The Stranger From Berlin

by Melissa Amateis

  But, Jenni thought, parking the car at the museum that Saturday morning, she and Max had both needed it, and she didn’t regret it for a single second. Never mind how hard she’d tried to forget his arms around her, or the scent of tobacco and aftershave on his shirt. At that moment, she’d pretended all was right with the world for both their sakes. No suspicions. No secrets. Just peace.

  At least her week of bed rest was over, thank God. Celia had told her to take more time off if she needed to, but Jenni flatly refused. Spending one more minute in that house would drive her bonkers.

  This morning, she’d felt the depression bearing down on her again, like a grey thundercloud sweeping across the plains. Her first instinct was to cower, to dive under the bedclothes and succumb to the storm. But she’d forced herself out of bed.

  Thankfully, Hank had called and said he had tickets for the university men’s basketball game in Lincoln and asked to take Marty. Marty had worried about leaving Katya behind, but Jenni had assured him the dog would be fine. Her son needed a break from all of this.

  And so did she. Except she didn’t have anywhere to go.

  Georgie met her at the entrance carrying a grocery sack. ‘Oh, Jenni, hello. I wasn’t sure if you’d be here today.’ She peered at Jenni through her thick spectacles. ‘Are you feeling better?’

  ‘I am, thanks.’

  ‘I was just going to bring some more supplies over to the cottage, but now that you’re here…’

  The unspoken request hung in the air, and without hesitation, Jenni took the sack. ‘I can do it.’

  Georgie’s relief was palpable. ‘Thank you. There’s just so much to do this morning.’

  ‘Not a problem.’ Jenni forced a bright smile and watched Georgie scurry away.

  Georgie’s supposedly busy schedule had nothing to do with her reluctance to go to the cottage. She’d never liked Max, never wanted him here in the first place.

  Max had left early this morning and gone to Kooky’s, so Jenni grabbed the cottage key and went back out into the chilly, frosty morning, taking care to watch her footing on the pavement. One careless step had changed everything. But if things had gone differently and Rafe had agreed to marry her, she might not even be living in Meadow Hills anymore. She never would have met Max, or become involved in any of this. Instead, she would have been shackled to a man she didn’t love and would have left everything and everyone behind.

  Strange that she preferred the way things were now. Meeting Max had given her a precious gift: friendship and respect. He’d never tried to make a pass at her, never treated her as inferior or betrayed her confidences, never sought to manipulate her into something she didn’t want or feel. In short, he was a gentleman. And how she needed that.

  Life certainly had a way of twisting and turning in unimaginable ways.

  Inside the cottage, the air smelled slightly stale. A few dirty dishes littered the sink and table, and the kitchen floor needed a good scrubbing. She put away the groceries and emptied the ashtray, resisting the urge to do more. He’d re-shelved the books, but still, she sensed an ominous presence in the room that hadn’t been there before.

  She should leave, but she couldn’t refrain from taking a few moments to peek around, curious as to how Max lived. In the sitting room, she thumbed through the records stacked on the console, not even surprised to see Mozart and Beethoven among them. But she had to laugh when she saw the Captain America comics on the coffee table.

  She walked down the hallway and stopped in front of the bedroom door. How different it looked compared to the day she’d first met Max. Clothes were strewn across the room, the bed half-heartedly made, a nearly empty bottle of whisky on the nightstand. And beside it sat a framed photo, quite possibly a tantalizing glimpse into Max’s past.

  And she could no more stop herself from looking than she could stop her heart beating.

  Ignoring her reproachful inner voice, she crossed to the stand and picked up the stylish black and silver art-deco frame. A much younger Max, surrounded by what must be his parents and his sister, stared out at her. They wore smart, expensive-looking clothes, and must be well-to-do considering the triple circle of pearls around his mother’s throat and the huge ring on his father’s hand. His mother and father made a handsome couple, he with a strong, angular face and dark hair and she with almond-shaped eyes and beautifully arranged curls. His sister looked younger than Max, and appeared vibrant and kind.

  And then there was Max, smiling, looking relaxed and content. So different from how he looked now. The war had done its damage, true, but she sensed something else had changed him, replaced his contentment with bitterness, and turned him into a man always looking over his shoulder.

  If only he would confide in her as she had in him. What stopped him?

  The back of the frame felt insecure and she turned it over. One of the fasteners was loose. And in that moment, a tempting thought hit her. She could just undo the other fasteners, take out the photo, have a quick look at the back. Surely there was no harm in that?

  Of course there was! Why, she’d turned into a regular snoop.

  She put the frame back on the nightstand and stared at it. It taunted her.

  Perhaps it could reveal some sort of clue about Max, the date, perhaps, to help her understand him better…

  Before she could change her mind, she picked up the photo and quickly unfastened the back of the frame. As she pulled it back, a second photo tumbled to the floor. Jenni picked it up, almost afraid to look at it, but she couldn’t turn back now. She had to know.

  She studied the photo and gasped.

  A group of people sat at what appeared to be an outdoor café. A smiling Max, looking older than he had in the family photo, sat with his arm around a stunning dark-haired woman. The three men surrounding them all wore black uniforms with lightning bolts on the collars, swastika armbands on their sleeves.

  Terror seeped into the very marrow of her bones. LIFE magazine and newsreels at the movie theatres featured stories about those uniforms and the monsters who wore them: Himmler’s elite squad, the SS, a group of fanatics.

  Names and a date were scrawled on the back of the photo. Ilsa, Max, Ernst, Wolfgang und Horst. Berlin, 1937.

  The way Max’s arm wrapped around Ilsa, so close and possessive, was more than enough proof that they were lovers. Was she his wife? Girlfriend? Though Ilsa’s large, stylish hat threw part of her face into shadow, her pouty lips, flawless skin and high cheekbones showed how beautiful she was. But the ugliness of the men around her overshadowed her attractiveness.

  Her hands shaking, Jenni stuffed the photo back in the frame, placed it on the nightstand, and fled. Why had she looked? Why couldn’t she leave well enough alone?

  It was just a photo. There could be a million reasons why Max had befriended those people. A million!

  But she couldn’t think of a single good one.

  The FBI agent’s words came back to her.

  Tell me, were you associated with members of the Nazi Party in Berlin?

  Max’s answer had satisfied her then, and sounded legitimate: Nazism had infiltrated the university, and it simply couldn’t be avoided.

  But he’d lied. He’d lied.

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  He’d left the gun under his pillow.

  Max swore as he wrestled his bicycle up the driveway to Kooky’s house, blinking against the unbearable brightness of the morning sky. How could he be so bloody stupid? Sure, he could blame it on a short circuit in his brain after seeing Jenni this morning. They’d both opened their bedroom doors at the same time, an incongruous coincidence, and an unsettling one as they’d stared at each other, unsure of what to say.

  It was a dangerously intimate moment. How fragile and adorable she’d looked, with her hair at odd angles, sleep still clinging to her body. The urge to yank her into his arms and feel her warm skin against his had been nearly overwhelming.

  He remembered mumbling something about going to visit Kooky
, and then he’d hurriedly thrown on his shirt and coat and fled.

  What if Jenni or Marty found the gun? He should turn around now, go back to the house, get the gun before either could discover it.

  No. He had to deal with Kooky first. He had to know if he’d taken the letter, if he was the one responsible for Katya, and if so, why he’d done it. It’s possible he could have paid Roy Carlton to do it… but the idea just rang hollow.

  He knocked on the door and waited, but no one came. After a few minutes, he looked around and spotted Kooky at the edge of the cemetery, dusting snow off gravestones.

  Max shoved his hands into his coat pockets and started the trek towards him, trying to ignore the biting wind and remember the speech he’d rehearsed. Accusing a man of stealing was a serious charge, one he understood only too well.

  Snow crunched underfoot, alerting Kooky to his presence, and the old man waved a hand in greeting. Max waved back.

  ‘What brings you out here so early?’ Kooky said as Max halted beside him.

  Max told him about last night’s events, watching carefully for any type of reaction.

  Kooky frowned. ‘And how is your dog this morning?’

  ‘A bit banged up, but she’ll be fine. She’s staying with Mrs Fields this morning.’

  ‘Good.’ Kooky shook his head in disgust. ‘Terrible thing, to hurt an animal like that.’

  ‘Yes.’ He watched Kooky use a broom to sweep snow off a large ivory headstone. The engraved words read, Louis Bronson, beloved husband, father and son. Gone too soon. 1900–1930.

  ‘He was a nice lad,’ Kooky said, nodding towards the gravestone. ‘Died in a farming accident. I’d spoken to him the day before. Just shows that you never know when it is your time. Your soul must be ready.’

  For some reason, the words unnerved Max, but he didn’t want to contemplate why. It was better to say what he’d come here to say, find out the truth now instead of putting it off with useless conversation.

  ‘Kooky, someone took Phillip Janssen’s letter last night.’

  The old man stopped working and looked at him, sadness in his eyes. ‘And you think I did it?’

  Max flinched. ‘I didn’t say you did.’

  ‘But you think I am the only one who knew you had the letter.’

  ‘They knew right where to look.’

  To his astonishment, Kooky chuckled and moved on to the next gravestone. ‘My dear boy, you forget one thing. There’s someone else who knew where the letter was – the person who put it there.’

  ‘Didn’t Dietrich put it there?’

  ‘Maybe, maybe not. But someone else obviously knows about it.’

  Perhaps Mrs Macintosh? Maybe she’d made up the story about her nephew reading those books. Did she know about the letter and was trying to protect her brother? But if so, why not just destroy it? Why leave it up to chance?

  Then again, could he even trust this odd man?

  ‘How do I know you’re telling me the truth?’ he asked.

  Kooky didn’t stop working. ‘You don’t. All I have given you is my word. You must decide if it’s worth anything.’

  Max regarded him and then made his decision. Certain moments in life required a leap of faith. This was one of them.

  ‘I believe you.’

  Kooky gave a short nod. ‘Good. But I’m afraid that means you’re no closer to finding who did take it.’

  Max groaned and covered his face with his hands. He was so sick and tired of playing this game. How was he supposed to know how all of these people fit into the narrative? This town’s history was intricately entwined with everything happening to him, and he was so far outside of it all that he might as well be at the North Pole. He’d never be able to stitch all the various threads together.

  ‘I don’t envy you your position, Max. You are the unfortunate stranger who has been caught up in a situation that stretches back twenty-six years.’

  ‘Exactly! Which means I have no way of coming out of this unscathed.’

  Kooky leaned on his broom and contemplated him. ‘Life is about challenge and struggle, my son. None of us emerge unscathed.’ He smiled and pointed to the drooping side of his face. ‘Some of us literally bear the scars.’

  Suitably humbled, Max folded his arms against the biting cold. ‘I’m sorry.’

  ‘Think nothing of it.’

  If only it were so easy. He still felt guilty for even thinking Kooky could have been responsible.

  As he watched the old man work, Max thought back to the gun, to the conversation with the Janssens last night, to the scratches on Katya’s chest. Whoever was behind this had some kind of plan, and the culmination of it would happen sooner rather than later. When it did, he couldn’t be anywhere around Jenni and Marty.

  Though he’d already made the decision last night, it still knocked the breath out of him when he thought of leaving the world the three of them had created. But it must be done.

  ‘Kooky, I have a favour to ask.’

  ‘Name it.’

  That the man would be so eager to help even after Max had all but accused him of stealing made him feel like a heel. If only he could possess such a generous nature.

  ‘I don’t want anything to happen to Mrs Fields and her son, or to anyone else who works at the museum. There will be more people like Roy Carlton causing trouble. I think it would be best if I moved out of the cottage. I plan to go to the hotel, but I won’t be able to take Katya with me. I need someone I can trust to watch her.’

  ‘You want to stay at the hotel? Why, when you can stay here?’

  ‘I cannot ask that of you. I don’t want to pull anyone else into this mess.’

  ‘My son, we will be quite safe. They won’t bother us.’ He gazed sadly towards the town in the distance. ‘Besides, I’m as eager to find out the truth as you are. Perhaps more so.’

  ‘Why is that?’

  ‘Because despite the way I’ve been treated, I love this town and the people in it. I can only ascribe this to the supernatural Holy Spirit that resides within me, because God knows I couldn’t have accomplished it on my own, not after what they did to me.’

  ‘And you have forgiven them?’

  Kooky nodded. ‘I have. It’s made life much easier.’

  Max fell silent. If only he could have that kind of faith, that capacity to forgive. He’d had it once, before Ilsa had twisted his soul, before he’d witnessed Nazis beating the Jews in the street, before he’d committed one terrible act…

  He couldn’t start down that road, not now.

  ‘I’ll bring my things by tonight if that is all right.’

  ‘Of course.’

  * * *

  Despite Jenni’s insistence that she felt just fine (even though she was lying through her teeth), Celia sent her home. She ate a few soda crackers to settle her stomach then forced herself to lie on the couch for at least an hour.

  Could she really be that bad at judging people? First Rafe, now Max…

  Maybe he was a Nazi. Maybe she was putting herself and her son in danger by allowing him in their lives. But she just couldn’t make herself believe it.

  Now, having recovered somewhat from the shock, she’d had a chance to put the photo into perspective. The soldiers could have been old school friends, or relatives, or any number of things. It didn’t mean Max was a Nazi. And no matter what Max had done in his past, it wasn’t who he was now. He’d changed.

  And she had proof. Look at how he’d taken care of her this past week, how he’d brought her lunch and supper in bed, the dishes always so neatly arranged on the tray. Or how he’d played Captain America with Marty, the two of them running through the house whooping and laughing. Or how they’d sit and listen to radio programmes until Jenni fell asleep, Max always careful to make sure he didn’t wake her when he left.

  She needed to focus on actual evidence, not some picture from 1937.

  Jenni went into the spare bedroom. He’d made the bed and fluffed the pillow, the quilt
free of wrinkles. On impulse, she ran her hand over the embroidered pillowcase and found a single strand of black hair, the only evidence Max had slept here.

  Suddenly tired, Jenni sank onto the bed and laid down. The musky smell of Max’s hair tonic clung to the pillow and she breathed it in. It comforted her, just like Max’s presence did.

  She hugged the pillow to her cheek and then frowned as something hard touched her arm. She lifted the cushion and recoiled.

  What was a gun doing under Max’s pillow?

  Jenni scrambled off the bed and stared at the black pistol and its stark contrast to the floral quilt. Voices circled in her head.

  The Abwehr does its job well…

  Do you enjoy having the enemy in your house?

  She clapped her hands over her ears, but it did no good. The voices wouldn’t be silenced and the longer she stared at the gun, the louder they grew.

  What more evidence of his guilt do you need?

  Unable to bear it, she threw the pillow back over the gun, then fled from the room and slammed the door behind her. She took a deep breath and forced herself to calm down.

  Think, sister, think! She’d confront Max about the gun. Surely there was a reason for it. Surely there was…

  A loud pounding on the front door startled her so badly that she fell against the wall, her heart thudding against her ribs.

  The pounding continued, waking Katya in Marty’s room. The dog rushed towards the door, barking.

  ‘Shh! Quiet!’

  The dog immediately fell silent, but stared at the door, waiting for Jenni to open it. When she did, she saw her mother-in-law standing on the steps, and through the screen door, Jenni could see rage in her eyes. Good gracious almighty. Now what?

  Without waiting to be invited in, Sue yanked open the door and marched inside. Katya didn’t move, just stared in bewilderment at the whirlwind of anger and energy.

  ‘Is it true?’ Sue demanded. Her breath smelled stale and rank.

  Jenni stared in shock. Sue’s hair flailed wildly around her face, grey strands falling into her eyes, and Jenni saw the frayed edge of her nightgown underneath Sue’s coat. It looked like she’d literally just woken up.