by Vreni Fox
Okay, deep breaths. I needed a calm mind so that I could focus on my restoration spell. I relaxed my body and focused on my memory of the last time I had projected, well over a decade ago.
I wasn’t in any pressure at the time. It was just part of my schooling with Conrad. He was rough around the edges but he had always been an excellent teacher and made sure that I at least tried most of the magic that was within my capabilities.
We had been at his old wooden cottage in the forest with Pudding and The Boss. I laid down on the sofa and let the deep sleep of out of body experience pass through me. Next thing I knew, I was at the shores of the dragon’s hot spring, deep inside of the caves at the top of our mountain. I was completely alone and frightened. Usually these caves were totally off limits. They were dangerous and people had a tendency to disappear within them and were never seen again.
I remember walking around the cave. It was dark and full of the unsettling sounds of water dripping and echoing throughout the caverns. My own breathing seemed inhumanly loud. The hot spring itself seemed to be illuminated by some otherworldly turquoise glow from deep within.
I had to remind myself that I could come to no harm while projecting; I wasn’t really in the cave. Once I’d made peace with that fact, I actually found that the cave made me feel more magical than I had ever felt. It almost seemed like I was returning to a place where I belonged, and within the cave, anything was possible.
I had no idea how much time passed as I wandered the caverns and thought about my relationship with my powers and with the mountain. I thought about what kind of witch I wanted to be and what was important to me.
It seemed that I had come to some kind of realization, though I couldn’t even explain what that realization was. I whispered the spell for restoration and…
I was back in my bedroom with Pudding.
I sat upright and shook the fog from my head.
You’re back.
“That was a close one. Someone came in the room and I choked on my spell at the last minute. We were nearly toast.”
Wonderful. Well, I suppose I ought to be pleased that we both seem to have survived this foolishness.
“I found something,” I ignored Pudding’s attitude and changed the subject.
He looked surprised.
“What? What did you think I was going to do? Sneak into her room and try on her designer clothes? Anyway, I think this is good. I found some kind of accounting paper that listed the names of everyone in Drachenfels, and then next to the names there was a number that I am assuming was a payment. Some of the names had no figure next to them.”
Okay, this is good, Pudding agreed. I think this is something we can use. It might not be evidence that someone is guilty, but we could get some promising leads here.
“Yeah, unfortunately the document was partially obstructed, but I got a lot of good information here. For example, I saw my own name, and there was no figure next to me. That’s what made me guess that the figures were payments. I hadn’t made any payment, so my spot was still blank.”
Clever girl.
“Thanks. I was pretty surprised to see how many people seemed to have coughed up a hush payment. Oh,” my eyes widened, “and you know how she wanted twenty thousand bucks from us?”
God only knows where she got the idea that you’d have that kind of money at your disposal. You certainly don’t look like a person who has that kind of funds.
Pudding looked me up and down and aside from giving him some serious side eye I ignored the thinly veiled insult.
“Yeah, but anyway, get this… some of the people had figures that were only like two hundred and fifty bucks next to their names.”
Hmm. Did they seem to have anything in common?
“Yeah, I already thought about it. I was trying to figure out if these people were the most charming residents of Drachenfels, but I’ve got another hypothesis. They were all people who sold luxury goods and services, like Martin who does the handmade leather goods and Cora the perfumer. Maybe they were also paying her in goods? Those handbags are stunning. I’ve always wanted one and I don’t even carry a handbag. And you know what Cora does with those perfumes.”
Maybe, Pudding replied. Maybe they had some kind of separate accounting for material goods.
“She did have A LOT of shopping bags full of brand new stuff, and there was more stuff with the tags still on scattered all over the room.”
A shopaholic.
“Or a steal-aholic. Or I don’t even know what you call someone who threatens people until they provide her with gifts and money.
An influencer, apparently.
“Apparently, and oh! I just remembered something weird that I saw. Detlef was on there for five hundred bucks.”
Detlef? The meathead who does repairs at the Hotel?
“That Detlef.”
I didn’t even know that guy had a business. I thought he just worked as a handyman for the Hotel.
“I’ve never heard of him having his own business either. He doesn’t even take small jobs around town. Why would he care about advertising on someone’s instagram? What is he selling? Personal training? Protein powders? Steroids? That guy is definitely juicing, right?”
I imagine so, agreed Pudding. He does tend to get very… passionate.
That was a nice way of saying that Detlef was a complete thug. He tended to get into stupid fights, especially if he had been drinking. His temper wasn’t restricted to drunken bouts, however. It happened when he was sober too. I wanted to ask him about why he was paying Mandy off, but I had no way to do that without admitting that I had been spying.
Okay, so what about the people who didn’t pay and those who paid a lot? Those are probably are suspects.
“Right,” I took a sip of the water on my nightstand and tried to picture the list. “Okay, so I was on there and I didn’t pay.”
We already knew that.
“Yeah, and I also noticed… Saputra. He had no figure next to his name. So he must have refused that fifty thousand euro demand. Good for him, standing up for himself and being a man of principle.”
We already knew that too. We know you aren’t guilty and Saputra was already on our suspect list at position number one. Who else was there? Who are our other suspects?
I racked my brain and drew a blank. Curse it! Memory was never one of my strengths. I could only remember the few people who paid small bribes because I remembered trying to figure out what they had in common. None of the rest of the names were coming to me. I could only remember that there were a lot of them.
You can’t be serious. You put us in all that risk and now you can’t remember what you even saw?
“I can’t help it,” I admitted. “I think I need to get back in there in the flesh. There’s no way I’m just going to be able to memorize that document. Plus, I’d like to see what else I can find in there.”
Pudding groaned.
“Oh! There’s one other thing I remember, though. There was only one bed in the room and it looked like it was still being used. All of the piles of clothes were pushed aside enough to make space for one person to sleep, and the room is obviously still occupied. Otherwise the maids would have cleared it out.”
The assistant. He’s still in town.
“That’s it though… was he her assistant? Or something more? It looked to me like they had been sharing a bed, though I didn’t see any man’s belongings in the room. Then again, there was so much women’s stuff that his stuff could have been just buried somewhere. I didn’t get to check the bathroom.”
A-ha. We should try to find out more about their relationship. She was so demeaning to him in the shop. Maybe he just moved into her suite after she passed.
“Possibly but does that mean he is paying for the suite? Saputra didn’t even want to give it to Mandy Unterwegs, and now that she’s gone he certainly has no motivation to offer it to her employee for free.”
Maybe Saputra is feeling more accommodating now t
hat he is a suspect in the murder of one of his guests. Or maybe he can’t rent the room because of the investigation anyway.
“Maybe.” I wasn’t convinced. “I think they were sleeping together though.”
I needed to talk to this guy, but I needed to come up with a tactful way to do it before I made an effort. I would probably have one shot and I didn’t want to stick my foot in my mouth. I couldn’t exactly ask him, ‘hey were you sleeping with your boss who just got poisoned? How well were you two getting along before she was murdered?’
At any rate, I felt like we were making some progress. My outlook was looking up, especially compared to the previous night.
I unzipped my dress and slipped into a cool, fresh pair of baby blue striped pajamas. It was getting late and I wanted to end the day on a good note. I learned that Mandy Unterwegs was probably extorting the entire town and I had a few new leads. Plus I needed to think about how I could get into that room without getting caught. I was sure that I could find more good information there, if I only had the opportunity and a little bit of time.
“Alright, let’s hit the hay and regroup tomorrow morning. We’ve got a lot to think about and I want to wake up feeling fresh and ready to move forward.”
I was feeling so good that for a moment I was tempted to scratch behind Pudding’s ears, even though I knew he hated it when I did that.
Chapter Eleven
I was up with the sun the following morning, ready to bake off all the pastry that was chilling overnight in the refrigerator. I had a sausage and fennel strata, dough for cinnamon rolls, and some Choux pastry for making my famous eclairs.
I piped the buttery dough into perfectly uniform stripes across my Silpat baking mat and then watched as delicate pastries rose in my oven and filled my kitchen with the scent of melted butter.
I prepared the fillings and frostings as they cooled on a wire baking rack. I offered the classic, of course: rich and sweet pastry cream filling with a dark chocolate glaze for traditionalists. I also made a chocolate filled, chocolate glazed versions for my chocoholics. Next were my fancies: pistachio sprinkled with candied violet, orange cinnamon, and a delicate pink vanilla rose.
I wasn’t always a huge fan of the most precious pastries but they did look stunning in my pastry case and they appealed to customers who liked to try exotic flavors. And customers who liked to photograph their food.
Before I opened for the day, I took off my apron and helped myself to the first slice of strata, which I accompanied with a big cold brew coffee. The strata was still hot from the oven and the smell of breakfast meat and fennel had been making my mouth water. I popped a forkful of piping hot eggy bread and sausage goodness into my mouth.
“So,” I started, talking to my talking cat with my mouth full, “I need to hunt down this photographer guy and pump him for information. But I can’t come on too strong; he’ll probably be suspicious. Plus I’m assuming that he’s grieving, either his boss or his lover. I just need to figure out where I can catch him and chat him up.”
I don’t think you’ll need to hunt him down, answered Pudding.
“What do you mean? Like I should just hang around outside the door to his hotel room and pounce the next time he exits or enters? No, I don’t know,” I considered whether this tack had any merit. “I think that could come across as creepy.”
It is creepy, and you’re creepy for suggesting it.
“Well, then, tactical mastermind, what’s your idea?”
You could just approach him the next time he comes in?
“To the Zuckerfee?”
He’s been coming in to get a cup of coffee every single day since they arrived.
“What?” This was news to me. “Really? Jeez. I remember the guy being kind of nondescript and unremarkable, but the only recollection I have of ever seeing him was when he came in with Mandy. Are you sure it’s him?” Usually I was excellent at remembering my customers, especially my regulars.
Skinny guy, man bun, beard? Yeah, it’s him alright. He comes in and gets a cold brew and sits in front of the window every day.
“Okay, well, I guess that makes things easy. I’ll just wait for him to come in again. Now I even have a reason to approach him, since he’s patronizing my shop. Hmm. Maybe this will be easier than I thought.”
Was anything ever easier than I thought it would be?
I finished my breakfast, put on a clean striped apron, and brewed a pot of filter coffee. The scent filled the bakery and would soon be tempting my customers. I fixed my hair and unlocked the door for another day at the Zuckerfee.
I wasn’t about to let this photographer slip through my fingers again. I paid careful attention to each and every man, woman, and child that I served. To be completely honest, the fact that this guy already escaped my notice every day was so out of character for me that I was suspicious that there may have been some kind of magic involved.
Or maybe he really was just an incredibly dull man.
Either way, he was going to get my attention today, whether he wanted it or not.
“Good morning, Peter, how are you today?” I greeted my new mailman, who now came in every single day with a smile on his face.
“I’m feeling good, Hildi,” he answered.
I was glad that at least someone was in high spirits.
“My supervisor was even talking about possibly expanding my route,” he continued, the childish glee and pride legible on his young face.
“Wow,” I marvelled. “I hope they aren’t working you to death over there.”
He laughed in response.
“What can I get for you today?”
“Can I please have… hmm… how about a milk coffee and a bacon and cheddar scone?”
“Coming right up!”
My entire morning went surprisingly well. My customers were back to their bright selves and no one came in to make accusations or start arguments. Maybe the murder was already fading from peoples’ minds. There hadn’t been any further acts of violence, so maybe the village was starting to seem safe to everyone again.
Nevertheless, I still had to clear my name. My neighbors might not have cared about the murder anymore, but I was quite sure that the police still did.
I waited and waited. The morning passed, the lunch rush passed, and I began to worry that this guy actually wasn’t coming in after all.
Then it happened. A skinny young man with a man bun, beard, and thick rimmed glasses entered my shop and ordered a large cold brew. It was him, definitely. He didn’t make any conversation when he ordered or even look me in the eye.
I had a line at the time, so I gave him his coffee and hoped that he would stick around for a minute. He took a seat at the window, just like Pudding said he would. I just needed to clear the line and I could get down to business.
Customer after customer came in and it seemed like, just my luck, every single one of them wanted an elaborate, hard to make coffee drink. On that particular day everyone needed a half caf breve macchiato with one and a half shots of vanilla syrup and extra foam on the side. Or else they wanted to wait until it was their turn at the register, then start browsing the selection while trying to make a decision.
Usually I enjoyed helping my customers. I didn’t mind explaining my baking processes and flavor profiles. In fact, it was one of my favorite parts of the job. Today, though, I just didn’t have the time to explain to a dozen people how almonds were farmed or how dough was proofed.
I maintained my composure and hoped that my clientele didn’t mind getting a fast food experience that day. All the while, I watched the photographer from the corner of my eye. Any slight movement he made set me on edge.
He could get up and walk out, and potentially never return, at any time. Then I would never get the chance to dig for information about his relationship with Mandy.
The afternoon at Zuckerfee was unusually busy. Every single time it seemed like the line would die, someone new wandered in through the front door and sp
ent ten minutes placing an order. The entire while, the photographer sat hunched over on his stool, staring out the window. He didn’t read a newspaper or book and didn’t look at his phone once.
He was deep in his thoughts. About Mandy? Probably. I’m sure that if someone I was close to was murdered, I’d spend a lot of time thinking about that person and what happened.
Finally, I had my chance. I straightened out my apron and fixed my hair and evaluated the pastry I had left. What would be irresistible to a young man like that…
I decided on a Canelé. I didn’t want to risk offering him something that had dried out a bit while sitting all day in a pastry case. My Canelé were rich, creamy, decadent, and best of all, they actually tasted better after a few days in the fridge.
“Hey,” I made my approach. “I’ve got a little something for you.”
“Oh,” the photographer seemed to snap out of some reverie. “No, sorry, I didn’t order anything.”
“No,” I corrected him, “it’s on me. I see you come in here every day and you never try my pastry. I thought I’d tempt you with a little free sample so maybe I’d get your business in the future.”
I gave him my sweet as pie smile and set the plate down in front of him.
He stared at it like I was serving him a frog. No, that’s not true. He stared at the Canelé as though he would have preferred to be served an actual frog.
“No thank you,” he finally managed.
“No? How about something different?”
“I don’t eat animal products.”
“Well how about a — “
“Or sugar.”
“Hmm,” I tried to think of what I had to offer him.
“Or gluten.”
“Wow, okay.” I thought of Horst’s recent request for low carb stuff and wished that I had considered it seriously. “Yeah, I’ve gotten a few requests lately for things like that. I’ll have to look into it. It must be very difficult to live with all of those food restrictions. Must be hard for you to find things that you can eat.”
