Murder (and Baklava) (A European Voyage Cozy Mystery—Book 1)

by Blake Pierce

  London stammered, “But she’s—she’s—”

  Loaded with furs and jewelry, London wanted to say.

  “Don’t worry about her,” Gus Jarrett said. “It’s only a short distance to the ship.”

  “She’ll be all right,” his wife, Honey, added.

  London stood wavering for a moment.

  “They are quite right, London,” Emil said to her quietly. “She will be quite safe, I am sure.”

  London sat down, still trying to make up her mind.

  Agnes Shick looked aghast at what had just happened.

  “Was it something one of us said?” she said.

  Cyrus Bannister chuckled snidely.

  “Not at all,” he said. “She just can’t stand Magyar folk music—or Bartok or Schoenberg for that matter. It’s nothing to do with any of us, I’m sure.”

  “Actually, I don’t think she cares much for any of us either,” Walter Shick muttered.

  London realized that Gus was right—they really were quite close to the Nachtmusik. Their tour route had brought them circling around to within a handful of blocks of the boat. Besides, it was still a sunny afternoon, and the streets of Gyor hadn’t seemed the least bit dangerous.

  Surely she’ll make it back OK, London told herself.

  *

  The group’s meals soon arrived, and everybody seemed to enjoy their food—except for London herself. Her crepes were certainly delicious, but she kept picking at them listlessly, worrying about Mrs. Klimowski. But Gus and Honey Jarrett were especially hungry, so they shared Mrs. Klimowski’s abandoned dish along with their own orders.

  Finally István came around to take away their plates and asked if the group was ready for dessert. Everybody except London pored over the dessert menu eagerly. She didn’t feel in the mood for something rich and sweet.

  Before anyone could order, London heard a sharp noise from the street.

  She turned and saw the tiny, mop-like Sir Reginald Taft standing among the pedestrians, looking agitated. Staring straight at London, the little dog barked again.

  “Oh, my!” Agnes Shick said. “Mrs. Klimowski’s dog must have gotten away from her!”

  Cyrus Bannister chuckled.

  “Can you blame him?” he said. “The poor animal must feel tremendously relieved.”

  But London didn’t think Sir Reginald looked the least bit relieved. He kept yapping away as he darted about, avoiding pedestrians’ feet.

  Walter Shick looked as anxious as London felt.

  “The poor woman must be beside herself with worry,” he said. “We need to get this dog back to her.”

  Gus Jarrett let out a growling chuckle.

  “Huh—I hope the old lady’s dead!” he said.

  His wife, Honey, looked at him with dismay.

  “That’s no way to talk!” she said.

  “Well, it would be no great loss.”

  London agreed with Walter that the dog needed to be returned to Mrs. Klimowski, but wasn’t sure how to go about it. She remembered the sly game of hide and seek Sir Reginald had played with Mrs. Klimowski yesterday. If the dog didn’t want to be caught, what were they going to do about it?

  “Maybe I can help,” Honey said.

  Her husband snarled in his wife’s ear in an audible whisper.

  “Don’t you dare!” he said.

  “I’ll do whatever I like,” Honey whispered back at him.

  London recalled how the dog had eagerly jumped up into the woman’s arms yesterday evening. But she also remembered how angry Gus had gotten about being contradicted. She didn’t want there to be any trouble between Honey and Gus. But after all, it was really none of her concern.

  “Please—let’s try,” she said to Honey.

  “The rest of us should stay put,” Cyrus said.

  “That is right,” Emil agreed. “If we all go after him, it might frighten him.”

  London and Honey went out into the street and cautiously approached the excited little animal. Just as she had yesterday, Honey walked to within a few feet of the dog, then crouched down in her precarious heels and tight skirt. She called out to him in the same warm and friendly voice as yesterday.

  “Come here!”

  But the dog didn’t come to her this time. Instead, he turned around and trotted away into the crowd. London immediately hurried after him, weaving among the pedestrians as she went. For a few moments she could hear the clatter of Honey’s heels, but the footsteps soon fell behind her. Honey simply wasn’t practically dressed enough for this sort of pursuit.

  Meanwhile, Sir Reginald made it very clear that he wanted London to follow her. He’d stop every now and then and look back to make sure she was still on his trail, then take off again.

  London followed the dog past some of the landmarks they’d visited a little while ago, including the Boatman sculpture and the Vienna Gate Square, until at last they approached the Cathedral Basilica of the Assumption of Our Lady. London flashed back to what Mrs. Klimowski had said yesterday when she’d insisted upon a visit to St. Stephen’s Basilica in Budapest.

  “I have a greater need than most people for the comfort of prayer.”

  London felt a wave of relief.

  This must where she came, she thought.

  As they neared the entrance, London saw that the doorkeeper was the same man who had been there earlier, but now he wore a bright yellow flower in his lapel. The doorkeeper looked as if he might try to block the dog, but the little creature darted right past his big feet and on into the cathedral.

  As the doorkeeper glared at London, she stammered in Hungarian.

  “I’m very sorry. I’ll go get him right away.”

  The doorkeeper nodded and stood aside, and London strode on into the cathedral.

  Ahead of her, Sir Reginald stopped at the end of one of the pews and looked back at her. London felt a wave of relief as she saw a familiar figure sitting in that pew. The dog wasn’t lost, after all. Mrs. Klimowski had returned to the cathedral instead of going back to the boat. She seemed to be the only person in the church at the moment.

  But why was the dog so agitated?

  Mrs. Klimowski’s head was deeply bowed, and she looked like she was fast asleep. Followed by Sir Reginald, London slipped into the pew and sat down beside her.

  “Mrs. Klimowski,” she said in a soft voice.

  The woman didn’t move.

  “Mrs. Klimowski, I’m glad I found you. We were all worried sick. It’s time to wake up, though.”

  The woman still didn’t move. London nudged her, to no effect. Then she noticed that there was a strange stillness about the elderly woman. Her mouth was hanging open, but she didn’t seem to be breathing.

  London reached out and touched the woman’s hand.

  Something was definitely wrong.

  London gasped as she realized that the woman wasn’t just sleeping.

  Mrs. Klimowski was dead.

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  London found Alezredes (Lieutenant Colonel) Ferko Borsos to be an intimidating hulk of a man, with a head shaped like a bullet and a body shaped like a cannon barrel. His dark scowl made her wonder if he was about to arrest her.

  Borsos was the kapitányságvezető—chief captain—of the Gyor Police. His iron-gray uniform with epaulets on its lapels as well as its shoulders added to his military bearing. He and his team had come to the basilica very promptly in answer to a call from the building’s doorkeeper, who’d phoned for help as soon as London had rushed out calling for the police … for an ambulance … for any kind of help.

  A medic who arrived with Borsos had confirmed that Mrs. Klimowski was indeed dead, fulfilling London’s worst possible fears.

  At the moment, London was sitting on a stone bench outside the church while Alezredes Borsos paced back and forth in front of her. Mrs. Klimowski’s dog, Sir Reginald, crouched beside London’s feet.

  The alezredes didn’t seem to be in a good mood as he asked London questions in faltering Engl
ish.

  “Tell me, please, why you think we’re dealing with a case of—how do you say in English?— ‘foul game’?”

  Foul play, London thought, suppressing a sigh. But she didn’t feel free to correct this man’s English idioms the way she did with Emil.

  “I didn’t say she was murdered,” London said.

  “What are you saying, then?”

  London hesitated. The truth was, she was still quite puzzled by what had happened—and also in something of a state of shock.

  “I don’t know how she died,” London said. “But I do know she was robbed.”

  “And robbery—is that not ‘foul game’?”

  London choked down another sigh. It seemed futile to point out that the idiom “foul play” was normally used to refer to murder. It didn’t surprise London that the alezredes spoke English, since he surely had to deal with English-speaking tourists. But his English was faulty, and London was worried about making herself clearly understood.

  She wondered if maybe this conversation would go better in Hungarian.

  Not that my Hungarian is anything to brag about, she thought.

  She chose her words carefully and spoke very slowly in Hungarian.

  “I noticed right away when I found her … that way. Her pendant was missing. She’d been wearing it every time I saw her, all day yesterday and all day today.”

  “A pendant?”

  “That’s right,” London said. “I’d warned her against wearing it—and also all the rest of her jewelry and her fur coat. I was afraid she’d be a target for thieves. I guess I was right.”

  Alezredes Borsos looked at her with a curious expression.

  “Would you describe this pendant for me?” he asked.

  “Certainly,” London said. “It was a large gem—a ruby, I think—and it was set in gold among quite a few diamonds. I was worried about how she was practically flaunting it. And when I found her, it was gone. Someone must have taken it.”

  Borsos stood looking at her for a moment. Then he waved to one of his officers, who walked over to him. Borsos whispered something to the officer, who went away for a moment and came back with Mrs. Klimowski’s leather bag, which of course no longer contained the dog.

  With a gloved hand, Borsos reached into the bag and pulled out a pendant.

  “Is this the pendant you mean?” he asked London.

  London couldn’t help but gasp at the sight of the familiar red jewel encrusted by diamonds.

  “Yes, but …”

  “But what?” Borsos asked.

  London didn’t know what to say. All she knew was that she found this to be extremely odd. Mrs. Klimowski had seemed to be deliberately drawing attention to the pendant as well as the rest of her jewelry, keeping all of it as conspicuous as possible. Why had she decided to put it into her bag?

  But one thing certainly seemed obvious. No one had stolen the pendant, and London hadn’t noticed any other missing jewels—or any missing furs, for that matter.

  Meanwhile, the coroner and his team were wheeling a gurney bearing Mrs. Klimowski’s sheet-covered body out of the basilica and toward a waiting vehicle. Borsos walked over to the coroner and chatted with him quietly for a moment.

  London watched as an officer questioned the doorkeeper closely. The poor man was obviously shaken by what had happened in the church that had been in his care. But for some reason, London found herself staring at the yellow flower in his lapel—the flower that he hadn’t been wearing during her group’s earlier visit to the basilica. She couldn’t imagine why it mattered, except that it seemed out of character for the rather formal man.

  Borsos walked back toward London as the coroner climbed into his van.

  “Our coroner is going to do a complete examination,” Borsos said to London, speaking in English again. “At the moment, he sees no reason to think there was any ‘foul game.’ The lady was quite elderly, and probably died of natural causes. We should know by sure tomorrow. Meanwhile …”

  He paused and scratched his chin.

  London had a feeling she wasn’t going to like whatever he had to say next.

  “What did you say your job was aboard the tour boat?” he said. “Social, eh, dirigible?”

  “Social director,” London said.

  “And when is your boat scheduled to leave Gyor?”

  London gulped apprehensively.

  “Tonight,” she said.

  “I’m afraid that is out of the question,” Borsos said.

  “But if you don’t think she was murdered …” London began.

  “It makes no difference,” Borsos said. “She died right here in Gyor, and we need to make perfectly sure we understand why and from what cause. If all goes well, you should be able to set sail tomorrow.”

  Tomorrow! London thought.

  If all goes well!

  Why did she have a feeling it wasn’t going to be that simple?

  But she wasn’t in any position to argue.

  “I’ll talk to the captain about it,” she said.

  “Do that as soon as possible,” Borsos said. “I will also have him officially notified. He held up the leather bag and peered at it thoughtfully. Then he reached inside and pulled out a smaller purse.

  “This was inside,” he said. “Did she carry anything else?”

  “As far as I know, just the dog.”

  He opened a small purse. “She had money with her,” he reported. “And of course the cards of credit. And her passport. All of that is still here.”

  Holding it open, he asked London, “Can you tell me if anything at all is missing?”

  Glancing into it, she saw the items the Alezredes had mentioned, plus a lace handkerchief and a plastic pillbox.

  “I never actually saw inside her bag,” she replied with a shrug.

  Borsos gave a sigh, then asked, “Do you know who the woman’s property now belongs to?”

  “I’m afraid not,” London said.

  “Well, then—we’ll keep this bag and her other belongings until tomorrow. You may go.”

  Relieved that she didn’t seem to be under suspicion, London stood up to go. Then she felt Sir Reginald rubbing against her ankle.

  Borsos scowled at the animal.

  “Meanwhile, we also have this dog to consider,” he said. “Perhaps I should turn it over to animal services.”

  London shuddered at the thought of this tiny creature locked up in a cage in some kind of pound filled with stray animals.

  “No, I’ll take care of it,” she said. “Until someone in her family tells us where to send it.”

  “That would be helpful,” Borsos said with a nod. “You may go for now. But I must talk to you again tomorrow. I’m afraid there may be many formalities to deal with.”

  London picked up the dog, which settled comfortably against her shoulder. As she started to walk back toward the ship, she flashed back to all that had just happened. She had to steady herself from staggering at the thought of it all. And she realized that everything had happened so fast that she hadn’t yet notified anyone else about it.

  As she walked, she called Amy Blassingame and told her what had happened, and also asked her to notify Captain Hays. Then she cut Amy’s queries short when she saw that she was getting a call from Emil.

  “London!” Emil said when she answered the phone. “Where have you been? We were worried about you. Are you all right?”

  “I’m fine, but …”

  London hesitated, then said, “Emil, something has happened to Mrs. Klimowski. She’s—she’s dead.”

  “What? No! How did you find out?”

  “Her dog led me back to the basilica. There she was, sitting in a pew. She must have died right there. The coroner seems to think it was from natural causes. I’ve been talking to the chief of police since then. He says that the Nachtmusik can’t set sail tonight.”

  “That is understandable, I suppose.”

  “Where are you right now?”

  “We fin
ished eating and are back at the Boatman sculpture reuniting the rest of the group. What should we do now? Continue with the tour?”

  “Yes, I suppose so,” London said. “It’s probably best to keep everybody occupied.”

  Then something else occurred to London.

  “Oh, dear,” she said to Emil. “Amy wanted to take over the tour from me this afternoon. I’d meant to call her and tell her about our rendezvous at the Boatman sculpture, but in all the confusion it slipped my mind.”

  “Do not worry, I will call her right now. What should I tell the group about Mrs. Klimowski?”

  London thought hard for a moment.

  “The truth, I suppose—that she passed away suddenly, and we don’t know much more than that.”

  “I will tell them that.”

  “Thanks.”

  As they ended the call, London felt relieved that Sir Reginald Taft was still being so docile. He seemed quite comfortable curled up against her shoulder. She remembered Cyrus Bannister telling her that the dog really didn’t like being stuck in Mrs. Klimowski’s bag. She also remembered what he’d said when the dog had turned up at the restaurant a while ago.

  “The poor animal must feel tremendously relieved.”

  London felt sad to think that it might have taken Mrs. Klimowski’s death to ease the animal’s discomfort.

  But as they neared a street corner on their way back to the boat, Sir Reginald began to wiggle restlessly until he managed to scramble out of London’s arms. London let out a gasp of alarm as the dog landed on the street.

  What could she do if Sir Reginald simply decided to run away? She couldn’t possibly catch him if he didn’t want to be caught. Maybe Alezredes Borsos had been right about putting Sir Reginald into the care of animal services. Had it been a mistake for London to try to take him back to the boat?

  She quickly realized that Sir Reginald wasn’t trying to escape. His attention had been caught by a vendor’s stall on the street corner. But the stall was empty now, and London had no idea what was normally sold there.

  Sir Reginald was certainly curious about the place. He walked around it a couple of times, as if to make sure someone wasn’t hiding there. Then he trotted back over to London and when she leaned over he jumped back into her arms.