Shay told everyone about the new names for characters in Silhouette Tower. Since Franz and Lily had been put wise to this yesterday, and the others didn’t really care, there was no great angst over that particular topic.
Shay told everyone she was indeed going to find a way to use Club Krev in one of the scenes. (Anyone getting the picture that this had become Shay’s pre-production meeting?) Lily was thrilled. Visions of vampires sucking her neck while loud music played were definitely dancing through her head. Mitchell was glad to hear this gave him another number to compose in a really heavy metal sound. Fritz asked if he could play an old pipe organ for part of that scene, to give it the feeling of a 1920s black and white horror film and Shay agreed. She didn’t ask where the pipe organ was coming from or how much it would cost to rent—or buy. It was clear that he could ask for the renowned instrument from St. Stephan’s Cathedral in Passau, Bavaria (the world’s largest pipe organ) and she’d have it delivered to his room gift-wrapped.
Shay finally told everyone she was tired of tossing the conversation ball and she was going to just shut up and enjoy her samosas and curry.
After that people broke into duos and trios and talked about whatever the heck they wanted to. I stayed quiet (I don’t like talking with my mouth full) Shay stayed quiet because she was eating so much and so fast she didn’t have a chance to talk with her mouth full, and Johnny stayed quiet because he was busy with inner thoughts. I didn’t ask. I had a pretty fair idea what those thoughts were since they were identical to mine: translate that journal, find out what the boathouse had to do with Ignatz Jezek—if anything—and determine the identity of someone—sitting with us right now—who happened to be a killer.
My appetite fled the instant that concept tapped into my brain. A killer. It wasn’t Shay. It wasn’t Johnny.
If one discounted Veronika and Jozef—and while I was pretty sure neither had gone into a murderous rage and dumped Trina in the moat—I hadn’t taken a final faithfilled jeté all the way their direction, although I really did have to rule out Jozef since one cannot be suspicious of God—that narrowed killer down to Franz, Fritz, Mitchell, Corbin and Lily. My dinner companions.
I’d stopped eating but hadn’t stopped drinking the excellent beer which cooled down the curry, so I took another sip and pondered the possibilities.
Franz. From Vienna, spoke German and Czech. Displayed more interest in Mozart than one would have imagined coming from a good-looking actor primarily concerned about his latest movie project. Did he know about the flute that was rumored to possess magic powers? Did he have the temperament to coldly shove an elderly woman who had kindness oozing from her very person into a frozen moat of dirty water? Then push another frail lady down a set of stairs? Had he snuck into Kouzlo Noc before meeting me the other day and dispatched Fritz’s brother?
Fritz. From East Germany; spoke German and Czech. Loved music, so not surprising he’d be interested in Mozart and had heard the rumors about Ignatz flute through various musicians over the years. After all, it’s a great legend. He had that “nerdy” appearance that captivated Shay, and Shay is normally a surprisingly good judge of character so that was a plus for Fritz. Again, did he possess the traits of a killer? And would he have killed his own sibling over a legend?
Mitchell. From the U.S. Could he speak anything other than English? Probably. As a composer who had degrees in music cluttering his garret in Soho, he was bound to have studied German, Italian, French, and who knows what else as part of his studies in classical music. So, was it out of the realm of possibilities that he’d picked up a little Czech along the way? And, like Fritz, since he traveled in musical circles he could have heard the stories about the flute anywhere at anytime. He had a temper and he was argumentative, but that didn’t mean he would ever dispatch another human being to the next plane of existence.
Corbin. From everywhere. A linguist. Veronika had told him about the flute so he could search. Or, was that wrong? Had Veronika let him dig through St. John’s cemetery without giving him the correct information? He had occasional flashes of humor which endeared me to him but was also pretty damn stuffy at times. Which had nothing to do with murder. He had that scholarly air that exuded professionalism and “I’m above all this” but there are plenty of college professors who’ve gotten rid of rival academics through lethal means.
Lily. I really wished it were Lily. Charge her with murder, clap her in irons and cart her off to a women’s prison where she could perform Lady Macbeth for inmates every night at chowtime. But I was charitable and realistic enough to know that I felt this way because she was the spitting image of Hannah Hammerstein. Plus, I hadn’t liked her slander of Johnny that shifted to drooling over him when she found out he had a “name” in theatrical circles. I went through my very short list of reasons to label Lily the killer. She spoke Czech like a native. Duh. She was a native. She was a good actress so all her weeping and wailing over Trina could have simply been one whale of a good performance. She might have wheedled the story of Ignatz Jezek out of any of the male suspects and non-suspects (except Johnny. Mr. Gerard was not normally susceptible to wheedling—even from me.) The last question—was Lily capable of murder—netted the same answer as I’d determined from the others. Anything was possible.
I forced myself to perk up again and join the light-hearted conversation. Dessert had been served. That helped. It was a rice pudding with unidentifiable spices and I mentally added it to my list of “where can I get this when I’m back in Manhattan” food choices. So I ate, I had coffee, I chatted about tourist attractions throughout Europe. Once dinner was over, Johnny, Shay and I said our goodbyes and walked back to the hotel together.
“Abby, I’ll wait for you to pack a few things,” Johnny stated.
“Pack?” Shay’s jaw dropped.
“Yes, Ms. Martin,” I responded, “the man said pack. I told Johnny we’er going back to Kouzlo Noc tonight. This time I’m bringing at least two changes of clothes, a coat, a ton of make-up, boots—and dust jackets from Gothic romances I can substitute for any other ‘aha! the truth’ journals I find lying around.”
“Well, I’m coming, too. And while all that shifting of dust jackets and journals and packing of boots and cosmetics is well and good,” she stated, “Hell. The way this script is headed, what we really need to pack is one damn big gun.”
Trust Shay the pacifist to suggest it.
Chapter 33
Johnny, Shay and I stood outside of the back entrance of Kouzlo Noc. We’d made the trip from the hotel in under forty minutes, thanks to the nifty little rental Johnny had picked up. It flew, without a single skid, over what was left of icy roads. Nonetheless, it was close to eleven-thirty by the time we’d parked, then walked up the hill to the castle.
I was just about to pull the “Requiem” tapestry chimes when it hit me. “Won’t Veronika think it’s odd that we’ve shown up with our jammies and toothbrushes for another sleep-over? At a very not-so-social hour to come calling?”
Johnny was amused. “She’ll be fine with it. Hey, we have reasons. Excuses. Whatever you want to call them. We’re guarding Marta. I need to work on the mural since I haven’t been able to do much on it with all the rather intense events unfolding. You ladies never got to do your room-to-room surveillance to decide which scene goes where, so you figured why not just do it at night and get a feel for each room without a ton of people around?”
“I like it.” I pronounced. “Simple. Clean. Enough truth to satisfy Sister Mary Mendacity.”
Shay groaned. “All except for the last statement.”
“Huh?”
“Take a look. The crowd has arrived. Or as you so eloquently put it the other day—the wandering whores.’”
They had. Our five dinner companions were spilling out of two different vehicles. Corbin’ s Jeep and a cute little sports number that made me immediately consider taking up car- jacking. I wondered to whom it belonged. Then I realized that the wanderers were all hau
ling luggage out of that Jeep and cute little sports car and were obviously planning on staying at Kouzlo Noc along with the three of us. Lily led the way.
“Oh hell. Shay? Can I use my little quip about ‘hordes’ and… .”
“No! So far you and Lily have not come to blows, but if you make a crack using that not-so-nice term being a word that is way too phonetically similar, she’ll walk and I have no idea who’d replace her. Unless you want to play Constanze and then Mitchell will kill me since you’re an alto and he’s composed all these songs for her that are in coloratura soprano land. Plus the costumes won’t fit since you’re a foot shorter than she is.”
“You’re no fun.” I pouted.
“Oh, hush.”
By this time, Lily, Franz, Fritz, Mitchell and Corbin were at the door with us. All were smiling and being very chummy. I considered wiping a smile or two off a few faces by tossing in the grenade that someone in this group killed Trina Duskova. And why the hell they didn’t know that? Or they did know that, suspected one and all, and were wandering in hordes to be safe?
“Anyone pulled the, uh, pull yet?” asked Mitchell.
No one had. So he tugged and we were rewarded by hearing Mozart and his Kyrie.
As if the man had been waiting for hours for just this event, the doors opened to reveal Jozef Jezek. For a second he seemed slightly overwhelmed at the sight of eight people, all bearing overnight bags of one sort or another, calmly waiting underneath dragonheads to be given shelter at the castle. I prayed he’d ask why in Amadeus we were descending on Kouzlo Noc at this hour. I was primed and ready to hear the outrageous excuses. But Jozef simply smiled. I transferred my hope that Veronika would direct a tough inquiry to the group. The lies had to be delicious. At least Shay and Johnny and I had plausible reasons for spending the night. Well, they’d sounded that way when Johnny had outlined them for us.
Jozef did shoot a sharp look at me. He’d been expecting the original trio of Gerard, Martin and Fouchet to show up and was welcoming a chance to exchange information. I was dying to ask him about the journal (now safely tucked back in my bag with the dust jacket to Seduction of Countess Marissa snugly wrapped around it) and whether the reference to Ignatz was a major clue. We just needed some alone time.
Jozef politely ushered one and all inside and led us to the sitting room like a proper family butler keeping silent about family misdeeds. The room had been straightened up since I’d made my mad dash out of it this morning leaving my clothes strewn over the sofa and fireplace poker. The blankets had been neatly folded at some point and placed on a fragile chair near the fireplace. Relief. I had no plans to share a room (unless with Johnny) and the makeshift bed I’d put together last night had been very comfortable. Shay tossed her bag into a far corner then sank down on the sofa.
“I’m bunking with you, Abby,” she declared. “Lily and I had a marvelous time last night,” she smiled at Miss Lowe, “but I need to sleep and Abby needs to sleep so I figure we won’t keep each other up all night with scintillating conversation. We’ve been roommates for long enough now that we’re not scintillating much anymore.”
Sister Mary Mendacity would have chased Shay up, down and sideways and whapped her with a ruler a foot wide for all those fibs, but Lily didn’t seem to take offense.
“That’s just as well. I enjoyed talking with you too, Shay, but I need my sleep, and it will be nice to have the bedroom alone.”
She’d emphasized the word “alone” just enough to make it obvious that that was the last thing Miss Lowe desired, but I wasn’t sure who’d be the first male to challenge the statement by knocking on her door at midnight. The only men I could rule out with absolute certainty were Mitchell, unless he’d suddenly turned bi-sexual overnight and Johnny, who’d hopefully be sleeping with me albeit as a part of a platonic threesome since Shay’d made her plans to do the roommate thing.
I glared at both Lily and Shay. Staking out claims to bedrooms before we’d even been invited—hell- just barely given permission—to spend the night at all was really pretty rude. Shay winced and I knew she’d been too tired to realize what she was saying. She was now struggling to find a way to repair that particular faux pas so I spoke for her. “How is Marta? Shay and I have been so worried about her all day? Has she had a chance to eat anything? And is her head hurting less?”
Veronika beamed. Shay’s fall from grace and lack of courtesy was forgiven. Probably wasn’t even noticed. “Marta iss so much better this night. She hass taken soup and some bread. She says her head does not hurt like before. She iss sleeping now. Doctor from village gave her drops to rest. I tell her tomorrow how you ask. Oh! Abb-ee! She says early today how much grateful she iss for you riding to village to bring help.” She grabbed both of my hands and squeezed. “I am most grateful also. You haf save her life.”
The savior bit was kind of pushing my contribution to Marta’s recovery since she’d only suffered a broken wrist and a concussion but it was still nice to be appreciated for my bravery. I hugged Veronika, who made her “good-nights” then left, escorted by Jozef.
I started wondering about the Village of No Name. Did it really exist? Had it sprung up out of need in the blizzard and then disappeared like a Czech Brigadoon, only to reappear a hundred years from now when another desperate rider came dragging in begging for help for someone else injured at Kouzlo Noc?
Veronika didn’t even ask why all her houseguests from the horrible previous night had arrived on her doorstep to camp at the castle again. ‘Well, gee, Madam D., we all came for the great chow and even better séances.’ She merely smiled at everyone and announced that it was late and she was heading off to bed and if everyone wanted to take the same beds they’d had last night they were most welcome. Bless the woman; she’d even found time, while Marta lay recovering, to wash sheets. I’m lucky if I get to mine once a month.
Shay and I were the only folks who remained in the sitting room once Veronika had graciously issued that polite invitation to stay. No one seemed very interested in chatting, which was fine with me. I’d had enough chat for the last couple of days with these same people and I wasn’t up for any further life revelations, no matter how juicy and scandalous. I wasn’t thrilled when Johnny left, stating he needed to try and sleep for a change.
We’d barely changed into sweats (I’d been kidding about the pajamas) and arranged the bedding to our mutual satisfaction when the mantel clock struck midnight and we heard knocking.
“ I’m getting a bad feeling of déjà vu,” I muttered. “Are the dragons outside the door yapping or is someone tap, tap tapping at the chamber door?”
“I hate to say it, but we have another guest,” Shay growled.
“Who the heck is left to pop into this scene? The Klezmer Volny Rabin? The operatic troupe we saw doing Magic Flute? The Marionette Theater Company? Katya, the No Name Village eldress, wanting her folk dance costume back? Well, I left it in my hotel room in Prague so she can’t have it. Besides, she said I could keep it. I plan to wear it to my next audition.”
“Will you shut up? Come on, Abby, roust yourself out of bed—or floor. I’m not going alone.”
We threw blankets over our shoulders and headed for the back door. We opened it cautiously. And stood in sheer silent disbelief as Auraliah Lee stepped inside.
Chapter 34
I sighed. “I hate to ask this, but are we about to be witness to another evening of resurrecting the dead and lifting curses and blessing the tormented souls of the Duskova lineage? Because, honestly, if that’s the case, I’d just as soon opt out and, oh heck, scrub the floor in the north wing.”
“Oh, darlin’. No! Of course not. No more dead people tonight. Ah can’t do more than one big séance every couple of days. Just wears ma bones out.”
Aura Lee breezed in and headed straight to the sitting room. Shay and I followed like sleep-deprived sheep. Once inside this makeshift bedroom, our soul-saving psychic dropped the long black trench coat she’d favored this night o
ver last night’s cape. I blinked. Shay blinked. Then my breathing began to come in spurts and sweat began pouring down my spine in an effort not to imitate signature lines of internet postings and ‘roll on the floor laughing’.
Tonight’s ensemble was a fairy costume. Pink tutu over a white leotard with a pink bolero vest attempting—and failing—to hide Aura Lee’s ample bosom. Her wig was a multi-colored ‘fro topped by a silver tiara so huge it blocked any vision behind it. Her feet were encased in dark brown combat boots with pink bows at the tops. Her cosmetics looked like a cross between Nineteen Sixties Carnaby street models and Seattle Goth bands. The silver tiara resting between the bangs and the top of her head was so huge it blocked any vision behind it. I’d’ve had a migraine within seconds of attaching that thing. The fact that the tiara was bejeweled with rhinestones that encased twinkling lights was a plus. Great way to see at night without having to hold a flashlight. She kept waving a wand that had to be two feet in length, with an added six inch star at its peak, in every direction.
Aura Lee resembled one—no—make that all three fairies in Sleeping Beauty after the gals had spent a day at the mall and a dancewear store going out of business.
The happy medium was oblivious to the effect she was having on a stunned and hysterical Abby Fouchet. Which is to say she ignored any trace of snickers emanating from my mouth and nose.
She pulled a cigarette holder longer than one of the fireplace pokers (okay, that’s slightly exaggerated) out of an enormous tote bag, found a crumpled pack of cigarettes, pushed the only one that appeared intact into the holder, lit the cigarette, coughed and choked for three seconds, then threw the entire holder and cigarette into the fireplace. She giggled. “Ah just shouldn’t try ta smoke these nasty things. Ah keep hopin’ it’ll help me slim down some, but it just doesn’t seem to work. Perhaps I should try ta inhale?”
Aria in Ice Page 23