Elizabeth Peters - Trojan Gold

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.