Jenni really didn’t, but it was better to be prepared now than be smacked on the head with it later. ‘Tell me.’
Gloria leaned closer. ‘They think he did it.’
‘Who?’
‘That German professor.’
‘What?’
Gloria put a finger to her lips, though no one seemed to be listening.
‘They think he’s going to try and sell it or something,’ Gloria said.
‘That is completely ridiculous.’ Lowe and Chief Thompson had thought the same thing. And to be honest, the idea had occurred to her, as well, before she’d quickly discarded it. She didn’t know Professor Koenig very well, but she knew he hadn’t taken the diary. His panic when he’d discovered it missing had not been an act.
She turned around and glared at the customers, not even caring if they noticed her or not. ‘I’ve a good mind to give them what for.’
‘It won’t matter.’
‘No, it won’t.’ Exhaustion suddenly pulled at her muscles and she leaned against the counter. ‘And I don’t have the energy anyway.’
Gloria peered at her. ‘I noticed you looked a little pale. Are you feeling all right?’
Besides the continuing plague of morning sickness and her desire to take an eight-hour nap? And the never-ending turmoil raging inside her over what in God’s name she was going to do? Other than all those things, why, she was right as rain.
‘I’m fine. Just tired from, well, everything.’
Gloria patted her hand. ‘I think I understand.’ She gazed at the picture on the counter of her son in his Navy uniform and then touched the gold V pinned to her dress, the red, white and blue stones glinting under the lights. ‘I worry about him constantly. Every time I see a man delivering telegrams, I almost faint.’
But Jenni didn’t want to talk about soldiers or Danny or the war or any of it. It had invaded her thoughts ever since she got a telegram of her own and she was sick to death of it. Even coming downtown and seeing the flag-draped streets and ‘Buy War Bonds!’ signs drained her.
‘I’ll see you later, Gloria.’ Without waiting for a reply, she ducked out of the bakery into the bright sunny morning and headed back to the museum. As she pulled into the driveway, she saw a tall hulk of a man standing on the steps of Rose Cottage. While she watched, Max came to the door and the man pulled out what looked to be a badge. He showed it to Max, and then the two disappeared inside.
Now what? Hadn’t the police questioned him enough?
Anger churned in her gut. Yesterday’s interrogation of Max had hit the wrong chord with her, but his resignation to it all made her just plain mad. Wasn’t a man innocent until proven guilty in this country? From all the horrible things she’d read about Hitler and his goons, she was pretty sure that notion didn’t exist in Nazi Germany, but it should damn well exist here.
She couldn’t wait to take Marty and move somewhere else, get out of this screwy place. Who wanted to live among people that hanged first and asked questions later? Good grief, what would they do to her if they found out what she’d done while her husband was off fighting overseas?
Leaving the doughnuts on the seat, Jenni slipped out of the car and gently closed the door. A few steps and she was by the cottage. She saw the two men through the living-room window, so she crept around the back. There was a loose window on the back side of the house that needed fixing, and if she were careful, she might be able to hear what they were saying through the cracks.
Yes, she was spying, damn it, but she wasn’t sure the professor would be honest with her if she just asked.
The screen door on the back porch opened with a slight squeak, and she cringed, but she could still hear the voices. She tiptoed to the window, putting her ear up to the crack.
‘Agent Williams,’ Max was saying, ‘you continue to show up like a bad penny, as the American saying goes.’
Jenni caught her breath. Agent Williams? Was he from the FBI? She hadn’t heard Max use this clipped tone of voice before.
‘I knew we’d run into each other again, Koenig. My intuition usually isn’t wrong.’
‘I’m afraid in this case, it is. You’re wasting your time.’
‘I don’t think so. Tell me, were you associated with members of the Nazi Party in Berlin?’
A cold chill slid through her veins, and she leaned closer to the window.
‘We have been over this before. If you were a university instructor in Berlin, it was very hard not to be associated with Nazis,’ Max replied dryly. ‘Do you know what Gleichschaltung means? The Nazis infiltrated every part of the university, and even forced us to teach mandatory courses on the importance of the Volk. We were constantly monitored.’
Jenni relaxed. His explanation made sense. But the FBI agent wasn’t finished.
‘I think your association goes further than that.’
Max laughed, but Jenni heard a slight edge of hysteria to it. ‘If that were true and I were a good little Nazi, I don’t think I would have risked my life to come to America, do you?’
‘Maybe. The Abwehr does its job well.’
Jenni frowned. Who or what was the Abwehr?
‘Do you still believe that drivel?’ Max said incredulously. ‘We’ve already been over this. I am not a spy. But please, feel free to search the place for invisible ink and a short-wave radio.’
‘This is not a joking matter, professor. I had a reason for coming here.’
Just then, Katya started barking inside the cottage. Jenni jumped back from the window, and nearly tripped on an empty flower pot. She hurried out of the door and rushed to duck behind the evergreen bushes bowed from heavy snow.
Her heart thundered against her chest and she forced herself to stay calm. They hadn’t seen her, she was certain of it. But she’d forgotten about the dog!
From her position, she could only hear muffled voices, and since the curtains were drawn tightly, she could probably manoeuvre her way through the gardens and back to the museum unseen.
Wrapping her coat around her, she scurried through the snow-covered ground, glancing back to see if anyone came out of the cottage. But no one did.
Safely inside the museum, she leaned against the back door and shuddered. When would she learn to mind her own business and leave well enough alone?
But an even more sinister thought hit her. Max and the FBI agent knew each other, and apparently, he’d already fended off an accusation of being a spy. The papers were full of threats of fifth-column activity, of those bent on sabotage. But Max a spy? Surely not.
I had a reason for coming here, Agent Williams had said. What could that reason be?
* * *
Max took Katya and put her in his bedroom, scrubbing her softly behind the ears. ‘Thanks, Liebchen, but I don’t think we’ll be able to scare him away.’
The dog whined and nudged his leg, but Max didn’t relent. Her open antagonism towards Special Agent Williams shocked him, especially since she was normally very mild-mannered. What was the old saying? That animals were usually a better judge of character than humans. But the last thing he needed was Katya biting the agent.
He shut the door despite Katya’s pleading eyes, vowed to give her a treat tonight to make up for his behaviour, then headed back to the living room. Why was Williams here, and how did he even know about the stolen diary? Boon hadn’t published anything in the newspaper. Had someone in Meadow Hills called the FBI? But who here would know to get in touch with Special Agent Williams? Maybe this was all Goldberg; perhaps he’d orchestrated the theft and intended to make sure Max ended up in an internment camp for it or worse. And why, damn it, did everyone think him guilty with absolutely no evidence?
Land of the free, indeed! Except if you were German or Japanese or Italian.
‘I’m sorry about that,’ he said as he settled back into his chair.
Special Agent Williams turned from studying a painting of a Great Plains landscape and shrugged. He didn’t look like someone who followed p
eople for a living. Instead, his stocky frame, close-clipped hair and massive hands were more suited to the boxing ring. ‘No harm done. But I wonder if you know how serious your situation is.’
Max wanted to say something flippant, but the stakes were too high. ‘Where’s your partner? Decide he’s had enough chasing false claims?’
‘Not false. Just, as of yet, unproven. You were recently let go from the university, weren’t you?’
The words tripped off Max’s tongue. ‘I am on sabbatical.’
Williams actually laughed. ‘You don’t have to peddle that lie with me. I know they fired you. And it appears you can’t stay out of trouble. Ready to tell me the truth?’
Max wanted to throw up his hands in exasperation. ‘I already told you the truth.’
‘C’mon, professor. Level with me. What really happened in Berlin?’
‘Nothing happened. I had an opportunity to leave and I took it.’
‘Just like that, eh?’ Williams crossed his arms and leaned against the door frame. ‘Why don’t I believe you? If you were so persecuted, as you claim, why wait until 1938 to leave? Why not leave earlier?’
A question he’d been asked often, and so, the well-rehearsed response came easily. ‘As I told you before, many of us hoped the Nazis would fall from power. We didn’t know things would get worse.’
‘You expect me to buy that flimsy excuse?’
It was flimsy. Worse, it wasn’t even true. But Williams didn’t need to know that.
‘I don’t expect you to understand what it was like to live there.’ Max was tired of this cerebral chess game and tired of trying to stay one move ahead. ‘I’m not a spy, and the facts proved me innocent, so please, could we stop all this verbal fencing? What do you want?’
The agent’s expression didn’t change. ‘Tell me where the diary is.’
‘I don’t know. Someone stole it.’
‘Did they?’
Max rolled his eyes. ‘You don’t believe me either.’
‘Professor, I suspect your financial situation isn’t good, what with being fired. You’re out of money and out of a job. Mrs Stanwick is one of America’s best-known novelists. Selling this diary could bring you a tidy profit. Maybe help you get out of the country, even.’
What was it with Americans and money? Did they think money solved all of one’s problems? ‘If you think that, then why am I still here? Why haven’t I left town?’
Williams rocked back on his heels, his hands in the pockets of his grey trousers. ‘To avert suspicion; plus I figure the cops told you to stay put, which fits nicely into your plan. You have a place to stay, food, and the generosity of the museum. Gives you plenty of time to find the right buyer.’
‘It sounds like the perfect scheme,’ Max said, trying not to sound sarcastic, ‘and I wouldn’t doubt that the real thief is planning to do just that. But I’m afraid you’re quite mistaken if you think I took it.’
‘Am I?’
‘Of course you are. As you said, Mrs Stanwick is a famous American novelist. Anyone could have stolen it.’
Special Agent Williams pulled out a cigarette and let it dangle in his mouth, but he did not light it. ‘Maybe. Maybe not.’
‘What are you saying?’
‘Let’s put it this way.’ Williams repeatedly flipped the cap on his lighter and the irritating click-click made Max want to hurl a chair through a window. ‘You leave town before that diary shows up, and I’m going to hunt you down and put you so deep into an internment camp that even I won’t know where you’re at. Got it?’
Max blanched. He knew exactly what Williams was talking about. When the news had hit the history department that several German and Italian immigrants were also being interned in addition to Japanese-Americans, Goldberg had ranted about President Roosevelt for days, and Max knew he had to be especially careful not to end up behind barbed wire himself.
‘Why are you so against me?’
Williams lit the cigarette and took a long, maddening draw before responding. ‘It’s my job to watch mugs like you. That business at the university with Goldberg… you’re hiding something. And you’re scared. That means I’m gonna stick to you like syrup on waffles. You’ll make a mistake, somewhere along the way. They always do.’
‘Who is they?’
‘Nazi spies. We caught those saboteurs in New York City in ’42 because they screwed up. You guys just ain’t that smart.’
Max bit back a sharp retort. Utterly appalling to be compared to Nazis who came on a damn submarine to blow up factories and bridges in America. Did Williams really think him capable of such traitorous activities?
‘Despite what you may think, I am nothing like those men.’
Williams pointed his cigarette at Max. ‘I think you’re exactly like them. I don’t like you one bit, professor. I can smell Nazi on you. I don’t know what the hell you’re doing messing around with this diary, but your reasons will become clear soon enough. I just have to wait.’
It took every ounce of strength for Max to stay calm. ‘You know,’ Max murmured, ‘the Gestapo play games like you.’
‘Yeah?’ Williams said, blowing smoke in Max’s face, ‘I wouldn’t know. So long, professor. We’ll be in touch.’
CHAPTER FIVE
Half the bottle of whisky was gone, and he’d smoked a full pack of cigarettes along with it. The numbers on the ticking clock blurred and he blinked, trying to focus. Only five-thirty.
Special Agent Williams had left a long time ago, but Max saw him circling the block once or twice in his large black sedan for about ten minutes afterwards, slowing as he passed the cottage. Max’s nerves were already shot and Williams’s antics had sealed the deal, so he had turned to the bottle, hating himself for being so weak. But it was the only way to cope, the only way to make Ilsa go away and finally leave him alone.
I warned you not to leave me…
He lay on the couch, closed his eyes, and the resulting dizziness made him snap them open again. How had this happened? Why had this happened? If someone was framing him for the diary’s theft, Special Agent Williams could easily finagle it so he ended up in an internment camp.
Goldberg must be involved. Who else held such hatred for him? Someone had tipped off Special Agent Williams, and Goldberg was the most likely culprit.
Max clutched his skull and tried to make the questions stop. Over and over they hit him, pestering, demanding answers he didn’t have. Even the radio programme blasting from the wireless wasn’t distracting him like it normally did.
One thing was certain: he was trapped in this town for the time being. And now they’d watch his every move. Williams would come back, and he would ask more questions.
Maybe he should go to the Drapers, or Mrs Fields, and ask for help. But he couldn’t tell them the truth, couldn’t risk them finding out who he’d been and what he’d done in Berlin.
All he could do was wait.
Or…
Or he could finish what he’d almost started the other night in his Lincoln apartment.
Even now he could see the knife in his hands, almost feel the jagged teeth against his flesh.
It would take care of everything. No more darkness or nightmares. No more struggling. No more worrying. No more seeing Ilsa or the blood on his hands…
* * *
Jenni thought of little else but Max Koenig on the drive out to her parents’ farm east of Meadow Hills. She’d kept her eavesdropping to herself, knowing Celia would surely disapprove. Besides, throwing more suspicion on Max didn’t appeal to her, though why eluded her.
Earlier, while driving home past the cottage, the words Abwehr, spy and Nazi moved across her brain like a running marquee sign and she’d sped past, suddenly unable to deal with what those words might mean.
Was he a Nazi? What did she know about him, really? Not much, and she knew from past experience how well people kept secrets.
But then she remembered how he’d reassured her that Danny hadn’t been kil
led for nothing. The look in his eyes, the sincerity… she’d not imagined it. Certainly she wasn’t that bad a judge of character, though some might argue she’d made a fatal mistake when it came to judging Rafe.
Jenni grimaced, slowing the car to make the turn off the highway to the county dirt road. Unfortunately, she’d known exactly what kind of man Rafe was, and that made her sordid deed harder to forgive or even understand. But she didn’t think he’d be such a heel as to ask her to get rid of the baby.
Her hands gripped the steering wheel. Never would she allow anything to happen to this child; Rafe’s wishes be damned.
Snow crunched underneath the tyres of the old Buick when Jenni pulled up to her parents’ two-storey white farmhouse. Dread pooled in her stomach. What would they say when she eventually told them they were having another grandchild? Already she could feel her mother’s disapproval. Virginia Lund had a way of conveying it in a single look, the skin tight at her forehead, bottom lip clenched between her teeth. Enduring her censure was somehow worse than anyone else’s.
Virginia had never uttered the words, ‘We’ll stand by you no matter what’ to any of her children, and Jenni doubted she’d say them to her when she learned of her only daughter’s transgressions.
Jenni drew her wool coat closer as she tramped through the snow to the gate, her breath steaming in front of her. Marty’s snowman with coal eyes and buttons dominated the yard. It still wore a straw hat and mittens, but his carrot nose looked shorter, an apparent casualty of the nibbling squirrels.
The front door opened just as she was making her way up the walk and her bear of a father emerged, dressed in his customary red coat and overalls, a woolly hat with flaps pulled low over his ears.
‘Evening, Jenni,’ he said. He held up a carrot in his gloved hand. ‘Have to replace Mr Snowman’s nose.’
‘I noticed it looked a little worse for wear.’ She waited for him by the snowman. ‘Why didn’t Marty come out with you?’
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