by Tricia Goyer
Betty hurried down the hall with Frank right on her heels. She scanned from side to side as she ran, looking for doors or alcoves where Oskar could hide.
“It’s just like the hall upstairs. Identical almost.”
The hall stopped at a set of stairs, and Betty ran to them. They led up to a trap door. Betty stepped aside and let Frank go ahead of her. He pushed on the trap door, and she could tell that he felt resistance. He pushed harder, opening a small gap, and reaching his fingers through, he touched something. “It’s a rug, I think. Can you reach up and try to pull it off as I push?”
“I’ll try.” Betty reached through, grabbed the edge of the rug, and pulled it over as Frank lifted.
The trap door opened, and they peeked their heads out.
“We’re in the hall on the other side of the dressing rooms.” She watched as Frank climbed up the stairs, pushed the rug completely out of the way, and opened the trap door fully, letting it rest on the wall.
Frank looked around. “If Kat ran down this hall by accident, and she came across Oskar—doing something—then he could have been scared and reacted.”
“I can’t imagine him killing her.” Betty thought of the man who’d always been there, at their beck and call, to help with whatever prop they needed. “Then again, if he wanted to blow up an opera house, maybe he’s not as innocent as he seems.”
She climbed the stairs after Frank. At the end of the hall, a door stood partially open.
Frank hurried ahead of her and pushed the door open. Then he flipped on the light. Betty followed him.
Inside, the large room had been set up like a set of a play. Furniture had been arranged. Costumes were hung. And there was something else.
Betty hurried forward to a table bearing a hypodermic syringe with a long needle. She’d seen syringes like that before, in a newsreel that showed the concentration camps. They were used to shoot poison directly into the hearts of those condemned to die. The newsreel had said they’d been used before the gas chambers had become common.
“Betty…”
She turned to the sound of Frank’s voice. He was standing near the costumes, holding one up. It was a white silk gown with sleeves. Two other dresses just like it hung on the wall. “I think we know where Kat ended up. Where she spent her last moments. Is this similar to the dress she wore?”
“Yes.” Betty pointed to the needle. “And I think I know how she died.” She walked over and took the dress in her hands, feeling her chin quiver.
They heard footsteps behind them, and Frank drew his gun and turned.
Betty recognized one of the MPs who’d been backstage earlier, but she didn’t know the older, red-haired man with him. Both men had their guns drawn.
“Officer Frey.” Frank lowered his gun and placed it back in its holster. “You’re back.”
“I got news yesterday that Kat’s death wasn’t suicide after all. I came back up here to talk to a few people, including you.” Officer Frey glanced around the room. He walked over to the table and saw the long needle, nodding his head. “But maybe I had the wrong guy in my sights. I’ve been known to be wrong before.”
“We went to Oskar’s house—”
Officer Frey held up his hand, silencing Frank. “You can tell me all the details later. But I have to say I’m not happy with how you handled it. You cleared out the place, Frank. The soldiers are up in arms. Everyone in town is no doubt panicked. Do you seriously believe your friend Oskar is going to blow this place up like Irene said? Don’t you think murder is bad enough?”
“I do, Officer Frey. And we can either argue about it or try to find him. I suggest we don’t stand around here for long.” He moved to the door and then paused. Officer Frey hurried over and pointed his gun at the dress in Betty’s hands. “That looks familiar.”
Betty took a step forward. “Yes, this is the same type of dress Kat was wearing when she was found in the pond. It’s different from the one that she wore during the concert.”
“And how did you know what she was wearing? Were you there at the pond? Or maybe…” He hurried forward and pulled the garment from her hands. “Maybe you saw photos?” He leaned in close, his face only inches away from hers.
Think, Betty, think before you speak.
Betty stepped back. Then she turned to Frank and noticed his wide-eyed gaze.
“That doesn’t matter now, does it?” Frank said. “We can talk through all the details later about how Oskar did it, but we also have reason to believe he has this placed wired with explosives. They could detonate any minute.”
“Fine. We’ll look around. This is our job—this is what we do. I sent for the demolition experts. They’re on their way to check things out. If there are explosives, we’ll find them.”
“It’s not if there’s explosives,” Betty said. “There are. We saw crates of them. That’s what we found at Oskar’s house. There were boxes, crates. I have no doubt that explosives will be found around this place.”
Officer Frey stepped forward, and then he motioned for Frank and Betty to leave. “If you truly think this place might explode into flames, I wouldn’t stick around. And bring that extra set of prints into HQ tomorrow, Frank. We wouldn’t want anyone to find them and cause a fuss.”
Betty saw the look on Frank’s face relax.
“C’mon, Betty.” Frank stretched his hand to her. “Our work here is done. Officer Frey will take care of everything.” Frank turned back one more time. “I wouldn’t linger around here too long, sir—just in case.” They hurriedly moved to the back of the building and then ran outside. Far off in the distance, groups of soldiers waited, watching, talking. Betty scanned the clusters of people, but she didn’t see any of her friends. Or Mickey.
“So what are we going to do, just wait around until it blows?” she asked.
“Hopefully the fact that Mickey made tonight the last show caught Oskar by surprise. Maybe he wasn’t finished setting everything up. Maybe that’s why he never got Hitler—his evil motives outweighed his skill.” Frank shrugged. “That’s what he gets for trying to accomplish such a big goal alone.”
“Or maybe he stopped his plans when Hitler died. Who knows how long those things have been in that room? Maybe he killed Kat for a different reason.”
“C’mon, Betty. They’re right. Let’s not worry about this. The proper authorities have everything under control.”
“They don’t have Oskar.” She felt a shudder travel up her spine. “Do you think he’s still in there? Did you see him run inside?”
“No, actually I didn’t. I lost him on the hill. I just assumed he went inside the Festspielhaus.”
“Good. Maybe he ran off and is hiding in the woods. Maybe he never had any intentions of coming back and setting off explosives. I hope for the guys in there that’s the case. I hope he never comes back.”
Frank put an arm around her shoulders, as if assuring her he’d protect her. “I don’t think he’ll be showing his face any time soon. At least I hope he won’t.”
Betty was still trying to process all she’d learned in the last few hours when she noticed someone approaching.
“There you are.” It was Billy, Irene’s boyfriend. “The girls were asking about you. They were worried when they looked around backstage and you weren’t there. Irene hoped that you went back to Wahnfried. They’re scared that the same thing happened to you that happened to…”
“Happened to Kat? Is that what they’re worried about?”
Billy nodded.
Betty turned to Frank. “We should hurry down there. Maybe we can get a ride. Those girls are scared of their own shadow.”
“Yes, but you can’t blame them with the ghost and all,” Billy snickered.
“Ghost?” Frank asked.
“It’s squirrels or something in the basement. Sometimes we could hear shuffling below us. Other times it sounded like footsteps,” Betty explained. “Kat was horribly worried about it. She said they were ghosts of former Nazi offic
ers.”
“So that’s where the Nazi officers used to stay?”
“Yes, it’s the Wagner family home. All visiting dignitaries stayed there. Hitler too—”
Betty’s words were interrupted by the sound of a woman’s cry. “Frank! Frank!”
They turned and noticed a woman being dragged from the back door of the Festspielhaus.
“Do you know that woman?” she asked.
Frank didn’t answer Betty. Instead, he rushed forward. “Magdalena,” he called.
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
Betty looked at the dark-haired woman sitting on the chair across from her and Frank. After Magdalena had insisted that she needed to talk to Frank, they’d all gotten a ride to Frank’s house from an MP. Betty had only gone along under one condition—if Billy would go to Wahnfried to tell the others that she was okay. She’d caused enough people to worry about her lately.
“We caught this one sneaking around,” the MP had said. And it was only later, when Frank had guided the thin, shivering form to one of the MP’s jeeps, that he explained to Betty that the woman was Art’s friend.
Now Betty eyed her, remembering how Frank had told her that he knew someone who used to sing at the Festspielhaus when Wagner’s works were performed. Was this poor woman once a famous opera singer? Betty’s heart went out to her.
“I needed to talk to you. I told Art to ask you to meet. I went to Festspielhaus looking for you.” Magdalena lowered her head. “I knew I can trust you—saw you in church.”
“It was you? You wrote all the letters?”
The woman nodded.
“Did you leave that note at the church too?” Frank asked.
“Yes, the message was something Dierk’s father say to him. I hoped you would ask him to translate.”
“What was it?” Betty asked.
“Fear lends wings.” Frank turned to Betty. “Oscar—Dierk—told me it meant fear would make you do things that you think impossible in any other situation.”
“When Dierk become afraid, his father told him he was stronger than he believe.”
“Yes, but what is Oskar afraid of now?”
“Many things. But most maybe afraid of finding happiness when all he loves is gone. His family, music.”
“Is that why he wanted to destroy the Festspielhaus? So he wouldn’t find happiness in different people, in different music?”
“I do not know. Then if I know Dierk, I know he had big plans.”
“You think there’s something bigger than blowing up the opera house?” Frank rose and walked to the window, looking out, as if checking to make sure Oskar was not out there, listening, waiting.
Seeing him made Betty want to tell Magdalena that she’d heard enough. With each passing day there were more problems, more pain. She didn’t know if she wanted to hear the rest.
When will it be over?
Maybe I should be happy we’re supposed to leave tomorrow. Who wouldn’t want to leave this madness behind?
But deep inside she didn’t want to leave. She wanted to see this through. She’d left home without closure, and finding answers here seemed ten times more important.
“We have to figure out what Oskar was up to—where he went,” Betty said.
“I do not believe Dierk wants something big,” Magdalena said, her voice soft, as if she too feared Oskar lurked. “It is about being complete. In all things, Dierk finishes all he works on.”
“I’m still not used to it when you say Dierk.” Betty tucked her hair behind her ear. “Everyone in the USO thought his name was Oskar. How do you know so much about him? Did you work with him often?”
Magdalena wrapped her arms around her waist, as if trying to hold her emotions inside. Still, her shoulders quivered. “We were in love at one time. We saw each other for many years. We kept our relationship hidden. No one would understood.”
“Because you were the star singer and…”
“And he was prop director, yes.” Magdalena lifted her gaze and focused on Betty’s face. “Then things changed. Hitler came to power. Hitler took everything away—all Dierk loved. It started with his brother, Oskar.”
“Yes, we saw his photo. Was he mentally retarded?” Frank rejoined them at the table.
“Yes, but you would never know if you saw him with Dierk. He brought Oskar to the workshop. He was teaching him to bring tools and lift props. Then mercy killings start—but no one know what happening at time. The mentally retarded were taken to special homes. Our leaders promised to care for them. Dierk resisted, but then his parents thought this would be better. His mother was deaf and ill. She was having a hard time caring for Oskar. His father was older too, and Dierk had much to lose. Hitler was personal friends with Wagner family, and he gave money to Festspielhaus. Yearly festival bigger each year. He had no choice. Dierk agreed to let them send Oskar for care.”
“And his parents?”
“When questions came about deaf, blind, elderly—Dierk’s parents moved. He was alone. His whole self filled with hate.”
“Were you still engaged at this time?” Betty reached over and took Frank’s hand.
“Yes, months after his parents left, but Dierk heard about Oskar’s death and was different. He was always thinking about Hitler, especially when Fuehrer was in Bayreuth—when Hitler sleeping just down road.
“One evening Dierk was very angry. I left his house after dinner, but something tells me stay close. I walked down road and hide in bushes and watch. Dierk left house, and I believe he go to Festspielhaus. No, he not stop, keep going. He walked to Wahnfried. I saw him go to back, and that is all I saw. Somehow I think he make it inside, and I think I will hear next day Hitler killed in sleep.”
“Weren’t the SS guards there?”
“Yes, by road, but Oskar gone around back of house. His father did construction, you know, just as on opera house. I am sure Oskar knows more about Wahnfried than Wagners. He loves opera house.
“Or loved it.” Magdalena corrected herself. “I can know why he would wish to destroy the Festspielhaus. He hated Hitler but he loved Wagner. I know him. I watched him. I snuck in during practices. I tried to hide.”
“It was you.” Frank slapped his leg. “It makes sense now. I’m glad I wasn’t seeing things.”
“Yes, I watched performances, and I knew what he is thinking—better to destroy opera house than have such performances done on stage. First Hitler and then Americans—I know he believed place he loved be disgraced forever. I wrote letters because I almost know what he was thinking, and I worry.”
“It was you,” Frank exclaimed.
Betty wanted to interrupt, to ask about what letters they were talking about, but she knew it wasn’t the most important thing right now.
“You know of my letters.”
Frank nodded. “They were given to me. I was looking into them. And that last letter…” Frank let his voice trail off.
“I asked Art to give to you. He asked no questions. Giving them to offices did not help. I knew you help me. You love my God. I saw you praying. I knew I could trust you.”
“But how did you know that Betty would be able to point out the dress?”
“I wait in woods outside Festspielhaus. I heard this was last performance. I want to talk to Oskar. To tell him maybe things change. That Wagner’s operas come again.” Her words caught in her throat. “I saw Oskar carry her. It was dark—in middle of night.” Sobs interrupted Magdalena’s words. “She—she was dead.”
“And you saw the dress?” Betty asked. “And you knew I’d recognize it was the wrong one?”
Magdalena wiped her face and nodded. “Yes, it was opera dress.”
“But why were you willing to reveal yourself by giving Art the letter?” Frank asked. “Surely you knew that eventually Art would have told me where the letter had come from. You were putting yourself at risk.”
“I was more afraid for other death. Art told me you took photographs of Kat. I knew Songbird—she would know dres
s. I am afraid something was going to happen—soon.”
“I don’t understand.”
“There are important dates. People understand Wagner and know this. Important dates, like when some Wagner’s operas first performed.”
“Like Rienzi?” Betty blurted out, pleased with herself for once again feeling part of the conversation.
“Yes.”
“And when was that?” Frank gave Betty a curious look, as if impressed she’d figured that out.
“Was not performed in Bayreuth—but date was October 20, 1842,” Magdalena said. “I know this because I performed in production one hundred years later.” She sighed. “It not been performed at Bayreuth Festival. And some people think never to be.”
“Betty and I heard a little about the opera—about how Rienzi tried to defeat the nobles and raise the power of the people. We know he doesn’t succeed, but how does he die?”
“He burns.”
Betty felt her heartbeat quicken, and then everything started fitting together in her mind. She rose from the sofa, kneeling before Magdalena. “What part did you play?”
“I do not understand why is important.”
“Just tell me.” Betty took Magdalena’s hand.
“I play Messenger of Peace. I wore white silk gown. Same he put on woman.”
“He’s sacrificing all he loves,” Betty blurted out. “The Festspielhaus—and the woman he loved. In his twisted mind he placed Kat in your role.” Betty focused on Magdalena’s face. “The show was starting—his big plans. He didn’t have you, but he had her. Kat was in the wrong place at the wrong time.”
“But he not succeed destroy Festspielhaus.” Magdalena looked to Frank.
“Maybe because everything happened too soon.” Frank stroked his cheek. “October twentieth is still ten days away.”
“But what if that was only one part of his plan? What if there was someplace else—smaller, closer that he could still destroy? Some place less complicated to blow up?” Betty stood and turned to Frank.
