someone sneaking up behind her and tossing her into the moat. And for what reason?”

  Shay sat down next to me. “I’m stunned. Trina. Sweet, fantastic chef Trina. Who had about three words of English on a good day. ‘Hello’, ‘pretty’, and ‘do you want more pastries’?”

  I tried to smile. “That’s more than three words, but I get it. Why deliberately kill a nice woman like that?”

  “For treasure.”

  We looked up. Johnny had entered the bedroom and made the pronouncement both Shay and I had not wanted to voice.

  “She knew something about Ignatz and the flute.” I stated flatly.

  “I’d stake my life on it. Which isn’t the the smartest thing to say in these circumstances, but since I’m damn certain neither of you is a pyschopathic killer, I’d say I’m safe.”

  “Wow. Okay.”

  The three of us fell silent and stayed that way until a weird thought hit me.

  It was as good a time as any to ask. “Hey. This is totally off-topic but would you finally tell me—and Shay—why you were sliding down trees from the north wing the other day when I met you? Instead of using the stairs like a normal human being?”

  He sighed. “It’s so stupid. It’s not even mysterious or in any way relating to something important. Well, possibly mysterious or eerie. But, really, it’s more an embarrassing moment in Johnny Gerard’s life.”

  Shay brightened. “Oh, go on. Embarrassing moments are some of the best sequences ever captured on film. And a helluva lot more fun than pondering the why of a sweet woman’s death. So—do tell.”

  He took a seat in the ancient rocker in the corner of the bedroom. “I was being nosy. Working on the mural and decided to check out the other rooms, specifically the music room, and I heard voices coming from the window of the south wing. I didn’t want to be caught in that music room since I didn’t really have any business being there and I wanted to stay on Veronika’s good side.” He paused. “I started to leave—and then I heard laughter that wasn’t coming from any person nearby—because there wasn’t any person nearby. I knew the story of Ignatz Jezek and I didn’t want to find myself going eyeball to eyeball with a possibly pissed-off ghost who was territorial about his space. To be honest? I was damn scared. And the stinkin’ door was stuck so I couldn’t make it back to the hall. I high-tailed it out the window and down the tree and met my charming Abigail upon reaching the ground in a less than graceful manner.”

  Shay looked disappointed. “That’s it? You were spooked by a spook and you got locked in? Ah, I get it. It’s the guy thing. Chickened out of a close encounter and just not in lock-picking form that day? Shoot, I was hoping for something juicy like you met a chambermaid who’d been hiding in the castle from her jealous gatekeeper boyfriend and y’all had riotous sex for an hour or so.”

  I blinked. “Shay, you’ve got to quit reading Gothics. It’s time. Your mind has gone completely round the bend with this stuff. That plot is straight out of Keeper of the Gazebo. We read it the night I found out Endless Time was scrapping the Vanessa storyline and you found out Darien’s Donuts was stiffing everyone who’d worked on the commercial because they were declaring bankruptcy.”

  “Oh yeah. Seems to me we inhaled a few gin and tonics and at least three pizzas that night too. Well, obviously it was a good plot since it stuck with me. In fact, I foresee merging a few of the seamier elements into Silhouette Tower. Hell, it’s a heckuva better plot than a wimpy wannabe burglar landing on his ass after hearing—well -not much.”

  “Forgive her, Johnny. Hopelessly trapped in adolescence.”

  The three of us started chuckling, then suddenly remembered we were in this room looking for an antique quilt to carry downstairs for use as a temporary burial shroud.

  I stood up. “I guess that’s one mystery solved. Is that why you got all shifty-eyed when you didn’t want to share theories of ghosts in this castle?”

  “Pretty much. I didn’t want to join in the general atmosphere of ghost-hunting although it hasn’t seemed to affected your brains, Ms. Fouchet. They’re working at lightning speed even when you hear music when no one’s there.”

  “Thanks. Sort of. Crap, I suppose we should be leaving our cozy nest here soon.” I growled. “But, I’ll be honest, guys. I have no desire to leave this room and join the group downstairs.” My unspoken words rang in the room “with a murderer who’s looking for the next target.”

  Chapter 20

  Shay, Johnny and I hadn’t been gone that long but major changes had occurred in the ballroom in our absence. Trina’s body was no longer on the sofa. The food had been removed from the top of the coffin. And three guys in uniform had entered the scene. Prague police, I assumed.

  I assumed right. Apparently, Jozef had managed to get a call through before he’d come back into the house to get help with Trina’s body. So the cops were here and I felt much better. The fact that they didn’t speak a word of English didn’t bother me. The young trio looked solid and dependable and very reassuring.

  I nudged Corbin, who was making his way from the ballroom to the kitchen. “How did they manage to negotiate through this mass of white? Or are we just imagining the blizzard of the century raging? Is this like New York where one block is ice and you walk down three more and it’s sunshine and lollipops?”

  “All these guys have done stints with winter Olympics. Honest. Two came gliding in on skis and the third drove a snowmobile like he was going for the gold in bobsled. I’m rather amazed he didn’t take it directly into the parlor. I couldn’t tell if the brakes worked at all.”

  Good. A little levity. I was glad Veronika hadn’t heard him but I needed cheery words. “Thanks,” I whispered.

  He shrugged. “I’m a historian, Abby. In my experience sometimes humor is the only way to deal with sadness.”

  “Yeah. I agree. My problem is I often don’t know when to hold off.”

  “You do fine.” He patted my hand and it hit me that he was an attractive man—in his own odd way. I turned just in time to see Mr. Gerard appear from the doorway of the sitting room where Trina’s body was now reposing. Johnny raised an eyebrow my way. I squinched up my nose at him, slid my hand out from under Corbin’s and marched over to ask what the procedure was in this situation. Sudden death, that is; not hand patting a definitely “only friends”friend in front of a secret fiancé.

  “Corbin? You off to get tea for the mourners in the ballroom?” was Johnny’s only comment.

  “Yes. Veronika is hanging on by a thread and Marta is switching handkerchiefs by the fistful. All soaked through. She keeps chattering, but it’s not coming out at all coherently. About the only words that make sense are ‘Trina’ and ‘why?’ Anyway, I figured if the Brits can use tea as the all-occasion comforter, who are we to argue with a proven remedy?”

&n
bsp; “I’m with you. Can you boil a few more quarts? I’ll come out in a second and help deliver.”

  Corbin stated stiffly, “Delighted. On both counts.”

  He took off.

  “Johnny?”

  “Hmm?”

  “What did you see out there?”

  “Nothing of importance. Really. Not that I was focused on being a crime scene investigator. I was busy. We were all busy trying to get to Trina just in case she was still alive. And the wind was really kicking up and the snow was getting heavy and if anyone or anything was out there that provided any clue as to what happened, I couldn’t see it.”

  “Okay.”

  He gave me a sharp look. “Don’t go there yet. Nothing has been determined as to Trina’s death being anything but accidental.”

  “Okay.”

  “Fine. I agree with you. Someone decided Trina needed to leave the earth tonight, then decided to help her along. I just don’t want you to be next if you decide to stick that cute little nose where someone doesn’t want to be scented.”

  “You know what’s scary?”

  His eyebrow lifted. “Other than this castle and two deaths within a few days?”

  “Well, let’s say on par with that. What scares me is wondering if it even matters if I stick my nose where it doesn’t belong. What if this killer decides some of us—like me—are more aware of the mysery of the flute than others of us? And that sounded convoluted and I’m sorry but I’m not thinking straight. Anyway, will he—or she—kill first and ask questions later?”

  “Why have I been trying to get you away from here or that you, me and Shay need to stick together?” He flashed a brief smile. “If we can extract her body from it’s glued position next to Fritz the new tuner, that is.”

  “Yep. That’s my roomie. Adaptable, comfortable, fearless and heading into faithless.”

  We lapsed into silence, waiting to see what would happen next. The trio of policemen emerged from the sitting room. Our quest for the quilt had turned out to be pointless. She might have been covered in it, but not an inch of Trina Duskova could not be seen. She was completely encased in a waterproof body bag. The zipper had been pulled up tight. Nauseau swept over me.

  “Are they taking her to Prague?” I asked, while trying to breathe normally.

  Johnny answered. “I heard that’s the plan. They’ve got to get out of here before the blizzard gets any worse. Safer for them trying to travel and easier on those of us here at the castle. I doubt they’re going to get a lot of forensics done tonight anyway. Trina was found in a moat in the middle of a snowstorm. If there’s a trace of evidence to explain why this happened, it can’t be found until the winds and drifts die down.”

  Made sense. The police respectfully carried the body back through the ballroom toward the front door. Which didn’t seem right. No one entered or exited Kouzlo Noc by the front. Trina wouldn’t be comfortable leaving this way. I shook off the thought. Trina was gone.

  That’s when I heard her light voice trilling a few notes. Those notes bore a remarkable resemblance to the chorus of Eric Clapton’s classic, Layla. Damn. I glanced over at the harpsichord which bore those miniature busts of Mozart, Beethoven, and Haydn, then really took the time to stare. It was indeed a replica of Eric Clapton. The early years. I hadn’t merely imagined it the first time I’d seen those busts when I was exploring Kouzlo Noc—less than a week ago. Trina must have been the one to buy that little statue and place it with loving care amongst the great composers from two centuries back. I’d envisioned this days before. Trina’s spirit was singing her favorite song as she left her earthly home forever.

  For the first time since her body had been recovered, I burst into tears.

  Chapter 21

  The police had been gone for several hours. It was now late evening, tea had been served twice, dinner was being attended to by a weepy but determined Marta, helped by Jozef. Veronika had poignantly requested to be left alone to grieve in her room.

  Which left Franz, Fritz, Lily, Corbin, Mitchell, Johnny, Shay and me. We sat in the parlor huddled around the fireplace and tried to introduce topics for conversation that weren’t obsessively morbid. Or the reverse—inappropriately funny.

  The best choice appeared to be to the ‘getting-to-know-you-so-tell-interesting-facts-about-yourself’ game. Shay and I had started the proverbial rolling ball by regaling the others with tales about our roommate, the exotic dancer who was planning the wedding of the century with her beloved intented—a bodyguard straight out of a Nineteen-Fifites bad detective film.

  “But, that bodyguard—all five-feet three of him—saved my life one night so I am eternally grateful,” I stated. “And if Cherry Ripe wants me to wear a leopard-print bikini as one of her bridesmaids I shall do it with pride.”

  Shay mumbled. “Not me. Nobody saved my life so I can dress like a normal woman during any and all weddings Ms. Ripe and Mr. Marricino decide to engage in.”

  “Marricino?” asked Lily. “Like the cherries in the jar?”

  “Precisely.”

  Fritz got it first which further endeared him to Shay. “So your topless dancing roommate will soon be—Cherry Marricino?”

  Shay and I both replied with a simple, “Yep.” There wasn’t really much more to say on the subject.

  Once the laughs died down, Corbin decided he would share some tidbits about his life.

  “Born in Germany to missionary parents who hauled us all over to China for about ten years of my early life. I’m pretty fluent in various Cantonese dialects. Uh, moved to Arizona when I was still in high school. My parents thought the retirees in Phoenix were more ungodly than the Chinese they’d been ministering to.” He smiled. “Either that or they were really tired of spicy Kung Pao and General Tsao and various other Chinese delicacies. All of which, by the way, I can make without a recipe and are so delicious that restaurants in Manhattan have begged me to come be chef.”

  I wasn’t sure if the last statement was true but Shay had perked up at the mention of Chinese food. She’s a confessed food hound (I am too) but Chinese is her ultimate favorite. Szchechaun Delight—we call it “Big Mama’s Wok,” a take-out and delivery joint way up near Inwood is number one on our speed dial and Shay doesn’t even bother to place an order. She just calls and they come even though it’s supposedly out of their area. After Mr. Lerner’s comments Shay would have Corbin’s cell phone on speed dial for recipes. Whether he was digging in Albania or Alabama, that wouldn’t stop Shay from asking for a quick way to make hot and sour soup.

  She’d already started making nice. “So tell us more? School? Work? All that good stuff.”

  “Not much to tell. I moved to Munich about fifteen years ago. I have a Doctorate in History. I teach at a university in Eastern Bavaria and I’m taking a sabbatical now to do some genealogical research.” He paused. “What else? Um. I’m planning on turning some of those Cantonese recipes into a cookbook. I love racing.”

  Lily jumped in. “Racing? Horse, downhill skiing or what?”

  Corbin smiled. “Cars, Ms. Lowe. My passon and hobby is racing.”

  “Ooh,” she purred. “I love watching the car races. Very sexy! You’ll have to take me to a track sometime and watch you race.” She quickly smiled at Franz to reassure him she hadn’t blown him off. “You are a ski racer, yes?”

  Franz nodded but it was obvious that gliding over ice was dull next to Lily’s desire for a fast car on a slick track.

  Since Lily now had everyone’s focus, she began to tell us a about her background. It turned into a long monologue about her very artsy family. She didn’t really explain how she was able to go to England but apparently she’d arrived in London at the ripe old age of fourteen, enrolled in a drama school, then gone on to graduate from the Royal Shakespeare Academy.

  I sat up. Lily came off as a bimbo, but Royal Shakespeare had a rep for disallowing dumb broads into the program. There was more to Lily Lowe than met the eye.

  She continued. “I’
ve done four major films—American, but shot in Prague. The last one was Little Crystal. It was a musical version of the Grimm fairy tale called The Crystal Ball. I was the star.”

  Rumor had it that Little Crystal had been a good movie. It had premiered at the Cannes Film Festival last year to fantastic reviews. Shay and Bambi, both astute businesswomen, had chosen the leading lady not only for her talent but for some durn good name recognition.

  Lily wasn’t finished with her parade of accomplishments. She giggled, “For my hobby, I collect Barbie dolls. I have models from the very first ones made. Over three hundred. And Ken dolls too.” Her gaze was directed this time at Mitchell, whose mouth had dropped at the staggering thought of all those Barbies. “And I’m single and I love cozy nights by a fireplace and walking across beaches on cool nights even when I’m caught in the rain.”

  That did it. I quickly focused on the embroidery work Marta had left in the room and simultaneously crammed a piece of chocolate cream pie (a Marta special she’d made before any of the tragic events of the day) into my mouth to keep from howling. The fact that I didn’t give a rip about embroidery was irrelevant. I had to look anywhere except at Shay Martin. We both waited to hear Lily announce she loved pina coladas. If we made eye contact with each other anytime before, during or after that announcement we were positive was coming, we’d be on the floor sharing hysterics and in grave danger of offending our female star and we needed her for Silhouette Tower.

  No use. Out it came. “Oh. And I love—what is that wonderful beverage with the rum and coconut and pineapple? I love those.”

  Shay got up, quickly muttered something about using the restroom and left. I intended on being right on her heels, but we’d look like a parade, so I held in all signs of bubbling hilarity and chewed pie crust, even when Mitchell nodded and responded, “They’re called pina coladas.”

  Lily giggled again. “Yes! Well, I just love them.”