Death (and Apple Strudel) (A European Voyage Cozy Mystery—Book 2)

by Blake Pierce

  London felt a flash of worry as she remembered how angry Emil had been yesterday when he’d been told someone else would be conducting the tour through Salzburg. She also recalled the anger in his expression when he saw Olaf Moritz for the first time.

  Is it possible …?

  She quickly decided that the idea was absurd. And she didn’t intend to make this scene any more confusing and chaotic by mentioning Emil’s palpable resentment of the tour guide.

  Finally Bob turned to London, and she saw her own face reflected in those twin mirrors of his glasses.

  “I’d be pretty derelict at my job if I didn’t ask you the same question,” he said to her. “Did you know him? Did you have anything against him?”

  London felt too unsettled by everything else that was going on to take offense at the question. She figured it best to keep her answer simple and matter-of-fact.

  “I also never saw him until today,” she said. “And he didn’t do anything that bothered me.”

  Bob glanced over at Cyrus, as if expecting him to contradict London as he had with Emil and Letitia. This time Cyrus only shrugged. Then Bob turned back toward London.

  “But you did discover the body, though,” he said to her.

  “Yes, I did,” London said, trying to stay calm in the face of his insinuation. “It was horrible and shocking and completely unexpected.”

  Bob stared at London for a moment. Then he sauntered about scratching his chin as if deep in thought. Finally he looked down at Sir Reggie, who was still sitting in London’s lap.

  “Well, partner,” he said to the dog, “it looks like we’ve got some work to do.”

  Sir Reggie didn’t make a sound in reply. Instead he tilted his head curiously, almost as if he were asking, “What do you mean ‘we’?”

  At that moment came a sharp knock at the door.

  Bob opened it, and Kirby Oswinkle came inside, looking angry as usual.

  “What’s going on in here, anyway?” Oswinkle asked, glaring at everybody in the group.

  “A murder investigation,” Bob said dryly, putting his hands in his pockets.

  Oswinkle looked unsurprised and unimpressed.

  “You’d better come with me,” he growled at the group. “Something really serious has happened.”

  Nothing worse than a murder, I hope, London thought. She noted that Emil just looked relieved and stayed in his library, shutting the door after she and the others followed Oswinkle out into the Amadeus Lounge.

  CHAPTER TWENTY TWO

  As the group hurried across the large, open lounge, London could see no sign that “something really serious” had happened. Only a few passengers were scattered about chatting, snacking, and drinking quietly. Off to one side, a Scrabble game was underway.

  Then she spotted Elsie standing near the table where the musician dolls were on display. And as they grew near, she could see that Elsie looked dismayed.

  When they all reached the table, Tina Fiore let out a gasp of alarm.

  “My drummer!” she exclaimed. “It’s gone!”

  “We shouldn’t have left it here after all,” her husband, Rudy, commented.

  Sure enough, there was a gap among the four remaining dolls. The double-bass player, the clarinetist, the violinist, and the trumpeter were all still there—but not the drummer.

  “See!” Oswinkle said angrily. “I thought you deserved to know—another figure is gone. I noticed it right away when I came in here for a beer just now.”

  Steve and Carol Weaver entered the lounge and joined them.

  “We got your text message,” Steve said to Oswinkle.

  “What’s going on?” Carol wanted to know.

  Oswinkle just pointed at the figures on the table.

  “What happened to the drummer?” Carol asked.

  “That’s a very good question,” Oswinkle said. “First someone stole my conductor, and now this! Whatever is going on here, it has gotten way out of hand.”

  London felt a twinge of mental whiplash. Just a moment ago, she, Letitia, the Fiores, and Cyrus had been discussing the mystery of Olaf Moritz’s murder with Bob. And now here they were, agitated about the disappearance of a little souvenir trinket. It seemed unreal somehow.

  “Let’s not jump to conclusions,” Elsie said.

  “That’s right,” Carol Weaver agreed. “Remember, just yesterday Letitia was sure her little trumpeter had been stolen. But she was mistaken. Sir Reggie found it right under the table.”

  As if on cue, Sir Reggie tucked his head under the floor-length tablecloth, wagging his tail as he looked around.

  “What do you see, partner?” Bob said.

  Sir Reggie backed out from under the tablecloth and turned around and looked up at Bob with a tilt of his head. Bob himself stooped down and lifted up the tablecloth.

  “You’re right, partner,” he said. “There’s nothing under here.”

  “But who would do such a thing?” Tina asked.

  Bob turned slowly, looking over all the faces in the group.

  “Who, indeed?” he said. “It’s just possible that somebody right here knows the answer to that very question.”

  “You mean you think that one of us stole both of the dolls?” Carol asked.

  “It’s a possibility,” Bob said.

  “If so, I’d sure like to know who it was,” Oswinkle said.

  Everyone else just looked puzzled.

  “And why would anybody do such a thing?” Steve asked.

  Bob jabbed the air with his finger.

  “When we know that, we’ll have solved this mystery,” he said. “And we will solve this mystery. I’m sure of it.”

  London and Elsie exchanged startled glances. Elsie shrugged as if she had no idea what to make of Bob.

  He sure enjoys playing the sleuth, London thought.

  She remembered what he’d told her yesterday, when Letitia Hartzer’s trumpeter had momentarily gone missing.

  “There’s more to what just happened here than meets the eye.”

  He’d also said that he had “a pretty good idea” about the identity of the thief.

  She wondered—what had he been thinking then?

  And what was he thinking now?

  “Bob, let’s not get carried away,” London said, worrying again about the effect Bob’s nosiness was having on her passengers. But Bob didn’t act as though he’d even heard her.

  “Let’s review,” Bob declared. “Mr. Oswinkle’s conductor was the first doll to go missing, the day before I got here.”

  “But not from right here,” Oswinkle said. “It was stolen straight out of my room. Someone came right in and took it.”

  “Right,” Bob said. “And then yesterday, Ms. Hartzer here thought her trumpet player was gone.”

  Stooping down to pat Sir Reggie on the head, he said, “But my furry colleague here found it right here under this table.”

  “Yes, to my considerable relief,” Letitia said.

  Bob stepped toward Letitia and peered at her suspiciously.

  “So you say, ma’am,” he muttered. “So you say.”

  Letitia drew herself up haughtily.

  “Just what are you accusing me of, Mr. Turner?”

  Bob looked at her silently for a moment.

  Then he said, “Tell me about that song you had trouble with over in town—the one that got you so mad at Olaf Moritz because he tried to get you to sing it.”

  “I was hardly mad at him,” Letitia snapped. “And you weren’t even there.”

  Cyrus Bannister chuckled and said, “You looked pretty mad to me.”

  Letitia’s eyes widened with anger and frustration.

  “Why does it matter whether I was angry or not?” she sputtered. “What on earth has it got to do with these missing dolls, anyway?”

  “That’s what I’d like to know, Ms. Hartzer,” Bob said, sounding almost as if he thought Letitia could explain it to him if she wanted to. “And it’s my job to keep close track of everyth
ing going on around here,” he added.

  Cyrus Bannister smirked at the others.

  “You people are making such a big deal out of this,” he told them.

  “That’s easy for you to say,” Oswinkle replied. “Nothing of yours was stolen.”

  Cyrus shrugged and added, “If you’re so anxious about your precious little dolls, maybe you should just take turns sitting here watching over them. That way nobody will try to steal them. Or if anybody does, you’d be sure to catch them.”

  “And spend the rest of the trip fretting about them night and day?” Letitia said, picking up her little trumpet player. “I hardly think so. I’m taking mine back to my room to keep it safe.”

  The two couples murmured in agreement and picked up their dolls as well. As they headed out of the lounge, Oswinkle stood by the table and called after them.

  “So you think they’ll be safe in your rooms? Good luck with that! Nothing is safe on this boat! Not one single thing!”

  Letitia and both couples ignored him and continued on their way. Oswinkle stomped his foot with frustration and strode out of the lounge himself.

  Bob stood stroking his chin as if deep in thought.

  Then he wagged his finger at London and said, “So far, two dolls are missing—a conductor and a drummer. Does that suggest anything to you?”

  London squinted at him curiously.

  “I’m not sure it suggests anything,” she said.

  “Oh, but it does, London, it does. I’m not quite sure what it is yet, but …”

  He thought for a moment.

  “Without a conductor, a band can’t stay together. Without a drummer, a band can’t keep time.”

  He nodded slowly.

  “Someone’s trying to send us a message, London Rose.”

  Bob looked down at Sir Reggie, who was standing beside London.

  “Come on, pal,” he said. “We’ve got some investigating to do. Let’s start on the top deck and work our way down through the boat.”

  So much for interviewing everybody who was on the tour, London thought wryly.

  He hadn’t gotten very far with that. And London figured it was just as well.

  Bob sauntered out of the lounge, apparently not noticing that Sir Reggie wasn’t following him. Instead, the dog stayed right where he was, looking up at London as if he, too, couldn’t make any sense of what was going on.

  Meanwhile, Elsie looked thoroughly baffled.

  She said, “London, please tell me what’s going on. It’s not just stolen dolls, that’s for sure. Everybody’s acting so weird. And what did Captain Hays mean when he said there had been a ‘suspicious death’? Please don’t tell me there’s been another murder.”

  London heaved an overdue sigh.

  “Let’s sit down,” she said to Elsie. “I’ll tell you what I can.”

  They chose a table apart from other customers, and London began to describe the day’s strange events. She felt numb as she talked, as if she were listening to someone else, or even as if she was hearing her own words in a recording.

  None of it seems real, she kept thinking.

  When London finished her account, she remarked, “I’m afraid Bob is doing more harm than good.”

  “What a peculiar guy,” Elsie said. “What’s he doing aboard the Nachtmusik anyway?”

  London let out a wry, sarcastic chuckle.

  “He’s here to keep me out of trouble,” she said.

  “Huh?”

  “That’s what Mr. Lapham told me over the phone a little while ago. He doesn’t want me to risk my neck playing detective anymore. So he hired his own personal security man—an ex–New York cop who also happens to be a relative of his. I’m supposed to leave everything to him. I’m not supposed to go playing ‘Nancy Drew’ anymore.”

  Elsie shook her head slowly.

  “London, don’t get me wrong,” she said. “I agree with Mr. Lapham about one thing. I don’t want you to go around almost getting yourself or Sir Reggie drowned or otherwise nearly killed like last time. But if Bob Turner really is seriously working on this case, and if he’s going to be reporting to the Polizeidirektor about it, I think you might have a real problem on your hands. I mean, for example, do you really think someone’s stealing these dolls to send some kind of ‘message’?”

  “Well, I don’t know …”

  “It sure doesn’t make sense to me. I’m not sure he’s thinking straight. I think maybe he’s some kind of a loose cannon. You’d better pay close attention to what he’s up to.”

  London remembered Bob’s departure from the lounge right now—how he’d said he was going to start investigating on the top deck and work his way down through the boat. She could probably reach him on her cell phone, but …

  I’d rather talk to him face to face.

  “You’re right,” London said to Elsie. “I’ll go see him right now.”

  Sir Reggie trotted alongside her while she walked up the spiral stairs to the Rondo deck. She was relieved to see that everything looked pretty normal on the outdoor deck. Some people were playing a game of shuffleboard, others were playing in the pool, and others were taking in a fine view of Salzburg from the railings on either side. A few were lounging around on deck chairs, and a few of those had fallen fast asleep.

  For a moment, London didn’t see Bob Turner anywhere.

  Maybe I should phone him after all, she thought.

  But then her eyes fell on a figure lounging apart from the others. From behind, she could see that the person was twisted rather grotesquely as it lay stretched out on a lounge chair.

  She walked around in front of the person sprawled on the chair and saw that it was Bob Turner. One of his feet was touching the deck, and the other dangled off the other side of the chair. His arms were twisted as if he’d just been flailing about in violent struggle. Although the mirror sunglasses were slightly askew, London still couldn’t see his eyes. But his mouth hung open and she didn’t see any sign that he was breathing.

  Is Bob dead? London wondered.

  CHAPTER TWENTY THREE

  “Bob?” London leaned over and whispered to the unmoving figure in the lounge chair.

  There was no reply.

  “Bob?” she said again, louder this time.

  Again there was no response.

  London glanced around nervously at the other passengers on the deck. To her relief, no one seemed to notice the problem or her anxiety.

  Before she could decide what to do next, Sir Reggie moved up and nudged his cold nose into Bob’s dangling hand. Then the dog licked the hand with his wet tongue.

  To London’s relief, Bob let out a thunderous snore, writhed around a bit, grumbled inaudibly, and finally wound up in an even more grotesque position than he’d been in before.

  He was obviously perfectly fine—and fast asleep.

  Meanwhile, it seemed that Bob’s top-to-bottom investigation of the boat hadn’t gotten very far, just like his plan to interview everybody who had been on the tour. The ship’s designated sleuth was all worn out and taking a nap.

  So should I wake him up? she wondered.

  Now she thought better of it. She shared Elsie’s concern that Bob was something of a “loose cannon” who could make a lot of trouble to no good purpose.

  But he’s not causing any trouble right now, she thought.

  It seemed best to let him sleep.

  She walked over to the railing and looked out over Salzburg’s Old Town. She was enchanted anew by the view of the Baroque spires of the Salzburg Cathedral, the clock tower of the Nonnberg Abbey, and most of all, the majestic white walls of Hohensalzburg Fortress gleaming down upon city. It was hard to believe that something as ugly as a murder could ever take place in such an exquisitely lovely setting.

  She thought over all that had happened since this morning.

  “Who killed Olaf Moritz?” she said, stooping down to pet Sir Reggie.

  Of course, Sir Reggie didn’t offer any theories.
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br />   London stood back up and gazed out at the city again, trying to organize her own thoughts. The more she thought about it, she just couldn’t believe the killer was anybody aboard the Nachtmusik. And the truth was, she doubted that Polizeidirektor Tanneberger really believed that either. But he was still in the process of eliminating suspects, and he had to consider the people in the tour group—including London herself.

  In the meantime, the real killer was still on the loose. And the Nachtmusik was going to be stuck in another city, causing Epoch World Cruise Lines another costly delay and possibly damaging the tour’s reputation.

  And what am I going to do about it? London thought.

  She remembered Mr. Lapham’s stern but well-intention command.

  “Mind your own business. Stick to your job. Keep the passengers happy.”

  She tried to convince herself to do exactly what Mr. Lapham had said.

  But how could she do that? And after all, nobody had been forbidden to leave the Nachtmusik. She just wanted to go ashore and do some investigating on her own.

  “Sorry, Mr. Lapham,” she murmured aloud. “I guess I’m not through playing Nancy Drew.”

  She still had a busy day ahead and knew she couldn’t take much time away from her duties. But maybe it wouldn’t take long to do what she had to do.

  She wondered briefly whether she should somehow let Bob know what she was up to—maybe leave a note where he was sleeping, or send him a text message. But no, that didn’t seem like a good idea. Bob might well know of Mr. Lapham’s insistence that London not do any investigating. She didn’t want word to get back to Mr. Lapham that she wasn’t doing as she was told.

  Instead, she took out her cell phone and called Amy Blassingame.

  “Hi, Amy,” she said. “I wonder if you could fill in for me for just a little while.”

  “How do you mean?” Amy said, already sounding a little annoyed.

  “Well, I’d like you to just check in on a few activities. Make sure things are going smoothly with our new casino set-up.”

  Glancing at her watch, she added, “Also, there’s a trivia game scheduled to start in the restaurant in twenty minutes. Check and make sure it starts on time and everything is going OK.”