The Wurst Is Yet to Come

by Mary Daheim

  Judith cupped her ear. “Do you log in this area?”

  Burt looked puzzled. “Huh?”

  Renie set down her drink and pantomimed chopping a tree—or striking out at home plate. “You know—axes,” she clarified.

  Ruby smirked. “Burt’s a blogger.”

  “That’s . . . nice,” Judith said. “Any particular kind of blog?”

  “Political,” Burt replied, all but shouting to be heard over the band. “You realize human beings are regressing, don’t you?”

  Judith stared at him just long enough to feel embarrassed. “Well—isn’t that social commentary? I mean, it’s—”

  But Burt was shaking his head. “No, no, no. It’s why the world is in such a mess. Politically. Especially this country. We know too much, but we don’t think. Our brains are atrophying.”

  The tuba player blasted out a couple of notes that made Judith wince. Some of the guests were dancing as they melted away from where Dietrich Wessler had held court. “Yes,” Judith practically yelled, “glad you won a trophy. Downhill or cross-country?”

  Burt cupped his ear. “What? This country makes you cross? Downhill is right. A slippery slope of sloppy stupidity.”

  The hissing sibilant sounds sprayed Judith, forcing her to back away and bump Renie’s arm. “Hey,” her cousin yelled, “watch it!”

  “Let’s get out of here,” Judith said through gritted teeth.

  Renie speared a chunk of pickled herring. “Sure.”

  At least Judith thought that was what her cousin had said. But when she turned around to gaze at the dancers hopping, bopping, and practically jumping out of their dirndls and lederhosen, she had no idea how they could brave such a mass of frenzied Teutonic flesh.

  “This is worse than trying to get through Nordquist’s annual sale,” Renie shouted. “Where did Ruby and Burt go?”

  “Who knows?” Judith yelled back. “Who cares?”

  Judith’s ears were ringing. Many of the dancers were her own age, some much older. She was amazed at their vigor, but appalled at her own reaction. The frenetic participants became a blur, but a long minute passed before the music came to a cacophonous halt. Judith’s body sagged. The dancers broke ranks amid much panting and laughter.

  “Where will we go?” Renie asked Judith in a normal voice. “Won’t your B&B colleagues report you to Inbred Heffalump as a deserter?”

  “At this point,” Judith declared, her face set, “my ears are ringing so much that all I need to make me really nuts is—”

  A piercing scream came from the middle of the room, where Eleanor Denkel was swaying and clutching at her breast. The sudden silence was almost as deafening as the oompah band. Then, like viewing a slow-motion pantomime, the cousins watched the dancers moving lead-footedly toward Eleanor. The circle around her began to close—but not before Judith glimpsed Dietrich Wessler lying on the floor with a pool of blood creeping across the hardwood.

  Chapter Three

  Judith grabbed Renie’s arm. “Drop everything,” she whispered. “We’re really out of here!”

  “But . . .” Renie’s mouth was agape. “How?”

  The crowd was focused on Eleanor—and what Judith could only guess was the corpse of Dietrich Wessler.

  “There’s a door behind the bar,” she said, moving as fast as she could manage. “I’m not sticking around for this one.”

  The bar was deserted. Apparently the Fritzes had joined the rest of the stunned onlookers. Judith barely heard the muffled screams, curses, and agitated buzz from the big room as she set her glass on a stool. “Lose the appetizers,” she murmured to Renie, moving behind the bar. To her relief, the door was unlocked. It opened onto an area filled with cartons of liquor, mixers, produce, and other edibles. A large shelf holding dinnerware was on their left, a stack of chairs was on their right. Slowing at the next door, Judith opened it cautiously. A short hall led to double doors she thought might be the kitchen.

  “Damn,” she swore under her breath. “We’re trapped.”

  Renie was still holding her plate of hors d’oeuvres. “Why don’t we stay here until they move the stiff? We’ve got food.”

  Judith gave Renie an exasperated look. “That’s the dopiest . . . wait. Can you fake illness?”

  “Sure. What kind? I need symptoms.”

  “Food poisoning—allergies. Your peanut reaction. Look puny.”

  “I’ll have to hold my breath.”

  “Whatever.” Judith was at the double doors. “I go first. We’ll make this quick. Don’t fake your own death.”

  “Looks like Herr Wessler didn’t have to fake his,” Renie said, trudging after her cousin. “Seemed real to me.”

  Apparently the disastrous news hadn’t yet reached the kitchen. The hired help was busy with dinner preparations. Judith looked around for anyone who might be in charge. At last she spotted a man in a chef’s toque berating a line cook over some slices of veal.

  “Excuse me,” she called. “Are you Chef . . . Brfle?” She had no idea what the burly man’s name was. “Help us, please.”

  “What?” he barked, wiping his hands on a towel.

  “My cousin has a severe peanut allergy. She thinks there may be peanuts in the food. Is that possible?”

  The chef scowled. “How can I tell? She looted the place!”

  Judith tried not to waver as she heard distant sirens. “Either you have peanuts or peanut oil in the appetizers or you don’t. Which is it?”

  The chef glanced at Renie, who was leaning against a shelf, panting slightly and blinking rapidly. “No,” he said emphatically. “No such ingredients used for the cocktail party. Please leave. We’re busy.”

  “How do we get out?” Judith asked. “My cousin needs fresh air.”

  The chef jerked his thumb over his shoulder. “That way. It leads to the garbage. Fresh air is down toward the river.” He turned back to the line cook, who was cowering over his veal.

  Judith had to lean against the heavy outer door to open it. Garbage stench or not, she took a deep breath as the door closed behind them. “Nice job, coz,” she said as Renie reluctantly put her appetizer plate’s leavings in a Dumpster. “How do we get back to Hanover Haus? Except for the light by the door, it’s pitch-dark—and cold.”

  “We could walk around the building,” Renie suggested. “It sounds as if the EMTs have arrived. Maybe they could give us a ride.”

  “Not funny,” Judith murmured. “Do you have a flashlight?”

  “Yes, on my key chain. Bill bought it for me,” Renie went on, searching in her suede shoulder bag, “so I could see to start the car and not put the key in the glove compartment instead of the ignition. I’ll go first so if you fall, you can—”

  “Fine,” Judith said impatiently. “Move before the cops show up.”

  “There’s a path,” Renie said uncertainly, heading down the slope that led to the river, “but I don’t think it takes us back to the main street. Damn! This light’s so small I can’t see more than three feet ahead.”

  Judith paused for a moment. “The hotel lights are above us now. Can you imagine what’s going on inside?”

  “I sure can. Everybody’s probably wondering where FASTO is.”

  “Oh, God!” Judith cried. “Don’t mention that Web site. Why couldn’t my so-called admirers have come up with an acronym besides Female Amateur Sleuth Tracking Offenders? I’m sick of people who can’t read calling me FATSO.”

  “You’re too self-conscious about your weight. You’re tall, you can weigh . . . hold on. The trail veers off by a bench up ahead.”

  “Good.” Judith looked up. “The clouds are moving. Maybe we can see by the moon. That’d help,” she added, carefully picking her way along the dirt path. “They may look for us. We’re witnesses.”

  “Stop thinking like a cop’s wife,” Renie said as they
passed the wrought-iron bench and began climbing back up the hill. “Hey—I’ll bet I know where this goes. I noticed a nice restaurant on my way to the hotel. We could have dinner.”

  Judith started to protest but thought better of it. “Yes, we could claim that we left before the disaster.”

  “Now you sound more like a perp.” Renie stopped and let out a little yip. “I see a ghost! Look, up there by the big rock.”

  Judith edged closer. She saw the white spectral figure—and a jack-o’-lantern. “It’s a Halloween decoration,” she said in disgust. “Did you miss the witches and black cats and pumpkins around town?”

  “Guess I was focused on all the Bavarian stuff,” Renie replied. She moved on, looking up the riverbank. “Wow—lots of flashing lights over by the hotel. Looks just like the cul-de-sac in front of your B&B. You can’t feel homesick here.”

  “Coz . . .” Judith began, exasperated.

  Renie gestured at her cousin. “Let’s book. The moon’s out. I see steps leading to wherever we’re going.”

  Feeling unusually weary, Judith kept a firm grasp on the handrail as they climbed a dozen stairs to level ground. They were in between two buildings divided by a paved walk. “If we’re where I think we are,” she said, “whatever’s on our left isn’t far from Hanover Haus. Is that where you saw the restaurant?”

  “Right, Mad Ludvig’s. There’s a picture of his ersatz medieval castle outside. Stay put. I’ll make sure there’s a rear entrance.”

  Renie moved quickly away from where the path ended and onto a grassy patch close to the riverbank. Only a faint light from a coach-style lantern shone down as the moon was suddenly obscured by drifting clouds. Suddenly Judith heard her cousin let out a strangled cry before turning around and racing back to the top of the stairs.

  “What now?” she demanded in alarm.

  “A bear is there!” she gasped. “Look!”

  Judith could see only a dark form moving in back of the two-story building. Then the creature moved into the lantern’s glow. “It’s somebody in a bear suit,” Judith said in disgust. “Have you ever seen a real bear walk upright like that?”

  Renie let out a big breath. “Damn! Scared by a bear that’s not a bear. If I see any lions and tigers, don’t let me panic. Whoa! That bear’s got bigger teeth than I do.”

  Judith caught only a glimpse of the bear-suited person, who had turned the corner and was ambling toward the front of the building. “Those are tusks. It must be a boar, not a bear. I think the boar is one of the symbols of Bavaria.”

  “Bear, boar, body,” Renie noted. “Makes Halloween seem tame.”

  Judith didn’t argue. “There must be a door by that lantern. Shall we go in the back way and pretend we’re coming out of the restrooms? Unless the restrooms aren’t in back.”

  Renie had regained her aplomb. “We’ll say we got lost trying to find them,” she said, leading the way. “Let’s hope this door is unlocked.”

  Luck was with the cousins. The entry led into a short hallway with two doors, one marked FRAUS, the other, HERRS.

  “Should be ‘Hiss’ and ‘Herrs,’ ” Renie murmured, moving toward what she hoped would be the dining room. Instead, it was the bar, which was crowded. The cousins exchanged perplexed glances. “What should we fake now?” Renie whispered.

  “Indignation at waiting so long?” Judith suggested after a pause. “You do that sort of thing better than I do.”

  Renie shrugged. “Okay.” She gestured discreetly at an arched doorway. “Restaurant?”

  “Has to be,” Judith murmured.

  At a few minutes after seven, the dining area was jammed. Renie approached a petite waitress with blond braids wound around her head. “How much longer?” she asked in a cranky voice. “We’ve been waiting for twenty minutes. Our reservation was for six-forty-five.”

  The waitress, whose nametag predictably identified her as HEIDI, blinked twice at Renie. “We don’t take reservations.”

  “What?” Renie shrieked. “I called this afternoon. I asked for a reservation at six-forty-five and . . . Hertha said that would be fine.”

  “Hertha’s new,” Heidi said. “She must have made a mistake. You’ll have to wait in line. There are four parties ahead of you, but you’re the only pair. I can probably seat you in fifteen minutes.”

  Renie sighed. “Are you sure? We’re starving.”

  Heidi looked at an inglenook where two young people were holding hands and gazing into each other’s eyes. “I hope so. Romeo and Juliet finished eating ten minutes ago. They should get a room. Meanwhile, I’ll remind Hertha that we don’t take reservations. Sorry for the confusion.”

  Judith held up a hand. “Don’t bother Hertha. It’s a natural mistake. Which one is she?”

  “Depends on which Hertha,” Heidi said. “We have four new hires for Oktoberfest.” She moved away, responding to an older man’s wave.

  “Well?” Renie said. “Did I do all right with the lying?”

  “Too much,” Judith said. “You should’ve stopped after the part about calling this afternoon. Lying is an art. You never overdo it.”

  “You ought to know,” Renie murmured. “You’re a champ.”

  “I don’t really lie,” Judith protested. “I fib for worthy causes.”

  “Ha!” Renie nudged her cousin. “The lovers are going off to do what lovers always do. We’re in luck.”

  Heidi, however, was engaged in a serious conversation with a tall man in a forest-green Bavarian jacket. It was another five minutes before the vacant table was bussed and the waitress motioned to the cousins.

  “Sorry about that,” Heidi said, looking distressed. “The manager just told me there was a terrible incident at Wolfgang’s Gast Haus just a few minutes ago.” She shook herself. “Sorry. I shouldn’t have mentioned that. But it kind of upset me.”

  Judith frowned. “An incident? What was it? Food poisoning?”

  Heidi gulped. “No. Someone was stabbed.” She looked around to make sure no one could overhear. “The poor man’s been the town’s patron forever. A saint, some call him. Who’d do that to such a beloved old guy?” Tears glistened in her eyes. “Excuse me. I’m so upset.” She jammed her hand into her dirndl’s apron pockets and stumbled away.

  “Not beloved by everybody,” Renie murmured.

  “Damn,” Judith said. “We should’ve stayed. Maybe I could help. Think how horrible Franz must feel—and even that dink, Ellie Denkel.”

  “Too late now,” Renie said airily. “You made the right choice to get out of there. Think about Ingrid Heffelman. Think about Joe. Whatever you do, don’t think about whodunit.”

  But of course Judith couldn’t think of anything else.

  After both cousins had ordered the venison steak entrée, Renie tried to steer Judith away from dwelling on the tragedy. She was, of course, doomed to failure.

  “Stop, coz,” Judith finally said after her cousin had tried to talk about Wagnerian opera. “I’m not an opera fan, and even if I were, doesn’t everybody always end up dead?”

  “Not in Meistersinger,” Renie assured her. “It’s a comedy.”

  “You already told me there were no German comedians.”

  “Well . . .” Renie hedged. “Meistersinger’s not exactly falling-down funny, it’s more . . . um . . . sort of . . . well . . . nobody dies.”

  “Unlike at the hotel,” Judith pointed out grimly.

  “You don’t even know if the Grossvater is dead,” Renie pointed out. “Maybe he was only wounded.”

  “I know a corpse when I see one.”

  Renie shrugged. “You see what you want to see.”

  Frowning, Judith realized that her cousin might be right. “There was blood,” she finally said. “He’s very old. Still, Franz told me his father was in good shape.”

  Heidi, looking as if she’d re
gained her aplomb, came to ask if the cousins wanted dessert. Judith was uncertain; Renie wasn’t.

  “I’ll have the Black Forest cherry torte,” she said.

  “Ohhh . . .” Judith refocused on the menu. “Apple strudel, please. Have you heard anything more about the incident at Wolfgang’s?”

  “Not really,” the waitress replied, looking worried. “All we know is that our usual clientele isn’t showing up. My manager thinks they might be people who were at the hotel when Herr Wessler was stabbed. The police may be questioning them.”

  Judith ignored Renie’s glare. “Will Herr Wessler survive?”

  Heidi shook her head. “I don’t know.”

  “You’d better bring our desserts,” Judith said, trying to smile. “Coz’s disposition won’t improve until she’s gobbling your torte.”

  Somehow the cousins finished their dessert, paid the bill, and left without alluding to what had happened at the hotel. Mainly that was because—or at least Judith reasoned—they didn’t speak to each other until they were on their way to Hanover Haus.

  “Go ahead,” Renie said. “Look back to check on the crime scene. You’ll burst if you don’t satisfy your curiosity.”

  Judith’s stubborn streak prevailed. “No.”

  With a resigned sigh, Renie stopped and turned around. “Hmm. I wouldn’t have expected that.”

  Judith didn’t rise to the bait, but kept moving.

  Renie had to hurry to catch up with her cousin’s longer strides. “Wow! You don’t see a guy hitting a cop with a trombone very often.”

  Judith’s strong profile was set in stone and her dark eyes were fixed on the inn’s door. She didn’t say a word. Once inside the lobby, she ignored the stout, older woman at the desk and headed straight for the stairs. Walking too much on pavement had depleted her physical resources. Neither cousin spoke until they were in their room,

  “Okay,” Judith finally said, “I won’t mention Wessler again. I have to be at the B&B booth by nine, so I’ll set the alarm for seven-fifteen.”

  “Seven-fifteen?” Renie shrieked. “I haven’t been up that early since I had to get drunk to make an early plane to London!”