Crime (and Lager) (A European Voyage Cozy Mystery—Book 3)

by Blake Pierce

  “Well, that won’t do,” Audrey growled. “That won’t do at all.”

  Then the woman stared off into space as if deep in thought. London wondered whether she should just apologize again and try to excuse herself and leave.

  Finally Audrey Bolton said, “Bring me the latest issue of Cosmopolitan.”

  Feeling a little worried now, London walked back over to the rack and took out the latest issue of the monthly magazine. She glanced at the cover and saw that this one was definitely not out of date.

  She handed this magazine to Audrey, who frowned at the cover.

  “These articles look boring,” she said.

  London had to swallow back a laugh. Was she really being held responsible for the editorial content of the magazines in the rack?

  “I’m sorry,” she said again, as seriously as she could manage. “Would you like me to look for something more … to your liking?”

  “No, you’d never get it right.”

  Glancing at her wristwatch, the crotchety woman added, “Anyway, I haven’t got time for that sort of thing.”

  Haven’t got time? London wondered.

  She asked cautiously, “Do you have somewhere you need to be?”

  Audrey smiled condescendingly.

  “Regensburg would be nice, wouldn’t it?” she said.

  London squinted curiously.

  “I’m not sure I understand,” London said.

  “Well, Regensburg is where we ought to be today, isn’t it?” Audrey said. “If we weren’t so desperately behind schedule, I mean. Instead, we’re just now sailing past Passau, which we should have done yesterday.”

  London winced again. Hardly any passengers had complained outright about the recent delays in the boat’s itinerary. Clearly, Audrey Bolton was going to be an exception.

  London said, “Ms. Bolton, on behalf of the staff and crew of the Nachtmusik, and also on behalf of Epoch World Cruise Lines, I apologize for our delays. Due to circumstances beyond our control—”

  “You mean people getting murdered left and right?” Audrey interrupted.

  CHAPTER TWO

  London breathed slowly, trying not to get agitated. This woman was definitely testing the limits of her professional poise.

  The Nachtmusik’s passengers weren’t getting murdered “left and right.” One passenger, the elderly and ill Mrs. Klimowski, had been killed in a cathedral back in Gyor, Hungary. Her death had hardly been a case of cold-blooded murder, just an attempted robbery gone horribly wrong. Still, it had resulted in a full day’s delay in Gyor until the killer had been apprehended, mostly through London’s own investigative efforts.

  Then of course there had been that incident in Salzburg, Austria, when the Nachtmusik had been delayed again over the suspicious death of a local tour guide. It was true that London had come all too close to getting killed herself while solving that mystery. But nobody aboard the Nachtmusik had been at fault.

  London was sure that it would be useless trying to explain all that to Audrey Bolton.

  “Our trip has been disrupted by a couple of unfortunate tragedies,” London said.

  “That’s one way of putting it,” Audrey replied.

  “We’ve done what we can to make up for lost time,” London continued. “For example, we spent only one day in Vienna—”

  “A very poor decision,” Audrey said, interrupting again. “Vienna has to be savored to be enjoyed. I for one felt terribly cheated. Surely there were—and are—better ways to make up lost time.”

  Like what? London almost blurted.

  But she didn’t dare ask the question. Besides, she knew that Audrey was going to answer it anyway.

  Audrey steepled her fingers together and looked thoughtfully over the Danube.

  “For example,” she said, “why didn’t we skip Salzburg altogether? We would have avoided getting mixed up in that horrible mess there.”

  Skip Salzburg? London thought with disbelief. Mozart’s hometown?

  It would have been unthinkable, of course. For most of the passengers, that visit had been richly rewarding. The delay had just presented them with more opportunities to enjoy everything—ranging from music and history to the wonderful foods of that city. And anyway, there had been no way to foresee the trouble they were going to run into there.

  Still glaring up at London, Audrey shrugged.

  “Well, it’s not too late to try to get things back on track,” she said. “Why don’t we just do Regensburg as planned tomorrow and skip Bamberg the following day? It sounds to me like a perfectly boring place. That will save us another whole day. Then we can arrive in Amsterdam right on schedule.”

  Skip Bamberg? London thought.

  Was it really feasible to pass by one of Germany’s most beautiful towns, with a medieval center that was a UNESCO World Heritage Site?

  Not that the choice was up to London, anyway. Bamberg had been scheduled by Epoch World Cruise Lines, and the necessary adjustments to the timing of their visit had already been made.

  And that choice certainly wasn’t up to this woman either.

  But Audrey made an authoritative nod.

  “Yes, we should skip Bamberg. We must skip Bamberg. I insist upon it. Be sure to tell the captain.”

  London’s mind boggled at the thought of suggesting to the sturdy and good-hearted Captain Hays they had to cancel their stop in Bamberg, solely on the whim of a single grumpy passenger. He’d surely scoff at the very idea.

  Right now, though, London found nothing amusing about it. She had to wonder what Audrey Bolton did in everyday life that gave her such an assumption of authority.

  “You will tell the captain, won’t you?” Audrey demanded.

  London stammered, “I—I’ll be sure to convey your opinion to him.”

  Audrey frowned again. Apparently she’d wanted London to make more of a commitment than that. Then she shrugged again and opened her magazine.

  “That will be all,” she said to London. “You may go.”

  As anxious as she was to get away from Audrey Bolton, London felt too nonplussed to even move for a moment or two.

  She saw that her little group of passengers was still standing with the others who had gathered to hear Emil Waldmüller’s lecture. Some of them had apparently picked up drinks from the little café near the pool on the ship’s bow, and they all appeared cheerfully attentive. Even Sir Reggie was sitting there tilting his head as if fascinated by every word the man had to say.

  London had always admired the tall, dark-haired ship’s historian. He was a handsome man in a rather bookish style, and at the beginning of the tour she had found herself developing something of a crush on him. His intelligence and knowledge were impressive, and his sophisticated Old World manners could be charming, despite his tendency toward haughty aloofness.

  Nevertheless, London had decided she should not get romantically involved with either the German historian or with the Australian chef, a man she found attractive in quite a different way. She was determined to stay focused on her job. If this very first Epoch World Cruise Lines riverboat tour wasn’t successful, the company would probably fold and her own future prospects would become quite murky. She might even be faced with the prospect of returning to Connecticut and settling down like her sister had. London had chosen to embark on this new adventure, and she very much wanted it to continue.

  She stepped closer to the group to hear what Emil was saying, but just as she got there, the listeners broke into a round of applause of appreciation, and Emil took a modest little bow. His lecture was obviously over, and his audience headed off in different directions.

  “I’m sorry I missed what you had to say,” London told him.

  Emil looked at her with an even more distant and preoccupied expression than she’d seen on his scholarly features before.

  “You did not miss very much,” he replied rather formally. “I was just pointing out the Veste Oberhaus, the medieval fortress overlooking the city. I was also g
iving a short account of the city’s history—its origins as a Celtic settlement, how it became a Roman colony, how it became a religious center for the Holy Roman Empire, its role in medieval trade and commerce, and … well, et cetera, et cetera, and so on and so forth, and …”

  He added with a haughty smirk, “I believe the American expression is ‘yada yada.’ He stood there for a moment, as if unsure what to say next. Then he spoke curtly, “And now, if you will excuse me, I must get back to the library.”

  He fairly brushed London aside and headed toward the stairway.

  As she turned and watched Emil march away, London wondered if she should hurry after him. She knew she had annoyed him with her theories about the tangled mysteries they had encountered. But he had actually helped her solve Mrs. Klimowski’s murder by recognizing the true value of a stolen object, which no one else had thought important.

  London looked down at Sir Reggie, who had come over to her side.

  “Why do you suppose he’s acting like that?” she asked the dog.

  The furry little terrier let out a slight grumble, as if he was also baffled by Emil’s behavior.

  As the dog gazed up at her with big brown eyes, looking much more like a teddy bear than like a canine, London wondered how Audrey Bolton could possibly dislike him. And why had she thought that he might be vicious?

  Of course, she reminded herself, it was true that Sir Reggie had taken a good nip at the pinkie finger of a man who had attacked her. And earlier on, he had tripped up a killer who was trying to escape. This dog might have started off life as Sir Reginald Taft, show dog and handbag pet, when he’d belonged to Mrs. Klimowski. But since he’d been with London, he’d turned into a lively and handy companion.

  She bent down and petted Sir Reggie, thinking again about the historian’s unexpected coolness.

  I guess it doesn’t help that I actually suspected Emil of murder, London reminded herself.

  But she’d only suspected him slightly and briefly—and with justification. After all, she’d had to consider a lot of people and a lot of possibilities.

  He’s not the only person I was wrong about, London thought. What’s important is who I was right about.

  “Well, there’s not much I can do about it right now, I guess,” London told Sir Reggie.

  She stood up and took out her cell phone to check for messages. Sure enough, she’d gotten three texts since the last time she’d checked.

  The first one read: “Please find us a fourth right away.”

  A fourth what? she wondered.

  Then she recognized the name of the sender as one of the ship’s most enthusiastic card players. Two other names were listed at the end of the brief message, so they obviously needed a fourth player for a game of bridge. London ran several names through her mind and texted one of them to see if she was available.

  The next text was from a couple who had decided they wanted to change the décor of their stateroom. Failing that, they wanted to move to another room. Well, all the staterooms were booked solid, but she’d go down and talk to the unhappy pair and see if housekeeping could accommodate some aspect of their desires.

  Then there was the singer who wanted to perform in the boat’s lounge and was looking for an accompanist. Seeing who that was from, London smiled. She’d be happy to help keep that particular singer occupied.

  “Come on, Sir Reggie,” London said to her dog as she headed toward the stairway. “We’ve got to arrange a little redecorating and also set up an accompanist for our friendly onboard kleptomaniac.”

  CHAPTER THREE

  When London walked into the ship’s Amadeus Lounge later that evening, she was hoping she had settled all of the issues for that day. The bridge game had worked out fine, and the would-be redecorators had settled for switching the artwork in their stateroom for a set of different pictures. But she was still uncertain about the event that was soon to take place. Although she had found the requested accompanist, she was uneasy about what kind of performance this particular singer might have in mind.

  London hadn’t had time for dinner, and she was hoping to settle in at the bar for nourishment and a chat with her bartender friend, Elsie Sloan. As she headed across the lounge, she noticed Amy Blassingame, the ship’s concierge, at a table near a window. Although London waved, Amy quickly turned her head toward the window, as though she was only aware of the view. Since it was dark outside, London wondered just how interesting that view could be.

  Maybe she didn’t see me, London thought.

  Of course it could be that Amy was miffed over something and just didn’t want to see her.

  London sighed. She was Amy’s boss, but she always hoped to keep a friendly relationship between them. Unfortunately, she and Amy had been at odds during much of the voyage so far. She thought maybe she should go sit down with her and try to be friendly.

  Or should I just get a sandwich first? And a drink?

  Before she could make a decision, she heard tentative notes being played on a piano. She turned and saw Letitia Hartzer standing on a little stage on one side of the large open room. The accompanist London had arranged for her was already riffling a few notes on the keys.

  Our resident kleptomaniac is about to sing, London thought with a smile.

  London liked Letitia, despite her unfortunate character flaw. Thank goodness Letitia’s thefts had been small and innocuous, and when she’d been caught she’d pledged never to take anything again. Now Letitia wanted to do a cabaret act here in the lounge, and London had agreed to set that up for her.

  “How is everybody this evening?” Letitia asked, smiling at the audience.

  At least some people called out that they were fine. Others obviously weren’t paying any attention, which of course wasn’t at all unusual for a setting like this. London hoped Letitia understood that. The large Amadeus Lounge in the bow of the ship provided a variety of seating at tables of various sizes, clusters of chairs and little sofas, and barstools at the wide bar across the far end of the room. On the starboard side was a mini-casino. Between that and the bar was a piano and a raised platform for the occasional performance.

  As she looked over the room, London realized that someone seated alone at a table definitely was watching Letitia closely, and probably not because of any anticipated musical skills. At least, London was pretty sure that the man was staring at the singer. It was always hard to tell exactly what Bob Turner, the ship’s so-called security expert, was looking at. The man always wore those mirrored sunglasses, day and night, indoors and out.

  Bob had been the first person aboard the Nachtmusik to discover Letitia’s kleptomania. Now he sat staring at her with his arms crossed, as if he expected her to snatch up a saltshaker from one of the tables. After all, he’d caught her doing that very thing once before.

  She looks nervous, London thought, hoping that Letitia hadn’t noticed Bob’s scrutiny.

  London worried for a moment. The last time she had heard Letitia try to sing, the woman had humiliated herself by fumbling a Mozart aria.

  Now as the pianist vamped an introduction, Letitia took a deep breath and seemed to gather up her courage. Then she burst into a wide, impish grin and launched into a rendition of Cole Porter’s sprightly, slightly risqué classic, “Let’s Do It, Let’s Fall in Love.”

  London chuckled with surprise. Letitia was a tall, stout woman who usually wore the stern face of a dour society matron. She cut an incongruous figure in a long sequined gown, smiling and swaying to the jazzy tune. Letitia seemed to know it too, and she winked knowingly at the audience as she put a bawdy emphasis on each of Cole Porter’s naughty double entendres.

  The people near the little stage broke into smiles, and even some customers who hadn’t seemed interested in listening now began to pay attention.

  Letitia’s going to be a hit, London thought happily.

  Deciding that food and drink would have to come before Amy, London made her way toward the bar. As she passed near Bob’s
table, he gestured to her, so she stopped and leaned over to hear him.

  “Where’s my partner in crime-fighting?” he asked.

  London knew that he was referring to her dog. Bob had come to consider Sir Reggie an investigative colleague. But the little Yorkshire Terrier had stopped following London around a while ago, and she assumed he’d returned to her stateroom. His doggie door gave him the freedom to come and go as he pleased.

  “I guess he decided to turn in early,” London replied.

  “Yeah, we private eyes need our rest,” Bob said. “But I’m still on duty. Got to keep a sharp watch on our delinquent lady yonder.”

  London just nodded and continued on her way toward the bar. She was pleasantly surprised to see that Captain Hays himself was sitting on a barstool chatting with Elsie, the head bartender. It was unusual to see the portly, middle-aged Englishman away from his post on the bridge or some business meeting in his office. Now his walrus-style mustache wriggled cheerfully as he and London exchanged playful salutes when she sat down next to him

  Elsie had obviously seen London coming. The two had been friends for many years, and they’d worked together on lots of cruise ships. As soon as London got there, Elsie set a cocktail glass with a reddish drink in front of her.

  “Your Manhattan, just as you ordered it, ma’am,” she joked.

  London took a sip and savored its hearty rye flavor sweetened slightly with vermouth.

  “Excellent as always,” London said.

  Then she turned back to the captain. “Are you actually taking a break?” she asked him.

  “Of sorts, and only briefly,” he said.

  Raising his glass he added, “Sometimes I have to fortify myself with lime and tonic water. Don’t tell anybody you caught me drinking on duty.”

  Elsie winked at London, put her hand beside her mouth, and silently mouthed the words, “Not a drop of alcohol.”

  London laughed.

  “Your secret is safe with me, Captain Hays,” London said.