Veronika, Jozef, Shay, Johnny and I returned to the house. We didn’t even bother to conduct post mortems on what had happened. Exhaustion overwhelmed. We’d been struck down in our prime. The next—the only—order of business had been sleep.
So this morning, Shay took center stage and recounted the night’s events to a captive audience in the sitting room, who rather warily sipped hot chocolate and munched on cinnamon rolls. I had no idea when the pastries had been made. I could only assume Veronika and Marta had gotten about two hours sleep and headed for the kitchen early to work their own magic.
Shay craftily skimmed over any mention of my other-wordly skills in hearing Ignatz’ flute as she explained how the clues led to finding the instrument in the wind chimes.
Franz got curious. “Did the book that Jozef found contain anything about Ignatz and the flute? Or his death? Who wrote this second book? Did it tell you where the flute was hidden? How did you know otherwise?”
Jozef stayed honest yet managed skirt the issue of clues since only he, Johnny and Shay knew Ignatz had been playing the flute for me. “That second journal was indeed written by Ignatz Jezek. That much is true. He explains that he poured his soul into crafting the flute and that he fears for his life while under the roof of Milos Duskova. Milos was a greedy man who believed with all his mind and heart that the flute was an alchemist’s dream. It would turn metal to gold. Ignatz, in the last entry of the journal only says that he has hidden the flute because he will be murdered if Milos steals the flute.”
Veronika choked back tears. “I am responsible. I bring Corbin Lerner here. He iss distant cousin of that branch of Duskova. Milos, my ancestor. Another killer. I am so ashamed.”
“Wait” I interrupted. “Are you saying you brought Corbin here to find the flute?”
She looked horrified. “No, no! I bring here to help with—how you say—identification—of dead in St. John Cemetery. I did not know he knew about flute or what evil man he is. I did not know he would kill my sister and try to kill others and me and you.”
Jozef patted her hand. “You are not at fault for Corbin’s wickedness, Veronika. And you also listened to me and brought Johnny to do the mural. That helped keep a balance.”
“You’d met Johnny before?” I asked.
“Oh yes. He worked with me in the bookstore those few weeks he was filming his daytime drama. Sweet boy. I love his show. Yolanda is one of my favorite people and I knew she would persuade Veronika to bring Johnny to Kouzlo Noc.” He smiled at Veronika. “I did not mean to interrupt you. Please, tell Abby what you think happened?”
Veronika continued, “We are of belief that centuries ago Milos was angry when flute is not with Ignatz and he throws him out of window in north wing.” She paused. “I think that room needs redecorating?”
I couldn’t look at Shay. If I did we’d both lose it and I, for one, was sure Veronika hadn’t intended to be funny.
Veronika added, “We find other journal by my grandfather, Eduard, who says he hass theory that Ignatz is buried under boathouse. We look today and if we find him we will gif him Christian burial in the good cemetery.”
I wondered whom “we” meant. I had a definite bond with Ignatz Jezek, whom I now felt certain was resting in peace since his flute had been discovered by people who wanted only to keep it as a family heirloom instead of test its powers. I had no desire to go on a grave-digging expedition. Since Corbin, the resident gravedigger, was in custody in the village of St. Agnes Crossing, I assumed Jozef would supervise the project, with Franz, Fritz, Mitchell and Johnny getting to perform the actual labor.
Johnny. He hadn’t joined us for breakfast. It was now eleven in the morning and I was getting worried. Had Corbin coshed him over the head harder than we’d thought? Was he now writhing in pain with a severe concussion—or worse?
Jozef caught me glancing at the door for the sixteenth time in two minutes. He rose, went into the ballroom, then returned moments later with a box. He handed it to me. “I am so sorry. I was supposed to give this to you an hour ago when you awoke.”
Inside the box lay a cute little “stuffie”—a model of a przewalski, the miniature horses Johnny had told me he tended at the Prague Zoo in his guise as Gregory Noble. The horse was dressed in Eighteenth Century garb, including a waistcoat, ruffled shirt and a wig that bore a striking resemblance to one that Mozart wore that’s been depicted in hundreds of different images. And the horsy came with a prop—a small harpsichord nestled against its hooves. A tiny white handkerchief had been tucked into a pocket of the waistcoat. Embroidered in red was the word, “Amadeus.” Now that indeed was sweet.
I held the horse up so all assembled could see. Jozef gestured toward the tiny harpsichord. “Johnny said ‘Tell Abby to ‘lift the lid.’”
I did. There was a rolled up note resting on the strings. I unfolded it. My darling St. Agnes. Had to rush off. Two phone calls in less than ten minutes early this morning and a major rush to the airport. The South Sarasota Retirees called to tell me they’re moving up their production of Magic Flute so I’m needed now before Yolanda blackmails me into heading to Alaska for a Gregory Noble stint as an ice road trucker catching igloo smugglers or polar bears.
Gone? Well, hell. I continued reading.
You were sleeping the sleep of the righteous so I didn’t want to wake you—don’t be ticked. You’ve have a rough week. And good news! Second call was Yolanda. She says fans are clamoring for more Abby Fouchet. So “Vanessas Manilow” is back Endless Time- probably in the fall. The’why’ of Vanessa’s absence? She’s been guiding tourists up Mt. Elbrus in Russia. Vanessa will return to run for as a state representative from Staten Island (and no, darlin’ I have no clue what climbing mountains has to do with running for office.) Yolanda specifically requested a politican with chestnut and green hair.
See you in a month. All my love,
Johnny
Aria in Ice Page 26