Murder (and Baklava) (A European Voyage Cozy Mystery—Book 1)

by Blake Pierce

  She picked up the dog and sat down on her bed. Setting Reginald beside her, she started to think over her situation.

  “What’s going on, exactly?” she asked herself aloud.

  The dog let out a low rumbling sound, as if he was curious himself. She looked Sir Reginald in the eyes.

  “The Alezredes says he suspects foul play—concerning Mrs. Klimowski’s death, I mean.”

  The dog tilted his head as if he were considering whether he agreed or not.

  “I actually got that feeling right after I found her,” London said. “Somehow I couldn’t quite believe she died of natural causes. I’m not sure why I felt that way. Maybe it had something to do with how that pendant wound up in her purse. But that doesn’t really make any sense, does it? Why would anybody kill somebody in order to steal something, then leave it behind like that?”

  Scratching Sir Reginald under the chin, London said, “Anyway, Borsos wouldn’t say why he thought it was foul play. And he wouldn’t say how Mrs. Klimowski was supposedly killed. Was she poisoned? If so, does he think she was poisoned in the restaurant? I don’t see how that was possible. She might have had some soup, but we all had that. She just took some of her medicine pills with water, but others certainly drank water too. It’s pretty ridiculous to think she might have poisoned herself.”

  London thought for a moment.

  “And why is Borsos so suspicious of our group, anyway? Doesn’t he suspect that it might be someone who lives right here in Gyor? Now that I think of it, couldn’t it have been that waiter named István? Couldn’t he have put something in Mrs. Klimowski’s water or her soup? Maybe the Alezredes has already thought of him. Why do you think he’s being so secretive, anyway?”

  Sir Reginald let out a little yap as if the answer was obvious.

  “Yes, it’s procedure, I suppose,” London said. “He’s going to be asking some of us a lot of questions, and he’d rather not tip us off as to what kinds of answers he might be looking for. Still, I really don’t like this situation.”

  She almost thought she saw Reginald nod in agreement.

  “And I wouldn’t want this to get around but … I don’t like Alezredes Borsos. I don’t like him at all. He strikes me as arrogant and way too self-confident. I’m not even sure he knows what he’s doing. You met him yesterday. What do think of him?”

  The dog didn’t react at all this time.

  Of course not, London thought. He doesn’t have any idea what I’m talking about.

  Still, it felt good to have some kind of sentient being to share her thoughts with.

  “‘Hamarosan megtudjuk,’ he keeps saying. ‘In good time.’ As if he’s got the case solved already, and he’ll tell us who the killer is when he’s gathered up enough evidence and feels good and ready.”

  Before she could think through this dawning realization, her phone rang. To her alarm she saw that the call was from Jeremy Lapham himself.

  Oh, no, she thought.

  This is going to be very bad.

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  London had never before heard her name spoken with such obvious vexation.

  Even over the phone, “Hello, London Rose” sounded more like a rumble of annoyance than a greeting.

  The CEO’s displeasure came through loud and clear, all the way from New York City to the Nachtmusik docked in Hungary.

  “Hello, sir,” she replied nervously. “How—how are you?”

  “Rather distressed, I’m afraid. And this is hardly a friendly social call. Captain Hays contacted me last night with some extremely upsetting news.”

  London swallowed hard.

  “Yes, sir,” she said. “I’m afraid I know what it was about, sir.”

  “So is it true? Did a client of ours die on your watch?”

  The words your watch felt like a punch in London’s gut.

  “I—I suppose you could say that, sir.”

  “And was there nothing at all you could have done about it?”

  “I’m afraid not, Mr. Lapham.”

  She heard the CEO let out a dissatisfied groan.

  “Well, I suppose that might be the case,” he said. “The captain seems to think you notified the appropriate authorities.”

  His voice trailed off. Then he muttered, as though making the case for London’s competence, “After all, I understand that the poor woman was elderly and a bit frail. And it seems that she did die from natural causes.”

  London felt a wave of panic.

  Things are about to get even worse, she realized.

  As of last night, there had been good reason to believe that Mrs. Klimowski had died from natural causes. But the captain apparently hadn’t had a chance to talk to Mr. Lapham again since the alezredes had come on board with direr news.

  And now here he was on the phone, waiting for London’s next words. So it was up to her to break that news to him.

  “Mr. Lapham, I’m sorry to say …”

  “Well?”

  “Sir, the captain hasn’t had a chance to inform you this morning …”

  “Yes, yes, what now?”

  “The Gyor police have just told us they don’t think that Mrs. Klimowski died from natural causes. They think it was … foul play.”

  She heard the CEO gasp.

  “You can’t mean that our passenger was murdered?”

  “I’m afraid so.”

  “London, I’m flabbergasted. And I’m terribly disappointed in you. It was one thing to allow the woman to die of her own volition, as it were. It is quite another that she may have died in such a—well, such an involuntary manner.”

  Involuntary struck London as an odd word to use for it. But then, she’d sensed before now that the CEO was an odd sort of man.

  “Mr. Lapham, I don’t know what you expected me to—”

  “I don’t expect you to act as our clients’ bodyguard,” he interrupted. “But I do expect you to assure them at least a modicum of safety. You’re supposed to know your way around these exotic ports, to make our passengers aware of where it is safe to visit and where it is not. And in this particular case, you failed very badly.”

  She wanted to plead that Mr. Lapham wasn’t being fair. After all, Mrs. Klimowski had chosen to go off on her own. And she had died in a cathedral, a building that was guarded by a doorkeeper.

  But deep inside, she couldn’t help feeling responsible for the terrible thing that had happened.

  Maybe he’s got a right to be angry, she thought.

  “I’m sorry, sir,” she said.

  “The situation is quite unacceptable. The Nachtmusik is supposed to be in Vienna by now. The captain told me last night that you are not allowed to sail out of Gyor. Is that still the case?”

  “As far as I know, sir.”

  “In addition to the pain caused to our passenger’s family and friends, I’m sure you’re aware that the voyage is horribly behind schedule. Every day’s delay is financially disastrous for Epoch World Cruise Lines. When do you expect that situation to change?”

  “Perhaps—when the case is solved,” London said.

  But she knew that was only a guess on her part.

  “Well, then, the case must be solved expeditiously. You’d better get right to it, hadn’t you?”

  “Sir?”

  “Do I need to spell it out to you? It’s up to you to discover whatever is needed to get the ship on its way.”

  London felt suddenly dizzy.

  “Sir, I’m not sure I understand. This really is a matter for the Gyor Rendőrség—the local police.”

  “Bosh. I’ve traveled round the world a dozen times. And there’s one thing I’ve learned about the police in every town or city in every country on the planet. They don’t know what they’re doing. They never get to the bottom of anything. They always look for the laziest explanation—and right now, I imagine that means they’ll assume the victim was murdered by someone on board the Nachtmusik. I’m sure we can agree that’s utter nonsense.”


  London felt too overwhelmed to know for sure whether she did agree. Even if the police were right that Mrs. Klimowski was murdered, they weren’t giving her any information about it.

  “London, you know perfectly well why I hired you for this job. You’ve gotten an excellent seat-of-the-pants education in the hallowed halls of the School of Hard Knocks, you can land on your feet like a proverbial cat in any situation, and you’re a keen judge of character. Most of all, you’re smart as a tack. Now I expect you to make like Nancy Drew, so to speak. As of this moment, I’m awaiting word that you’ve solved this matter. Get to it—and don’t waste another minute. This voyage must continue.”

  He ended the call without giving London a chance to say a word, let alone protest.

  London sat staring at the phone for a moment.

  Then she looked at Sir Reginald, who seemed to have been listening attentively.

  “Nancy Drew?” she said.

  London remembered the name, of course. She had vivid memories of Mom reading stories of the teenaged detective to her when she was little.

  “This is weird, Sir Reginald,” she said. “There’s nothing in my job description about crime solving. I’m not Nancy Drew material. Hey, I couldn’t even figure out where that baklava had come from a couple of nights back!”

  The dog peered at her with what almost appeared to be critical manner.

  “And don’t tell me you agree with him,” London said with a wag of her finger.

  Sir Reginald let out a small yap.

  Of course, London knew perfectly well that she was really arguing with herself and not the dog. She couldn’t shake off the feeling that Mr. Lapham had good reason to be disappointed with her—and also that he had good reason to expect her to make things better.

  Most of all, she knew Mr. Lapham had very good cause for worry. As he himself had admitted the first time they’d talked, Epoch World Cruise Lines was in rocky financial shape, and the company’s very survival might depend on Nachtmusik’s Danube voyage.

  While being a detective was hardly in her job description, maybe it was time to try her hand at it anyway. After all, the future of Epoch World Cruise Lines depended on solving this murder.

  For that matter, so did London’s job.

  For that matter, so did a whole lot else in her life.

  Although Alezredes Borsos seemed convinced that Mrs. Klimowski had been killed by somebody aboard the Nachtmusik, he clearly didn’t think the murderer was just any random passenger.

  No, he’d seemed most interested in the people who’d been with Mrs. Klimowski at the Magyar Öröm yesterday—the people whose names London had written down on that list for him.

  And I’m at the top of that list.

  “I may have to learn to be a detective just to clear my name,” she said to Sir Reginald.

  The dog let out a little growl of disapproval.

  “Yes, you and I both know I’m innocent. I just wish Borsos knew it.”

  The captain called over the intercom for Cyrus Bannister to come to his quarters.

  “And now Borsos is going to interview Cyrus Bannister,” London said to the dog. “I’m afraid I might have given Borsos reason to suspect Cyrus instead of me, although I didn’t mean to make him think that. Well, I’m sure Cyrus will say whatever it takes to deflect suspicion away from himself, and …”

  London gasped aloud as something occurred to her.

  “Oh, Reginald,” she said. “There’s something I need to go do—right now.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  As London jumped up from the bed, the dog darted anxiously around her feet.

  Looking down at him, she explained, “I think I know who Borsos is going to suspect next. And I want to check into it before he does.”

  Maneuvering around the little animal, London hurried to the door. But when she opened it and stepped outside, Sir Reginald let out a series of loud barks.

  “Sir Reginald, stop that!” she told him sharply.

  He barked again.

  Hastily, London glanced up and down the passageway. Although she saw no one at the moment, she didn’t want to attract the attention of the police who were aboard the ship.

  She shut the door behind her, closing the dog up in her stateroom.

  He only yapped louder from inside.

  When she opened the door again, he stopped yapping. Then he just sat there and stared at her with an expression that she felt sure was judgmental.

  London fought down a sigh of frustration.

  “Sir Reginald, you’ve got to let me go do this.”

  The dog let out a yip of disapproval.

  “If I take you with me, do you promise to behave?” London asked.

  The dog blinked at her silently. London sensed that they had come to an agreement. She went back into her room and fetched the leash and collar she’d found in Mrs. Klimowski’s quarters.

  “Don’t take this the wrong way,” she said as she put the collar and leash on the dog. “But I can’t take any chances of you running away from me.”

  She swept Sir Reginald up into her arms, then headed down the passageway toward the elevator. She pushed the button and the elevator doors opened. It was only a short distance to her destination—the Trapp Family Singers suite, where Gus and Honey Jarrett were staying.

  She rapped sharply on the door and heard Honey’s voice from inside.

  “Who is it?”

  “It’s London Rose, your social director.”

  “What do you want?”

  Honey sounded markedly suspicious and uneasy.

  “I just want to talk,” London said.

  “Are the police with you?”

  “No, it’s just me. And, uh, the dog. Look, just let me in, OK? This is important.”

  The door opened, and Honey let London and Sir Reginald inside the room. London heard an Austrian folk song playing softly. The room was decorated in pastel colors with pictures of the Austrian alps and the smiling Trapp Family Singers.

  In her silky pink robe with fake fur trim and high-heeled pink slippers, Honey looked right at home in the fantasy surroundings.

  London’s eyes darted around the room.

  “Where’s Gus?” London asked.

  “He went out,” Honey said.

  “What do you mean, out?”

  “I mean off the ship.”

  “But everybody’s supposed to stay on the ship.”

  Honey shrugged with unconvincing nonchalance.

  “What can I say? He left real early, before he heard that order. He said he just wanted another look around town.”

  London shook her head doubtfully.

  “Lying’s not your forte, Honey,” she said. “Come on, just tell me where he is.”

  Before Honey could try to lie some more, Sir Reginald let out a low growl.

  “What is it, boy?” London asked the dog.

  The dog leaped out of her hands and dashed to the bathroom door, which was closed shut. He started barking insistently.

  London pointed at the door and glared at Honey.

  “He’s in there, isn’t he?” she said.

  “No, really, he’s not!”

  But the dog was making it abundantly clear that he was.

  London knocked on the door and heard Gus reply in a frightened voice.

  “Go away.”

  “Gus, listen to me,” London said. “There’s a good chance the police will be knocking on this door in a few minutes. You might want to talk to me first. I might even be able to help.”

  That is, if you’re not a killer, she thought.

  A silence fell. Then the door opened, and Gus stepped out, looking scared and shaken. The dog jumped back up into London’s arms.

  “Why were you hiding in there, anyway?” London asked.

  “I think you know why,” Gus said.

  London nodded. In fact, that was the reason she’d come here just now.

  “In the restaurant you said, ‘I hope the old lady’s dead,’”
London said. “Everyone at the table heard you say it. And I’m pretty sure somebody’s telling the police chief about it. And so are you. That’s why you’re so scared. And that’s why I came here.”

  “But honest to God, I didn’t mean anything by it!” Gus exclaimed. “Look, I was just spouting off. I’m a loudmouth and a blowhard. I admit it.”

  Honey let out a scoff.

  “It’s about time you admitted it,” she said.

  London put her hands on her hips.

  “Gus, I need for you to look me in the eye and tell me whether you killed Mrs. Klimowski or not.”

  “Why would I have killed her?”

  “That’s not what I’m asking.”

  Gus stared at her with pleading eyes.

  “I didn’t kill her,” he said in a stricken voice. “I swear to God I didn’t.”

  Honey let out another scoff.

  “He’s telling the truth,” she said. “If you think I’m a bad liar, believe me, he’s a whole lot worse.”

  London stared hard at him, trying to read his expression. He certainly seemed sincere. She didn’t think he was lying. But how could she really know?

  Her mind clicked away, trying to make up her mind. She remembered Gus’s anger toward Honey for helping London with the dog after Mrs. Klimowski had disappeared.

  “You’ve got a lot of nerve, making a fool out of me like that.”

  At the time, he’d struck London as rather menacing.

  But Honey apparently didn’t feel that way—neither then nor now.

  But how can I be sure …?

  She shook her head and muttered quietly.

  “I’m no Nancy Drew.”

  “Huh?” Gus said.

  Honey scoffed yet again.

  “The famous girl detective,” she said to Gus. “You should read a book sometime.” Then she said to London, “Who says you have to be Nancy Drew, anyway?”

  “My boss,” London said.

  “Oh,” Honey said. “And here I thought you were just a social director.”

  I wish, London thought.