by Blake Pierce
“Then that’s an idea for you.” He nodded. “Safe travels.”
He headed off and she stood there for a moment, trying to orient herself with the streets so that she could walk back to her hotel. By now, the cries of Find the killer! from the vigil a block away had died down. Maybe the news was spreading that the killer had been caught.
Finding her direction, she headed across the street, this time, taking time to enjoy the sights of Vienna. She stopped at every statue, trying to discern their details in the darkness. She walked along the Wien River and breathed in the air, admiring the way the moonlight danced upon the water’s surface. She tried to feel at peace.
But no matter how she tried, she couldn’t stop thinking of the way that Dieter Hausman had looked at her when he was being handcuffed. He’d looked sad. Desperate.
Innocent?
Okay, now you’re going too far, Diana. Did you even hear a word the detective said? He had a motive. No alibi. Previous arrest record. You couldn’t find a more perfect killer, in all of Austria.
Shaking off the feeling that seemed to creep its way into her mind, she hurried back the rest of the way to the Hotel Beethoven. When she arrived, she expected to see Ugbodu waiting for her, behind a potted plant. But he was gone. She was truly free.
And it was time to leave.
In her hotel room, she grabbed her suitcase from the top of the closet and opened up her drawers, readying to fill it. Tomorrow, she’d check out of the Hotel Beethoven, leave the Music City behind, and take a train . . . somewhere. Maybe Spain. Maybe somewhere else. The world was her oyster.
But something about that made her feel sad. When she pulled out her itinerary and stared at the third-to-last item she’d written there for her Austria trip, she realized what it was.
Be moved to tears by beautiful music.
She stared at the words, remembering all the times she’d heard music during this trip. Beautiful music. Moving music. The type of music she’d learned to appreciate from her grandparents, and absolutely loved. It had all been so wonderful, but it hadn’t quite done the job.
Of course. It’s because you haven’t completed your bucket list item.
But maybe that was her own fault. Music was frivolous, like flowers. It existed for no other reason than to be beautiful. She’d had so much disappointment and heartbreak in her life. Maybe it had hardened her so much that music couldn’t do that to her anymore?
That was it. It had to have been. There had certainly been nothing wrong with all of that music. If she didn’t cry, it was because of her.
Oh, well, she thought. Maybe it’s just not meant to be.
Then she looked at the next items on her to-do list.
Forgive. Feel the calmness and clarity of letting go and Stand up for yourself!
Maybe she needed to stop beating herself up for not behaving in a way that was expected of her. Because really, though she was in her mid-fifties, all of this, this independence, was so new to her. She’d lived so long for others; she’d forgotten how to live for herself. She was the one who’d burdened herself with those unrealistic expectations of the woman she was supposed to be now. Perhaps it was time to shed those beliefs and be happy with who she was.
Maybe the person I need to forgive most is myself.
She picked up her phone and typed in a group text to her family: I appreciate you checking in with me and wanting me to be a part of your life. I’m sorry if I was short with you, but I’m trying to find myself. Just because I need that space doesn’t mean I don’t love you all more than words can say.
A moment later, she received a response from Bea: Okay, Mommy, I love you, too
She smiled, then finished packing her things and looked around the room. Maybe there had been no tears from beautiful melodies, but that was okay. It had been wonderful, nonetheless.
It was time to move on.
CHAPTER TWENTY FOUR
In the morning, Diana walked out to the balcony of her room and took one last look as the sun rose over the Wien. She smiled. Yes, forgiving and lowering her expectations for herself was the best thing she could do. Once she’d made that resolution, last night, she’d slept like a baby.
Turning back to her room, the gold-leaf wallpaper catching the morning sun, she couldn’t help but be in a bright and shiny mood. Goodbyes were always hard, but this felt like a good thing. A new beginning. Grabbing her bag and hoisting it over her shoulder, she took one last sip of her morning coffee and headed out.
As she emerged from the elevator, she saw a lanky young man, sweeping up in the common area. Immediately, she thought of Dieter Hausman. Young, with his whole life ahead of him. How could he have thrown it away like that by murdering Lukas Huber?
Maybe that was the reason it’d hit her so hard, and why immediately, when he was led away in handcuffs, she’d wanted to go home and hug her own kids. It was so senseless. And he’d been so talented. A prodigy, self-taught, and yet that good? What a waste.
Shaking off the sour thought, she went to the front of the hotel and the valet hailed her a cab. “Did you have a pleasant stay, Ma’am?” the young man said with a smile.
She nodded at him, again thinking of Dieter. Oh, stop it, Diana. Don’t overthink things. He’s guilty.
As she slid into the back of the cab, the driver looked over at her. Once again, it was a young man with acne on his face. His prominent Adam’s apple as he looked at her. “Guten Tag.”
“Guten Tag,” she repeated half-heartedly, hand on the door. She almost had the urge to pop out and take the next cab. Why was simply everyone reminding her of Dieter? She sat back and tried to ignore it. Soon, she’d be well on her way to Spain, and all this would be behind her. She hoped, at least. “The train station, please.”
The car took off, and Diana prepared herself for her last glimpses of the city of Vienna. Instead of marveling at the architecture and many monuments, her eyes caught on a young man, standing with his skateboard, on the corner. He had dark, floppy hair, falling in his face, much like Dieter.
Diana, stop already.
But by the time she arrived at the train station, she was sure she was going insane. She’d seen about ten different boys that really, looked nothing like the boy she’d accused of murder, and yet, she couldn’t help feeling that something was wrong.
As she climbed out of the cab and headed for the station doors, she mentally ran through the details of the case. He’d acted guilty. He’d accosted her. He’d looked insane and out of control. He’d chased after her, screaming at her not to tell. He’d had a motive. He’d had the opportunity. He didn’t have an alibi.
What else could she possibly want? Open and shut case, she thought. Even Detective Moser seemed convinced.
Diana went to the ticket office and stood in the line, still thinking. But he’d worked at Musikverein since he was sixteen. Lukas Huber had been there for years, too. Why did Dieter choose now to murder him? He could’ve done it any time before then . . .
She was startled from her thoughts by someone clearing his throat. She blinked and saw the man at the ticket counter, waiting for her expectantly.
“Oh, I’m sorry. A ticket to Spain.”
He rolled his eyes. “Barcelona, Madrid, Seville . . .?”
“Oh, um . . .” She hadn’t really thought that far into it. Last night, she’d just settled on Spain, but strangely, she hadn’t planned much more than that. It was odd, considering she was someone who’d originally planned everything to the letter, dragging along her massive itinerary. “You know, I don’t know.”
He motioned for her to move aside. “Come back when you decide.”
She stepped away and another customer approached the ticket counter, for a fare to Salzburg. Diana, feeling silly, grabbed her phone and paged through it, looking for a map of Spain. She couldn’t remember the name of the town Detective Moser had talked about. It had started with a B, hadn’t it?
When the man had gotten his ticket to Salzburg, Diana poked
her head in. “Do you know of a town in Spain, on the beach, that starts with a B?”
He stared at her for just long enough for her to feel woefully inadequate. “No.”
“Fine. Could I just have a ticket to Barcelona, then?” She’d figure out the connecting train to take, later.
He sighed. “Vienna to Zurich to Barcelona,” he said. “That will be ninety-six euros.”
She handed over the cash. “Thank you. How long is the trip?”
“Ten hours to Zurich, another ten hours to Barcelona. You are lucky. This ticket is the last one; and the train is already here, leaving in a moment.” He pointed behind her. “Right that way.”
“All right. Thank you.” She scooped up the ticket. As she spun, she saw another kid, who was blonde, and far too young to be Dieter, and yet she thought of him, anyway. Twenty hours. Plenty of time to wallow in doubt over whether I made a mistake.
She pressed her lips together, willing the thought away as she headed toward the trains.
For the last time, Diana! You did not make a mistake!
The red bullet train was waiting as she walked onto the concourse, and people were boarding. She showed her ticket to a conductor before she boarded. “Is there assigned seating?”
He nodded and pointed toward the back of the train. “Your seat can be found on the second car. Safe travels.”
She headed toward the next car and climbed the steps into the train. Walking down the narrow aisle, she smiled. The trains in Europe were nothing like the ones in New York. There was plenty of room to stretch oneself out in, the chairs were padded and comfortable, there was a large table to set her things down on, and the picture window would provide a lovely view of the scenery for the next twenty-hours. She tried to be enthusiastic and excited about the possibilities, but her thoughts kept sinking into despair.
Come on, Diana. This is why you came to Europe to begin with. You’ll feel better when you’re looking at the Alps from the train.
Following the portly old man in front of her, she checked the seat numbers as she moved along the aisle, and checked them again, looking for 27A.
Before she even got to it, she knew something was wrong. She counted forward, 23, 24, 25, 26 . . . and frowned.
There was a young, red-headed woman, sitting in her seat, staring dreamily out the window.
Diana stopped in front of her, shifting awkwardly as she let the person behind her pass through. The woman must’ve sensed her presence, because she blinked and turned to her, a question on her face.
“I’m sorry,” Diana said kindly, showing her the ticket. “You appear to be in my seat.”
“I don’t think so,” she said in a very French accent, reaching into her pocket and producing her ticket. “Twenty-seven, oui?”
“Yes,” Diana said, squinting to see the number on her ticket. “But yours says B. This is A.”
The woman’s eyes went wide. “It is?” She moved her elbow to reveal the letter. “Oh, excuse-moi.”
“Honest mistake!” Diana laughed as she pushed out of her seat and grabbed her things. “Believe me, half the time on this trip, I’ve been in the wrong place at the wrong time, so I understand!”
The woman laughed, too, as she pushed her bag across the aisle, to the correct seat. “It’s totally my fault, you see. I’m not good with details like that. I used to rely on my boyfriend to point me in the right direction. It’s my first time travelling alone. It’s a wonder I haven’t gotten hopelessly lost yet!”
“Oh? You are headed to Zurich, yes?” Diana asked.
She nodded as she collapsed into her seat. “I think I did get on the right train, at least. It has been a long trip, but that much, I’m sure about.”
“Good! Just making sure!” Diana laughed. “So you’re travelling alone, yes?”
“Oh, yes. First time. Just needed to get away from everyone and everything.”
“Me too,” Diana said, smiling. Maybe she’d have someone to talk to, at least for the Zurich leg, which would make the trip go by a little faster. “It’s daunting though, isn’t it? I’m always afraid of forgetting something. You have no one else to rely on but yourself. My ex-husband used to be there to pick up for me if I ever forgot anything. But now, my conscience is constantly tickling me, telling me to look back, in case I left something behind!”
“Yes! I know. I keep doing that, too.” The woman shrugged. “But I have to say, travelling alone does have its benefits. You get to see whatever you want, whenever you want to!”
“That’s so true. My ex-husband wouldn’t have liked to do most of the things I did.”
“Right? I love my boyfriend, but he’s not interested in looking at museums. I got to tour every museum in town!”
“You must’ve loved that.”
“Oh, I did. It was a wonderful trip. Not to mention, this train is sold out. My boyfriend and I would never have been able to get seats together. But I was able to get this seat, last-minute, when my plans changed. Getting single seats is much easier.”
“Sold out, really? I didn’t even know,” Diana said, glad that she’d made the decision to take the ticket when she did. And that was true. She probably wouldn’t have gotten to sit at Musikverein if she’d been with someone else. She’d only gotten that coveted seat because that woman, Leonie Winkler, had to cancel because she couldn’t find babysitting. What a shame it would’ve been if she’d had to worry about finding a seat for . . .
Suddenly she straightened. Something about that tickled at her mind.
Leonie Winkler couldn’t attend Lukas Huber’s performance because she’d been unable to get a sitter. At the time, Diana hadn’t thought much about it. She’d assumed she’d be going with a husband. But there’d only been one seat. So . . . had she planned on going alone?
Diana sat back, thinking. Certainly, there were plenty of single mothers in the world. But with her wealth, and how well put-together she was, Diana hadn’t doubted that she was an aristocrat. She’d taken for granted that she had a husband, and a successful one, maybe a doctor or a politician. Someone who had the influence to secure such a great seat at Musikverien.
But a woman like that, not being able to find a sitter? Didn’t wealthy women like that have live-in nannies?
Something struck in Diana’s mind, something Pia Zimmerman had said: Every performance, Lukas always has a certain number of seats in the front, set aside. For his many women. But he’s never serious about any of them. Usually.
Also, Diana recollected how distant she’d been about discussing her children. Diana had spoken more about her grown children than Leonie had. It was almost as if . . . as if . . .
As if they didn’t exist.
Outside, the conductor was calling for the last few straggling passengers to climb aboard. As he did, another thing Pia has said hit Diana, straight between the eyes. He had a definite type, though. Gorgeous. Thin. Big boobs.
Which described the beautiful Leonie Winkler to a tee. And not only that . . .
She thought of the necklace the woman had been wearing. The amber and silver striped, circular pendant.
Jupiter. Not the god. The planet.
“Oh, my gosh,” Diana whispered under her breath, rising to her feet.
“Is everything all right?” the French woman said in concern.
“No,” she said, gathering up her things. “But I know a way to fix it. I’ve got to get off this train!”
She rushed for the door and climbed down the stairs as fast as she could. Rushing across the concourse, she hurried to hail a cab.
CHAPTER TWENTY FIVE
Leonie Winkler. Leonie Winkler. Leonie Winkler.
The name repeated in Diana’s head as she stood there, waiting for a cab. The second it pulled up and she slid inside, she cursed herself for being so impulsive. Diana. Don’t be silly. You can’t just tell the driver “Take me to Leonie Winkler!”
“Hello,” she said to the driver. “Uh . . . can we just drive around a little? I’m looking
for someone and I’m not sure where to find her.”
“All right,” the driver, an old man, said after a moment, heading off from the curb.
She watched the same sights she’d seen all week, rushing by her in a blur, her mind spiraling through the possibilities.
Suddenly, an idea struck her. When you’ve lost something, you always return to the last place you had it. “Oh! I know. Café Johann Strauss, please.”
“Certainly,” he said kindly. “First time in the city?”
“Actually . . . I’ve been here a few days. I was just about to leave, but I forgot something.”
“Oh . . .” He seemed perplexed. “I’m assuming what you forgot must be very dear to you, then, if you’re in such a rush?”
Diana shook her head. “I think she’s a murderer.”
“What?” He stared at her a beat too long in the rear-view mirror, so that he nearly rear-ended the car in front of him.
She shook her head and fisted her hands at her sides, willing the cab to go around the traffic. If this hunch was right, then that meant her intuition had been correct. Poor Dieter was innocent. “Forget it. If you could hurry, please?”
“I’ll do my best, but the traffic is pretty terrible, this time of day,” he said, turning the wheel to go around the slow car and punching the gas. Her head slammed back against the seat back as the car surged forward.
Meanwhile, she jabbed Leonie Winkler Vienna into the search bar on her phone. The internet brought up very little. There was a photo of a Leonie Winkler, but she was over ninety, and when Diana tapped on it, she realized it was an obituary. There was nothing about the young, beautiful woman Diana had met in the café. No photograph. No address. Had she used a fake name? Had the whole thing been a ruse?
And if so . . . why?
Then she picked up her phone and called the detective. The phone went right to voicemail. Sighing, the second she heard the beep, she said, “Detective Moser. I had an idea. It’s Diana, by the way. I have a feeling Dieter Hausman might be innocent. I’ll call you when I know more. Thanks.”