Aria in Ice (10 page)

There were holes in those two sentences
bigger than the New Jersey Turnpike after five years of blizzards
but Veronika glided right past them.

“That iss all right then. But everyone now
leave this room. This iss not part of film and bad thing hass
happened here today. Death iss not good. We should be mourning
Gustav.”

Six sinners meekly followed Madam Duskova and
her siblings into the hall and out of the north wing. I tried
bringing up the rear on the off chance that I could sneak away for
one extra peek, but Veronika kept in step beside me as though she
could see inside my evil mind that intense impulse to check out the
space I knew damn well had once belonged to Ignatz Jezek. The fact
that countless of other flute-seekers for two hundred years had
doubtless trooped through this room looking for the “magic flute”
didn’t deter me. None of them had had the ability (I assumed) to
hear Mr. Jezek play. Not to mention I was pure of heart and
therefore could not fail in this quest to find the flute and bring
Jezek’s alleged killer to justice. After a couple hundred years.
And since I’d just stolen a manusript I hoped belonged to Ignatz
Jezek I was certain I’d’ve solved all the mysteries by this evening
at the latest.

I didn’t get all A’s back in college in
“Scenery Chewing” (aka Acting 101) for nothing. I can pretend
innocence with the best of them. I smiled at my fellow trespassers
as we wound through the gothic architecture of
Kouzlo Noc
and never once let on that anything odd was emanating from the
north wing. I even refrained from singing the song only I was able
to hear (still Cole Porter) when we entered the sitting room in the
main of the castle. I even managed to compose myself enough to
start introductions once the matter of tea and goodies had been
neatly disposed of and Marta and Trina headed for the kitchen to
whip up a gentle but more solid repast.

“Veronika? Have you met Franz and Lily?
They’re playing Count Zilania and uh, Honoria, or Kelsey, or
whatever the heck the heroine will be named. And have you met Shay
Martin, who’s directing the movie?”

Eight people looked at me as though light
bulbs were popping into darkness over my head. Oops. My polite
introductions were redundant. Franz had been here long enough to
help with Gustav’s body. And, unless Lily and Shay had entered with
my ghost—unseen—of course, Veronika and her sisters had met them
the instant they bonded with the dragons at the back doors.

I smiled. “Never mind.” I reached for a
kolache. Mozart’s “
Kyrie Eleison”
from his
Requiem
sounded from the front door bell pull. Trina carefully placed her
tray (kolaches plus scones—third trip) on an overly laden table and
headed that way. Within ten seconds she was back and she wasn’t
alone.

A beautiful young man followed her into the
sitting room. A room that was getting very crowded with primarily
gorgeous persons. Corbin looked a bit tense, but courteously
offered the embroidered chair he’d been sitting on to the newcomer.
Franz appeared to be sizing up the competition. Johnny merely took
another bite of his lemon scone. Shay waved. Lily literally
fluttered her lashes and straightened her shoulders so her
silicone-filled centerfold chest would garner even more
attention.

This latest testosterone king looked to be in
his early thirties. Blonde, with green-gray eyes. The hair was
styled in what I’d call “early surfer” and he had the lean build of
just such an athlete. Must be Mitchell Herbert. Composer for Naked
Honoria or Whatever.

Introductions were made all around. Mitchell
seemed taken aback upon meeting Johnny and Corbin, since neither of
the latter gentlemen had been expected to be part of the film crew
for Naked Honoria or Whatever. His manner was a mass of nerves. He
dispensed with any niceties and dove into business, turning to me
with, “When do you need the first piece of music? I finished
composing the number for Honoria’s first gala event at the castle.
Oh damn. I just remembered. I don’t have a tape ready yet, so I
guess it won’t do much good, though, will it?”

“Did you write it out?”

“Of course.”

“Cool. If you’ve got the sheet music and it’s
legible, I can get started with that. The tape is better since I
don’t have to be charging back and forth reading and I’ll need that
for rehearsals unless you care to accompany, but the music will be
fine for starters.”

“You’re telling me you can read music? That’s
a surprise.”

“Oh? Why?”

“Um. I’m just not acquainted with many
dancers who read music.”

My hackles rose. “Well. I do. Read music,
that is. But I’m exceptional—for a dancer. Sing, Act. Dance. Scout
locations. Makes me a quadruple threat. And while a tape definitely
will be better when I’m choreographing, I have no problem reading
the music and hearing in my head as I’m arranging steps. Although I
would like to get together and discuss nuances.”

Shay bit her lip. “Watch out for Abby,
Mitchell. Her temper matches matches her favorite red cowboy boots
and she gets very irritated when her abilities are questioned.
Didn’t I mention that she sightreads music like a conductor at the
Met?”

Mitchell nodded. “Sorry. Making assumptions.
Probably not a good practice.”

I kindly stated, “Not a problem. I’m just
thrilled that I’ll be able to get started right away. This will
really help Shay out.”

Every ear in the room had been listening to
the exchange but now that it appeared fisticuffs were not in order,
chatter broke out between small groups of twos and threes. Lily and
Franz got cozy. Shay, Corbin and Johnny were entertaining the
Duskovas with American gossip.

Mitchell stayed beside me and dropped his
volume for me only to hear. “I truly am sorry, Abby. For the last
month I’ve been dealing with a group of supposedly classically
trained singers who don’t seem to understand the difference between
Keys of C and D and the Florida Keys. Guess that translated to
meeting someone and jumping to bad conclusions. Add to that, I’m
not a good traveler and today has generally been crappy.”

“Really. It’s okay. You didn’t say anything
that terrible and I can be a total snob when it comes to my prowess
at sight-reading.” I smiled.

“Can I make up my
faux pas
to you by
buying you dinner at some elegant restaurant this evening?”

Oh yeah. Surfer boy at a nice restaurant.
Hannah Hammerstein was turning to toast. I could make Johnny
jealous enough to where he’d quit being Mr. Secretive and take his
rightful spot as Abby’s loving fiancé.

I answered, “Well, not this evening—although
that sounds nice. I’m going to the opera tonight.

“Oh? To see?”

“
The Magic Flute
.”

“Any tickets left?”

That was abrupt.

“Not sure. Ask Franz. He was going to check
that out yesterday.”

Before Mitchell could ask me the who, what,
and wheres of the production, Shay grabbed him and began discussing
a few of her ideas for Count Zilania’s songs. Everyone else was
still engaged in what appeared to be stimulating conversation.

I was being ignored. Which is probably not a
good enough excuse for starting to sing the last measures of the
Queen of the Night
aria from
The Magic Flute
to
myself. The last measures are pretty much a technique exercise,
popping up and down the scale singing ‘
Ah-ah-ah’
in very
crisp staccato time.

Conversation stopped. Everyone stared at me
with expressions that were varied and quite interesting. The
‘M.T.V.’ sisters looked distressed. Mitchell looked puzzled. Lily,
Franz and Corbin looked surprised. Shay and Johnny just looked
amused.

“Uh oh. My bad. So sorry. Didn’t mean to
interrupt all the intellectual discussions around here. But that
tune has been in my head since yesterday for some reason, “ I said,
as I fluttered my eyelashes in an appearance of sheer
innocence.

Shay chortled. “Not bad. Of course I have no
ear so what the hell am I doing with the compliments?”

I bowed and ignored her. “It’s a lovely
little aria. Sounds rather like a flute near the end?”

Silence. The Duskovas, Franz, Corbin,
Mitchell and Lily all continued to stare at me. Shay’s chortle
became a snort. Johnny went a few steps further. He began to sing
the Papageno part of the duet of the same name from the same opera.
He knew I couldn’t resist. I immediately chimed in as Papagena, the
mate of the bird catcher.

The stares could have continued for hours
(certainly Johnny and I were not ready to stop warbling) but our
impromptu concert was interrupted by Mozart again. The
Requiem
notes from the doorbell sounded and effectively
ended the duet. Veronika took off like a runner stealing home base.
All the others began talking again. I heard a lot of discussion
about the weather and best places to eat in Prague. Nothing about
music. Nothing about flutes.

Within thirty seconds, Veronika was back with
another visitor to
Kouzlo Noc
. My friendly bookstore owner,
Jozef Jezek, was led into the parlor by a beaming Madam D. He was
carrying about six books, wrapped in a rope that swung from his
right hand. I hesitated before greeting him. Did everyone know his
relationship to the flute-player? Did everyone know the story? Did
he want anyone to know that
I
knew the story? I was giving
myself a headache with all the questions and secrecy.

He took care of that. “Miss Fouchet. Good to
see you again. I have found only one Gothic romance novel from
Germany. But it was indeed written in the Nineteen-Seventies. I
have not read this, so I do not know if it will help you for your
movie, but I have brought it—along with the texts Veronika had
requested the last time she graced my shop. They are on Medieval
Architecture.”

The man was smooth. If I hadn’t already been
blessed with a terrific father, I’d’ve bargained for adoption on
the spot.

He handed me a hard cover book complete with
a dust jacket. Even at first glance I could tell it was in German.
But no one knew I couldn’t read that particular language so my
excuse for getting chummy with Jozef Jezek and his bookstore would
remain confidential. Except for Shay and Johnny, of course.

Conversation began again. The groups shifted.
Lily decided to charm her hostesses and began a lively discussion
with the Duskovas about the film industry in the Czech Republic.
Franz was eating the last scone . Shay was flirting with Corbin.
Mitchell and Johnny were admiring the tapestries. Jozef drew me
aside and quietly tapped the book with his index finger.

“Miss Fouchet. This particular novel should
prove to be of interest.”

“
The Seduction of Countess Marissa
?” I
lifted my brows.

Jozef dropped his volume. “It’s a very pretty
dust jacket,no? But it doesn’t really belong to the book.”

I took a quick glance around the room. No one
was paying attention. I quietly slipped the dust jacket front piece
away from the book. The title revealed was a textbook.
Freemasonry and Mozart—A Duet for the Centuries
.

“Thank you,” I whispered. “I’ll give this a
read as soon as I get more than fifteen minutes of free time.”

Jozef smiled. “If you find it boring, you can
always read about Countess Marissa being seduced—in between
studying the symbolism of
The Magic Flute
. The dust jacket
gives an entire synopsis of the novel.” He glanced around the room.
“I only wish I could decipher some of the meanings of the symbols
of freemasonry enough to perhaps explain the truth behind Ignatz
and his flute.”

I asked,”Why don’t you ask the Duskovas?”

He shook his head. “Veronika and I have
discussed Ignatz many times in the last ten years. She discovered
my bookstore back then, and we learned about our mutual ancestor
and we both have become anxious to find out the truth.” He paused.
“Before someone with sinister motivation finds it.”

I hugged him. “I feel the same. I just didn’t
realize that you and Veronika were friends. I had no idea until you
walked into the parlor only minutes ago that you had any kind of
relationship with the Duskovas—in this century that is. Not to be
nosy, but I must express some surprise that you and the Duskovas
are on good terms considering the family history.”

He winked. “The official feud ended sometime
in the late 1800s—and since none of the ladies nor I were around
then we decided it was best to ignore any unpleasantness that
happened in the centuries preceding that time.”

“Including the possible murder of Ignatz
Jezek?”

“Ah. Well. It is certain that none of the
Duskovas currently residing in
Kouzlo Noc
had anything to do
with my ancestor’s demise so a bit of forgiveness is in order.”

“Got it. So, what symbols should I look for
in this book?”

Before Jozef had a chance to begin a lecture,
we were joined by Shay. Ms. Martin, naturally, jumped in with both
of her size eleven feet. I was only thankful the rest of the crowd
was busy elsewhere.

“Mr. Jezek? You’re the great-great-great,
well a bunch of greats—grandchild of the ghost? Right?”

I groaned. “Dammit Shay, do I have to start
adding duct tape to my bag to slap on you when you can’t keep your
mouth closed for two seconds?”

Shay waved me away. “You’re such a wimp.
Let’s get real. We’re in a spooky castle. You’re got spooky genes.
Put those together and that means there’s got to be a ghost. Where
there’s a ghost there’s a treasure. Well, at least in this case.
So—what’s the loot and who does it belong to?”

I gazed up toward the heavens, but got no
help from the Almighty. The earthly deity, Jozef, was
unsuccessfully trying to stifle his obvious amusement.

I glared at my best friend. “I have no idea
what the treasure really is, but if there is one I’d imagine it
belongs to Mr. Jezek here—being the great-great-great heir.”