The detective grunted but said nothing.
Zelda’s eyes narrowed. “Is that why you were so surprised to see me at the Amstel Modern? Did you know the police were investigating me?”
Vincent remained silent for too long.
Zelda rolled her eyes. “Great.”
“Well, this gives you even more reason to want to clear your name. If we can find Gabriella, you might get your job back.”
Zelda bobbed her head, knowing he was right but still embarrassed. Wouldn’t it be wonderful if Gabriella is at her mom’s place? she thought. Then Zelda could have her friend call the Dutch police and clear up all these misunderstandings. It was too late to save her apartment, but she could still save her job and her future. No museum on the planet would hire anyone suspected of being involved in art crimes. If she ever wanted to do what she’d spent the last three years training to do, she had to clear her name. “So what are you going to say to Gabriella’s mother if we do find her?”
“Well, you can say that we are in Clervaux on vacation, knew the mother lived there, and just wanted to say hello.”
“Wait. I can say that? I thought you were the investigator?”
“In this case, you have a personal connection with the mother.”
Zelda stared at him blankly.
“You’re friends with her daughter. It would be more natural for you to lead the conversation. If she asks who I am, you can say I’m your boyfriend, and we’re enjoying a weekend away. I know I’m a bit old for you, but we can fake it for a few minutes.” Vincent grinned. “Clervaux is a popular tourist destination and is the starting point for several beautiful hikes. It’s not strange that we would be there on vacation and happen to stop by the hotel she works at. Especially if you say that Gabriella told you about it.”
Zelda frowned. “Why don’t I just ask to say hi to Gabriella? I can say I thought she was visiting her mom.”
Vincent smiled. “Even better. Her reaction will tell us if she knows her daughter is missing or not.” He patted her on the shoulder. “See? You’re a natural.”
“As long as she doesn’t ask personal questions about Gabriella, I guess it would work. I really don’t know her that well. And Gabriella never talked about her mom.”
“You said that you collaborated on an art project. Perhaps Gabriella mentioned the project you were working on together to her mom?”
“Maybe.” Zelda twirled a string of hair around her finger, contemplating. “But if Gabriella wanted to vanish, her mother might be helping her. She might lie to us.”
“Yes, that’s quite possible. But that’s why I want to drive down and talk with her in person. Her reaction will help us decide if she is lying or telling the truth. That’s also why I need you, as her friend, to do the talking. I am an outsider and have no connections to Gabriella. You’re her neighbor and friend.”
Zelda nodded. Everything he said made sense. She could feel a spark of hope burning inside.
“You’ll be fine,” Vincent said again, clearly trying to reassure Zelda. “Besides, it’s only a few hours ride. And Clervaux is beautiful. It’s worth visiting at least once.”
Zelda didn’t care if Gabriella was in Clervaux or Timbuktu. All she wanted to do was find her friend. Right now, she was the only person who could give her life back to her. “Okay. When do you want to leave?”
47 Breaking Routine
September 18, 2018
Marko sat on the terrace of Café Chaos, slowly sipping a koffie verkeerd in the bright morning sun. From here, he could see the entrance to Het Sieraad and Zelda’s bike. If she followed her normal routine, she would leave for her work in twenty minutes. He took another large bite of his breakfast, chewing slowly so he could enjoy it longer. The café served deliciously simple Dutch food for a good price. Their farmer’s omelet, full of thickly cut bacon and fresh vegetables, was heavenly. Since discovering this place during his first stakeout, he had been back often. Partly to keep an eye on Zelda, but really, it was the food that made him a regular. He figured he better enjoy it while he could since his last job was tomorrow night in Naarden, and then he was finished with this Robber Hood business.
Getting back to Croatia would be good. He hoped to take a week off and hit the coast before the autumn weather cooled the Adriatic Sea. Although he wouldn’t be surprised if his uncle had plans for him lined up already. He’d been grooming Marko to take over his organization, one branch at a time. Luka claimed to want to retire, but Marko knew the old man wouldn’t be able to step back completely. His uncle had been at this for far too long to live a pensioner’s life. Marko knew he would miss the adrenaline kick, which was too bad because Marko had so many ideas on how to streamline the organization, cut back on costs, and concentrate their resources and collective knowledge on fewer businesses. But until Luka was dead, Marko didn’t think he would be able to implement all the changes he desired. The old man’s sway was far too strong.
A black Volvo pulled up to the small square in front of Zelda’s building, right where a flower seller was trying to set up his stall. The man didn’t get out to buy flowers but remained behind the wheel and made a call. After he’d hung up, the flower shop owner knocked on the Volvo’s window. The man rolled it down, and the two began an animated conversation. Whatever the flower seller said only seemed to amuse the driver. When the flower seller started gesturing more wildly, the driver rolled his window back up to the seller’s enormous irritation. Marko laughed aloud when the man began pounding on the Volvo’s window, ignoring several customers as he gave the driver a piece of his mind.
Marko turned around to find the waitress, currently helping a table behind him. He signaled for another coffee as the Volvo’s motor revved, and the flower shop owner stepped back, shaking his fist as the car pulled away.
Marko raised his empty cup in salute as the Volvo sped away, only noticing that Zelda was in the passenger seat as it passed.
48 A Walk to Paradise Garden
September 18, 2018
Zelda stood before W. Eugene Smith’s A Walk to Paradise Garden, trying to ingrain this glorious image onto her mind. Two children walk hand in hand through a tunnel of trees. Up ahead was a clearing in the forest, a shower of light spilling down the path before them. The way the two innocents held each other’s hand tightly as they headed off into the bright sunlight—symbolic of their bright futures—worked powerfully on Zelda. She could feel a tear forming in one eye as she gazed at the hopeful image, strategically placed at the end of the Family of Man exhibition in Castle Clervaux. Now thirty-one years old, Zelda couldn’t help but wonder if she would ever be a mother to such beauties. She and Jacob had been together for sixteen months now, but she was still getting used to being a couple and sharing a living space. The idea of being a parent terrified her.
“The light really makes the image, doesn’t it?” Vincent de Graaf said as he sidled up next to her.
They had arrived in Clervaux, Luxembourg, four hours ago in search of Gabriella’s mother, Elaine. They had headed straight to her workplace, Hotel Koener, and ordered a late lunch from their restaurant. A friendly waitress informed them that Elaine had the day off and wouldn’t be back to work until the next morning. After enjoying their sandwiches while gazing out at the Clerve River and a poignant monument to fallen soldiers, they set out to find Elaine’s home.
Vincent used his phone to navigate the steep and windy streets to Rue Ley. No one answered the door, so they decided to try again later, closer to dinner time, which left them three more hours to kill in Clervaux.
Zelda had never been here before but had googled it on their drive up. The small town was a touristic hotspot thanks to its lovely location in the Luxembourg Ardennes. The Museum of the Battle of the Bulge and Family of Man exhibition were also big draws. She was glad they’d had time to visit both.
The long drive down from Amsterdam had been more pleasant than Zelda expected. After leaving the flat, pasture lands dominating the Netherlands, it had be
en a treat to wind their way through the rolling hills and budding mountains of Northern Luxembourg. The trip made her realize how much she missed driving through the Cascade Range back in Washington State. The foothills of the Ardennes weren’t nearly as tall as the Cascades, nor were the valleys as deep, but they were closer to them than anything she’d seen in Europe so far.
Clervaux nestled in a bend in the Clerve River, on a small spit of land rising out of the middle of a heavily forested valley. Narrow, cobblestoned streets wound up the steep slopes to the pinnacle where an enormous white castle was. The structure dwarfed the medieval-looking homes covering the sides of the terraced hill.
Vincent led them up the quiet, curvy streets—most too narrow for cars. They passed a handful of locals, all of whom pretended not to see Zelda or Vincent. The brick walls used to terrace the steep hillsides were covered in an explosion of flowering vines and trees. Birdsong dominated, only occasionally interrupted by the revving motor of a truck climbing the steep Route de Marnach, a regional freeway running along the outskirts of town. To Zelda, this place was the epitome of serenity.
They climbed further, moving ever closer to the enormous white structure balancing on the top of the hill. In the bright sunshine, its white-plastered walls shone like a beacon. When they reached it, Zelda stood still to catch her breath while taking in the imposing medieval castle before her. Built in an L form, the building’s shape created an open half-circle, which had been turned into a public park. On either side of a small patch of grass was a tank and cannon, both remnants of the fierce battles that took place in this peaceful valley in World War II—the Battle of the Bulge.
Since its restoration in 2013, the castle was home to the municipality of Clervaux and its museums. A large sign informed visitors that the Family of Man exhibition was on the right, and the Museum of the Battle of the Bulge was to the left.
While Zelda scrutinized the tank, surprised to see how small such a thing really was, Vincent made a beeline for the War Museum. Miffed that he expected her to follow him around, she finished her extensive examination of the tiny war machine before joining him. In the movies, tanks seemed to be vast and roomy inside, but she had trouble imagining two soldiers squeezed into the one before her.
When Zelda did finally follow Vincent, she was pleasantly surprised to see the War Museum was a wonderful compilation of parachutes, uniforms, artillery, rations, letters home, traffic signs, weapons, and other memorabilia all crammed into a series of subterranean spaces. Next to many of the objects were small yellow notecards, telling the story of its former owner. Not only did they personalize the objects displayed but they also helped make the atrocities of war even more real. Zelda was captivated.
What a sobering but educational visit, Zelda thought as they exited the museum.
When Vincent proposed they continue to the neighboring Family of Man exhibition, Zelda hesitated. The war displays had been quite draining.
But she was thrilled he pushed her to join him. The collection of 503 photographs taken by 273 artists from 68 countries was curator Edward Steichen’s reaction to World War II. Devised to showcase the commonalities that bind people and cultures around the world, Family of Man highlighted the best of humanity. Steichen, a Luxembourg native, curated this iconic exhibition for the Museum of Modern Art in New York in 1955. It was so popular that it toured the world, ending in Luxembourg in 1966.
To Zelda, his message was loud and clear. The photos and groupings reminded viewers of the good in their fellow man, and how—deep down—we are all the same. Some of the images were dated, but Zelda couldn’t help but applaud the wonderfully idealistic views of its creator. And in her already emotional state—thanks to the War Museum—the collection of images moved her to tears.
She and Vincent had just finished their tour of this temple to photography and mankind, and A Walk to Paradise Garden was the finale.
“What do you think?” Vincent asked.
“It’s really worth the visit,” Zelda said, keeping her head turned away until she could get her emotions under control. The last thing she needed was for Vincent to think she was a sniveling idiot.
“When you’re ready, why don’t we stop by Elaine’s house again? If she’s not home, we’ll try again after dinner.”
“Sounds good. I’m ready to go.”
On their way out, Vincent walked straight through the gift shop without glancing at the many books on photography or their selection of related knickknacks.
Zelda couldn’t resist buying a mini camera for her key chain. When she pushed on the tiny shutter button, the sound of a camera motor rumbled, and the flash went off. It was so bright that it was blinding.
They walked back outside into the warm autumn sun. The trees’ leaves were already turning red and yellow, and from their high vantage point, the steep valley walls looked like crimson flames rising to the heavens.
Vincent was already halfway down the street when Zelda noticed he’d not stopped to admire the surrounding forest. She sprinted to catch up with him. They walked down then back up the cobblestoned lanes. Lavish lamps created from curled wrought iron hung on most corners, and though the homes were well maintained, they were clearly ancient. Most garden walls were crumbling and the grass was pockmarked with patches of settled ground.
As they approached Elaine’s home for a second time, Vincent asked, “Are you ready?”
“Yep. As ready as I’ll ever be.”
This time, her knock was quickly answered by a small, frail-looking woman dressed in the same shade of gray as her hair. Only a bright red scarf kept her from resembling a ghost. Her eyes widened when she opened the door as if she were surprised to see strangers.
Zelda gave the birdlike woman a winning grin. “Hello. How are you? I am Zelda Richardson, and I live next door to your daughter Gabriella in Amsterdam,” Zelda babbled in English, not entirely sure how to start the conversation despite roleplaying with Vincent on the ride down.
The woman relaxed visibly at the mention of her daughter’s name. She gave Zelda a careful grin before her eyes darted nervously over to Vincent.
“Oh, and this is, um, my boyfriend, Vincent. We’re here on vacation, and Gabriella mentioned she was here visiting, so I thought it would be fun to say hi. We stopped by your hotel, but the waitress said you were free today and gave us your address.” The smell of a marinated roast wafted outside. Zelda glanced at her wristwatch and saw it was almost six p.m. She hoped they hadn’t interrupted the woman’s dinner preparations. “Oh, gosh. I didn’t realize it was so late. We’re getting up early for a day hike so wanted to stop by before we get ready for bed. I hope we didn’t disturb you.”
“No, of course not. It’s always lovely to meet a friend of my daughter’s. Please, come inside,” Elaine’s mother said loudly, smiling brightly.
Zelda suspected every neighbor in the vicinity was listening in. She glanced next door and saw a curtain move. Not much happens here, she thought, not that she cared. Zelda was grateful they were being let inside so easily. Away from prying eyes, she would also feel more comfortable lying to Gabriella’s mother. She and Vincent had discussed different approaches, but now that she was standing across from this tiny old lady, Zelda was having trouble being so indifferent. Gabriella was her daughter, after all. And she was missing.
They followed the woman into a living room richly decorated with tapestries, quilts, and framed embroidery as well as photographs of her daughter, herself and an older man. Zelda assumed the man was Gabriella’s stepfather. They’d never really talked about their families let alone shown each other pictures of them. Heck, if Zelda hadn’t raided Gabriella’s mailbox, she never would have known that her mother lived so close by. The scent of roasting meat was stronger in here, and the smells made Zelda’s stomach rumble.
“Are you really friends with my daughter?” The woman’s welcoming smile had vanished. Her accent was thicker than Gabriella’s, though just as melodious. Despite her fragility, she gazed
up at Zelda like a hawk.
“Yes, we’ve lived next door to each other for three months and have worked on a few projects together. I make stained-glass windows, and she paints them.”
Elaine nodded, her frosty reserve melting slightly. “She mentioned you or at least that she was painting glass windows. She sent me a photograph of one last month. It was quite pretty. How lovely to meet you! How can I help you? Did my daughter really tell you to stop by when you were in Clervaux?”
Zelda shifted a bit in her seat. “She mentioned that she was planning to visit you at the same time we’d be here. I thought it would be fun to say hello, that’s all.” Zelda felt like such a fraud—the woman’s smile was genuine.
Elaine laughed. “My girl’s always on the move. No, Gabby’s not here right now. I swear that she’s afraid moss will grow on her feet if she stays in one place too long.”
Zelda relaxed visibly and chuckled along. “Oh, so you know where she’s at?”
“Of course, she’s preparing for her next show. The last time we talked, she was hurrying to finish several paintings so they would have time to dry before being shipped to Venice.”
“Venice?” Vincent and Zelda asked simultaneously.
“That’s where the show is being held. Gabriella must have flown down early to help prepare the exhibition. I know she often helps her art dealer hang the shows she’s participating in. Her eye for composition and color is quite extraordinary, and he trusts her implicitly,” Elaine said, her motherly pride showing through.
Zelda and Vincent exchanged glances, neither daring to tell the mother the whole truth. If Elaine didn’t know that Gabriella was missing, they didn’t want to be the ones to inform her of that fact. Whatever happened to Gabriella, the state of her apartment and Zelda’s concussion suggested she may not have gone willingly. All they could do was try to find her—if she were still alive and willing to be found.
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