by Dora Heldt
Content now, she reached for her champagne glass and looked around at them eagerly.
Heinz had gone pale. “And she told you all of that?”
“No.” Renate tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. “But I’m not stupid. I can put two and two together. Inge was chattering away all the time, so all I had to do was listen very closely. Walter, I wish I could have spared you this news. If you ever want to talk…”
“Come on.” He put his empty beer glass back on the table and stood up so abruptly that the bench shook. “We’ll figure it out ourselves. Heinz, Kalli? Come on, drink up. I’m taking a trip to the little boys’ room, then we’re leaving.”
His footsteps crunched on the gravel path. Startled, Renate wound a strand of hair around her finger. “Hopefully I haven’t…”
“No, no.” Heinz got up slowly and looked down at her reassuringly. “If Walter wants to go, then he wants to go. It’s not up for discussion. Come on, Kalli, we’re off, or do you need the ‘little boys’ room’ too?”
“No.” Kalli jumped up hurriedly and leaned over toward Renate, his face bright red.
“Excuse us, those two can behave very boorishly sometimes. I put it down to the shock. No harm intended.”
She held out her hand for him to kiss, then looked at him quizzically as he shook it.
“Right then, Renate. Thank you for this, and I’m sure we’ll see each other sometime.”
“Kalli, Heinz!” roared Walter from the entrance. “Time to go!”
“I’m coming!” Heinz called back and held his hand out to Renate. “’Bye, Renate. If you hear anything new, please keep us posted.”
She winked at him. “And vice versa. You’ll be in touch, promise?”
They were barely gone before Renate poured the rest of the champagne into her glass. After all, it would be a shame to let it go to waste. It seemed Inge had been exaggerating when she had spoken about Walter. He hadn’t mentioned soccer or illnesses, not even once. And he was good-looking, too, with his full head of hair and a wiry figure. Perhaps he just needed a woman who really listened to him. He had a good head for figures too; a former tax inspector would never waste money. Renate crossed her legs, utterly content. He had looked at her with interest. She had noticed that. Come to think of it, they all had. But she was used to that.
Chapter 31
* * *
With a sigh, Inge laid aside the magazine she had bought at the train station in Westerland. She had no interest in the fact that the fiancée of a tennis star lightened her hair with lemons or that the wife of a worn-out old soccer player was broke and taking her clothes off for a tacky magazine to make money. Inge had other problems.
The train had already passed the Hindenburg Dam. Inge’s gaze swept over the rows of spinning wind turbines, the vibrant canola fields, the small farms, and the black cattle. Everything looked like it always had—hardly anything had changed around here in centuries. Inge leaned her head back and closed her eyes for a moment. She thought about Inspector Martensen and his theories. Some of it had sounded plausible, of course: old people who didn’t have any family anymore, living alone in big houses, often did become victims of preying criminals. There were certainly plenty of elderly people who felt lonely and lost enough to be incredibly grateful if someone started looking out for them. And so it was plausible that they would rewrite their wills. But they had every right to. At the end of the day, it was their money and they could do what they wanted with it.
The train stopped in Klanxbüll. A small boy threw his huge school satchel onto the platform, then clambered down after it, and struggled to pull it back on. He was probably around the same age as Till. And from the looks of it, he went to school in Westerland but didn’t live on the island. That would mean going back and forth by train every day. And at such a young age too. Inge felt a pang in her chest when she thought about how Till would have an even harder time of it. He would have to change schools, lose everything that was familiar to him, all his friends, neighbors, teachers…Inge balled her hand into a fist. She had inherited Anna’s house, and Anika and Till would move in there with her. They wouldn’t have to leave the island; everything would be fine. It had to be fine.
She screwed the lid off her bottle of water. Maybe she really had been too naive. But what was she supposed to have done? Should she have said to Walter, “Oh, by the way, I inherited Anna Nissen’s house, so we can move there now. There are four apartments, so we can choose our neighbors ourselves. And after forty years of being away from Sylt, I won’t have to feel homesick anymore.”
“Oh dear Inge,” he would probably have said. “You know what they say. ‘You can’t replant an old tree without it dying.’ We’ll sell it for a good price, and then we’ll have a nice amount put by.”
No, before she spoke to him about it, Inge had wanted to be sure about what to do with the house. Meeting Anika had given her the idea of founding a housing community. Young and old together, the idea seemed so perfect for countering her gathering feelings of boredom and isolation in Dortmund. She and Walter would live downstairs in Anna’s old apartment, with Anika and Till living in the neighboring one. And she already had a plan for the other two apartments. Admittedly that was on hold now, along with everything else, in fact. At least until she found out whether the house actually belonged to her. Unfortunately, it didn’t look very promising right now.
Yesterday evening she had written down everything that had happened. But not even that had helped her. The riot of thoughts in her head just grew more chaotic. Toward midnight, she had ripped up her notes in exasperation and decided to go to the court in Niebüll the next morning.
She was on her way there now. She had put Anna’s will in an envelope, along with her ID and Mark Kampmann’s business card. She would find out what was going on at the probate court. After all, Helga Gross had said that Mark had submitted all the papers. Maybe she would be laughing about her uncertainty and Martensen’s suspicions in just a few hours’ time. Maybe it was all just one big misunderstanding.
Inge walked from the train station to the courthouse, trying to calm her nerves. But once she stood in front of the gray flat-roofed building, she almost lost her nerve. She didn’t even know where she was supposed to go. She took a deep breath and pushed the heavy main door open. Walking along, she found a room marked “Reception,” and knocked. A voice called out, “Come in.”
Behind a desk, a young man looked up from his computer. “Good morning. How can I help you?”
“Good morning,” answered Inge, noticing that her knees were trembling. “My name is Inge Müller, and I have a problem. I’m not really sure whether you’ll be able to help me with it.” Even her voice was shaking.
The young man looked at her attentively. Then he gestured toward the chair in front of his desk. “Please take a seat. What is it about?”
Inge rummaged nervously in her bag and looked for the envelope. “I got a will…from my old teacher…a few weeks ago now. And I don’t know if everything is okay…” Her voice broke, and the trembling was getting worse.
The young man gave her a concerned look. “Would you like a glass of water, perhaps?”
She nodded with relief and tried to calm herself down while the man went into a room next door. He came back with a bottle and a glass and waited patiently until she had had a drink.
“So, let me see what you have there.”
Inge handed over the envelope. He glanced through the contents. “Yes, we can help you with that. But you’ll need to go to my colleague in the probate office. Herr Rupp.” He gave her the papers back and looked at her. “Shall I take you across to him?”
Inge put the empty glass down on the table and stood up. “No, thank you, that’s not necessary. If you could just tell me where I can find him.”
“Room one-zero-two, along the corridor and then to the right. I’ll tell him you’re coming. Everything okay now?”
“Yes.” Feeling calmer now, Inge smiled at him. “
I was just a little nervous. Thank you for the water. Room one-zero-two you said?”
He nodded and reached for the telephone. “Yes, that’s the one. Have a good day.”
Herr Rupp was already standing by the door when Inge came around the corner. He stretched his hand out toward her.
“Good morning, Frau Müller. What’s the problem?”
Inge sat down on the chair that he pushed toward her and gave him the envelope.
“I got this will in the mail four weeks ago. Anna Nissen, one of my oldest friends, died in March. I went to see a lawyer in Westerland with the papers, but something doesn’t seem to be right.”
“Do you have the certificate of inheritance with you?”
Inge’s shoulders sagged. “That’s what this is about. I don’t have one yet, and I can’t get in touch with the lawyer who applied for it because he’s ill. And suddenly this Herr Guido Schneider turned up. He owns the management company, and allegedly Anna’s house, too, so it seems like there’s another will.”
Deep in thought, Herr Rupp lowered the papers. “The will is dated November of last year, and it seems to be in order. It is, of course, possible that there’s a later one. But we can find out easily. Just a moment.”
He stood up and left the room. A short while later, he came back with a file and sat down again. Looking at Inge, he said, “There does seem to be something strange going on here. There are already files running on this property. I can’t tell you any more than that right now though. You’ll need to wait until the will is officially validated.”
“So when will that be?”
He flicked through the file. “Very soon—it seems like everything is already underway. Who sent the will to you?”
Inge shrugged. “A lawyer’s office in Flensburg. I didn’t really pay any attention, I was so worked up about Anna’s death.”
“Do you still have the address?”
“I think so, yes. But I’ll need to look for it. So what happens now?”
Herr Rupp leaned back. “I’ll need to keep the will here for now, but I can make a copy for you. And then we just wait. I would recommend you retain a lawyer.”
Staring down at her feet, Inge brushed an imaginary speck of dust from her coat. She felt completely clueless.
“Frau Müller?” Herr Rupp’s gentle voice pulled her from her thoughts. “Do you have a husband or son or daughter—someone else who can help you with this? It sounds like there will be difficulties, and you’ll need help to work your way through them.”
Johann, thought Inge, and she immediately wondered why Christine’s boyfriend was the first person who came to her mind. “Yes, I do. Thank you very much.” She stood up and buttoned her coat. “You were very helpful.”
Herr Rupp accompanied her to the door and stretched his hand out. “You’ll hear from us soon. And if you have any questions in the meantime, please call.”
As Inge stood on the platform half an hour later, waiting for the train to Westerland, she made a decision. She fished her cell phone out of her handbag and looked up Christine’s number. After three dial tones, her niece answered.
“Hello, Aunt Inge. How are you? We’ve been wondering where you are.”
“I’m in Niebüll. Christine, I need to speak with you both. Urgently.”
“Well, Mom is at Georg’s, and the house is a little bit chaotic because Dad—”
“No, not with your parents,” Inge interrupted her. “Just with you and Johann. Could you come to my place this evening?”
“Yes, of course.” Christine sounded confused. “Around eight o’clock?”
“Perfect. See you then.”
Chapter 32
* * *
Christine pushed her phone back into her jacket pocket.
“That was Aunt Inge.”
“And?” Relaxed, Johann stirred his coffee and let his gaze wander over the stretch of beach in front of Buhne 16. The first surfers had already laid their boards down in the sand. He was keen to see some windsurfing in action.
“She wants to talk to us.”
“Oh.” He glanced up at her. “Now?”
“No. She’s in Niebüll right now. This evening.”
“Good.” He nodded.
Christine waited for him to ask what her aunt was doing in Niebüll. But he didn’t. “Don’t you think it’s a bit strange that she’s in Niebüll?”
Johann said frankly, “No, I don’t. If she had called from Stuttgart or Munich, I might have found that strange, but Niebüll? It’s only an hour away from here.”
“You really are very laid-back about this whole thing.”
“Christine.” He took her hand in his. “Maybe she went shopping. Maybe she’s visiting someone. Or maybe she just wanted to ride the train. You can ask her this evening.”
“We,” she corrected him. “She wants to speak to both of us, and she said so very emphatically.”
Johann made a mock frown. “Hmm. Maybe she wants to talk me out of settling down with her niece.” And then he squeezed Christine’s hand. “But seriously though, we’ll drive over there later, take her for a nice meal, and try to stop her from getting so worked up about Heinz and Walter. I think that’s her biggest problem right now.”
“Possibly.” Christine moved her chair around the table, closer to Johann. “Speaking of settling down. Johann, do you really think things will work out with us?” She leaned her head on his shoulder. “We’d be giving a lot up.”
He pulled back a little and looked at her in amazement. “What would we be giving up? A cold bed, dark apartment, empty fridge, half-empty bathroom cabinets, lonely evenings…I for one would gladly give all that up.”
Christine leaned back against him again and recited her own list. “Lots of space to stretch out in bed, a tidy apartment, a fridge full of things that no one eats apart from me, not having to share a bathroom, eating when you want to, doing things spontaneously without having to let someone know, going to parties on the weekend, sleeping in without being woken up.”
“You can’t be serious.” He snickered. “When was the last time you went to a party? And all your other reasons are kind of silly when you really think about it. It depends on how people live together. Do you feel restricted in some way right now?”
She looked up at him and thought about how she had felt over the last few days. “No. Not in the slightest. You’re good for me.”
“Well then.” He leaned down and kissed her. “Then let’s give it a try. Leave things to me tonight. I’ll describe our plans to your aunt in such a positive way that she’ll want to move in with us too. By the way, I phoned a realtor yesterday evening, and he phoned me back just now. There are two places we could look at right after the vacation.”
That’s quick, thought Christine. But it felt good to know her mind. And without her conflicting thoughts, she was even happier to be spending time alone with Johann right now. She had made her mind up about them moving in together, but she needed a little more time before she was ready to tell her family.
“We can’t all go in,” said Kalli, eyeing the house skeptically. “I think one is enough.”
Heinz looked at him, shaking his head. “You’re just worried there’s going to be trouble.”
“That’s not it,” retorted Kalli, peeved. “But if all three of us march in there, it looks threatening. And we don’t even know whether the whole thing’s true.”
“It’s my business, in any case,” said Walter in a decisive tone. “I’ll go in right now and take him to task.”
“And if he denies everything?” Heinz looked at him searchingly. “Then what?”
“And if Renate was wrong?” Kalli persisted. “If he really is just her lawyer?”
“My wife doesn’t need a lawyer,” grumbled Walter. “I’m going in there now. Will you wait for me here?”
“Well, I think that would look a bit odd.” Heinz pointed at the corner of the street. “Gosch is over there, so we’ll go have a bite to eat. What’s the
point of us standing around here? What do you think, Kalli?”
“Yes, good plan.” Kalli was always up for a snack.
Walter looked at them both. “Okay, I’ll come find you there. Order me a fried herring roll. Without garlic. I’ll see you in a minute.”
He turned and walked over to the building where Mark Kampmann’s office was based, disappearing inside.
He was back just a few minutes later, before Heinz and Kalli had even started to eat. He reached for his roll and took a bite.
Heinz looked at him in surprise. “How come that was so quick?”
“He’s ill.” Walter’s voice was muffled by his chewing. “Only the secretary was there.”
Disappointed, Kalli scrunched up his napkin. “How annoying. I’m getting another one. Would you like one too?”
Walter swallowed. “Matjes for me this time, please. The fried herring isn’t so great. Maybe the pickled herring will be better.” He reached for his jacket pocket and took out an envelope. “Here, this is Mark Kampmann’s private address.”
Kalli looked at the envelope, which had a Keitum address written on it by hand. “Did you get that from the secretary?”
“No.” Walter put the letter away again. “It was on her desk. It was such a mess that I doubt she’ll even notice. I knocked a piece of paper off a stack, so she had to bend over for a second. You wouldn’t catch my desk looking that unorganized, believe you me!”
“Good.” Heinz wiped his mouth. “Kalli, go fetch another round then, and after that we’ll go track this guy down in Keitum. He can’t hide from us now.”
Inge took deep breaths of fresh air as she left the Westerland train station. The train had been full to bursting with at least three groups of school kids, as well as the usual commuters and tourists. She had managed to get a seat, but had been unable to stretch out her legs among all the suitcases and duffel bags packed in all around her. And it had been so terribly noisy. But at least she was so busy figuring out how to get comfortable, she didn’t tear her hair out wondering what was going to happen with the house.
