Aria in Ice (20 page)

I tried to smile. “That’s more than three
words, but I get it. Why deliberately kill a nice woman like
that?”

“For treasure.”

We looked up. Johnny had entered the bedroom
and made the pronouncement both Shay and I had not wanted to
voice.

“She knew something about Ignatz and the
flute.” I stated flatly.

“I’d stake my life on it. Which isn’t the the
smartest thing to say in these circumstances, but since I’m damn
certain neither of you is a pyschopathic killer, I’d say I’m
safe.”

“Wow. Okay.”

The three of us fell silent and stayed that
way until a weird thought hit me.

It was as good a time as any to ask. “Hey.
This is totally off-topic but would you finally tell me—and
Shay—why you were sliding down trees from the north wing the other
day when I met you? Instead of using the stairs like a normal human
being?”

He sighed. “It’s so stupid. It’s not even
mysterious or in any way relating to something important. Well,
possibly mysterious or eerie. But, really, it’s more an
embarrassing moment in Johnny Gerard’s life.”

Shay brightened. “Oh, go on. Embarrassing
moments are some of the best sequences ever captured on film. And a
helluva lot more fun than pondering the why of a sweet woman’s
death. So—do tell.”

He took a seat in the ancient rocker in the
corner of the bedroom. “I was being nosy. Working on the mural and
decided to check out the other rooms, specifically the music room,
and I heard voices coming from the window of the south wing. I
didn’t want to be caught in that music room since I didn’t really
have any business being there and I wanted to stay on Veronika’s
good side.” He paused. “I started to leave—and then I heard
laughter that wasn’t coming from any person nearby—because there
wasn’t
any person nearby. I knew the story of Ignatz Jezek
and I didn’t want to find myself going eyeball to eyeball with a
possibly pissed-off ghost who was territorial about his space. To
be honest? I was damn scared. And the stinkin’ door was stuck so I
couldn’t make it back to the hall. I high-tailed it out the window
and down the tree and met my charming Abigail upon reaching the
ground in a less than graceful manner.”

Shay looked disappointed. “That’s it? You
were spooked by a spook and you got locked in? Ah, I get it. It’s
the guy thing. Chickened out of a close encounter and just not in
lock-picking form that day? Shoot, I was hoping for something juicy
like you met a chambermaid who’d been hiding in the castle from her
jealous gatekeeper boyfriend and y’all had riotous sex for an hour
or so.”

I blinked. “Shay, you’ve got to quit reading
Gothics. It’s time. Your mind has gone completely round the bend
with this stuff. That plot is straight out of
Keeper of the
Gazebo
. We read it the night I found out
Endless Time
was scrapping the Vanessa storyline and you found out
Darien’s
Donuts
was stiffing everyone who’d worked on the commercial
because they were declaring bankruptcy.”

“Oh yeah. Seems to me we inhaled a few gin
and tonics and at least three pizzas that night too. Well,
obviously it was a good plot since it stuck with me. In fact, I
foresee merging a few of the seamier elements into
Silhouette
Tower
. Hell, it’s a heckuva better plot than a wimpy wannabe
burglar landing on his ass after hearing—well -not much.”

“Forgive her, Johnny. Hopelessly trapped in
adolescence.”

The three of us started chuckling, then
suddenly remembered we were in this room looking for an antique
quilt to carry downstairs for use as a temporary burial shroud.

I stood up. “I guess that’s one mystery
solved. Is that why you got all shifty-eyed when you didn’t want to
share theories of ghosts in this castle?”

“Pretty much. I didn’t want to join in the
general atmosphere of ghost-hunting although it hasn’t seemed to
affected your brains, Ms. Fouchet. They’re working at lightning
speed even when you hear music when no one’s there.”

“Thanks. Sort of. Crap, I suppose we should
be leaving our cozy nest here soon.” I growled. “But, I’ll be
honest, guys. I have no desire to leave this room and join the
group downstairs.” My unspoken words rang in the room “
with a
murderer who’s looking for the next target.
”

Shay, Johnny and I hadn’t been gone that long
but major changes had occurred in the ballroom in our absence.
Trina’s body was no longer on the sofa. The food had been removed
from the top of the coffin. And three guys in uniform had entered
the scene. Prague police, I assumed.

I assumed right. Apparently, Jozef had
managed to get a call through before he’d come back into the house
to get help with Trina’s body. So the cops were here and I felt
much better. The fact that they didn’t speak a word of English
didn’t bother me. The young trio looked solid and dependable and
very reassuring.

I nudged Corbin, who was making his way from
the ballroom to the kitchen. “How did they manage to negotiate
through this mass of white? Or are we just imagining the blizzard
of the century raging? Is this like New York where one block is ice
and you walk down three more and it’s sunshine and lollipops?”

“All these guys have done stints with winter
Olympics. Honest. Two came gliding in on skis and the third drove a
snowmobile like he was going for the gold in bobsled. I’m rather
amazed he didn’t take it directly into the parlor. I couldn’t tell
if the brakes worked at all.”

Good. A little levity. I was glad Veronika
hadn’t heard him but I needed cheery words. “Thanks,” I
whispered.

He shrugged. “I’m a historian, Abby. In my
experience sometimes humor is the only way to deal with
sadness.”

“Yeah. I agree. My problem is I often don’t
know when to hold off.”

“You do fine.” He patted my hand and it hit
me that he was an attractive man—in his own odd way. I turned just
in time to see Mr. Gerard appear from the doorway of the sitting
room where Trina’s body was now reposing. Johnny raised an eyebrow
my way. I squinched up my nose at him, slid my hand out from under
Corbin’s and marched over to ask what the procedure was in this
situation. Sudden death, that is; not hand patting a definitely
“only friends”friend in front of a secret fiancé.

“Corbin? You off to get tea for the mourners
in the ballroom?” was Johnny’s only comment.

“Yes. Veronika is hanging on by a thread and
Marta is switching handkerchiefs by the fistful. All soaked
through. She keeps chattering, but it’s not coming out at all
coherently. About the only words that make sense are ‘Trina’ and
‘why?’ Anyway, I figured if the Brits can use tea as the
all-occasion comforter, who are we to argue with a proven
remedy?”

“I’m with you. Can you boil a few more
quarts? I’ll come out in a second and help deliver.”

Corbin stated stiffly, “Delighted. On both
counts.”

He took off.

“Johnny?”

“Hmm?”

“What did you see out there?”

“Nothing of importance. Really. Not that I
was focused on being a crime scene investigator. I was busy. We
were all busy trying to get to Trina just in case she was still
alive. And the wind was really kicking up and the snow was getting
heavy and if anyone or anything was out there that provided any
clue as to what happened, I couldn’t see it.”

“Okay.”

He gave me a sharp look. “Don’t go there yet.
Nothing has been determined as to Trina’s death being anything but
accidental.”

“Okay.”

“Fine. I agree with you. Someone decided
Trina needed to leave the earth tonight, then decided to help her
along. I just don’t want you to be next if you decide to stick that
cute little nose where someone doesn’t want to be scented.”

“You know what’s scary?”

His eyebrow lifted. “Other than this castle
and two deaths within a few days?”

“Well, let’s say on par with that. What
scares me is wondering if it even matters if I stick my nose where
it doesn’t belong. What if this killer decides some of us—like
me—are more aware of the mysery of the flute than others of us? And
that sounded convoluted and I’m sorry but I’m not thinking
straight. Anyway, will he—or she—kill first and ask questions
later?”

“Why have I been trying to get you away from
here or that you, me and Shay need to stick together?” He flashed a
brief smile. “If we can extract her body from it’s glued position
next to Fritz the new tuner, that is.”

“Yep. That’s my roomie. Adaptable,
comfortable, fearless and heading into faithless.”

We lapsed into silence, waiting to see what
would happen next. The trio of policemen emerged from the sitting
room. Our quest for the quilt had turned out to be pointless. She
might have been covered in it, but not an inch of Trina Duskova
could not be seen. She was completely encased in a waterproof body
bag. The zipper had been pulled up tight. Nauseau swept over
me.

“Are they taking her to Prague?” I asked,
while trying to breathe normally.

Johnny answered. “I heard that’s the plan.
They’ve got to get out of here before the blizzard gets any worse.
Safer for them trying to travel and easier on those of us here at
the castle. I doubt they’re going to get a lot of forensics done
tonight anyway. Trina was found in a moat in the middle of a
snowstorm. If there’s a trace of evidence to explain why this
happened, it can’t be found until the winds and drifts die
down.”

Made sense. The police respectfully carried
the body back through the ballroom toward the front door. Which
didn’t seem right. No one entered or exited
Kouzlo Noc
by
the front. Trina wouldn’t be comfortable leaving this way. I shook
off the thought. Trina was gone.

That’s when I heard her light voice trilling
a few notes. Those notes bore a remarkable resemblance to the
chorus of Eric Clapton’s classic,
Layla
. Damn. I glanced
over at the harpsichord which bore those miniature busts of Mozart,
Beethoven, and Haydn, then really took the time to stare. It was
indeed a replica of Eric Clapton. The early years. I hadn’t merely
imagined it the first time I’d seen those busts when I was
exploring
Kouzlo Noc
—less than a week ago. Trina must have
been the one to buy that little statue and place it with loving
care amongst the great composers from two centuries back. I’d
envisioned this days before. Trina’s spirit was singing her
favorite song as she left her earthly home forever.

For the first time since her body had been
recovered, I burst into tears.

The police had been gone for several hours.
It was now late evening, tea had been served twice, dinner was
being attended to by a weepy but determined Marta, helped by Jozef.
Veronika had poignantly requested to be left alone to grieve in her
room.

Which left Franz, Fritz, Lily, Corbin,
Mitchell, Johnny, Shay and me. We sat in the parlor huddled around
the fireplace and tried to introduce topics for conversation that
weren’t obsessively morbid. Or the reverse—inappropriately
funny.

The best choice appeared to be to the
‘getting-to-know-you-so-tell-interesting-facts-about-yourself’
game. Shay and I had started the proverbial rolling ball by
regaling the others with tales about our roommate, the exotic
dancer who was planning the wedding of the century with her beloved
intented—a bodyguard straight out of a Nineteen-Fifites bad
detective film.

“But, that bodyguard—all five-feet three of
him—saved my life one night so I am eternally grateful,” I stated.
“And if Cherry Ripe wants me to wear a leopard-print bikini as one
of her bridesmaids I shall do it with pride.”

Shay mumbled. “Not me. Nobody saved my life
so I can dress like a normal woman during any and all weddings Ms.
Ripe and Mr. Marricino decide to engage in.”

“Marricino?” asked Lily. “Like the cherries
in the jar?”

“Precisely.”

Fritz got it first which further endeared him
to Shay. “So your topless dancing roommate will soon be—Cherry
Marricino?”

Shay and I both replied with a simple, “Yep.”
There wasn’t really much more to say on the subject.

Once the laughs died down, Corbin decided he
would share some tidbits about his life.

“Born in Germany to missionary parents who
hauled us all over to China for about ten years of my early life.
I’m pretty fluent in various Cantonese dialects. Uh, moved to
Arizona when I was still in high school. My parents thought the
retirees in Phoenix were more ungodly than the Chinese they’d been
ministering to.” He smiled. “Either that or they were really tired
of spicy Kung Pao and General Tsao and various other Chinese
delicacies. All of which, by the way, I can make without a recipe
and are so delicious that restaurants in Manhattan have begged me
to come be chef.”

I wasn’t sure if the last statement was true
but Shay had perked up at the mention of Chinese food. She’s a
confessed food hound (I am too) but Chinese is her ultimate
favorite.
Szchechaun Delight
—we call it “
Big Mama’s
Wok,”
a take-out and delivery joint way up near Inwood is
number one on our speed dial and Shay doesn’t even bother to place
an order. She just calls and they come even though it’s supposedly
out of their area. After Mr. Lerner’s comments Shay would have
Corbin’s cell phone on speed dial for recipes. Whether he was
digging in Albania or Alabama, that wouldn’t stop Shay from asking
for a quick way to make hot and sour soup.

She’d already started making nice. “So tell
us more? School? Work? All that good stuff.”

“Not much to tell. I moved to Munich about
fifteen years ago. I have a Doctorate in History. I teach at a
university in Eastern Bavaria and I’m taking a sabbatical now to do
some genealogical research.” He paused. “What else? Um. I’m
planning on turning some of those Cantonese recipes into a
cookbook. I love racing.”