Where the heck was Budapest? Lana wondered as she scanned Europe. All she knew about the eastern European city was that Harry Houdini, her ex-husband’s idol, was born there. How jealous he would be of her, Lana thought, briefly contemplating messaging him to gloat. Just thinking about the contortionist who had taken her place and what she and Ron might be doing together, though, pushed the idea out of her head.
She soon found the capital of Hungary. Lana traced the Danube River with her finger through the middle of Budapest, then along the country’s border with Slovakia and on to Vienna, Austria. The region seemed to be quite mountainous.
Lana turned to her wardrobe and began piling her warmest sweaters, long skirts, and woolen pants onto her bed. She regarded her dresses, hoping they would be sophisticated enough. Dotty had warned her that their trip included concerts and shows in some of Budapest’s most famous symphony and opera houses. Seymour curled up on top of a cashmere sweater, purring contentedly as he marked Lana’s clothes with his hair. Lana ran her fingers through his silky fur, scratching under his chin.
“I’m going to miss you, pal.” She leaned down to nuzzle his neck while gazing at the stacks of clothes on her bed, when the next crisis became apparent. Her only working suitcase was far too small to hold a week’s worth of winter clothes. And she hadn’t even thought about footwear yet.
Lana glanced outside and saw the weather was unchanged. It was a dreary gray day, typical of Seattle’s soft winters.
“I’ll be right back.” Lana kissed Seymour’s ear. He meowed in acknowledgment. Lana threw on her navy jacket and rushed out into the wind and rain. Luckily her apartment was in the heart of Seattle’s Fremont neighborhood. Her street was a mix of old farmhouse-style homes with patchwork gardens – such as the one Dotty bought three decades ago – and newly built condos catering to the growing number of techies moving into the funky neighborhood.
Living in Fremont was a dream come true. This neighborhood was the self-proclaimed “Center of the Universe” and one of the most creative areas in the city. To Lana, the highlight was the Solstice Parade, with its puppets, floats, street performers, and the naked bicyclists who always led it.
She turned left at the Statue of Lenin, his hands recently painted red again, then walked past the Fremont Rocket, towards the main street. As she turned onto Fremont Avenue, she passed signs for the upcoming fireworks show, sending a twinge of regret at missing the fabulous display through her. Quickly, Lana chided herself; the fireworks show happened every year. She had never been abroad, in spite of her childhood dreams, and now she was about to embark on a trip to Budapest – a free one, no less!
Though several shops were closed until the new year, Lana knew the local thrift store reopened this morning to profit from the post-Christmas shoppers looking for a bargain. It was bound to have several suitcases to choose from. Lana pulled her jacket’s lapels tight around her neck to keep out the drizzle as she walked past a record store, noodle shop, microbrewery, take-away taco spot, and blown-glass studio, until she reached the best thrift store in Seattle – Second Hand Love.
It was a mishmash of treasures and junk – depending on who you asked – that filled two floors. Lana was certain firefighters would get chills when entering. Nothing was sorted; new additions were simply added to whichever room was the least full at the time. Lana greeted the tattoo-covered owner and breathed in the musty smell of disuse. The shop was nice and warm. Lana unbuttoned her jacket and took in the furniture, books, records, knickknacks, clothes, and accessories stacked up all around her. In the first room, she had no joy. There was no luggage to be found. In the second room, she caught a glimpse of a large case underneath a fake fur jacket and orphaned keyboard. It took her a few minutes of shifting and pulling to get it out.
When she did manage to release the suitcase, her first thought was that it was perfect. It was a large case with two wide straps to hold it closed. The brass-plated corners and clasps were scratched and dull, and the leather was so lined it reminded her of a topographical map. It has character, Lana thought. When she opened it up, she was pleased to see it wasn’t moldy. With the right kinds of cleaners and a little elbow grease, it would be good as new in no time. Best of all, it was covered in old stickers from places around the world. When she had traveled with her ex-husband, she had collected knickknacks and bumper stickers from the twenty states they visited, but she never had anywhere to put them, because Ron forbade her to decorate their van’s bumper with them. Lana ran her hand over the sides, dreaming about the places this suitcase had been. Just thinking about the many exotic destinations pictured on its sides made Lana feel lighter and happier than she had in months. If this suitcase had been all over the world, why couldn’t she do the same?
Since discovering six months ago that her husband was in love with his new assistant, she had fallen into a rut and needed a new adventure to pull herself out of it. Dotty wasn’t just doing her a favor by allowing Lana to work off her rent; she was giving her a chance to start over. She couldn’t let this opportunity slip by her.
When Lana carried the suitcase to the cash register, she found that it was a touch heavier than she’d expected and that she’d had to spend more of Dotty’s advance than she’d hoped. None of that mattered; she’d already fallen in love with the vintage case. She practically danced her way to Willows Bend Yoga Studio to show off her newest acquisition to the owner and her best friend, Willow Jeffries.
3 Willows Bend
Willow eyed Lana’s latest purchase critically. “Did Second Hand Love let you pay by gift card?”
Lana reddened at the thought. In the Fremont district, bartering was a common way of paying for services and goods, especially between owners of the many small businesses inhabiting the storefronts in this colorful neighborhood. Despite its prevalence, Lana preferred to pay cash whenever possible, figuring that when bartering, one person was always getting the short end of the stick.
“No, Dotty gave me an advance on my salary so I could pick up any essentials before I leave tomorrow.”
“Oh, hon, it’s gorgeous and so retro. But is it practical? Would a backpack have been a better choice?” Willow opened it up and sniffed heavily. “It stinks, but we can fix that. I have a wonderful perfume at home that’s really musky. It should mask that musty odor.”
Lana rolled her eyes. Leave it to my best friend to bring me back down to reality, she thought. Willow was one of the most practical people she had ever met. Oddly enough, she was also one of the most spiritual and definitely the most flexible. Willow was a petite, slender woman with charcoal skin and a multitude of long braids hanging down to her waist. She was wearing her work clothes – spandex tights and a crop top that Lana wouldn’t be able to get around her thigh. At five foot seven, Lana towered over her friend.
They had met a year ago, after Lana damaged her shoulder and was searching for a long-term alternative to physical therapy. Willow’s yoga class changed her life for the better, allowing her to finally live pain-free. Since then, Willows Bend Yoga Studio had become something of a second home.
Lana gazed at the bright yellow walls, the mandalas and dreamcatchers hanging randomly around the space, the multitude of ivy vines circling the support beams, the colored Christmas lights strung up across the platform, and the mirrors covering one wall. Here she was comfortable and relaxed.
It wasn’t just the welcoming space that kept her coming back. There was something so open and warm about Willow’s personality. After a few sessions and teas afterwards, they’d become best friends. It was also thanks to Willow that she had met Dotty and found her current place to live. Some days, Lana felt like Willow was the younger sister she had never had.
“You’re right. This suitcase is probably not the most practical choice. But it’s got history and has survived many successful trips abroad – or at least more than I have, by the looks of it. Besides, these tours are for rich people. I expect there will be a porter to carry our luggage for us. At l
east, once we get to the hotel.”
Willow cocked her head. “I thought you were the porter.”
“No, silly, I’m the escort.”
Willow raised an eyebrow.
“Tour escort.” Lana laughed and slapped her friend’s shoulder. “I accompany the guests on their day trips, assist with serving meals, answer any questions they may have about optional extras, and in general make sure they have a good time. It should be pretty easy.”
“You’ve never been out of the United States before. How on earth are you going to answer their questions about Budapest?”
Lana jutted her chin out defensively. “Dotty gave me guidebooks to read, and I can search online or ask the receptionist…” Lana felt the first tear splash on her cheek as her bravado melted. “Oh Willow, what am I getting myself into? I don’t know the first thing about leading a tour group, at least not through a city I’ve never even been to.”
Willow wrapped an arm around her friend’s shoulders. “Girl, you’re going to be just fine. Don’t listen to me blather. Dotty’s right. You’re a natural guide. Your kayaking clients were always giving you large tips and asking for you by name, right?”
“Yeah, I guess you’re right.”
“And I’m sure Dotty won’t tell the group that it’s your first time, so they will assume you know what you’re doing.”
“Fake it ‘til you make it?” Lana grinned at her friend gratefully, feeling instantly better about her upcoming journey. Willow was right. She was a great kayaking guide and did love interacting with the clients, more than she had imagined before starting the job. Besides, this trip was only six days long. Nothing could go wrong in such a short amount of time.
“Exactly.” Willow laughed as she gave her friend a hug. “Why don’t we have a lemon tea and then I’ll help you get ready for your trip? I just picked up some fresh ginger; that’ll give it a nice zing.”
“That would be great.”
4 Traveling Solo
December 27 – Day One of the Wanderlust Tour in Budapest, Hungary
Lana rubbed her eyes, then stretched her arms out above her head, smashing her knuckles into the overhead bins. She’d been so jittery on the airplane ride over that she’d had trouble reading and sleeping. Only after the pilot announced that they were about an hour from Budapest did she fall into a deep sleep. The plane’s landing gear bouncing off the tarmac at Ferenc Liszt International Airport woke her up.
She had traveled often, but always with her ex-husband, and she had relied on him to take care of their plane tickets, luggage, and hotel reservations. As nervous as she was about navigating Budapest’s airport on her own, she was pleased to discover that it was easy. The airport was large and busy, but not dramatically so. Luggage claim had been a cinch to find, and she breezed through customs, to her delight and surprise. In books and movies, foreign customs officers always seemed so mean.
Her new suitcase was on the heavy side, but back at home, she’d figured she only had to drag it to the waiting shuttle bus, where it would be someone else’s responsibility. Now, though, as it smashed into her shins for the umpteenth time, Lana realized she might have to rethink her choice of luggage if Dotty ever asked her to lead a tour again. As if, she chuckled to herself, fairly certain Dotty would not need her help again.
As she stepped outside, Lana automatically pulled her jacket collar closer. It was cold in Seattle, but here it was full-on winter. A freezing wind tore through her clothes. Snow covered the tops of most buildings, though the streets and sidewalks were slushy from use. She walked carefully towards the hotel’s shuttle bus, watching for patches of ice.
Five other passengers were already inside, chatting together in a language Lana didn’t recognize. She nodded and smiled, then focused her attention on the window as their driver pulled into traffic. When they approached the city center, Lana pressed her face up to the cold glass, desperately hoping that her fellow passengers weren’t members of her tour. She was supposed to be a world-weary traveler, not an enthusiastic newbie.
Lana had originally envisioned Budapest as a city full of gray, Communist-era buildings. But the photos in Dotty’s guidebooks were of beautifully maintained neoclassical, baroque, medieval, Gothic, and rococo buildings. Driving through the heart of the city, Lana was glad to see Dotty’s books didn’t lie. The imposing statues, tiered fountains, captivating monuments, delicate spires, and majestic buildings decorated with snow and sparkly lights made Lana feel as if they were driving through a postcard. Everything was so much bigger than she had imagined. Several buildings seemed to fill an entire city block, and many monuments stretched high into the sky, often topped by a stately figure, angel, or knight.
As their shuttle bus rounded Széchenyi Square, Lana gasped in awe. A massive bridge built from stone arches and long bars of linked metal led across the Danube River. Two fierce stone lions gazed down onto the traffic, almost daring cars to cross it. That must be Chain Bridge, the first bridge built connecting Buda to Pest, Lana thought. She held her breath and gazed down into the Danube as they crossed, humming the waltz of the same name softly to herself. The Pest side had been relatively flat, but the Buda side seemed to be a series of hills and patches of forest.
Built high up on the top of Buda Hill was one of the largest palaces Lana had ever seen. It must be at least ten city blocks long, she reckoned. She figured it was Buda Palace, the first stop on their tour tomorrow. Lana couldn’t wait to visit it. For now, she was satisfied to simply gaze at the busy traffic, jostling pedestrians, and magnificent architecture.
Their shuttle bus wound its way through the slippery switchbacks up Castle Hill and soon stopped at the entrance to a hotel as regal as Buda Palace, yet much smaller. A glass atrium built over the open courtyard was filled with a glorious Christmas tree, fully adorned with embroidered and glass ornaments. Lana let the porter bring her bag to the front desk, marveling as she followed behind. She was stunned by the refined elegance of the building, holiday decorations, and staff. She’d never been able to afford to stay in a five-star hotel before. When on tour, she and her ex-husband stayed in the cheapest hotels possible. Ron would have slept in the van if she hadn’t put her foot down and demanded a room. If this hotel was typical of the rest of the tour, this was going to be a heavenly week.
Lana approached the desk shyly, almost afraid to ask whether there really was a room reserved in her name. “Hi, um, I am Lana Hansen. Do you, um…” Lana felt foolish and didn’t dare finish the sentence. This must be a mistake. She picked up her suitcase and took a step backwards, just as the receptionist beamed, “Of course, room 15. Can I see your passport, please?”
“Why?” Lana’s brow furrowed, certain this was a mistake.
“We are required by law to make a copy of it for our records. All tourists are required to be registered in this way.”
“Oh, sure. No problem.” Lana felt like a fool. A world-weary travel guide should know that. She turned away from the receptionist and dug through the money belt attached to her waist until she found her passport. Its blue cover was still crisp and unblemished from actual travel. A month before she found out Ron was cheating on her, she had ordered the passport so she could accompany him on his first international tour. The divorce put the kibosh on that.
The receptionist took it and made a photocopy without so much as a snigger. Lana relaxed, letting her first travel mistake slide.
The woman returned her passport and finished checking her in, then handed Lana a bulky gold key on a keychain as big as her hand. “Please turn your key in at reception before you leave the hotel.”
Lana looked at her questioningly. She’d never been asked to turn in her keys at Motel One. “Why would I do that?”
“In case you get robbed, the thieves won’t be able to access your room,” the receptionist explained patiently.
“Of course,” Lana said, wondering how often tourists were victims of pickpockets here. Though with a keychain that size, it wouldn’t be h
ard to steal. “Say, do you know which room Carl Miller is in? We are both guides on the Wanderlust tour.”
The woman’s eyes lit up, and Lana swore her cheeks reddened. “Yes, Carl is staying in room 14, across the hall from you. He was down here this morning finalizing your dinner reservations, but I haven’t seen him since.” She turned towards the cubbyholes behind her. “His key isn’t here, and he’s not left a note for you. Would you like to leave a message for Carl, or try his room first?”
Lana cocked her head, confused by the receptionist’s familiarity with her fellow travel guide. “You mean Mr. Miller? I’ll try his room.”
The receptionist blushed, “Of course, Mr. Miller.”
Lana hoped the receptionist was just suffering a crush and that nothing had happened between her and Carl. Lana recalled that he was pretty sexy and quite a flirt, which made him popular with women of all ages. Lana knew Dotty adored him, though in a motherly way. Lana never understood the attraction. To her, he seemed too slippery, boisterous, attention-seeking, and self-important. The fact that she had met Carl soon after her divorce may have blinded her to his positive qualities. But Dotty said he and Sally were pretty serious and she expected they would soon be tying the knot. Lana hoped Dotty was right and that Carl would be pleased to see Sally, not feel as if she was cramping his style.
“Do you know in which rooms the other guests on the Wanderlust Tour are staying?”
“Yes, all of your guests are one floor higher – in suites 21 through 29. You are the last to arrive.” The receptionist consulted the cubbyholes again. “It appears all of the guests are in the hotel at the moment, in case you wish to speak with them.”
“Suites? Oh, I didn’t realize…” Lana grabbed her key off the counter, suddenly desperate to see her room. Was she also staying in a suite? Dotty had emphasized the luxury aspect of the tour, but Lana figured she meant the number of passengers per tour would be smaller and the dinners a touch fancier. Dotty hadn’t said anything about suites.
Death on the Danube Page 2