Aria in Ice

By

Flo Fitzpatrick

Smashwords Edition Copyright © 2011 Flo
Fitzpatrick

All rights reserved. No part of this may be
used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without permission
except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical
articles and reviews.

This book is a work of fiction. Names,
characters, places and incidents are either products of the
author’s imagination or used fictitiously. Any resemblance to
actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is entirely
coincidental. All rights reserved. No part of this publication can
be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means,
electronic or mechanical, without permission in writing from Flo
Fitzpatrick.

Cover photo Copyright © Dreamstime #245506
#563691 #6334294

Cover Design Copyright © 2011 Kim Van
Meter

A denim-clad butt perched in the huge,
ancient oak just underneath the north wing of the castle. Legs
attached to that butt were busily in engaged in grasping tree limbs
in an attempt to remain balanced in the branches.

I strolled over to the bottom of the tree and
stood in silence until an entire flesh and blood body appeared on
the limb some ten feet above my head.

Then I called out, “Pruning time? Or am I
interrupting a burglary in progress?”

The butt, and the body, landed with a
less-than-gentle thud right at my feet.

I smiled serenely down at the wannabe
burglar. “Oops. So sorry. Did I startle you?”

Red hair in bad need of a trim. Stupidly sexy
Irish green eyes. Currently glaring into mine. I’d just witnessed
what had to be a painful, but most entertaining, performance
involving an ungraceful descent from a tree. Since that fall had
ultimately landed the acrobat on his backside, laughter was my
immediate, if admittedly juvenile, response.

After a good thirty seconds of silence and
stares, he spoke. “Excuse me, but is there some reason your hair is
partially green?”

My smile changed to a scowl. “Yes, damn it.
There is. This past Christmas I ran out of decorations but wanted
to get a huge jump on next year’s festivities, so I figured
chestnut and green was the way to go. You know…that whole concept
of roasting over the open fire and fir trees. I’m convinced green
streaks will be the style for holiday ornamentation the world over
in a year or two, don’t you?” I took a breath. Is there some reason
you’re being rude? Aside from the fact that my appearance caused
you to stop your nefarious deeds, and ultimately land on your
behind?”

He jumped to his feet. “Rude? Rude?
Me
being rude? How about you? Sneaking around, scaring the crap out of
a guy and causing a near-fatal accident. How’s that for rude?”

I raised the pitch of my voice just a notch
without changing volume. “ I was
not
sneaking around. I have
a perfect right to be here and I’d lay odds that you most
definitely don’t, because otherwise you wouldn’t be the one
climbing out of treetops. Not to mention that if a truly klutzy
tumble from the bottom branch can be labeled a near-fatal accident,
you’ve obviously led a sheltered—albeit crime-laden—life.”

We continued glaring each other. Finally he
winked at me. “We seem to be at an impasse. Tell me, are you
planning to use that phone you’re clutching so tightly in those
delicate hands and giving the Prague authorities a buzz? I’d
appreciate a head start if I’m about to become a fugitive.”

I unclenched my fingers from around the cell.
I had no ideas whether a call to 911 in Prague would fetch the
cops, the animal catchers, or the
kolache
delivery guys.

And really, what could I say once I reached
the local authorities? “Yo! How’s it goin’? Uh, sorry to bother
you, but Mr. Johnny Gerard, whom I haven’t seen in three damn
months because of his stupid soap opera filming way the hell out of
town, now seems to be engaged in a felony, and has fallen out of a
tree at
Kastle
Kouzlo Noc
just under the north tower
where I swear I heard Mozart only moments ago except no one is
around and I have this strange gift of second sight so I’m not
really sure if what I heard was an auditory premonition or a
ghostly serenade but I’m kind of spooked and no, I don’t see
anything like the Hapsburg Crown jewels peeking out of his pockets,
I’m really sorry to call—but while I have you on the line could you
just transfer me to
Kolaches-to-Go
? I want to place an order
for two cream cheese and one apricot-filled.”

Johnny whistled. Doubtless he’d followed that
entire fictitious call through my entire thought process. He’s good
at that. He ran his fingers through my bangs.”I apologize about the
hair comment, Abby. Honest. I’m curious though. Last time I saw
you, your lovely locks were one color. Was this a deliberate dye
job? Going for a retro-punk garage band look?”

“Remember I told you about the
Starlight
Express
debacle in that theatre in Kansas?
?
”

“Oh yeah. I was very jealous. Always wanted
to play the
Pumping Iron
Elvis part. Although you did make
it sound like the production staff was less than stellar.”

“You would have been wonderful. You always
are. And believe me, they could have used your exceptional talents
because less-than-stellar doesn’t begin to cover the idiocy I
endured. Intense and constant diva dramas. I’ll reveal all some
night when we’re not otherwise occupied. Where was I?”

“Kansas.”

I shuddered. “Yeah. Nice state. Stupid
theatre. Anyway, what I didn’t tell you was that fool director,
Bryce, decided all of the dancing, roller-skating characters should
have exotic hair colors to represent the different types of trains.
He sent me off to a demonic hair-stylist who chose green. Excuse me
while I gag. Why the idiot didn’t just order wigs is beyond my
comprehension.”

“Okay. Demonic hair-stylist. We’ll get back
to that because what I really want to know, Ms. Fouchet—why are you
here in Prague?”

“The other thing I didn’t tell you since you
were roving around the world
in communicato
—and why the hell
was
Endless Time
filming in Africa—and why doesn’t Kenya
seem to have cell coverage?”

“I have no idea. Wouldn’t have mattered.
Remember I hate all phones but especially any device that can reach
out and touch me anywhere anytime. Africa. Simple. Can we say, soap
insanity? Somebody saw some PBS channel special on safaris and
decided Gregory Noble and his merry band of murderous wives,
mistresses, fellow cops and assorted hangers on—or hanger
ons—whichever—should hunt down a neo-Communist spy while riding
around in an open Jeep across lion country. I barely escaped being
fed to a hippopatamus. And I’m truly sorry that they scrapped your
part of Vanessa after Christmas. You were supposed to to come with
me and I was miserable without you. But,go on.
Prague—why?
”

“Okay. Three days into rehearsals, I took a
major header roller skating off a ramp that wasn’t supposed to have
a bump in the middle. I broke that same ankle that got wrecked back
when I first met you when we were doing
Superstar
, so I came
back to Manhattan and managed to rest up for about three weeks, and
saw no need to distress you since I couldn’t reach you anyway. I’m
glad I didn’t die. You’d’ve missed the funeral.”

“Prague,” he prompted.

“Ankle. So I’m enjoy lying on the couch in
the apartment with Cherry and Guido, who are supposed to be getting
married but that’s another story, and we’re watching all the soap
operas Johnny Gerard is
not
starring in and I get this phone
call from Shay who’s in Germany choreographing
The Merry
Widow
for a light opera company. She ran into a friend of ours.
Ms. Bambi Bohacek. Bambi is owner of
Headlights Productions
which is an indy film company and she was looking for a patsy to
play location scout.
Voila!
Enter Abby to roam the Czech
Republic looking for a place for Bambi’s Gothic movie musical that
Shay is going to direct which is why I’m at
Kouzlo Noc
since
it looks perfect as a creepy castle. Anyway, I’ve been hacking away
at it—my hair that is—not the scouting—which is why I have this
lovely long shag cut with the mixture of my natural chestnut and
garish green. Satisfied?”

Johnny howled, “Damn, darlin’. A simple, ‘dye
job gone bad’ would have sufficed.” The twinkle in his eyes quickly
morphed into a glint I recognized. “I’ve missed you.”

“Me too.” I sniffed and dabbed at my
eyes.

He grabbed me and proceeded to curl that
lovely long shag cut with a classic Johnny Gerard kiss that landed
us both under the tree Johnny had plopped out of. Damn nice kiss
with extras. It almost made up for his absence the last three
months. Stinkin’-sexy-soap-star-smart-ass.

We broke apart and stared at each other.

“So, now that my presence has been explained,
what about yours? Whacha doin’ at
Kouzlo Noc
?” I snickered,
“Burglar.”

“Let’s just say I had a good reason for being
in the north turret.”

“Ha. Knew it. You were breaking in and you
weren’t quick enough to come up with a cover story. Is this
research for some other crazy stunt for Gregory Noble,
supercop?”

He shuddered. “Gad. I hope not. Then again, I
wouldn’t mind
Endless Time
funding some filming in
Prague.”

“Stalling, Johnny, stalling.”

“Fine. I’m restoring a mural for Veronika
Duskova, who is one of the owners of
Kouzlo Noc
. It’s in
very bad condition and in no way ready to be seen so she and I are
a bit touchy about it.”

“In the north turret?”

Pause.

“Well, actually, I was muraling in a
different area.”

“Not the north turret.”

“No.”

Pause. “Wait. This is new. ‘Muraling.’ Um. Is
that a word?”

“No. Neither is ‘muraled’ although I’m sure
both will now become part of the Abby vocabulary. Anyway, I got
into sketching ages ago during breaks on the soap. Restoration was
a logical step up in my artistic repetoire.”

“Oh -kay. Should I even ask how you met the
Duskova family?”

“Guess.”

I pondered the question for about twenty
seconds. “Yolanda Barrett. Our prolific head writer for
Endless
Time
. Right?”

Johnny gave me a thumbs up. “You got it. I
have yet to meet someone truly interesting whom Yolanda hasn’t
managed to make a friend sometime in her life. We did a little
filming in Prague a couple of years ago and she met Veronika
Duskova at a grocery store or something ridiculously mundane. They
kept in touch. Veronika asked her if she knew someone who’d restore
a mural for cheap. Yolanda said Johnny Gerard will do it for
free.”

“That’s nice of you.”

“Well, Yolanda also had an agenda.”

“Duh,” I smirked. “Which was?”

“There’s a circus training facility about
twenty miles outside of Prague.”

I held up my hand. “Don’t tell me. Yolanda
wants Gregory Noble to develop skills in—what?”

“Everything. Elephant riding, ring-master,
fortune-teller, you name it. I love circuses. Considered joining
one back when I was about twelve.” He smirked. “You won’t believe
this because I neglected to show my process with balance when I
fell out of this tree, but I guess high-wire and trapeze are my
favorites so far.”

“Makes sense. Great skills for a wannabe
cat-burglar.”

“Now, now, Ms. Fouchet. I am an innocent man.
Really.” He paused, then stared into my eyes. “What’s freaking you
out about the north turret anyway?”

I hoisted my tote bag to a more comfortable
position.”Let me ask you a question.”

“Go ahead. You want a list of the other
amazing talents lie hidden behind my shining presence.”

“Shining ego,” I snorted. “Johnny, my dearest
darling, it’s common knowledge you’re capable of leaping tall
buildings and staring down rays of Kryptonite, but I’ll just have
to suppress my admiration and curiosity. Back to my question. Did
you hear anyone playing a flute in the north turret before you made
that incredibly bad descent down the tree? For that matter, since
you have some musicianship skills, were you by any
chance…uh…flauting?”

He snorted. “Flauting? I’m damn sure that’s
not a word. And I can assure you that I was not playing the flute.
Mind you, I can, Hon. As well as various brass instruments and a
fairly mean guitar on occasion. But you did not hear me. And I
didn’t see anyone else in the north wing playing the flute, the
harp, the piano or harmonica. No one else was even in that
turret.”

“I was afraid you’d say that.”

“Why?”

“Because I’m pretty positive I heard a flute.
A very fine flute sounding out more than a few notes from the
overture of
Magic Flute
. And if no one was playing, and no
one was in the turret, then the only explanation is
Kouzlo
Noc
has a musical ghost.”