by Vreni Fox
“Oh, I can eat all of those things. I just don’t.”
“Well,” I made a desperate attempt to try to get things back on track. “I think you’ve already found the one thing I sell that you do enjoy. Can I at least offer you a refill?”
Finally he cracked a smile and let me fill up his coffee.
“I don’t think we’ve met, formally,” I offered him my hand to shake. “I’m Brunhilde. This is my bakery.”
“Moritz,” the young man answered. “But I go by Mo.”
“Well in that case, you can just call me Hildi. Mo, it’s nice to meet you.”
“Thanks, likewise.”
“I think the last time you were in here you were with Frau Nussbaum, the Mayor’s cousin. I’m so, so sorry to hear what happened to here. Were you two very close? This must be so hard for you.”
Moritz sighed and stared into his coffee.
“You could say that, I guess,” he finally replied.
I waited for him to hopefully continue.
“We used to be a couple. I thought that I was going to marry her, but then things didn’t work out. She said that I was bad for her brand. I’m not exactly sure how that’s possible; she wouldn’t have a brand without me. I learned photography specifically for her brand.”
“Are those your photographs on her site?”
“Every single one of them.”
“I saw them. They’ve very, very beautiful shots.”
Moritz looked like he had been caught off guard. “Thanks.”
I got the impression that he didn’t receive my praise for his work.
“It must have been a lot of work.”
“Oh, you have no idea. Chantal was absolutely obsessed with her lifestyle brand, and every thought of hers was dedicated to its cultivation. It wasn’t even necessarily about the money at the end. Mandy Unterwegs was a sweet, carefree, adventurous, loving girl. She was absolutely nothing like Chantal. All those followers and there wasn’t a person in the world who knew the real Chantal. Not like I did.”
A grim smile spread across Mo’s face and he sipped his coffee.
“The real Chantal was a cut throat, shrewd businesswoman and a perfectionist. It’s actually what I loved about her. You have to be in a business like that. She had a million followers who loved her, but it’s a weird kind of love. Kind of like a love hate relationship. They wanted to be just like her, but they also wanted to see her fail. Whenever one of these internet celebrities has some kind of fall from grace, the fans just lap that right up. Hey,” Mo suddenly looked suspicious. “Have you got an Instagram? Or other social media?”
“Sorry,” I could see he was getting suspicious of my questioning. “I’m a luddite. I’d barely even heard of Instagram before last week.”
That answer seemed to satisfy him.
“Huh. Interesting. Well, anyhow, thanks for the coffee. See you around.”
Chapter Twelve
I watched Mo exit my shop and felt my shoulders relax. I hadn’t even realized how much tension I was holding. I helped myself to his neglected Canelé. Didn’t want to let it go to waste. Then I thought about that weird conversation.
“Am I being too judgmental or did that guy strike you as mentally unstable?” I asked Pudding, bringing the empty plate back to the kitchen.
You mean the guy who seemed to have absolutely no life outside of this woman who had no interest in him aside from his ability to photograph her? No, seemed perfectly normal to me.
“Yeah, I mean he really is a very good photographer. I wonder what he was doing with his life before he met Mandy Unterwegs.”
Probably obsessing over some other woman.
“Maybe. He said that she dumped him but I’m pretty sure they were sharing a bed at the Hotel. I wonder what their deal was.”
I also wondered if I should consider him a suspect. On the one hand, he seemed to get really angry when he talked about her. He was bitter and resentful. On the other hand, he had based his whole life around her and he did seem to think that there was a chance that they would get back together.
Was he angry enough to murder her or was he envisioning a future with her? If she was poisoned, that implied that the murder was premeditated. So nothing that was done in an impulsive rage.
I would definitely have to think more about Mo, and hopefully get some more information on that front.
Just then, a man with a shiny grey suit and slicked back hair walked in. My skin prickled. It wasn’t often that I saw anyone other than Eno Saputra wearing a suit. I instantly panicked… was this a detective from Munich? I jumped up from my seat at the window to don my apron and do my best job at seeming agreeable and innocent.
“Hello, good afternoon, welcome to the Zuckerfee!” I greeted him in my finest customer service voice.
“Good afternoon,” the man replied. He seemed way more interested in the pastry case then he seemed in me, which immediately put me at ease. I doubted that a detective on a poisoning case would buy pastry from a suspected murderer.
“See anything you like?”
“I see a lot of things I like,” he rubbed his chin with his thumb, his voice thick with an Eastern European accent that I couldn’t quite place. “You’ve got a lot of pretty things here.” His eyes finally met mine and I felt slightly uncomfortable. “And have you got anything tasty?”
“I’m personally a big fan,” I answered, wondering what direction this conversation was heading. I suddenly felt like maybe I would have preferred a cop.
“Well, what do you recommend? What’s your favorite.”
I glanced through the pastry case. “You looking for savory or sweet?”
“Give me something plump and sweet.”
Alright, this guy was gross.
“Plump and sweet,” I pretended not to catch the innuendo. “How about a nice, thick chocolate chip brioche? It’s one of my specialties.”
“Well then I had better give that a try. And can I have that with a cappuccino, extra wet?”
“Sure thing.” Really, who ordered an extra wet cappuccino? I wasn’t about to question his drink preferences though. “You on holiday here at Drachenfels or you just passing through, I tried to sound like I was making small talk and not prying. “I don’t think I’ve seen you here before.”
“Neither,” the man answered, reaching for his wallet. “I’m about to become a new resident.”
“Really?” I couldn’t hide my surprise. “We very rarely get newcomers here. Well let me be the welcome wagon then. I’m Brunhilde and this is my bakery.”
I wiped my hands on my apron and went for a handshake.
“I know who you are.” A thin smile spread across the man’s face. “I’m Viktor Vega. I think you’re making my wedding cake.”
What luck! This guy never came around town and now I could try to pump him for information about Mandy Unterwegs. He seemed interested in talking too.
“Oh my God, welcome. Congratulations on your wedding, put your wallet away. This one is on me.”
“If you insist.”
“Of course I insist. Also,” I jumped right in, “please accept my deepest condolences regarding the Mayor’s cousin. This must be so hard for you, especially so close to the wedding. It must be so hard to dream about your future when something terrible happens to your loved one.”
“Oh you’re feeling bad, huh?” Viktor laughed. “That’s funny because I heard that you’re probably the one who took her out.”
Viktor knocked the wind out of me. I was caught off guard and had no idea how I was supposed to reply to that.
“Don’t worry,” he laughed. “If it was you, you did me a favor.”
I was still at a loss for words.
“I took it you met her?”
“Yeah,” I drew the word out. “Yes, she came by here once. We had a minor misunderstanding.”
“A minor misunderstanding,” Viktor rolled his eyes. “She had a minor misunderstanding with every single person in this entire village.
As far as I can tell, this girl’s entire life was a series of ‘minor misunderstandings.’ She was a nasty, greedy, vicious girl and I’m surprised that she made it this far.”
Good lord. Tell me how you really feel, Viktor. “So I take it that you two didn’t get along?”
“I hated her,” Viktor agreed. “She was nothing but a thorn in my side. So vulgar. I give thanks every single day that someone conveniently removed her from my hair. I should be the one buying you breakfast.”
“Well, I’m sorry to disappoint you but I had nothing to do with her death.”
“I honestly could not possibly care less. I’m just glad she’s gone.”
“Not a fan of new media?” I pressed my luck.
“New media,” he spit out. “I’m a very, very private man. I don’t post my business all over the internet so that I can sell shoes and diet pills. I hate being photographed, and I would never allow my photograph to be posted publicly, especially not in some kind of advertisement. This isn’t acceptable in my line of work. It’s the only disagreement I’ve ever had with my beautiful bride.”
I desperately wanted to ask him what exactly his line of work was, but I held my tongue. Maybe it was the accent, but I wondered if it wasn’t organized crime. Of course the idea of our Mayor marrying a mafioso was absolutely ludicrous, but stranger things have happened.
Viktor Vega looked and acted so sleazy. I could tell why Mitzi was questioning whether the Mayor would even still want to marry him if the advertising campaign was off. Aside from the suit and the hair, he had a boney, angular face that seemed to exude a constant film of sweat and grease. His skin was pocked and waxy and he smelled like cologne but looked just plain dirty. I wonder where on Earth the Mayor was meeting these guys.
“In that case, I’m sorry for the strife with your new wife. I hope that you’re still able to have the wedding you want and I especially hope that you’re happy with the cake.”
“Thank you, Brunhilde. I have a feeling that things will go much more smoothly now that someone has conveniently taken care of our little problem. Please let me know if there’s anything that I can ever do for you.” With that he handed me a thick, soft business card with raised lettering and left my shop.
I noticed that he hadn’t actually touched my brioche. For the second time that day, I went ahead and ate a strange man’s pastry. What a day. I was making progress on proving my innocence and I got extra treats.
“What the hell was that?” I asked Pudding. He’d watched the entire exchange from the counter.
I guess the Mayor likes bad boys.
“Right? Can you imagine them together? How did they meet? What do they have in common?”
What a weird couple. I imagined how they might spend time together, but immediately abandoned that line of thought after the image of them being intimate entered my mental landscape.
What do you think he was?
“I’m glad that I’m not the only one thinking that. You think he could be in organized crime? I just can’t see the Mayor getting involved in a situation like that but maybe? I guess that would make this investigation a lot easier, if the Mayor’s new mafioso husband hated the victim.”
That’s not what I meant.
“Oh. Sorry, what did you mean?”
He won’t allow himself to be photographed, he doesn’t eat food…
“Oh. Ohhhhh. Oh. You think?”
It hadn’t even occurred to me that Viktor Vega wasn’t human.
He’s not ordinary.
“What are you thinking? Vampire?” He could be a vampire, and he kind of looked like one. They couldn’t be photographed and there were charms and talismans they could wear that would allow them to go out in daylight, like Lapis Lazuli. Maybe the Mayor was having her own inter species love affair.
Or demon.
“No way.” Much like human sacrifice, consorting with a demon was strictly forbidden by the Bylaws of the Chamber of Commerce, and as the Chief Executive Officer of our Chamber of Commerce, the Mayor practically wrote those rules. Demon blood was an indispensable ingredient in black magic and was particularly important when it came to casting dark spells against witches and other supernatural entities. It was dangerous and no one had used it for decades.
“There is just no way that the Mayor is having some kind of forbidden love affair with a demon.”
I wouldn’t be so sure.
Demons could be photographed, but the prints would show them in their natural forms without their glamours. Obviously the Mayor would not recruit someone to take hundreds of pictures of her marrying a monster and breaking the law. Demons weren’t just a no-go locally; if these pictures became public then Drachenfels would have trouble with other covens.
“That makes absolutely no sense. Why would the Mayor go all in with this Instagram thing if she knew that her beau was a closeted demon?”
I don’t know. For the time being, let’s just keep him in mind. There’s something very strange about him. Even if he’s not magic, he wasn’t exactly subtle about his hatred for the girl.
“Agreed. I’ll add him to the suspect list. Though I did kind of feel like he just came in here to thank me for committing a murder.”
It seemed that way to me too. But maybe he’s just a smooth talker.
“Maybe. Anyhow, one more lead to the list. This day just keeps getting weirder and weirder. At least we’re almost closed.”
I spent the rest of the afternoon cleaning my bakery and prepping for the following day. Several of my specialties took several days of planning and work. I might not have been the world’s most academic person, but I had learned to create calendars and spreadsheets at the beginning of the week so that I could stay on top of weekly menus, ordering, and prep. Lately it seemed to me like these spreadsheets were the only thing keeping me going.
I wondered what it was like to be an internet influencer. So many people following every single moment of your day, but so far, every single person I met know had known Chantal Nussbaum in real life absolutely hated her. Many of these people appeared to hate her so much that I found it plausible that they may have murdered her. Even the man who loved her seemed to also hate her. And hadn’t he said that her ‘fans’ also loved and hated her at the same time?
I didn’t like Chantal but I did feel bad for her.
Chapter Thirteen
“Hey pretty lady. You still open?”
“Excuse me?” I wasn’t used to my bakery customers trying to get fresh. Usually the only freshness I experienced at work was my own pastries. “Oh, it’s you.”
Horst strolled in and took a long look at my pastry case. Something about the expression on his face put me on edge. He was avoiding my gaze, plus it was unlike him to be so forward. I had a very bad feeling.
“Hey, Hildi, do you have a minute to talk?”
Uh oh. ‘We need to talk’ is never good. In my previous experience, it always meant that I was about to get either dumped or fired.
“Sure,” I said, removing my apron. “Can I fix us some fresh coffee?”
“That would be great,” Horst responded, still not meeting my eye.
We took a cozy table in the corner of my shop and Horst stalled by stirring his coffee.
“So,” I prompted, growing more anxious by the second. “What’s the bad news?”
Horst glanced up at me, seemingly surprised by my guess that he wasn’t just there to chat.
“Hildi,” he started, “I wanted you to hear it from me before anyone else showed up to question you.”
My heart pounded and I could feel the heat rise in my neck. It suddenly felt like it was about a million degrees warmer in my shop.
My mind was racing with increasingly absurd possibilities. This was obviously terrible news and I assumed that I was about to be arrested by a force from Munich. But Horst was warning me. I still had time. I could skip town and flee the country. Bali seemed nice, based on everything I’d ever heard about it from Eno Saputra. Surely the Baline
se people appreciated fine baked goods.
Who was I kidding? I didn’t even have a passport.
“The toxicology reports are in,” Horst continued, what seemed like a lifetime later. “Hildi, I’m sorry, but they were inconclusive. It could have been cyanide, or it could have been any number of other poisons, including amatoxin, which you have in your garden.”
“Wait, I have amatoxin in my garden? How did you know that? I didn’t even know that.”
“Hildi, Munich already has an inventory of every single thing in your garden. They’re combing through it right now to find possible poisons.”
“Don’t they need a warrant for that?” I was indignant. How had they even compiled this inventory without me noticing? They must have done it while I was at work in the bakery.
“No because it’s outside.”
“Okay, but if they could find the amatoxin in my garden without me knowing, surely so could anyone else who wanted to use it. This really doesn’t prove anything at all.”
“No, Hildi, but it certainly doesn’t look good either. Look… I’m here as your friend right now and not in any official capacity as an officer of the law… can you think of anyone, anyone at all, who you think deserves a closer look? Anyone who has been acting suspicious or anyone you heard any rumors about? I normally wouldn’t ask, but I don’t believe that you’re guilty and it’s looking more and more like Munich is just looking for someone to take the fall.”
Any inhibitions that I held about accusing innocent people flew straight out the window. I was in panic mode and I was desperate. I was ashamed to admit it, but I was perfectly willing to point my finger at every single person in town.
“Well,” I started, trying not to let my state of terror crack my voice, “actually, now that you mention it, there are a few people I considered.”
Horst got out a little spiral bound notebook and a pen. “Fire away.”
“Have you taken a look at Eno Saputra?”
