The Girl, the Dog and the Writer in Lucerne (The Girl, the Dog and the Writer, #3)

by Katrina Nannestad

  Finnegan growled behind her.

  Freja’s heart thudded and her palms instantly started to sweat. Was someone approaching the cloakroom? Would she be found, in her pyjamas, rummaging through private property? Or even worse, was the person who owned these disguises coming to use them once more? What would they do if they knew that Freja had discovered their secret? They had robbed and mugged already. Would they be willing to hurt a small girl for getting in the way?

  Freja ripped off the moustache and the wig and tossed them into the hatbox. She threw the black hat and the beret in on top, popped on the lid and spun around.

  ‘Grrrr!’ Finnegan stood, stiff as a board, the hackles on his back standing up. But he wasn’t facing the door. Rather, he was staring at one of the coats.

  A fur coat.

  A long cream fur coat.

  The same fur coat that had been worn by the woman in Leckerbissen just yesterday!

  Freja dropped to the ground beside the dog and wrapped her arms around his neck. ‘It’s okay, puppy. It’s just a coat. Not a wild animal, although it does look rather like a polar bear. And you are very clever to have noticed it once more.’

  Finnegan stopped growling, but his body remained stiff, alert, in case he was needed to protect the girl.

  Freja pushed the other coats aside and stared at the fur coat. She closed her eyes and pictured the German woman from yesterday. She’d worn a fur hat, sunglasses and black gloves. The coat had reached below her knees, and she’d worn black leggings and flat black leather slippers.

  ‘How very odd,’ muttered Freja. ‘You’d think that a woman wearing such a fine fur coat would also be wearing expensive high-heeled shoes.’ Freja opened her eyes and ran her hand down the fur. ‘Eee!’ she squeaked as a new thought occurred to her. How easy it would be to toss off a coat and hat, pull on a balaclava and transform oneself into a ninja, dressed all in black!

  Freja recalled the mugging of Herr Basil, and the more she thought about it, the more it made sense. The lady in the fur coat was also the ninja in the alleyway!

  ‘Balaclava . . . balaclava . . .’ Freja now dashed along the hanging clothes, touching each item as she went, until she found exactly what she was looking for. ‘Aha!’ She lifted out a puffy black ski jacket and matching black pants. Stuffed into one jacket pocket was a black balaclava, in the other, dark ski goggles.

  ‘Here, Finnegan,’ cried Freja, ‘we have the disguise worn during the daring night-time robbery at Café Schokolade-Schokolade!’

  Freja continued along the clothes rack and laughed. ‘And here, of course, we have the traditional Swiss clothes worn by the clockmaker’s wife when she bought all of the Margrit Milk fob watches yesterday!’ Holding the blouse and dirndl before her body, she swayed back and forth and made a little yodelling noise.

  ‘Boof!’ said Finnegan. Diving behind a pair of ski boots, he emerged with something grey and hairy hanging from his mouth. He shook it from side to side, growling and rolling his eyes.

  Freja laughed. ‘Good boy! You found the old woman’s wig. And killed it!’

  Freja ran her eyes back around the cloakroom, lingering on each piece of familiar clothing, then sat down upon the carton of chocolate from Berna Schokolade. The dog lay at her feet and started ripping the grey wig apart.

  ‘So!’ said Freja. ‘All the people who have stolen or bought large amounts of Margrit Milk chocolate are the same person — one person in disguise. And that person is here at Hotel Schloss der Freude.’

  Freja blew out a long stream of air from between her lips. ‘What will Manfred say when he finds out? He was distressed enough at the idea of someone from his beloved hotel being the puffy burglar who robbed Café Schokolade-Schokolade. Imagine if he knew that they also stole the newly delivered blocks of Margrit Milk from Schokoladen-Fantasie and mugged Herr Basil and kidnapped the Margrit Milk family from François-Louis’ beautiful doll’s house!’

  Freja tugged at her left ear. She tapped her foot. She frowned. ‘But why Margrit Milk?’

  The dog looked up at her, a lock of grey hair dangling from his mouth.

  ‘What is so very special about Margrit Milk?’ asked Freja. ‘It might be the very best, but Berna’s Best is also delicious. In fact, all of the chocolate in Switzerland is delicious.’ She tugged at her right ear until it hurt. ‘Why go to such crazy lengths to steal just one kind of chocolate?’

  ‘Woof-boof!’ said Finnegan.

  ‘I agree,’ said Freja. ‘It’s most mysterious. I think . . . no, I am sure that there is more to the Margrit Milk than meets the eye . . . or the tongue!’

  CHAPTER 32

  Fleas and rubies for sale

  The next morning, the girl, the dog and the writer were eating breakfast on the balcony when a letter arrived.

  ‘From the hospital,’ announced Rolf, standing a good distance back from the table. His brow broke out in little beads of sweat as he reached past Finnegan to give the letter to Freja.

  ‘Danke, Rolf,’ said Freja.

  ‘Boof!’ said Finnegan, snapping at Rolf’s white glove.

  The bellboy ran backward to the door, clicking his heels and bowing as he went. He stumbled, regained his balance and shot from the apartment.

  The letter was in a plain white envelope, addressed in an unfamiliar hand. Freja opened it and read:

  Dear Freja,

  I am awake! I am sorry to have missed seeing you yesterday, but today I am awake.

  The doctors will not allow me to have any activity this morning, but I will be waiting for your visit this afternoon, my darling girl.

  Do bring Tobby and Finnegan and Vivi.

  Clementine

  X

  (This is Lady P’s handwriting, but my words and love.)

  Freja smiled, her teeth flashing, her blue eyes sparkling in the Swiss sunshine. ‘Look, Tobby! Look!’ She thrust the letter across the table. ‘Clementine is awake. And she wants us to visit with Vivi this afternoon.’

  Tobias read the letter. ‘Brilliant. That gives us time to deal with the other important matter.’

  ‘What other important matter?’ asked Freja.

  The writer blushed and he fiddled with his bread roll until it was nothing but a pile of crumbs on his plate.

  Freja’s eyes narrowed. Did Tobias know what she was up to last night? Was he also closing in on the identity of the Margrit Milk criminal? ‘What other important matter?’ she repeated.

  The dog, sensing a shift in voices, looked up from the bowl of jam he’d been slurping.

  Tobias gazed across at the old town centre of Lucerne. ‘It’s Saturday. There’s a flea market today.’

  ‘Woof! Boof!’

  ‘Settle down, puppy,’ said Tobias. ‘There are no fleas at a flea market. You’ll be quite safe. This is a market filled with all sorts of treasure, old and new, amongst which I am hoping to find one particular treasure . . .’ The writer’s words faded out and he leaned forward, cupping his chin in his hand. He sighed and grinned and sighed some more.

  The dog nipped him on the shoulder, but he didn’t seem to notice.

  Maybe this wasn’t about the Margrit Milk chocolate after all.

  Freja shrugged. ‘I’ll go and get dressed, then.’

  The girl, the dog and the writer skipped down the hill from the funicular station. Freja baulked at the edge of the Spreuer Bridge. But then she remembered that Clementine was awake and the sun was shining and she had promised herself that she would be brave from now on. Grabbing a handful of Finnegan’s fur for courage, she carried on across the bridge.

  When they came out into the sunshine on the other side, Freja stopped and stared. Mühlenplatz and the space along the edge of the River Reuss were bustling. All tidiness and order was gone, replaced with one stall after another selling a jumble of wares — hats and belts, soup bowls and kettles, lampshades and books, paintings and mirrors, cuckoo clocks and alphorns. People pressed in around the stalls, shouting, laughing, rattling coins in their pockets, w
aving notes in the air.

  ‘Marvellous!’ cried Tobias, squeezing the girl’s shoulder.

  ‘I know,’ said Freja. ‘A feast for the eyes . . . and the ears and the nose. A world of characters just waiting to be written into your next novel.’ She giggled. ‘Like that man over there. Just look at his hands, the way he flutters them through the air like two butterflies hovering over a field of daisies, waiting to find the perfect bloom on which to land!’

  She looked up at the writer, smiling, laughing, ready for his own observations. Tobias was always excited by crowds of people and would remark loudly, often rudely, on people’s appearance. But, to her surprise, he said nothing other than, ‘There! Over there!’ and dashed away through the crowd.

  Freja and Finnegan ran after Tobias, catching up when he stopped before a stall selling jewellery. There were gold bracelets, pearl necklaces both long and short, crystal brooches in the shape of swans and fish and flowers, silver lockets, dangly earrings and a small, glass-covered case filled with row after row of rings.

  Tobias leaned forward and tapped on the glass-covered case. ‘Guten Morgen. May I look at that ring there?’

  The woman behind the stall nodded and opened the lid.

  Tobias took out the ring and held it up in the air. It was gold, set with three rubies in a row. The rubies drew in the sunshine and fired it back out in raspberry-gelato shards of light.

  Freja gasped, overwhelmed at both the beauty of the stones and the sudden realisation that the ring was being chosen for a very special reason.

  ‘Tobby!’ she cried. ‘It’s beautiful! It’s perfect! Vivi will love it!’

  The ring purchased, the girl, the dog and the writer pushed their way through the flea market crowds and headed straight to Leckerbissen.

  ‘Oh, look, Tobby!’ cried Freja as they stepped inside. ‘There’s a new chocolate family living in the doll’s house!’

  ‘They are beautiful, ja?’ sang Frau Niederhauser from behind a pyramid of chocolate éclairs. ‘François-Louis stayed up late last night making them from the last of this week’s batch of Margrit Milk. He said he did not want a chocolate house but rather a chocolate home. And for that it needed a family.’

  Freja smiled. Frau Niederhauser took a chocolate éclair from the top of the pyramid, bit into it and smiled back, her cheeks bulging.

  Tobias was not interested in the chocolate family or François-Louis or Frau Niederhauser or the delicious chocolate éclairs. He walked straight to the back of the shop, pressed his hands against the glass wall and stared into the kitchen at Vivi.

  Vivi was drizzling melted chocolate across a tray full of strawberries. Her raspberry-gelato lips were pursed in concentration. Dark chocolate magic flowed from her spoon, transforming the strawberries from simple pieces of fruit into delicate desserts that would melt in the mouth and bring joy to the heart.

  Tobias sighed, patted his shirt pocket and turned around. ‘Come along, old chap! Look sharp, Finnegan!’ And he hustled the girl and the dog to the nearest café table, seeming to forget that dogs were not allowed in Leckerbissen.

  They were barely settled when Tobias sprang back up, dashed across to Frau Niederhauser and placed an order. Returning to the table, he fiddled, jiggled his legs, folded the napkins into tiny triangles and tugged at his ears. Finnegan set about licking every square millimetre of the table top, then started in on Freja’s face.

  Finally, when Freja was just starting to worry that Tobias might pull one of his ears free from his head, or that Finnegan might start gnawing at her hair, Frau Niederhauser trotted over with a tray. She unloaded three mugs of hot chocolate — one for Freja, one for Tobias, one spare — and a bowl of whipped cream for Finnegan.

  ‘Vivi will join you in a moment,’ she said. ‘Guten Appetit!’

  ‘Danke, Frau Niederhauser,’ said Freja.

  Finnegan buried his nose in the bowl of whipped cream.

  Tobias took the ruby ring from his pocket. ‘This is it, old chap. Wish me luck.’

  ‘You don’t need luck, Tobby,’ said Freja. ‘Vivi loves you as much as you love her. Everyone can see it.’

  The writer blushed and nodded. Then, leaning over the spare mug of hot chocolate, he poked the ring deep into the cloud of whipped cream.

  ‘Ciao! Ciao!’ Vivi floated towards them on a breeze of cocoa and vanilla. Her chocolate-ganache eyes were soft and warm. ‘Ciao and guten Morgen, my dearest, sweetest friends.’ She floated around the table, kissing Freja and Finnegan on the tops of their heads. Then, turning to Tobias, she kissed him on his left cheek, then his right, then his left once more, her lips lingering a little each time.

  Tobias pressed his hands to his cheeks and sighed.

  Vivi laughed and slipped into the spare chair.

  Finnegan licked his bowl clean and lunged towards Freja’s hot chocolate, but she managed to slide it away just in time. ‘Uh-uh!’ she scolded.

  Tobias grabbed the edge of the table with both hands. ‘Vivi,’ he said. ‘Vivi . . .’

  Vivi smiled at him, her liquorice-thick lashes fluttering.

  Tobias ran his fingers through his hair and blushed. He tugged at one ear and chuckled. He tugged at the other ear and sighed. He gazed up at one of the chandeliers for quite some time. Finally, he pushed back his chair and looked towards the door as though he might be about to run.

  Freja shouted, ‘Tobby ordered this hot chocolate for you, Vivi!’

  ‘Yes!’ cried Tobias, sliding the mug across to Vivi. ‘For you. Just for you. Bottoms up!’

  Vivi smiled, fluttered her lashes and reached for the hot chocolate. But before the tips of her fingers had touched the handle of the mug, Finnegan lunged forward and slurped the cream off the top. All of it. In one great swipe of the tongue. Not a skerrick remained.

  Freja gasped.

  Finnegan burped.

  Vivi laughed.

  And Tobias jumped to his feet. ‘So sorry!’ he cried. ‘So terribly, awfully sorry. I’m such a silly sausage. Or rather, as they say in Switzerland, I’m such a Hanswurst!’ He pulled his pencil from behind his ear and stared at it. ‘I’ll order another mug of hot chocolate. Although it won’t be the same. No, no, no. Then again, Finnegan’s digestive system might not be the same after today either. But you probably don’t wish to hear about doggy digestion at morning-tea time. No, no, no. Absolutely not!’ He poked his pencil into the cream on top of his own hot chocolate and blushed.

  ‘I’ll be back in a minute!’ he shouted so loudly that everyone in the café turned to stare. He waved, bowed and bustled away from the table, past the chocolate doll’s house and out the front door where he disappeared from sight.

  CHAPTER 33

  Gift envy

  The girl, the dog and the writer lunched in the Palm Room, dining on cheese fondue, Nusstorte and the waiter’s bowtie. It was, of course, Finnegan who had gobbled the bowtie, but the waiter still frowned upon Freja and Tobias with disdain as though they had each eaten a portion themselves.

  Freja was pulling strings of melted cheese from Finnegan’s ear when Manfred approached, carrying a tray with a shiny silver dome on top. He clicked his heels and bowed. ‘Guten Tag, Fräulein Freja. I apologise heartily for the delay, but at last I am able to fulfil your special request.’ Lifting the dome with a flourish, he held forth the tray to reveal a pair of fluffy brown slippers in the shape of marmots.

  ‘Oh, Manfred!’ cried Freja. ‘They’re beautiful.’

  The concierge blushed with pleasure. ‘Bitte, try them on.’

  Freja pushed her chair back from the table, kicked off her boots and wriggled her feet into the marmot slippers. They were soft and warm and snug. Sticking her feet in the air, she admired the fat round head that sat on the toe of each slipper — the fluffy round ears, the shiny bead eyes, the round black nose, the stiff whiskers and the protruding buck teeth.

  ‘They’re perfect!’ she cried.

  ‘Boof!’ Finnegan leapt from his chair and dived at the slippers, but
Freja pulled her feet back in the nick of time.

  ‘No, puppy!’ she cried. ‘The marmot slippers are mine and you are not to lay a tooth on them, no matter how fluffy and exciting they may seem!’

  The dog dropped to the floor, flopped his chin onto his front paws and whimpered.

  Freja smiled. ‘Danke, Manfred,’ she said. ‘I’ll wear them to the clinic this afternoon. Clementine will love them.’

  Rolf poked his head around the edge of a palm tree. ‘Excuse me, but there is a second special delivery for the Fräulein.’ He waved towards the foyer.

  ‘Woof-boof!’ Finnegan, banned from attacking the slippers, grew suddenly excited at the sight of Rolf’s gloved hand flapping about. He jumped to his feet and bounded towards the bellboy.

  ‘Nein! Nein!’ cried Rolf.

  But the dog paid no attention and chased him around and around the palm trees and out onto the terrace.

  Manfred placed Freja’s boots onto his tray and covered them with the silver dome. ‘Bitte, Fräulein. A second delivery awaits. I will see that your boots make it safely home to your suite.’

  ‘And meanwhile,’ said Tobias, ‘I’ll duck into the kitchen and have a little chat with the chef about mushrooms and how to best hide the deadly ones in a casserole or a salad.’

  ‘Fräulein Sweet-tea!’ François-Louis called to Freja from one of the blue velvet sofas in the foyer. ‘Come! Sit by me. I have a special gift for your mother.’

  Freja flitted across the foyer, enjoying the soft, furry feel of her new slippers. She sat beside François-Louis and he placed a pretty pink box on her knee.

  ‘Chocolates?’ asked Freja. ‘Clementine loves chocolate. It gives her rosy cheeks and lots of energy.’ She blushed and stared down at her slippers. ‘Well, not lots of energy, but a little bit of energy . . . which is more than she has most of the time . . . and especially what she needs at the moment.’ Suddenly, her bottom lip began to wobble.

  ‘But these are not just any chocolates!’ cried François-Louis. He raised his eyebrows and stared pointedly at the box.

  Freja bit her lip to stop the wobbling and opened the lid. Inside, nestled in pink tissue paper, was the entire chocolate family from the doll’s house at Leckerbissen — the mother, the father, a little boy and two little girls.