by Vreni Fox
“Oh yeah, that. Yeah, that’s probably true. Probably look suspicious.”
“So you want to go?”
“A singles’ cruise, eh?” Conrad leaned back in his chair and considered it. The Cubeb berries must have been working wonders because he didn’t immediately reject the idea out of hand.
“Five hundred single women? Yeah, I’ll do it.”
Score! I couldn’t believe how easy that way. Finally, something was going my way.
“Okay, you want to go by your place and pack? Then you can leave tomorrow. You can stay here until then, finish that quiche.”
Conrad left on his bike, presumably to go throw the five identical T shirts and two pairs of jeans that he owned into his travel bag.
It was such a relief to me, him just agreeing to leave instead of fighting. I could at least cross one of my worries off of my list. I tidied up from breakfast and headed into my kitchen to begin my prep for the day.
I had a handful of custom cake orders, plus my standard daily fair of breakfast pastries to prepare. I baked my croissants, muffins, scones and such fresh every single day and I liked to have a nice selection ready before I opened my door.
All in all, it was about an hour and a half of work. Good thing that I was a morning person. I liked to wake up with the sun every day.
Based on what I could see from the window in my kitchen, it was shaping up to be a beautiful, sunny day. I went to open the front door to check the temperature and…
What the hell was that?
Conrad’s bike had moved from it’s parking space in front of my house about five meters up the street to a parking space in front of my neighbor Mitzi’s house.
I felt a pit in my stomach. I normally wouldn’t knock on someone’s door at seven in the morning, but I locked my front door and marched myself over to Mitzi.
I rang the bell and heard Rogue barking in response.
It took Mitzi a minute to get to the door but she answered wearing a bathrobe and her slippers.
“Hey, Mitzi, sorry to bother you, but have you seen my Uncle Conrad? He left my place to pick up some stuff about two hours ago and he hasn’t returned.”
“You don’t need to go hunting me down,” Conrad answered from the stairs behind Mitzi.
I glanced up and found my uncle, wearing nothing but his underwear.
Oh no.
“I don’t need to ride a boat up and down the Rhine. I had everything I need right in front of me. I don’t know why I couldn’t see it before, but now that I’ve come to my senses I’m not going anywhere. I saw my Mitzi out picking up her newspaper this morning, bathed in the morning light, and I knew. This is where I need to be.”
“But Conrad,” I tried to argue, “what about the cruise? There’s a seafood buffet...”
Oh no, I just kept repeating in my head over and over. The Cubeb berries had worked all too well. Conrad must have just immediately bedded down with the first woman he encountered.
“Really, Brunhilde, shame on you,” Mitzi interjected. “You know how I feel about Conrad. Why would you try to get between us? I thought that you were my friend. Just because things are going nowhere between you and that cop doesn’t mean that you need to destroy other peoples’ happiness.”
And with that, she shut the door. I stood on her front porch staring at the closed door, wondering if there was anything that I could do for a minute before giving up and returning to my bakery. Maybe Pudding had an idea.
I got back to my place and realized that I had forgotten to lock the door. That was funny. I never forgot to lock the door.
I entered and everything looked the same, so I figured that I might as well get to work, since I didn’t know what else to do. I folded butter into flour, kneaded dough, and tried to focus on the things I loved for a while in order to clear my head.
Nothing was going right for me, but I wasn’t going to get anywhere feeling sorry for myself. I needed to calm down and regroup my thoughts, then address my problems in a more systematic manner. I’d make a list of what those problems were, then brainstorm possible solutions.
I needed to make a little something that would bring me peace and tranquility so that I was able to focus. I thought about flavor profiles… chocolate pistachio, lemon poppy, maybe cherry almond, and grabbed my recipe book.
Then I saw it. The book was gone. My family recipe book that had been passed down to me from countless generations had disappeared into thin air.
Panic set in. I raced around my kitchen and it was nowhere to be seen. I ran upstairs and checked my bedroom. In my heart, I knew it wouldn’t. I never took the book out of the kitchen. It was old and heavy and I had a really nice stand for it.
The book was definitely gone. Tears spilled down my face and I sobbed openly.
What’s the matter? Pudding came trotting in from the garden.
“The recipe book,” I managed to choke out. “It’s gone.”
What do you mean the recipe book is gone? Pudding expressed his shock. He jumped up on the counter and saw the empty stand. What happened?
I couldn’t control my crying. I could barely breathe through my tears and I thought that I might pass out, or maybe even my heart would give out.
I’m sorry, Brunhilde, Pudding tried to comfort me with genuine sympathy.
He knew what the recipe book meant to me. It wasn’t just a recipe book. It was the only tiny piece of my family history that I was able to take part in.
I was terrible at magic and I knew it. I very rarely even tried any more complicated magic, like astral projection or divination, and when I did, I messed it up. I wasn’t naturally a very powerful witch, and, though I didn’t like to think of it this way, I wasn’t a very good student either.
The recipe book, though, that was a different story. I was proficient at herbal and plant magic. Good, even. Maybe better than most in Drachenfels. I was passionate about creating things for my neighbors: things that calmed them, or motivated them, things that brought them professional or romantic success. I made things that made my neighbors’ lives better, and I loved doing that.
Now, though, my only treasure was gone. My only talent was gone. My only contribution to my community was gone.
I was absolutely beside myself. How could I have let this happen? I was only out for about ten minutes.
I knew in my heart that my book was stolen. But who would take it? And what to do?
I immediately thought of calling Horst. That was what one did when one was robbed, right?
Then I paused. Would he take me seriously? There wasn’t any proof around the Zuckerfee that my book was actually stolen. I had a reputation as a bit of a scatterbrain.
Also, I was embarrassed to admit it, but I had a history of contacting Horst for ridiculous reasons. Sometimes I just wanted to see him, and I generally found that the easiest way to make that happen was to report a petty crime.
If I did report my missing recipe book, it wouldn’t be the first time I reported a kitchen item missing. It was entirely possible that Horst would assume that my missing recipe book went the way of my missing flour sifter or my missing Christmas apron.
After all, there was no way for Horst to understand just how valuable that recipe book really was. Plus, he was in the middle of a murder investigation. He probably had no time to track down what, to him, was probably just an old cookbook.
I was going to have to find the book myself.
Chapter Twenty-Four
As if things weren’t bad enough, it was time for the shop to open. I knew that I was in a bad place, because I usually loved selling my pastries but instead I was feeling like I should just close for the day. I just wanted to crawl into my bed and feel sorry for myself, maybe with some snacks and some escapist movies. Maybe for several days.
Of course I couldn’t do that. Even if I was going to leave my breakfast and lunch crew high and dry, I had custom orders to think about. I might have been feeling down, but I wasn’t about to deprive anyone of a
birthday cake.
People came in for their coffees and danish, juices and croissants, teas and muffins, and I tried not to let my bad attitude shine through. I served everyone with a smile, making small talk and wishing everyone a good day. There was no need for me to ruin everyone else’s morning.
Nevertheless, the more I thought about my book, the angrier I got. I went from despondent to absolutely furious. I just kept replaying the scene from this morning over and over again in my head, when I discovered that my book was gone.
How dare someone take that book from me? How dare someone violate my space?
That book was the most precious thing I owned, and it was practically useless to anyone else. Whoever took it was cruel, selfish, and petty. I was already struggling with the investigation. What was even the point of taking my book and adding insult to injury?
I could only assume that it was the same person who was trying to frame me for murder.
As luck would have it, I didn’t need to call Horst. He came in that morning to get a cupcake and some coffee.
“What have you got for me today, Hildi,” he glanced over my pastry case. “Oh, I know. I’ll take the chocolate Guinness. That looks rich. Is that caramel frosting?”
“It is,” I packed his cupcake into a little box. “But Horst,” I leaned in to speak to him discreetly over the counter so that none of the other customers could hear. “I have to talk to you about something serious.”
“Serious?” Horst looked concerned. “Is it about the case? If yes, we shouldn’t do this here.”
“Yes,” I answered immediately. “No. Well, I don’t know. The thing is,” I paused for a minute to collect myself so that I didn’t start crying again, “someone stole my family recipe book. I left the store for ten minutes this morning to talk to Mitzi and during that time someone came in and stole my book. It was over a hundred years old and contained all of my secret family recipes.”
I didn’t know how else to explain the book’s importance to him in a way he could understand.
“Someone stole your cookbook?” Horst looked surprised. “Really? So now you don’t have the recipes for your cakes anymore?”
“Something like that,” I nodded.
“Do you have any idea who it could have been? I know that you restaurant owners are very protective over your recipes. I saw a documentary about it. It’s top secret information. Do you have any competitors in town? Anyone opening up a new bakery maybe?”
“I don’t think so, Horst. I’m not entirely sure it was stolen by someone who wanted my recipe for Angel Food.”
“Could it have been Natter?” Horst ignored me and continued following his own train of thought. “Maybe she wants to get rid of you and hire her own in house pastry guy.”
“I don’t know, Horst, she doesn’t really strike me as the breaking and entering type. Also I think she already has several years’ professional training as a pastry chef. She went to a fancy cooking school.”
“You never know.”
“True. Anyhow, could you please file a report or something? And I don’t know how you investigate something like this, but it’s really important to me. I need to get that book back intact. It’s kind of fragile, since it’s so old.”
“Sure, Hildi, no problem. Of course I’ll help you.”
I wasn’t expecting him to be so agreeable to helping me find my book, but I wasn’t complaining. I did not have high hopes that he’d be returning my book any time soon, but his enthusiasm certainly didn’t hurt.
Unfortunately, my visit from Horst was the high point of my day. From that point on, believe it or not, things got worse. Much worse.
First an older lady from one of the nearby towns came by to talk about her custom order. She’d put in an order for a three layer death by chocolate cake with fresh strawberries for her thirtieth anniversary party.
It was a big order; that’s an expensive cake. I’d also already ordered extra fine chocolate for the filling and ganache.
“About the cake,” the lady started as she reached the counter. “I’m terribly sorry, dear, but I’m going to have to cancel.”
“Really?” I was shocked. “My goodness, that’s really too bad. Is everything alright?”
Petty as it was, I was hoping that she was about to tell me that the party was cancelled. I really did not want to find out that my reputation as a potential poisoner was spreading all over Bavaria.
“Oh, it’s fine. We’re just… trying to cut out carbs. You know. We’re getting older and all that. Need to start thinking about healthy living. I hope it’s no trouble for you.”
“None at all,” I lied as I cancelled the order. There was no way in hell this woman was cancelling her anniversary cake because she and her two hundred friends were going low carb.
The more the day wore on, the more my worst fears were confirmed.
A mother cancelled her son’s birthday cake because he had suddenly developed diabetes. Another woman cancelled a baby shower cake because she found out at the last second that the mother to be was celiac. A man cancelled a cake for his office because someone was allergic to eggs.
Suddenly every single person in Bavaria had stringent dietary restrictions that prevented them from enjoying cake of any kind.
I felt like it was just one blow after another. Conrad was still in danger, my best friend Mitzi thought that I was trying to impede her love life, my family recipe book was gone, and my business was going to go broke.
Dealing with the financial aspects of the Zuckerfee was just about the last thing on Earth that I wanted to take care of. It wasn’t optional though. If I didn’t keep on top of things like my income and accounting, the Zuckerfee would go bankrupt and we’d lose our home. Then who would take care of Heinrich?
The day went on and I just got more and more angry. By the time I was closing up shop, I could accurately describe myself as fighting mad.
“Okay, Pudding, this isn’t working. We have to do something.”
What are we doing?
Pudding usually was wary of my plans, but things were going so wrong that at this point even he was on board.
“Our suspects. Who are they?”
Well, we’ve got creep photographer. He’s suspect number one, and even if he didn’t commit the murder, he might have information about who did. We have Eno Saputra, who had motive but doesn’t seem very guilty. We have Detlef Mauer, who also seems like a strong possibility but I don’t think you should try to confront that guy in person. And we’ve got the murder suspect team of our lovely Mayor and her mysterious, possibly demonic, lover Viktor Vega. I don’t think you can confront them directly either unless you want the Mayor to throw you in a hot spring.
“Then we’ve got a few random dark horses, and of course there’s always the possibility that it was a complete stranger.”
Right.
“I have to do something though. I can’t sit around any longer and watch my life fall apart before my very eyes. At this point, even if I don’t go to prison, I’m going to go broke and we’re going to lose our home. I have to put a stop to this. Prove that I’m innocent.”
Not to mention, if the murderer was still hanging around Drachenfels, that meant that everyone in town was still in danger. We still didn’t know for sure why Mandy Unterwegs was murdered. Who was to say that this killer wouldn’t attack more people?
“I’m just going to confront that photographer.”
Really? Are you sure he’s guilty?
“Not one hundred percent. But I have a strong feeling that he is, or else he has more information that he’s not sharing. Plus, you’re right. I can’t confront Detlef or Vega alone. I’m not crazy.”
How are you going to do it?
“I’m just going to show up at his room. I don’t think he goes out at night. Not to mention, the Hotel is a relatively public place. Even inside of his room, I’ll be safe. I can just scream if he does anything weird.”
I’m not so sure about that. Maybe
you should talk to Horst.
“Horst’s hands are tied. He already told us; he can’t get in there without a warrant, and he can’t get a warrant. We can’t just sit around and wait for some lucky break. It’s not working. We’re drowning. I can’t even guess what disaster is coming next. And what about Conrad? He’s not safe. I need to act.”
I see your point, but what do you think is even going to happen? You’re going to show up in this guy’s room, ask him if he murdered his girlfriend and tried to frame you, and somehow get a complete confession? Like in a movie?
“No, I don’t think that. I’m just going to put some pressure on him. Maybe he’ll crack. Maybe he feels guilty. He obviously had some feelings for her. Or at least maybe he can share some more information with me.”
I just want to state for the record, Brunhilde, I think this is a bad idea.
“I know you do. But I have to do it.”
Well can we at least compromise? Can you please just call Horst and tell him what you’re doing?
“Fine. I’ll tell him, but I’m not asking him.”
Deal.
I dialed Horst’s cel. For the first time in my life, I hoped that I went straight to voicemail.
Score. Horst’s answering service picked up.
“Hi, this is Officer Horst. I can’t come to the phone right now. Leave your name and number and I’ll get back to you as soon as possible. If this is an emergency call, please dial the police emergency line at one one zero. Thanks. Have a good one.”
“Hi Horst, it’s me. I was just calling to let you know that I’m pretty sure that I figured out who killed Mandy Unterwegs. It’s her photographer, Moritz Mahler. I know that you can’t move on him without a warrant, so I’m going to his place to confront him now. I’ll call you back when I get the proof you need. You can thank me later. Oh,” I remembered at the last second, “he probably stole my book too, so I’m going to get that back. Anyhow, thanks, bye.”
And with that, I was on my way.
Chapter Twenty-Five