Trojan Gold (26 page)

“That's all there was to it. I visited the grave, I left my wreaths. That was a relatively peaceful interlude in a day otherwise full of surprises. Don't you want to know why Schmidt got drunk last night?”

“Yes, I do, rather.”

“He found a body in my back yard. A dead body.”

“Anyone we know?”

“Do let's stop being so cool and sophisticated about all this,” I grumbled, pacing the floor. “It was Freddy. According to Schmidt, he had been stabbed.”

“I'm sorry, I can't work up much heated indignation about Freddy's demise,” John said. “I saw he wasn't at his post today; I assumed he had fled or been sent away, but it doesn't surprise me to learn that someone found him an unnecessary encumbrance. Let's see…. Schmidt found him yesterday. He must have been killed, and left on the premises, the night before. The murderer would
hardly risk carrying out his activities in daylight; your neighborhood is too populous. So what was the noble dog doing night before last?”

“I had taken him to his sitter early in the evening. Which means,” I added, before he could do so, “that the killer didn't know I have a dog; or he knew the dog was out of the way; or he didn't give a damn whether the body was discovered or not.”

“That would seem to cover all the possibilities,” John admitted. “Why don't you come over here and sit down? You're making me nervous.”

“No, thank you. Let me get on with my report. If you'd stay at home where you're supposed to be, you'd have known all these interesting things earlier.”

“Oh, were you looking for me?”

“Yes. So was Clara.”

“I can't say I'm sorry to have missed Clara.”

“She went with me to the cemetery.”

“How jolly. I seem to detect a note of criticism, even of resentment, in your voice; is there something I'm missing?”

“Oh, no. Not at all. Let's see, what else is new? Oh, yes. Jan Perlmutter has come in out of the cold, or out of the closet, or whatever—”

“I know.”

“How do you know?”

John threw up his arm as if to protect himself from a blow. “Your suspicion cuts me to the quick. I saw the gentleman with you this evening, and I recognized him from the snapshot you were good enough to share with me.”

“Oh.” I sat down on the bed. “So you admit
you've been watching over me. Or is it following me?”

“A little of both.” His hand moved across the small of my back.

“I said this is business—”

“A little of both,” John repeated. “Yes, I saw Perl-mutter. I found it amusing….” Somehow I found myself on my back with John leaning over me and the robe I had assumed with such difficulty half-off. He continued without missing a beat, “…seeing you all together, smiling at each other and lying…” He kissed me and went on smoothly, “…in your collective teeth with every word….”

I let out a screech. “Your hands are freezing.”

“Oh, sorry. Let's try this.”

The next sound I made wasn't a scream, but I supposed it might have been rather shrill. John's reply, if any, was lost in a thunderous crash. The door exploded inward and a large, round projectile hurtled through the opening. A large, round, orange projectile.

“You are safe, Vicky, I am here,” Schmidt shouted. “There is nothing to fear!”

“Oh, Christ,” John said. “Is that—does he have—”

He rolled off me and got very slowly and carefully to his feet.

“Put the gun down, Schmidt,” I said apprehensively.

“Oh, it is Sir John,” Schmidt exclaimed. “I am so glad to see you again, my friend.”

John bared his teeth in a sickly smile. “I'm delighted to see you, too, Herr Schmidt. Er—that's a
very nice gun you have there. Colt forty-five, isn't it?”

Schmidt nodded, beaming. “Yes, it is a rare antique. Would you like to see it?” He offered it to John. I think he'd forgotten his finger was still on the trigger. The muzzle was pointing straight at John's nose.

“Lovely,” John said in a strangled voice.

His hand moved in a blur of speed, sweeping the weapon neatly out of Schmidt's pudgy little paw. Then he turned pea-green and collapsed into the nearest chair.

“You don't have to be so rude,” Schmidt said, hurt. “I would have given it to you.”

“Where did you get it?” I demanded. Germany in its admirable wisdom has very tight gun-control laws.

Schmidt grinned and winked. “Ha ha, Vicky. I have my connections.”

“It probably isn't even registered,” I muttered. “Schmidt, what possessed you to come crashing in here?”

“You screamed,” said Schmidt.

“I did not scream. I…It was not a scream.”

“Well, I see that now,” said Schmidt. He gave me an admiring leer. “I forget that you have so many lovers. First Tony—”

John stopped mopping his brow and gave me a thoughtful look, but said nothing. Schmidt went merrily on, “I knew it was not Tony, since he was with me. Dieter was very angry after you would not let him make love with you, he said many rude things which you did not hear because you had closed the door, but I was afraid he would come
back and do what he said he would do to you, so I brought my gun, in case of trouble, and tiptoed here to listen at the door and make sure Dieter had not come back to assault you, and then when you cried out…Well, now you see how it was. Are you going to get up from the bed?”

“No,” I said.

“Then I will sit here and we will have a conference,” Schmidt announced.

“Schmidt,” I said wearily, “the door is gaping open—I don't know how we are going to explain that—and I am somewhat inadequately clothed—”

“Yes, it is very nice,” said Schmidt, eyeing me with candid approval.

“…and why Tony hasn't appeared I cannot imagine—”

“He won't come; he is sulking,” Schmidt explained. “He said you were rude to him and so far as he is concerned the entire male population of Bad Steinbach can assault you. But he didn't mean it, Vicky.”

“Go away, Schmidt,” I said.

“I don't want to go away. I want to stay here and talk to Sir John.”

“I'm afraid not this evening, Herr Schmidt.” John had recovered himself; he rose with all his old grace, and had the effrontery to grin at me. “Shall we try my place next time?” he inquired politely. “This has been an evening I won't soon forget, but the novelty of it would pall with repetition.”

“Go away, John,” I said.

“Can I have my gun back?” Schmidt inquired meekly. John weighed it in his hand. I knew it was against his principles to carry a weapon—”the pen
alties are so much more severe”—but it was even more against his principles to give it back to Schmidt.

“I'll take it,” I said, standing up with a martyred sigh. My nightgown promptly slid down to my hips, and Schmidt emitted a gentle moan of pleasure. I decided he had had enough excitement for one night, so I put on my robe and slipped the Colt into its pocket, over Schmidt's strenuous objections—to the robe and to the “sequestion of his piece,” as he called it.

I got them both out, and shoved an armchair against the door to hold it in place. Schmidt had burst the tongue of the lock completely out of its socket. That was one thing he did well, falling heavily on things and breaking them. I went to bed. Nobody woke me. I didn't know whether I was glad or sorry about that.

I
THINK
I
HAD A RIGHT TO EXPECT THAT AFTER
the carnival of comedy inflicted on me the night before, matters were going to calm down. Wrong; the second act of the farce began with the arrival of my breakfast. It surprised me a little, because I hadn't ordered breakfast.

I mumbled “
Herein
,” in response to the call, and then realized that she couldn't because the chair was blocking the door. So I got up and moved it.

The woman wasn't one of the waitresses—at least she wasn't one of the current waitresses. She did not respond to my sleepy “
Guten Morgen
”; carrying the tray with that never-to-be-forgotten skill, she pushed past me and slammed it down on a table.

“That's very nice of you,” I began.

“Eat it and go,” said Friedl. She folded her arms. “I need the room. It is reserved. You will please check out before
Mittag
.”

There were two cups on the tray. I sat down and poured coffee. “Are you joining me?” I asked.

“No.”

“Then why…Oh, I get it. Not bad,” I said judiciously. “As you can see, Frau Hoffman, I am alone. What's bugging you? Why aren't we friends anymore?”

“You can ask?” She flung out one arm in a dramatic gesture toward the door, sagging on its hinges. “I do not allow such things in my hotel.”

“Oh, that was just Schmidt,” I said. “He'll pay for it. He's got pots of money.”

Now that the coffee had cleared my head, I could see her outrage was not assumed. Her chin was jerking spasmodically and her eyes were about to overflow.

“Something is wrong,” I said. “Please, Frau Hoffman, won't you sit down and tell me about it?”

“But that is just it. You don't talk to me. I invite you here, I appeal to you for help and you betray me….”

Her voice broke into ugly, gulping sobs.

“You're right,” I said quickly. “Absolutely right. I owe you an apology.”

Her sobs subsided into snuffles. She looked suspiciously at me. “You apologize?”

“Yes. We've neglected you, I know that. But believe me, Frau Hoffman, that's only because there is nothing to report. We've explored every lead we could think of and found nothing.”

Tears had excavated deep tracks through her make-up. “That is what you say; but how do I know you aren't lying to me—keeping it for yourself?”

Friedl was herself again. I decided it was time to respond in kind instead of being so bloody polite.
“You don't,” I said. “Whereas I know you have consistently lied to me. I want to help you, but you must tell me everything you know.”

“I have….” Her hand went to her mouth.

“I don't think so. What happened to Freddy? Why are you so frightened?”

“Freddy?” Her voice rose shrilly. “What does he have to do—”

My abused door swung open. “More screaming,” said a familiar voice. “Again it is Schmidt to the rescue!”

It wasn't just Schmidt, it was an entire delegation—Tony, and behind him, looking uncharacteristically shy, Dieter.

“Nobody is screaming,” I said irritably. “We were just talking. If you will all go away, perhaps I can resume what was beginning to look like a very interesting conversation. Girl talk. Do you know about girl talk, Schmidt? It's between girls—females. No men allowed.”

Nobody took the hint. Dieter shoved Tony, who shoved Schmidt, and the trio came into the room.

“We will talk, too,” said Schmidt. “We can put the cards on the table, since the spy is not here.”

“He'll probably turn up any second,” I said resignedly.

With the instincts of a homing pigeon, Schmidt zeroed in on the second cup and my hitherto untouched breakfast. He said indistinctly around a mouthful of pastry, “Let us have three more cups and perhaps an omelet, eh? Then we can sit back and have a pleasant—”

“Drop that telephone or I'll break your wrist,” I
said. “This is my room, dammit; I'm tired of people walking in and out as if—”

“I'm not leaving until everyone else leaves,” Tony announced. He folded his arms magisterially.

“Why not talk now?” Dieter was frankly amused. He dropped into the armchair and smiled impartially at all of us. “Cards on the table, as the Herr Direktor has said. You were holding out on us, weren't you, Vicky? You are in the confidence of this charming lady. Don't you think it is time you admitted the rest of us to her confidence?”

Friedl glanced at him askance. “I don't know anything,” she muttered.

“That's true,” I said. “Friedl—Frau Hoffman—asked me to come, and Schmidt and Tony were in on the deal, too. But she knows even less than we do. Only that her husband was mumbling about some long-lost treasure.”

Dieter rolled his eyes and looked skeptical. “It sounds very peculiar to me.”

“Your basic premise still holds,” I pointed out. “If any of us knew where it is, we'd grab it and run.”

Friedl's reddened, smeary eyes turned to me. “You would?”

“Now, don't give Frau Hoffman the wrong idea,” Tony said. “We're not trying to pull a fast one. If we ran with it, we'd run straight to the proper authorities. Right, Vicky?”

“Oh, right. Sure.” I added thoughtfully, “Whoever the proper authorities may be….” I saw Friedl's head swivel toward me, her eyes narrowing. She might not be too bright, but she had a good ear for nuances—of a certain variety.

“We wish to help you, Frau Hoffman,” Dieter said. “You know we are honorable people, with reputations to consider. Have faith in us.”

“Well…”

“If you still want me to leave,” I began.

“No. No, I didn't mean…” She glanced around the room and seemed to gain confidence from the silent approval and sympathy the men were beaming at her. “I would be pleased to have you stay on.”

“For another day or two, then. Perhaps we can talk later—all right?”

I hoped she would take the hint, and her departure; the arrival of the committee had ended any hope of a confidential chat, but I had a feeling that Friedl and I might have things to say to one another under the right circumstances.

“Changed your mind, eh?” said Tony, after Friedl had left. “Now why—”

Schmidt had finished my food. “It is time for breakfast,” he announced. “Let us adjourn the meeting to the restaurant and confer some more.”

“Yes, why don't you?” I said. “I'll join you later.”

Dieter was the last to leave. He looked doubtfully at the sagging door. “Did I do that?” he asked. He sounded as if he hoped he had.

“No. Don't you remember?”

His sudden rueful grin stretched the purpling bruise on his jaw. “I remember only that I made a fool of myself, as I always do with you. Did you have to hit me so hard?”

“I didn't…”

His eyes were wide and innocent. I amended my original statement; if he really didn't know there
had been another person in my room, there was no need to tell him. “I have a few bruises of my own, buddy.”

“Am I forgiven?”

“I think you came out worse than I did.”

Dieter's hand went to his jaw. “Yes. I think so, too.”

 

Glancing into the restaurant as I passed, I saw that Jan had joined the group. If I had entertained the slightest intentions of participating in that so-called conference, the sight of him would have squelched them.

Sullen gray clouds pressed down on Bad Steinbach. A scattering of snowflakes was blown into frenzied dances by the frigid wind. Gaiety prevailed, despite the cold; booths and stands still fringed the Marktplatz, dispensing food, drink, and variegated trinkets. It was Christmas Eve. The demons of darkness had been banished for a year, and tonight the birthday of the Child would be celebrated with midnight mass at the church and private family devotions.

There was no sign of life at Müller's shop—inside or outside. My signaled knock went unanswered. As I re-emerged into the Marktplatz, I saw someone sauntering slowly across the open square. He walked toward one of the cafés and went in.

The small place was crowded, the few tables occupied. I joined the man who was standing at the counter—a man with a bushy gray mustache and
heavy matching brows. His knit cap was pulled low over his ears. I ordered coffee and bread from the bustling waitress and waited until it had been delivered before I turned to him.

“Why aren't you answering your door?”

He had his back to the room, but his eyes remained fixed on the mirror behind the counter. There was a second door not far away; I knew if he saw anything that bothered him, he'd be out the door in a flash—leaving me with the check.

“I've moved,” he said after a moment. “Too many people know where I live.”

“What have you done with the cat?”

That inconsequential question drew a flash of blue eyes and a half-smile. “Locked her in the house with three days' supply of food and water. Müller will be back by then.”

“Oh.”

“What's wrong?”

“How can you tell?”

“I can tell.”

“It's Friedl. She's wound so tight she's ready to explode. She burst into my room this morning in a fit of hysterics and ordered me to leave—”

“Well, what can you expect after that performance last night?” The gray mustache quivered.

“Oh, that was just an excuse. I tell you, she's terrified.”

“Perhaps this is the time to apply pressure.” There was no pity in his voice, only a cold ruthlessness. I knew he was right, but I hated him for being right—and I hated myself for agreeing.

“It's for her own good,” I argued.

“Oh, quite. Poor little Friedl…. You won't gain
any information about the whereabouts of Hoffman's treasure, but you might learn the identity of his murderer. If that detail concerns you….”

“It concerns me,” I said curtly. “We could be wrong, you know. All the members of the group are behaving exactly as one might expect them to. How do we know there isn't an unknown third party involved?”

“Eighth or ninth party, rather. Whoever he is, he has murdered two people. Friedl may be next.”

“That's what I'm afraid of. That's what has me so…” The cup I was holding wobbled. John's hand closed over mine, steadying it.

“Then it behooves you to convince the lady—I use the term loosely—to spill her guts, before he can do it for her…. Sorry. ‘A man who could make so vile a pun would not scruple to pick a pocket.'”

“Amen. You're neglecting to watch the mirror.”

“Oh, right.” John released my hand and assumed his former position. After a moment he said, “I believe you are overly concerned about the danger to Friedl. Through her, he has access to the hotel and to Hoffman's papers and property. He'd be a fool to kill her so long as there is the slightest chance that she'll find something, or remember something, that might help him. But if he ever finds out where it is…”

“I hope you're right.”

“I am always right,” John said.

“You keep saying ‘he.' You don't have any idea—”

“Not the slightest.” His eyes remained fixed on the mirror. Mine remained fixed on him. He hunched his shoulders uncomfortably. “I use the
masculine pronoun for the sake of convenience. By all the standards of detective fiction, the villain ought to be Elise. She's been less prominent in this affair than the others.”

“The least likely suspect? No, that's Rosa D' Addio. She isn't even here.”

The corner of John's mouth relaxed. “That sounds like Schmidt's logic. She probably ignored the photograph. Any sane scholar would.”

“Exactly. Which brings us back to—”

“Your lot,” said John. “Speaking of which, or whom—”

I glanced over my shoulder. When I glanced back, he was gone.

 

I hadn't seen any familiar faces. I assumed John had pulled another of his little tricks to distract me so he could slither away.

When I got back to the hotel, I found that my buddies had finished breakfast and were staked out in the lobby waiting for me. I thought I caught a glimpse of Dieter's shrieking aquamarine jacket ducking back into the restaurant as I walked into the hotel; his wish to avoid me showed an unexpected sensitivity. Maybe Tony had read him a little lecture.

“Where is Jan?” I asked, sitting down on the couch next to Schmidt.

Schmidt chuckled. “In the kitchen. He is interrogating the cook, I think. A council of desperation! I have already questioned her, and the good
woman knows nothing—except the recipe for the Bavarian burger, which she was kind enough to give—”

“Spare me,” I said, wincing.

“That reminds me,” said Schmidt. “I want my gun back.”

I failed to see the connection, but I said firmly, “You can't have it.”

“It is a valuable weapon, a museum piece. I want—”

“I'm not going to steal it, Schmidt. Just keep it until…until later. And
that
reminds
me
…” I scowled at Tony. “What possessed you to let Schmidt out of the room with that weapon last night? He could have killed somebody.”

Tony had to raise his voice to be heard over Schmidt's sputtering protests. “I hoped he would.”

“Thanks a lot.”

“He wouldn't shoot you.” Tony thought a minute. “Unless it was by accident. Vicky, I am not going to comment on your sexual activities—”

“You damn well better not.”

“Because that is a private matter between you and your conscience. But I would like to know, if you will pardon my curiosity, what made you decide to stay on at Bad Steinbach.”

“Yes, I would like to know that, too,” said Schmidt. “You have found a clue? If you have, and you keep it to yourself, you can find yourself another position. I will set fire to you.”