by Mary Daheim
“What’s wrong?”
“The car!” Judith exclaimed. “We forgot to collect it. We’ll need it to get to the Wessler house. I’m not walking that far. Then we can take it back to Suzie before she thinks we stole it.”
“Bayern Bäckerei first,” Renie said, pointing to a sign between a dry cleaners and a hat emporium. “I can translate that.”
The bakery was crowded, and customers had to take a number. Renie found the dispenser near the door. “Thirty-three.” She looked up at a digital counter on the wall. “We’ve got ten people ahead of us. Can you see how many clerks are waiting on customers? I’m too short.”
“Three,” Judith replied. “Two women and a guy who looks like Fat Matt except he’s not as fat and not completely bald.”
“That’s not too long a wait,” Renie said. “But we can’t see what’s in the bakery cases until some of those other people leave.”
Unfortunately, one of the customers moving away from the counter was Eleanor Denkel. “Judith,” she said in a cheerless voice. “I didn’t think you liked sweets. No wonder you don’t like to be called FATSO.”
“It’s FASTO,” Judith said grimly, “and it’s not me, it’s my cousin, remember? Does she look fat to you?”
Ellie eyed Renie with disdain. “No, but those teeth of hers could devour an entire shelf in a hurry.”
Renie folded her arms across her bosom. “I’ll step outside with you, Ellie, and we’ll discuss that further, okay?”
Ellie looked shocked. “How dare you!”
Renie shrugged, moving just enough to block the door. “It’s not a dare, it’s a challenge. Well? Or do you need a second, such as that wizened little critter you call a husband?”
Ellie’s face turned a color akin to puce. “I should call the police! You’re threatening me.”
“Go ahead,” Renie said, her eyes flashing. “Ask for Kitt. I’d love to see her hustle your butt off to jail. In fact, I’ll go with you.” She looked at Judith. “You know what I like. I’ll get the car while I’m watching Ellie get busted for interfering with an officer of the law.”
Ellie’s eyes widened. “You’ve been deputized?”
“The term is ‘special consultant to the chief of police.’ Well? What are you waiting for?” Renie backed into the door, pushing it open. “Move. Put your mojo where your mouth is.”
“Oh, for . . .” Ellie turned in every direction. “Excuse me, I forgot something.” She brushed past Judith, went back toward the counter, and tried to wedge herself between four other customers, who were crowded together at the end of the counter.
Renie grinned and moved away from the door to let two patrons make their exit. “I called her bluff.”
“Coz, someday you’ll go too far. But this time wasn’t one of them. I kind of enjoyed it.”
“Look,” Renie said, “Ellie’s sneaking out the back way. Ha ha.”
Judith smiled ironically. “So she can be intimidated. I wonder—”
Renie interrupted. “Two more just left. I mean it, you buy me something wonderful while I get the car and then pick you up. Bye.” She followed the departing customers out of the door.
Judith finally got up to the display case. Some of the trays were already empty; others held only a few items. She scanned the length of the baked goods, dismissing muffins, crullers, and any cookies with nuts from her wish list. Renie’s allergies were no joke. She spotted some cinnamon twists in the end tray. Her cousin liked those. Judith’s taste buds were tempted by a lone custard-filled Danish, but one of the buxom blondes behind the counter scooped it up and handed it to a bearded man next to her.
“Hungry?” a voice behind her inquired.
“Franz!” Judith turned around. “What happened to the dogs?”
“Oh!” He chuckled. “They were just frisking with the dachshunds. No harm done. Those hats didn’t suit them. They were the orange ones and the green looked so much better. But of course it was easier to keep track of the racers with different-colored hats.”
“We only saw them start the race,” Judith said as two more customers, including the bearded man, left the shop. Franz Wessler moved up beside her. “Serena and I were coming back from the cemetery. We saw some of your family’s graves.”
Franz frowned. “Do you always have cemeteries on your itinerary?”
“As a matter of fact, we do,” Judith said, telling only a small fib. “We found some fascinating ones when we were in Scotland last year.”
“Yes,” Franz said slowly, “I can see how that would be of interest, especially if you know the area’s history.”
“That’s the point. It’s one of the ways you learn the history. For example, we found your mother’s and your sister’s graves.”
“Yes, of course.” Franz’s face grew melancholy. “Very sad.”
Another customer left. Judith realized she was only one number away from being called. Glancing at Franz’s ticket, she saw that he was thirty-two, just ahead of her. “My father died young,” she said. “Do you remember much about your mother and sister’s tragedy?”
“No,” Franz said, avoiding Judith’s gaze. “It happened when I was too young to understand. In fact, my father was so grief-stricken that he sent my brother, Josef, and me back to Germany to live with relatives for a time. This town was very small then. We had no high school, no doctor, no dentist, and of course no hospital. There was only a run-down motel. None of those facilities and services were available until the 1980s when my father began his campaign to create Little Bavaria as a tourist attraction. Josef returned before I did, but I stayed in Germany until I was in my midteens. I virtually had to learn English all over again. Our German relatives treated us well, but I felt as if I were divided between two worlds, the new and the old.”
“Your father must’ve recovered from his loss,” Judith said. “Is that why he became involved in creating Little Bavaria?”
“Not quite, though he . . .”
Frankie Duomo called number thirty-two. Franz turned, glanced at the baker, and pressed his ticket into Judith’s hand. “Go ahead, you’ve waited a long time. You look tired. I’ll take your number instead.”
“But . . .” Judith began, puzzled.
Franz smiled, though his eyes were hard. “Please.”
“Okay.” She handed over her own ticket and passed Franz’s across the counter. “Hi,” she said to Frankie. “I’d like two cinnamon twists and one of your chocolate chip cookies.”
“That’s it?” Frankie asked, his gaze flickering in Franz’s direction as he moved farther away to the other end of the display case.
“Ah . . . I’ll take a lemon Danish, too, please.”
Frankie complied wordlessly. He bagged the items and rang them up. Before he could give Judith the total, one of the buxom blondes called number thirty-three. “That comes to six dollars and fifty-four cents,” Frankie said.
Judith gave him a ten. While waiting for change, she saw the blonde chatting amiably with Franz. A moment later, she was outside where the Ford Escort had pulled up in the store’s small parking lot.
“I didn’t run over anybody,” Renie announced. “What did you get?”
“Here,” Judith said, first removing the cookie. “It’s all yours.”
“Yum! I love twists. Too bad Bill’s not here—lemon Danish is one of his favorites.” She bit into a twist. “Goddedatwisfirs. Denwllgo.” She swallowed and stared at her cousin. “You look weird. What’s wrong?”
“I don’t know. But pull out.”
“Weird” didn’t quite describe Judith’s feeling. It felt more like apprehension. Or maybe even fear.
Chapter Fifteen
Renie bit off more twist, but complied with her cousin’s request to keep moving. A moment later, they were headed east on the main street, driving slowly as pedestrians, pony carts, strolling
musicians, and a medieval jester impeded their path.
“Are we calling on the Wessler manse?” Renie asked.
“I don’t know,” Judith repeated.
Renie frowned. “What did you do in the bakery? Take stupid pills?”
Judith shook her head. “No. But Franz Wessler was there and he seems to have an aversion to Frankie Duomo. He made me switch numbers with him so Frankie couldn’t wait on him.”
“Maybe Franz wanted to check out the buxom blondes,” Renie said as they came to a full stop when a trio of acrobats tumbled across the street. “I assume Klara’s not putting out.”
“Who knows?” Judith said. “I wonder if we should call on Klara. Do you think we’d scare her? She seems like the nervous type.”
“I’d be nervous, too, if I had to drag those big Saint Bernards around,” Renie said after she’d polished off the first twist. “Are we going to the concert tonight or do you have an official function I don’t know about?”
“Ohh . . .” Judith rummaged in her purse. “I forgot. There’s a small cocktail party for the innkeeping contingent at the Valhalla Inn. My gosh! I am losing it! What happened to Gabe Hunter after Duomo let him go?”
“Gee,” Renie said as they crept past the exhibit booths, “why don’t you ask him? He’s on duty with some woman I don’t recognize.”
“Can you pull in somewhere?” Judith asked, twisting around to see Gabe and his companion in the booth. “Oh! That’s Jeanne Barber. You know—the woman I filled in for when we were on Chavez Island?”
Renie groaned. “Another one of our misadventures with a corpse. She does look familiar, but her hair’s a different color. It’s been at least ten years.” She turned the steering wheel, aiming at a spot on the sidewalk that was conveniently devoid of pedestrians. “Hang on—this could be b-b-bumpy.”
Judith gasped as the Ford Escort climbed the curb. “We’re lucky if we don’t wreck Suzie’s car before we get it back to her.”
Gabe, Jeanne, and the half-dozen visitors at the booth stared in surprise. Judith turned to Renie before getting out. “Drive around someplace while I talk to them, okay?”
“Hey,” Renie said, “with all these meandering people, I may only get half a block away. Just go so I can get off the sidewalk.”
Judith went. Before she reached the B&B booth, Jeanne Clayton Barber let out a shriek of recognition. Signaling to her old high school chum to ignore her and continue talking to two young women, Judith discreetly stepped off to one side. A couple of minutes passed before Jeanne suddenly came out of the booth and embraced her.
“It’s been ages!” Jeanne cried. “You’ve hardly changed one bit since I saw you at that B&B meeting five years ago.”
“It was eight,” Judith said, but smiled and wished she could say the same for Jeanne. The dyed auburn hair didn’t suit her pale complexion and her angular frame looked downright scrawny. But the gray eyes still had a sparkle and the wrinkles indicated she had laughed more than she’d frowned. “I heard you were here,” Judith said after Jeanne stepped back. “I worked the booth earlier with Evelyn Choo.”
Jeanne nodded. “Yes, I’ve known Evelyn for years. She and I served on a couple of committees together.” She grimaced. “You know how Ingrid Heffelman loves to coerce us onto committees.”
“Fortunately,” Judith said, “I’ve been spared most of that. Just lucky, I guess.” In fact, she knew that Ingrid preferred keeping her least favorite innkeeper a deep, dark secret. Or so Judith had always figured.
“We must get together,” Jeanne said, glancing at the booth, where Gabe Hunter was still involved with a quartet of people wearing Bavarian garb. “I assume you’re attending the party for us tonight at the Valhalla Inn. Our host is Herman Stromeyer, the Oktoberfest chairman. The inn is such a cozy place at the west end of town—perched out on the riverbank, it’s a veritable aerie. You can imagine you’re on the Rhine. I can practically hear the Lorelei calling.”
“I not only haven’t met Mr. Stromeyer, I haven’t been that far down the main street,” Judith said.
“Nor have I. He was supposed to address us at the cocktail party, but he never got the chance because of the tragedy. Evelyn Choo told me he came down with flu later that evening. Or maybe he was overcome by what happened to Mr. Wessler.” She shuddered as the clock tower struck four. “My goodness! The time flies so. I can’t believe Gabe and I are finished already.” She lowered her voice. “That poor young man! Can you imagine being hauled off by the police for no reason? How embarrassing!”
Judith saw Gabe nodding and smiling at the Bavarian-clad foursome. “Who’s relieving you?”
“Oh,” Jeanne said, “Ellie and her husband are filling in because so many of us want to attend Connie’s seminar. Are you coming?”
Judith’s expression was noncommittal. “I thought that whatever Connie is doing was aimed at travelers, not innkeepers.”
“It’s both,” Jeanne said. “So many people signed up for it that the venue has been changed to a larger room.”
Judith saw Eleanor and Delmar Denkel approaching from the other direction. “I’ll have to see about that. My cousin Serena is with me. You remember her from our stay on Chavez Island?”
Jeanne looked faintly startled. “Yes. Yes. She’s . . . memorable.”
“She is that,” Judith conceded. “Here comes Gabe. I’ll see you at the cocktail party, Jeanne.”
“What?” Glancing over her shoulder at the Denkels, Jeanne suddenly seemed distracted. “Oh, yes, the party. Excuse me, I should speak to Ellie and make sure we left everything in order.”
Jeanne and Gabe nodded and smiled as they crossed paths. The young man approached Judith in a diffident manner.
“You must think I’m some kind of screwup,” he said, adjusting the hood on his ski parka.
“You mean the mix-up with Chief Duomo?” Judith laughed. “Did he have you going in circles?”
“You know that guy?” Gabe asked. “He’s kind of strange.”
“He’s certainly different from most law enforcement officers I’ve . . . known,” she said. “My husband is a retired police detective.”
“He’s different from just about anybody I’ve ever met,” Gabe said. “The weird thing was that it was like he was trying to get information out of me about other people. But he went about it in such an oddball way that I didn’t know what was really on his mind. Even after that other officer—the guy with the sleepy eyes—admitted he remembered I’d gotten to the party at Wolfgang’s just as the old guy was killed, the chief still kept asking me a ton of questions.”
“By then, he may’ve considered you a witness, not a suspect.”
“I don’t know. If so, why did I have to spend the night at the jail?”
Judith didn’t answer right away. It suddenly occurred to her that maybe Duomo had done that for Gabe’s protection. “Did he focus on any certain individuals when he asked you about the other people?”
The sound of a bass drum, a flugelhorn, and a brass saxhorn kept Gabe from answering immediately. The trio appeared from in back of the booths and continued down the street.
“Wow,” Gabe said under his breath. “I think they’re advertising tonight’s band concert. They sure like their music around here.” He paused and blinked twice. “What did you ask . . . oh, if Duomo focused on anybody in particular. He kept pretty much to the B&B group, mostly focused on on Ellie Denkel, but I really don’t know her. That’d be natural, since she’s the one in charge of us.”
“She’s from here,” Judith said. “But she already confessed.”
Gabe shook his head. “Falsely, right? Why? Is she shielding somebody? Delmar’s a Realtor. He’s not involved with running B&Bs.”
“Delmar sells real estate?” Ellie’s pint-size mate didn’t strike Judith as a typical high-pressure salesman.
Gabe shrugged. “
I guess. I heard her say he was involved in residential and commercial properties.”
“Oh.” Judith scanned the street for the Ford Escort, but only saw a dozen stalled vehicles in either direction waiting for a group of Girl Scouts to cross. “I’m glad you weren’t further detained.”
“Me, too. I better go.” Gabe checked his watch. “I’m attending Connie’s seminar. Being new in the business, I need some tips.”
“Good luck,” Judith murmured. Gabe hurried off down the street, avoiding the Girl Scouts, who had reached the sidewalk.
Finally, she saw the Ford Escort. To her horror, there was a deer on the hood. Judith waited anxiously for Renie to pull over to the curb. It was only then that she realized the deer was a large stuffed animal whose glassy eyes nevertheless seemed to stare at her in reproach.
“Hey,” Renie called, leaning out the window, “could you haul that thing inside? I feel like an idiot.”
“You are an idiot,” Judith said, wrestling with the deer. It wasn’t very heavy, but the legs and antlers made it difficult to remove from the hood. “And now I feel like an idiot,” she declared, stuffing the deer in the backseat. “Everybody’s looking at me like I’m some kind of poacher. Dare I ask how that happened?”
“Sure,” Renie said. “I was trying to turn around by the U.S. National Forest booth down the street and I hit the deer they had standing outside. Guess it got caught in the headlights.”
“The headlights aren’t on,” Judith said.
“Did I say they were? The headlights are still there.”
“No wonder Bill complains about your driving.”
“You know I haven’t got any depth perception. It’s not my fault, it’s genetic. Just stop griping and tell me where we’re going.”
“Oh . . . we should call on Klara. Let me think of a viable excuse.”
“We could give her the deer as a hostess gift,” Renie said, waiting for a Boy Scout troop to cross the street.
“That would really make her nervous,” Judith said as they reached the high school turn. The dachshund racecourse had been replaced by a replica of Mad Ludwig’s castle with a courtyard that served as a stage for a puppet show. Judith assumed it was probably a fairy tale enactment.
