Songbird Under a German Moon (15 page)

Denzel glanced down at the photos again then lifted one from the stack. “Is this Betty?” he asked, examining a photo of Betty in the pink silk dress. Her arms were spread open as if she were embracing the troops, but her eyes had been looking directly into the shot.

“Yeah,” Frank nodded. “How did you know?”

“From the way she's looking into the camera. Or more accurately, looking at the photographer holding the camera.”

Frank eyed Denzel but didn't respond. “Yes, well, did Marv send anything for me? Uh, there were some things I left back in England and he promised to send them over.”

Denzel pursed his lips and then his eyes lit up. “Oh, yes, there's a box with your name on it. I would have forgotten.” Denzel turned in his chair and ruffled through stacks of files on the shelf behind him. Underneath one of the stacks, there was a box.

Denzel handed it to Frank. “This came last week, before I even knew you were coming. I wonder how Marv could send things that you forgot when you hadn't even left yet…”

Frank shrugged. “That's why he's the boss—always thinking ahead.” He smiled and then turned, making his exit before he could get in any more trouble.

“Have a great day. See you later.”

Frank nodded and smiled back, but from the look in his eye, Denzel didn't fall for Frank's poor excuse.

You're slipping, buddy. You need to watch that. You never know who you can trust—

Frank took the box back to his house, thankful Art wasn't there. He entered their shared bedroom and locked the door. Then he took a small knife from his pocket and opened the box. The first thing on top was a typewritten letter from Marv.

Hey buddy, looks like you made it to Bayreuth okay. It's a nice place, don't you think? I hope you're enjoying your assignment. I won't ask you about one special girl. All I can say is that I hope you open up and don't let the events of the last year close your heart to finding love.

Okay, down to business.

I brought you here because of some letters that have been showing up at HQ. We passed the first few off as meaningless threats, maybe from someone who doesn't like the Americans hanging around. But the more we got, the more I decided to take them seriously. Perhaps you can discover who wrote them, but even more important, why.

Frank turned Marv's note over, but the other side was blank. It was just like Marv not to sign it. Not to sign anything that could be traced back to him.

Frank set the paper on the bed. Then he pulled out six white envelopes. All of them had been opened. All of them bore the same careful, neat script that read:
to American offices
. Frank opened the first one.

This message is very urgent matter. Trouble will come in next month. There are some who wish to destroy Festspielhaus. Danger is possible for those whose music plays there.

Frank read the words a second time, wishing there was more to go on.

He opened the next letter.

There are some who wish to bring much harm to Americans in Festspielhaus. Please take these threats as real. I would speak to you myself if my life were not in danger for this very reason.

What reason?
He continued reading and soon realized the rest of the letters were basically the same message. There just wasn't much to go on.

There is trouble at Festspielhaus.

People wish to do Americans harm.

I cannot come and tell you myself.

Frank put the letters back in the envelopes, and his various thoughts fought for pre-eminence in his mind.

Could Betty be in danger? Someone is trying to get his point across. This is a serious warning, not a joke. Someone is worried about the Americans.

The same person wasn't worried about the soldiers in town, but only those at the Festspielhaus. The musicians? The singers? Who would want to do them harm? A wary smile curled on his lips as he wondered what threat women in pretty gowns and men in suits with instruments could be. The only reason he could think of that someone would try to hurt them would be to send a message—but to whom?
Maybe a message that danger still lurks, and that this is still a war zone and no place for civilians?

Or the trouble comes from one of them. Someone among their ranks. Someone with a grudge.

Frank took the box and tucked it in the back of his duffle bag. He'd come back to the letters later. Then he stuck the bag under his bed, far in the back. He needed time to ponder the words, to try to make sense of the messages.

No wonder Marv wanted me here—wanted me close.

Frank's assignment was clear—he'd have to spend more time around the Festspielhaus. More time than just during the shows when he was taking photos. While he was at HQ he had signed up for high school courses, and he hoped spending time there wouldn't hinder his investigative work. He'd do the best he could for Marv, but he also had to think of his own future. He was ready to take a break from undercover work. Tired of keeping secrets. If he were
ever going to become serious with someone, he'd have to have something to offer.

Until then, he couldn't think of just one girl. He'd have to get to know everyone. No one was beyond suspicion.

No one was beyond suspicion—except Betty.
His contradictory thoughts unsettled him, and he found himself ticking off a mental balance sheet:

The letters were delivered to HQ before Betty arrived, so she couldn't have sent them. Then there was Marv's approval of her. That had to be a good sign. Marv was aware of his undercover work and surely would have done a background check on her.

Since he was sure she wasn't a suspect, it was a good reason to stick closest to her.

He could also use Betty to get close to the others.

But there was one most important factor Frank had to focus on—
I just have to find out what's going on before anyone gets hurt.
Betty's smiling face filled his mind.
Especially her.

Even though they'd slept in the same room, sat at the same table at the mess hall, and walked up the hill together to the Festspielhaus, Kat hadn't said one word to Betty since the previous evening.

Kat's face looked as pale as it had the day before, and after their rehearsal was over, she asked Mickey if she could head back to the house to rest before the evening's performance.

“Sure thing, Kat, just make sure you're here an hour before curtain.
I don't want to have to send the hounds out looking for you or none of that business.”

Most of the girls stayed in the back prepping their hair and makeup and trying on the dresses Kat had agreed to leave behind. Betty was more interested in walking down to the town center. Partly because she needed some fresh air, but mostly because she wondered if Frank happened to be around. She hadn't heard from him since he'd dropped her off the night before, and each hour that passed without his showing up at rehearsal drilled Kat's words deeper into her heart.
He's just using you, Betty.

It was a short walk to town—in the opposite direction from their estate. The day was partly cloudy, and it was only when she was halfway down the hill that Betty started to worry it would rain. She had washed her hair last night and slept in curlers. Even though it meant she didn't sleep as well as usual, her hair was full, with soft curls framing her face. She'd be in real trouble if rain messed up her hairdo. According to Mickey, tonight needed to be perfect.

The sun peeked out from the clouds, and Betty walked around town a little, but nothing had changed since she was there yesterday. The people were just as desperate. The buildings hadn't magically rebuilt themselves overnight. Frank wasn't around, and misty rain indeed started to fall.

Disappointed, she'd started to head back up the hill when a jeep filled with young GIs pulled over. She waved to them and smiled.

“Songbird!” the driver called. “Look, guys, it's her.” He waved her over to the jeep.

Betty shyly approached. “Hi there.”

“Hey, Songbird.”

“Great singing the other night.”

“You were the best of the show, hands down.”

“Thanks, guys, I'm glad you liked it.” She lifted her palm and held it up as bigger raindrops started to fall. “I forgot my umbrella—do you think you could give me a ride up the hill?”

“Sure thing. Of course.” The driver pointed to the guy in the passenger's seat. “Hit the back, Fred.”

Trying not to let her worries about Frank's intentions sink her spirits, Betty chatted with the guys about that night's show as they drove up the hill. The open-air jeep blew rain into her hair. She held her hands over it, trying to protect it as best she could, fully expecting that it was going to be a rat's nest by the time she made it backstage.

“Although all the songs are good, I think you'll especially enjoy Kat's farewell number.” She turned in her seat, looking into the guys' faces as she spoke.

“You mean she's leaving?”

“Heading back to Hollywood, I'm afraid.”

“Gee, those California guys don't need her—we do.” Laughter spilled out of the jeep.

“Well, we promise we'll be there tonight,” one of the soldiers said as they approached the Festspielhaus. The jeep pulled over and parked.

“Thanks for the ride.” Betty climbed out.

“Songbird?” the driver called.

Betty turned back to him. “Yes?”

“I was wondering, ma'am, if you could do me a favor. My buddy, you see, is in an awful funk. He's going home soon, but the sweetheart he's been loving all these years isn't going to be waiting. Turns out she shared a kiss with some sailor on V-E Day and went and got married. Not much wonder, I suppose, that he's not looking forward to going home.”

“That's a sad story. Whatever can I do?” The wind blew harder, and Betty stepped from side to side, feeling the wind slice through her trousers, chilling her legs.

“Just grin at him. Give him something to think about. Make faces if you have to.”

Betty laughed. “I'm not sure our stage manager would be too keen on me making faces, but I'm sure I can manage a wave and a smile from stage. The only thing is, how will I see him? How will I know who it is? The lights are bright and there's a sea of faces.”

“Oh, I'll make sure you won't miss him. We'll get there early, and I'll see we get in one of the front rows. He has black hair, a long neck, and big ears. You'll see me—and I'll be right by him.

“Swell. I'll look for him—look for you both.” She gave the guys one more quick wave and then hurried around toward the back of the building.

“Sing pretty, Songbird!” one of the guys called, and Betty couldn't help but smile—in spite of the rain.

Betty felt the warmth of their acceptance spread through her as she hurried toward the building, her shoes splashing in the rain that collected into puddles. When she approached the corner of the building, she saw Frank standing there. His furrowed brow and wide eyes displayed a hint of pain and betrayal. Betty's own smile faded, and she paused her steps. The rain fell harder now, and she wiped the rain from her face.