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

by Blake Pierce

  Tough luck, she thought.

  She continued breathlessly on her way to the end of the alley. It opened onto a broad street marked Káptalandomb. She knew that was the name of a district rather than a street. Even so, she thought she remembered from the map that this street led in exactly the right direction.

  She glanced both ways and saw no police officers in sight. As she stepped cautiously out of the alley, she was relieved to see a familiar sight directly in front of her—the central spire of the Cathedral Basilica of the Assumption of Our Lady.

  It was still about a block away, though, and London felt more exposed and visible than ever. She doubted very much that she could get all the way there without being spotted by the police. But it might not matter if she could accomplish what she hoped to do very quickly.

  As she neared the basilica, she was pleased to see the same well-dressed, somewhat potbellied doorkeeper stationed outside the front entrance. He wasn’t wearing a flower today, but she remembered vividly the one he’d been wearing yesterday.

  And now she knew who must have given him that sunflower. So he’d definitely noticed the rich lady who had come to the basilica. He’d given Mrs. Klimowski a drink of water or something like that, then tried to take the necklace. He’d been interrupted in some way, and had to abandon the jewels.

  As London ran toward him, the doorkeeper was looking at her with keen interest.

  She slowed to a walk as she approached him.

  Now that she came face to face with him, she felt at a loss for words.

  What do you say to a killer?

  CHAPTER TWENTY SIX

  The siren of an approaching police car alerted London that she had very little time. With Sir Reginald still tucked under her arm, she stopped in front of the doorkeeper.

  “I want to talk to you,” she said to him in Hungarian.

  He smiled at her in a hospitable manner.

  “I’ll be glad to assist you in any way,” the doorman replied.

  A clatter of footsteps across the pavement behind London announced that the police had caught up with her.

  She was about to be arrested.

  In a matter of moments, she’d be dragged away from here—possibly to jail.

  The doorman looked puzzled as he glanced past London, then peered more closely at her.

  “Oh, I recognize you,” he said. “You were here yesterday. You were the one who …”

  “Yes, I was the one who came and told you that the elderly lady was dead.”

  “It was so terrible,” the doorkeeper said, shaking his head. “And now I hear that she was murdered. But—what do all these policemen want?”

  London couldn’t ignore them any longer. She looked around and saw a semicircle of police officers standing around her and the doorkeeper. Worse still, Alezredes Borsos himself was climbing out of the police car that had just pulled up.

  “Please don’t arrest me yet,” London pleaded with the officers. “Please let me talk to this man. Give me just a moment. That’s all I need.”

  The uniformed officers looked at Borsos.

  “Yes, give her a moment,” he told them with a nod, sounding quite willing to indulge London in her request. More than that, he sounded rather amused at what she’d gotten herself into, and eager to see what would happen next.

  What does he know that I don’t know? she wondered.

  London stared hard at the doorkeeper.

  “What did you do to the lady?” she demanded. “And why? Did you intend to steal the necklace? Did you get interrupted? What happened?”

  “I don’t understand,” the doorman sputtered. “I told the alezredes everything I knew.”

  “And now I want you to tell me everything,” London said.

  She put Sir Reginald on the ground and held on to the leash. The little dog stood there, glaring at the surrounding officers.

  London held out her sunflower to the doorman.

  “You were wearing one of these in your lapel yesterday,” she said. “Where did you get it?”

  “That lady gave it to me,” he said. “On her way into the church. I told the alezredes—”

  “She just gave it to you?” London interrupted. “What did she say to you?”

  “Something about needing ‘spiritual solace,’ I think. She was sad, she said, and someone had given her the flower out of kindness, and now giving it to somebody else made her feel better. Then she went on inside the cathedral.”

  “And you didn’t go inside with her? You didn’t give her something … something to eat or drink?”

  “I did not go inside,” the doorman said firmly. “I always stay at my post.”

  “You didn’t poison her?”

  The man’s eyes widened with alarm.

  “No, of course not! I would never harm anybody.”

  London’s certainty wavered as she began to see a problem with her assumption. If the doorman had killed Mrs. Klimowski, he probably wouldn’t have been wearing her flower. The flower was a sign that she had interacted with him, nothing more.

  Still, the man must know something.

  “Who was with her, then?” she demanded.

  “She came alone,” the doorkeeper said. “But there was a tour group going in at the same time as she did—just like now.”

  Sure enough, London saw a group of about ten or twelve tourists following their guide into the church.

  The doorkeeper continued, “The group left, and I thought she’d stayed alone inside to pray, as people sometimes do. That was when you came along and …”

  His words faded again.

  London was struggling with her thoughts now.

  She also noticed that Sir Reginald was just sitting quietly, watching the cops but showing no interest in the doorman at all.

  Surely, she thought, the dog would show some sign if the doorkeeper was actually Mrs. Klimowski’s murderer.

  Then London nearly scoffed at her own unrealistic expectation.

  He’s just a dog, she reminded herself.

  Alezredes Borsos strode forward and spoke to London in his rather awkward English.

  “Are you quite satisfied?” he asked her. “I wasn’t sure you’d believe me, so I thought I’d let you ask him face to face.”

  The alezredes looked smug now, obviously pleased with himself for letting her make a fool of herself.

  “The man is telling the truth,” he added. “We have spoken to witnesses who confirm that he stood right here at his post the whole time the lady was inside. He never went inside. The tourists came and went. Those that we have found and interviewed said that they took no notice of the lady at all, let alone who might have been with her. Small wonder. People sit down to pray in the sanctuary all the time.”

  London swallowed hard.

  It suddenly seemed very likely that she really had made a terrible error.

  “And now,” Borsos said to her, “would you kindly accompany me to the car? I’d rather not have to … well, become insistent, I suppose you could say.”

  London realized she had no choice. If she didn’t cooperate, she’d probably be put in handcuffs right here in front of Cathedral Basilica of the Assumption of Our Lady. Would someone from the ship come and bail her out, or would she become an international incident?

  More likely, she thought with a sigh, I’ll just be locked away and forgotten.

  With Sir Reginald following on the leash, she walked with Borsos to the car. The two of them got into the back seat and the dog hopped in with them.

  “I half suspected all along you’d leave the ship,” the alezredes said to her with a rather snide smile. “It is true what they say about you Yankees—that you love your liberty.”

  London knew that he was making a joke. Under different circumstances, she might actually find it rather droll. But now was not one of those times.

  Borsos stroked his chin sagely.

  “I find it most interesting,” he said, “that you would go to so much trouble to find someon
e to blame.”

  “‘To blame’?” London echoed with a gasp. “I wasn’t looking for anyone to blame. I’m trying to find whoever killed Mrs. Klimowski.”

  “So you say,” Borsos said with a purr of suspicion.

  London was starting to feel angry right now.

  “OK, I made a mistake,” she said. “But it wasn’t entirely my fault. If you weren’t so—so secretive about everything, this might never have happened. I had no idea that you’d confirmed the doorkeeper’s alibi. In fact, you’ve told me next to nothing. I don’t even know how Mrs. Klimowski was murdered.”

  “So you say,” Borsos repeated.

  London fell silent. This wasn’t exactly what she’d had in mind when she’d run away from the prospect of a boring, safe life. It was almost as though she could hear a distant voice reprimanding her.

  Planning. Everything has to be planned.

  She’d rejected Ian’s offer of a merger, and here she was in a foreign country in police custody. Had Ian been right?

  Then London realized that the car was on its way to the Nachtmusik.

  “You’re not going to arrest me, I take it,” she said.

  “Not yet,” Borsos said.

  “If you suspect me of something, I think you should come out and say it.”

  Borsos let out a sardonic chuckle.

  “Hamarosan megtudjuk, asszonyom,” he said.

  London was exasperated at hearing these words yet again—“We’ll find out soon, ma’am.”

  “Since your departure,” Borsos said, “there have been, eh, developments in the case.”

  “Such as?”

  “Captain Hays was finally able to speak to the lady’s lawyer in New York. It seems that she has no family, no heirs. She was quite wealthy, though. Her fortune would seem to be—how do say in English?—‘up for takes.’”

  London couldn’t stop herself from correcting him.

  “‘Up for grabs,’ you mean.”

  “So you say.”

  “What are you suggesting? That I’m somehow trying to get my hands on Mrs. Klimowski’s fortune?”

  Borsos chuckled again.

  “You already have your hands on her dog,” he said.

  London could hardly believe her ears.

  “What’s that got to do with anything?” she said.

  “Yesterday I suggested turning the dog over to animal services,” he said. “You chose instead to keep him.”

  “I didn’t choose to keep him!” London said. “I’m just taking care of him until—”

  “Yes, I remember. You said, until someone in her family said where to send it. And now it appears there is no such family. I find it all most curious.”

  London was aghast now.

  “I’m taking care of her dog just to be nice,” she said. “I don’t even want a dog. And I certainly don’t have any interest in her money.”

  “So you say,” Borsos said yet again. “Hamarosan megtudjuk.”

  She fell silent as the police car parked at the end of the Nachtmusik’s gangway.

  I’m still a murder suspect, she reminded herself.

  Or at least a person of interest.

  London realized that she definitely needed a better plan.

  CHAPTER TWENTY SEVEN

  As she climbed out of the police car, London’s whole body felt heavy with exhaustion and discouragement. Even Sir Reginald felt droopy in her arms, as if he shared in her despair.

  And small wonder, she thought.

  Her wild, desperate run through Old Town Gyor had accomplished nothing.

  Less than nothing.

  All she’d managed to do was accuse an innocent man of murder before being dragged away by the police. Not only had she made a fool of herself, she may well have set back the search for the actual killer.

  But what else was I supposed to do? she wondered.

  Her reluctance to turn detective was now completely gone, and solving the case was becoming more and more of an obsession by the minute.

  She glanced at Alezredes Borsos, who had also gotten out of the police car and was walking with her toward the ship.

  “I suppose we’re all still supposed to stay on the ship,” she said to him.

  “That’s right,” he replied. “I don’t much care about who comes aboard—as long as they don’t plan to get off.”

  He gave her a sharp stare and added, “My men will do better now about keeping everybody aboard the boat.”

  London opted to say nothing. She saw that four bulky police officers now stood guard at the bottom of the gangway. No one was going to pull the same trick that she, Elsie, and Amy had managed a while ago.

  “You may find me in the captain’s quarters,” Borsos said to her as they headed through the reception area and got on the elevator. “As for you—well, just go about your work. But I expect you to report to the captain hourly…”

  He looked at his watch and added, “Starting as of an hour from right now. If you fail to do so, we will find you, and you will be expected to account for your movements. And kindly don’t go playing, eh, Miss Marple again.”

  Miss Marple? London wondered as she and Borsos rode the elevator down to the Allegro deck.

  Then she remembered.

  Oh, yes. The elderly spinster detective in the Agatha Christie books.

  She didn’t exactly feel flattered by the reference. But then, she hadn’t liked being compared to Nancy Drew either. Not that she felt worthy of being compared to any detective, not after the mistake she’d just made.

  It’s like the baklava all over again—only a lot worse.

  She and Borsos got off the elevator. He stalked away toward the captain’s quarters and she walked toward her own room. She realized that her arm was tired from carrying Sir Reginald. She set him down to walk on his leash, but he followed beside her very sluggishly.

  “You’re tired too, eh?” she said to him. “Well, I can understand why.”

  They went into her room, and Sir Reginald walked over to the bed and looked up at it wistfully. The poor thing seemed to be too worn out to jump up to his own favorite resting spot. London realized she was over any qualms about letting him onto the mattress.

  “You deserve a rest,” she said.

  She lifted him up and set him down, and he went to sleep instantly.

  London let out a sigh of envy. She wished she could do the same. But she was too agitated to sleep even if she wanted to. She also knew where she wanted to check next.

  She took the elevator back up to the Menuetto deck.

  London felt relieved and lucky to be alone in the passageway, at least for the moment. She headed straight toward her destination, the “Beethoven” grand suite where Mrs. Klimowski had been staying.

  But by the time she stood in front of the doorway, a new worry nagged her. As a high-ranking staff member, she had a master keycard, and under normal circumstances she’d have every right to come and go anywhere in the boat, including staterooms. But these weren’t normal circumstances. And the fact that there were no passengers around at the moment didn’t mean nobody was watching her.

  Security cameras, she realized, taking care not to look up at them.

  Whoever was watching the video monitors in the security station might be looking at her right now. Then again, maybe no one was watching those monitors. Or at least not all of them all the time. London simply didn’t know for sure.

  I just have to risk it, she thought as she slipped her keycard into the slot, opened the door, and stepped inside.

  It was the first time she’d been inside Mrs. Klimowski’s stateroom since yesterday, when she’d taken Sir Reginald away to stay in her room. She took a deep breath and gazed around the sumptuous suite.

  What to look for? Where to begin?

  With a sudden chill, London got the feeling that someone was watching her right now. She shuddered, then giggled when she saw that it was the face of Ludwig van Beethoven himself, frowning down on her as if in stern disapprov
al.

  London frowned back at the portrait above the bed.

  “Don’t judge me, Ludwig,” she muttered. “I’m here for a good reason.”

  She wanted to have a more thorough look around than she’d had yesterday. The room had been quite neat at the time, but it was now in some disarray. The police had obviously taken a thorough look around themselves. London guessed that they might have snapped quite a few pictures, though they probably hadn’t removed much if anything.

  The drawer with her jewels was now sitting open. She remembered something Borsos had said during the drive back to the boat.

  “It seems that she has no family, no heirs.”

  Which of course meant her whole fortune was, as Alezredes Borsos had worded it, “up for takes.”

  But no one seemed to be intent on taking this part of it.

  As London thought back over the events of the last days, an unsettling feeling nagged at her.

  I’m missing something, she thought. I’m overlooking something.

  And it was something that surely even a capable amateur detective wouldn’t overlook.

  If so, at least she doubted that the police were faring much better. Alezredes Borsos didn’t inspire her as a master investigator. London scoffed to herself as she remembered him insinuating that she herself wanted to get her hands on Mrs. Klimowski’s fortune.

  “You already have your hands on her dog,” he’d said.

  “Ridiculous!” London muttered aloud.

  She picked up an especially lavish necklace clustered with diamonds. She felt a surge of sadness as she looked at the object. She wondered—had belongings like this made poor Mrs. Klimowski any happier? Did they give her any comfort from the “tragic life” she claimed to have lived?

  Holding the necklace, London walked all around the room. For the first time she noticed that there were no pictures of friends, family, or loved ones anywhere. She felt sure that she could dig around through all her belongings and not find anything of that sort.

  She really was alone in the world, London thought.

  Looking again at the necklace in her hand, London supposed it wasn’t surprising that Mrs. Klimowski was so alone. She’d made herself impossible to get along with, much less to like, and perhaps even to love. Even so, the woman’s apparently empty life struck London as terribly sad.