The Stranger From Berlin

by Melissa Amateis

  ‘Jenni!’

  She whirled around and saw Celia beckon from her office.

  ‘What is it?’ Jenni stepped inside and Celia closed the door behind her.

  ‘I just had a phone call from the mayor,’ Celia murmured.

  ‘That old windbag! What’s he complaining about now?’

  ‘Professor Koenig.’

  ‘What? Why?’

  ‘Apparently the professor was in the drugstore and he spoke German to Betty Rainbolt.’

  Jenni rolled her eyes. ‘And that’s some sin?’

  ‘Apparently it’s against the law.’

  ‘You can’t be serious!’

  ‘I’m afraid I am. Anyway, he told me to have a talk with him.’

  ‘What are you, the professor’s mother?’ she huffed. ‘The mayor can’t just go ordering people around.’

  ‘I know that, but I also don’t want to give him an excuse to throw the professor out of town.’

  ‘You think he’d do that?’ At Celia’s all-too-knowing expression, Jenni sighed. ‘You’re right. He would.’

  Celia glanced at the clock on the wall behind her. ‘I’ve got a long-distance phone call coming in five minutes. Do you think you could talk to Professor Koenig?’

  ‘Me? Right now? Why?’

  The words tumbled out, sounded hysterical. Celia stared at her incredulously and Jenni pushed past the panic in her throat. ‘Never mind. Of course I will.’

  Celia thanked her, and Jenni slipped out of the office, nerves suddenly crackling to life under her skin. She grabbed her coat and gloves, then went out of the back door, squinting at the sun bouncing off the snowdrifts. Sometimes she wished Celia had a bit more backbone to her. She should have told Mayor Lowe to stuff his order where the sun didn’t shine, but Celia would never be so crass as to say something like that. Of course, she really didn’t have room to talk. Hadn’t she avoided Max, too chicken to apologize to him?

  As she looked up at the cottage, she stumbled to a halt. The odd man from the tour earlier was hurrying down the cottage stairs, hands stuffed into his pockets, his eyes fixed on the rusty old Chevy Independence waiting by the curb. No licence plates? Who was he? What on earth was he doing? Maybe he was a friend of Max’s. But something about his demeanour told Jenni he wasn’t supposed to be there.

  She stayed rooted to the spot until the car drove off, then she rushed over to the cottage as fast as she could on the slick pavements. Katya barked from inside when she knocked on the door.

  ‘Professor Koenig? Are you there?’

  More barking, but no one came to the door. Was he hurt?

  She knocked again, louder this time. ‘Professor?’

  A clattering sounded behind her and she whirled around in fright. A man, his face half obscured by a scarf, lifted his bicycle off the curb onto the pavement. His eyes widened when he saw her and he lowered his scarf.

  ‘Mrs Fields?’

  Thank God.

  ‘Professor Koenig,’ she said, hurrying down the stairs. ‘I saw a man coming out of the cottage.’

  His body tensed. ‘You did?’

  ‘Were you expecting a visitor?’

  ‘No, not at all.’

  ‘And your dog is very upset. I wonder if she chased him away?’

  Max shook his head and took the steps two at a time. ‘No, I left her in my bedroom with the door shut.’

  Jenni scurried after him, glad when she was inside and away from the wind. She waited in the kitchen, smelling the remnants of stale smoke and an egg breakfast. The barking stopped and Max’s golden retriever ran into the room, sniffing every inch of the floor, Max close behind.

  ‘Someone was in here, all right,’ Max said, pulling at his chin. ‘Katya doesn’t usually get this upset. What did this person look like?’

  ‘Older. Late thirties maybe? He had a beard. Dark brown hair and thick glasses. Kind of short and stocky.’

  ‘And you’ve never seen him before?’

  ‘No.’

  Katya started whining in the living room and as Jenni followed Max, she saw the dog sitting by the desk. As Max began rifling through the drawers, her unease continued to build.

  ‘Is something missing?’

  He twisted around. ‘Mrs Fields, did either you or Mrs Draper take the diary this morning?’

  ‘No, of course not. We’ve been in the museum all day.’ She stepped closer. ‘Why? What’s wrong?’

  Max opened and closed drawers, even got down on his hands and knees and searched under the desk, beside it, and behind it. When he stood, she saw panic in his eyes.

  ‘It’s gone,’ he rasped.

  Jenni stared at him, her jaw dropping. ‘You mean… Tallulah’s diary?’

  He nodded. ‘I left it on the desk. It was here when I went downtown.’

  This couldn’t be happening. It just couldn’t.

  ‘Are you sure you left it there?’

  Max heaved a heavy sigh and sank into the desk chair, letting his head fall into his hands. ‘I’m sure. Whoever that man was, he stole it.’

  * * *

  Why did you leave the door unlocked?

  Are you sure you didn’t just forget where you put it?

  What were you doing out of the cottage, anyway?

  How could you let this happen?

  Max blinked, trying to remind himself that he was in a cottage in a small midwestern town smack in the middle of America and not in some dingy prison cell at Gestapo headquarters on Berlin’s Prinz-Albrecht-Straße. Instead of men in menacing trench coats and black fedoras, he had grey-haired Police Chief Victor Thompson, Mayor Lowe, and Avery Boon, a man with wire-framed glasses stuck at the end of his nose, who said he was the editor of the Meadow Hills Gazette. As a witness, Jenni had stayed, leaving Mrs Draper to run things at the museum, and Max was rather glad for that bit of luck. He didn’t like to think about Mrs Draper’s reaction.

  In the kitchen, Jenni gave a detailed description of the man she’d seen leaving the cottage to one of the chief’s officers. He heard her exasperation at the condescending questions.

  He couldn’t say he blamed her one bit for feeling that way. No one believed someone else had taken the diary. They figured they had their culprit already.

  Him.

  ‘Now you’re sure you left it on the desk?’ Chief Thompson asked, scratching his pock-scarred cheek. ‘You didn’t… say… have something to drink and forget where you put it?’

  Max saw the policeman’s eyes light upon the nearly full bottle of Jack Daniels on the lamp stand, and he tried not to show his annoyance.

  ‘No, I did not misplace it. It was there this morning when I left, exactly as I told you.’

  Chief Thompson looked dubious, and Max’s insides curled. Why didn’t they believe him? Wasn’t this the land of the free, of innocent until proven guilty? He was beginning to wonder.

  ‘It should go without saying,’ Thompson continued, ‘that you can’t leave town until this is all settled.’

  Max suppressed a sigh. ‘I had no plans to do so.’

  He watched the men look through seat cushions and examine the contents of the bookshelf, then saw another officer appear from the direction of his bedroom. He knew there had to be something about having a search warrant, but that didn’t seem to make a lick of difference either. When they’d asked to search the cottage, he’d let them. They wouldn’t find it because it wasn’t here.

  Avery Boon scribbled madly on his pad of paper, licking the tip of the pencil as he flipped page after page. Great. Max was about to make front-page news again.

  But then something extraordinary happened. Mayor Lowe snatched the notebook out of Avery’s hand and began ripping out pages.

  ‘No story, Boon,’ he said.

  ‘Hey!’ The editor watched as Lowe tore the paper into little pieces before throwing them in the fireplace. ‘Damn it, Evan! This is a big story!’

  ‘And one that will get picked up by every news wire from here to New York City if you pri
nt it,’ Lowe replied. ‘The last thing we need is people snooping around here.’

  Avery opened his mouth to offer a rebuttal, but something in Lowe’s gaze stopped him and he snapped it shut. ‘Fine,’ he muttered.

  ‘Besides,’ Lowe said, turning to Max, ‘I’m fairly confident the diary will turn up very soon. Wouldn’t you agree, professor?’

  Had the bastard really made such a callous remark? The blood roared in Max’s ears and he fought to control his temper. ‘I beg your pardon?’

  ‘I knew it was trouble to bring you here,’ Lowe sneered. ‘And damned if I wasn’t right.’

  Max took a step towards Lowe, trying to ignore his shaking hands. ‘You are accusing me of stealing it? Nobody would even know it was missing if I hadn’t said anything. Why would I steal it, and then risk everything by calling the police?’

  ‘To throw off suspicion, of course.’

  ‘Preposterous, not to mention illogical! What possible reason could I have for stealing it? It was already in my possession.’

  ‘Money. Blackmail. A million reasons. You Krauts can’t be trusted.’

  The slur hit hard, and he clenched his fists. ‘You Schweinhund!’

  Lowe glared at him, started raising his own fists, and then Jenni suddenly flew in from the kitchen and inserted herself between them like an avenging angel. ‘For goodness sake! We are all on the same side here!’

  She didn’t look the least bit intimidated. In fact, he felt like he had his own Queen Boudica to protect him. The fight drained out of him, though the anger remained.

  ‘Mrs Fields,’ the mayor said, his voice strained with patience, ‘I’ll thank you to keep out of this as it is none of your business.’

  Jenni’s eyes flashed a dangerous blue. ‘Excuse me? That diary is the property of the museum, so I’d say that makes it probably more my business than yours. Besides, the man I saw leaving the cottage was on one of my tours. I’m about the only one who can give you an accurate description of him.’

  ‘Which you’ve already done.’

  ‘Yes, but I would think—’

  ‘Did you actually see him with the diary?’

  ‘Well, no…’

  ‘Then we can’t even be sure he is a suspect. According to you, he was a tourist. He was likely snooping around the cottage, but that’s all.’ Mayor Lowe lifted his brows. ‘So you see, your presence in this matter is no longer needed.’

  Jenni’s folded arms and set jaw told Max she was ready to do battle. But he would not allow it, much as he appreciated having her on his side.

  ‘Why are you here anyway, Evan? You’re the mayor, not a policeman,’ she snapped.

  Before the mayor could respond, Max took Jenni’s elbow and steered her into the kitchen.

  She shrugged him off. ‘What are you doing?’

  ‘If anyone is going to take abuse from these men, it will be me,’ he said sternly. ‘You don’t deserve it. I am the one who left the door unlocked. I am the one to blame.’

  ‘But that’s ridiculous! You didn’t do anything wrong. Lots of people leave their doors unlocked in this town. How were you to know someone would steal that diary?’

  ‘Regardless of how it happened, they’ – he waved at the cluster of men – ‘have found their target and that’s all that matters.’

  ‘But… that’s not fair.’

  He gave her a grim smile. ‘Mrs Fields, I’m afraid where I come from, there is no such thing as “fair”. I was hoping it was different here, but perhaps I was wrong.’

  ‘It is different,’ she protested. ‘It has to be. Otherwise…’ Her eyes grew distant. When she spoke, her voice had dropped to a near whisper. ‘Otherwise, what are we fighting for over there?’

  He knew she was thinking of her dead husband. Damn it. He hated how his comment had extinguished the fighting spark in her eyes.

  He led her to the kitchen chair and sat her down, then pulled up a chair beside her. ‘Believe me, Mrs Fields, America is fighting for the very heart of humanity. You cannot imagine the evil I’ve seen. There are things…’ He trailed off, images flashing before him of blood-soaked cobblestones, of shattered glass littering pavements. He pushed them aside and forced himself to continue. ‘America and her allies are doing a good thing. A necessary thing. And they will win. Remember what Churchill said. “Victory at all costs, victory in spite of all terror, victory however long and hard the road may be; for without victory, there is no survival.” ’

  Her lips quivered and he thought she might lose her composure, but she took a deep, steadying breath, the light returning to her eyes.

  ‘Thank you, professor,’ she murmured. ‘I needed to hear that and to know that my husband died for something worth fighting for.’ She glanced into the living room. ‘But I won’t let them pin this on you.’

  ‘As far as I’m concerned, they can search this place from top to bottom. It’s not here, and I have nothing to hide.’

  At least where the diary is concerned…

  Chief Thompson stuck his head into the kitchen. ‘We’re leaving, Koenig.’ He pointed a finger at him. ‘Don’t leave town until we get this figured out. Understand?’

  Max resisted the urge to respond with dripping sarcasm and instead said, ‘Yes, of course.’

  The men left, and the cottage sighed in relief, the swollen tension in the air dissipating, the light softening. Jenni, however, hadn’t relaxed one bit.

  ‘I have an awful feeling about this,’ Jenni said, and from the ominous tone of her voice, he believed her. But he was relieved that she seemed to have recovered her earlier spunk.

  ‘How so?’

  ‘I’ve been trying to figure out why someone would steal the diary, and the only logical reason is that they want to sell it,’ she said. ‘But trying to find a buyer, especially with everyone on high alert, wouldn’t be easy. And then there’s the illogical reason.’

  Max wasn’t sure he wanted to hear this one.

  ‘Go on.’

  ‘Well…’ She drummed her fingers on the table for a moment, then looked up at him. ‘Did Celia tell you about what happened here in 1918? About the fire?’

  ‘Some of it.’

  ‘Did you read any of the diary yet?’

  ‘Only a few pages.’

  ‘Did Tallulah mention anything about that night?’

  He shook his head. ‘Not in what I read.’

  ‘Well, I’m willing to bet Mrs Stanwick spilled plenty of dirt about people in Meadow Hills in her diary. She had to be upset with them for trying to forget that night ever happened. I mean, her son died, and this town didn’t really care. Why else would she hide it? I wouldn’t put it past someone to have hired whoever that man was to steal it just to keep their secrets safe.’

  He lowered his voice. ‘Is that what Lowe meant? He accused me of wanting to blackmail people.’

  ‘I heard. Which means he probably knows far more than he’s letting on about what happened back in 1918.’ She tapped a polished red fingertip on her lips, a gesture he found oddly endearing. ‘No one wanted us to translate this diary. Someone, or maybe a whole lot of someones, have a lot to lose. But who? A list of suspects would be endless. Everyone on the board. Lots of people in town. Or…’

  Jenni turned those very blue eyes on him full force, and his stomach dropped. Here it came.

  ‘Professor, do you have any enemies? Maybe someone’s just trying to cause trouble for you.’

  Scheiβe. Goldberg, for one, who’d managed to rally many of his Jewish friends around his cause at the university. A few of them had paid Max a visit one night at his apartment and threatened to do to him what the Gestapo did to Jews in Berlin. Bruce’s arrival had deterred them, and they’d not tried it again. Still, he couldn’t rule them out, not in this heightened climate of tension.

  But no one here knew about Goldberg’s accusations, nor the FBI’s investigation. The university had taken great pains to conceal it, worried about their reputation, and rightly so. It wouldn’t do to
give employment to a supposed political refugee from Nazi Germany only for him to end up working for the Abwehr.

  So. Tell her the truth? Or lie?

  ‘Nein, I don’t think I have any enemies. Not in America, at least. Germany, well, that is a different story.’

  He said it so smoothly, so effortlessly. Well. He’d had enough practice, after all, but he so hated lying to Mrs Fields, especially after she came to his defence earlier.

  Jenni, however, accepted his answer without hesitation. ‘Good to know. So we need to focus on people here in Meadow Hills.’

  ‘We? Don’t you mean the police?’

  Jenni rolled her eyes. ‘The police force is made up of three men, and none of them could investigate their way out of a ditch.’

  Mein Gott. What were the chances, then, that he’d find himself in a jail cell?

  Jenni shrugged. ‘Maybe we’ll get lucky and it’ll turn up soon.’

  ‘Somehow, I am doubtful of such a miracle.’

  ‘Everything will be all right, you know,’ she said, but she sounded like she was trying to convince herself rather than him.

  ‘Of course.’

  * * *

  Jenni stopped by the bakery the next morning, and could barely get in through the front door. People were packed into every booth and chair, their voices bouncing off the tin ceiling as they ate their sweet rolls and drank their coffee. They discussed only one subject: who would steal Tallulah Stanwick’s diary. It didn’t matter if Avery Boon hadn’t printed the story – word had spread like the proverbial wildfire.

  At the cash register, the bakery’s owner, Gloria, shook her head of brown curls and counted back Jenni’s change. ‘They haven’t stopped talking about it since they got here,’ she said. ‘Playing detective even when they don’t have any suspects.’

  ‘But I saw who took it,’ Jenni said. ‘It was a man on one of my tours.’ ‘Really?’ Gloria frowned and gave her the box of doughnuts. ‘No one has mentioned that.’

  Why wasn’t she surprised? But apparently Gloria didn’t want to continue that topic of conversation because she whispered, ‘Want to hear the worst rumour they’ve come up with?’