Aria in Ice (5 page)

Which was damn tacky of him. What was up? Did
he plan to contact Yolanda, head writer for
Endless Time
and
rent the castle for the daytime drama? Start a ghost story which
would would knock ratings off the charts?
Kouzlo Noc
was
already about to be besieged by actors and a slightly obsessive
compulsive director. Add a spookly legend and sell it to a crowd of
theatrical types and you’d have a mad dash for sleepovers in the
north wing.

I needed nicer jammies.

“Smart-ass, second-storied wannabe,
semantic-twisting, art-restoring, soap-starring sometime
swain!”

The waiter looked startled. I shook my
head.

“Not you. You’re wonderful. You’ve let me
camp here for an hour drinking boozy hot chocolate and eating
kolaches and you will receive a marvelous tip. Sorry. I’m just
ranting to myself.”

The waiter smiled cheerfully at me, then set
the Prague Castle representative ceramic mug down in front of me,
turning the handle exactly where I could grab with ease. Soft wisps
of steam swirled around the fresh whipped cream floating atop the
hot chocolate and Kahlua—my third cup in an hour. I inhaled the
cinnamon and cocoa scent and blessed Shay for sending me to Prague
even as I cursed Johnny Gerard.

My waiter nodded as he handed me a fresh
linen napkin. It wouldn’t surprise me to learn that furious drool
had collected at the sides of my mouth. I’d start foaming soon.
Johnny. Leaving me to fend for myself with Veronika Duskova after
the meet in the graveyard. Sliding down trees on his way-too-sexy
bottom. Being silent about us as ‘us’ and whatever strange doin’s
were doin’ at the castle. Going off for three stinking months
instead of staying in Manhattan ( albeit jobless since
Endless
Time
would have fired him) and marrying me.

Restoring a mural. Right. A mural that was
not
in the north wing. A mural that wasn’t ‘up to speed’
according to Mr. Gerard so no one could see the ancient wreck until
it was done.

I growled again, but was interrupted before
any barking began.

“I beg your pardon. Aren’t you Ms. Fouchet?
The girl who’s finding the castle for the movie?”

Two blue eyes were staring at me from under a
delightfully curly and undeniably natural blond head of hair. I
hurriedly wiped off the rest of the foam around my mouth, then
gazed into the lovely eyes of the man who called my name. He looked
familiar. It hit me. I’d seen his picture recently. He was the lead
actor Shay had hired; the man who’d be playing the role of the
mysterious Count Zilania. I knew he was from Vienna, but couldn’t
remember his name.

He was beautiful. I was dumbstruck. I did
manage to nod and gesture to the empty chair across from me but had
to swallow my bite of cheese kolache before I was able to speak.
Aside from good manners, I had no desire to humiliate myself in
front of the god from Austria by trying to talk with my mouth full.
He politely did not start conversing until I finished. “I am sorry.
I should not have interrupted you while you were eating.”

I shook my hand. “Not a problem. I just
wasn’t expecting any of the cast to show up before Shay made the
announcement as to exactly
where
to show up.”

“Ms. Martin is fast. She told me she’d hung
up the phone with you within minutes of then calling me. I was
already in Prague at the hotel and she was excited that I could get
a head start on exploring
Kastle Kouzlo Noc
.”

“Ah ha. I wondered. Did she call anyone
else?”

“She said she was contacting Lily Lowe, the
actress playing the heroine. Apparently Lily is also in Prague, but
she grew up here and she has family here still so Ms. Martin wanted
to tell her to view the castle very soon.”

I nodded. He smiled as he reached across the
table to take my hand. Thankfully, it was clean of all remnants of
goo, ricotta cheese, and whipped cream.

“I have bad manners.” He inclined his head.
“I am Franz Hart. Playing Count Zilania.”

“I’m Abby Fouchet. Good to meet you.”

We shook hands, then he leaned back in the
chair and signaled the waiter to trot over for another order of hot
chocolate and pastries. I couldn’t eat another bite, but decided it
would be rude to leave him.
And to gaze with admiration at that
face? Heck, that was worth staying at the table another hour or so.
To hec
k
with you, disappearing, keeping-mum Johnny
Gerard
.

He took a sip of cocoa, then asked, “How did
you and Shay Martin get together for this film?”

“We’re roommates. Met at a dance class in
Manhattan several years ago. She needed a third for the apartment
so I moved in. We have a very—interesting—other roommate named
Cherry Ripe who was supposed to get married to Guido Marricino two
months ago but postponed until the Marricino matriarch can make it
to the wedding. She lives in Trequanda, which is some hill town in
Tuscany. She doesn’t get out much. The matriarch, that is. Cherry
gets out a lot. Which could be another reason for the postponement
since Guido gets a little anxious that his bride-to-be might still
prefer the single life.”

I was rambling. His eyes were slightly
glazed, somewhat like Madam Veronika Duskova’s had been back at
Kouzlo Noc
. But he smiled, then asked another question.

“Shay said you were from Texas? I was in
Amarillo when I was shooting a musical movie two years ago.”

“Musical? Really? Um- country music?”

Before Franz had a chance to respond, another
voice chimed in over my head. “I personally love country music. Not
as much as I love classic rock or classic classical, but hey—give
me a steel guitar and a head full of big bleached blonde hair and
I’m there.”

I turned.

Johnny. Before I had a chance to react—either
to the man or the comment, he’d grabbed a chair from an empty table
near-by and plopped his denimed butt down.

“I’m Johnny Gerard. Ms. Fouchet and I
met—earlier—at the castle.”

That was true. Of course he’d left out that
our first meeting had been in Manhattan not long after Shay and I
had met and that apart from some angst and murder and jealousy over
other women (I have trust issues) and solving crime, corruption and
murder, then his contract with a soap opera sending him to foreign
lands without me, we’d been together for the last two and a half
years. I can keep a secret, although I’d preferred a good reason as
to why I couldn’t reveal that Johnny and I were a couple.

Johnny stared at Franz, obviously waiting for
introductions. Neither male looked happy. I coughed, then did the
politeness thing. “Joh-- uh, Mr. Gerard, this is Franz Hart, who’s
playing the esteemed Count Zilania for the film. I did tell you
we’re doing a film right? Anyway, Franz, this is the
not-so-esteemed Johnny Gerard, who obviously is a bit out-of-date
in his country music assessment since bleached blondes went the way
of the dial-phone quite a few years ago. Mr. Gerard is in
Prague…um, why are you in Prague exactly? Something to do with
art
?”

Gerard casually leaned forward and used his
finger to wipe a bit of whipped cream off my upper lip. I’d had no
idea it was there. I turned redder than his hair. He settled back
in his chair turned and looked directly at Franz.

“I’m restoring a mural for the Duskovas. It
was a mess to begin with.”

An “Ah” was the only response from Franz.

There was silence from all points of the
table. There was also hostility between the two men that appeared
to have no source.

Franz quietly asked, “So you have an interest
in
Kouzlo Noc
, Mr. Gerard?”

“Johnny. Please, make it Johnny.”

Franz mouth tightened ever so slightly.
“Johnny. Yes?
Kouzlo No
c?”

He smiled. “I have an interest in the arts,
Mr. Hart.”

Silence again.

I slugged down the last of my cocoa and tried
to fill the quiet with chatter. “Well, since you have an interest
in the arts, you’ll like this. The Slovak Opera Company is
performing
The Magic Flute
starting next week at the Estates
Theatre. I, for one, can’t wait to see it. Even in German the name
is just thrilling.
Die Zauberflote
.”

Johnny raised one brow. “Flutes on the brain,
Miss Fouchet?”

I echoed the tone he’d taken with Franz.
“Abby. Please, make it Abby. And there’s nothing on my brain—or
conscience—I just happen to love that particular opera.”

I nodded at Franz. “Uh, Franz? You a fan of
Mozart?”

“Mozart? Of course. I am from Vienna, after
all.”

“Good point. Of course, that implies major
Strauss waltzes above all else.”

I smiled. Franz smiled. Johnny smiled. We
were all so chummy here.

Franz asked, “Why the question?”

“Oh. Well, since
The Magic Flute
is
playing at
The
Estates Theatre
for the next few
weeks, you’d probably want to see it in Prague. I do.”

“But of course!” Franz exclaimed. “
The
Estates
is a beautiful theatre. Built in 1783 in the
NeoClassical style.”

Johnny wasn’t interested in talking
architecture. Nope. He wanted to talk Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart, who,
by a far too coincidental coincidence, had lived in the mid-18th
century—the same time frame as the graves in the cemetery where
Corbin Lerner had been exploring.

Johnny leaned back in his chair. “Funny you
mentioned Mozart, Abby. I’m actually gathering information about
the first production of
The Magic Flute
when it was
performed in Prague in the Seventeen-Nineties. Trying to learn
about the various instruments used in that performance.”

There was no reason for Franz to stiffen, but
he did. So slightly that I wasn’t sure he’d even made a movement. I
was lost. The two of them seemed to be playing a chess game and I
wasn’t even the referee.

This little café served sweet goodies, but
also doubled as a bar. My waiter returned just when I was about to
dive in and get nosy. I kept silent. Johnny ordered a bourbon and
coke, and Franz went with white wine. I threw caution and calories
to the wind and asked for my fourth Kahlua and chocolate, wishing
the amount of Kahlua was more than just a taste. Then we all sat
back in our chairs and played “avoid Mozart” for the next hour.

Johnny started with “Franz? You’re playing
the hero for this movie Abby’s involved in?”

A nod.

“So, how’d you land the role?”

Franz relaxed. “I sent Miss Bohacek clips
from the last two films I was in. Both leads. Both in German, but
she saw in me the mysterious nobleman she wanted and sent her
recommendation on to Miss Martin.” He added, “I also sing and
dance, which is good for this movie.”

Johnny took a sip of his drink. Franz let him
swallow before asking, “And what exactly do you do, Mr.
Gerard?”

“
In the off season, when you’re not
breaking into castle turrets.”
Oh lordy, had I said that out
loud?

Apparently not. Neither man looked at me with
any change of expression.

Gerard finished his entire drink, waved to
the waiter for another, then smiled with absolute ease. “Many
things. I’m an actor and singer.”
Understatement. Johnny had
both a Dayt
ime
Drama Emmy and a Best Actor Tony under his
belt
. “I’m also a musician. I’ve done studio recordings;
sometimes I play down in Soho with a group.”

This was news. When had this started?

Franz and I spoke at once.

Him: “What instrument do you play?”

Me: “What’s the name of the band?”

Johnny answered me first. “Band is called
Noble Posse
. We’re very eclectic in our choice of music.
Classic rock, early garage punk, big band, C & W.” He shot me
what I call his ‘Irish choirboy caught naked with two Irish
milkmaids in the church vestry’ look. “I use a different name
though in the group. Gregory Noble.”

Typical. Another plot twist for the cop who
does everything. I wondered when Johnny had filmed these musical
episodes for
Endless Time.
Before, during or after his
African safari? Why hadn’t I been invited to at least watch since
my character of Vanessa had been cancelled?

I smiled, a bit grimly. “I like it. Sounds
fun. I’m impressed.”

“Thanks. And it is fun.” He glanced at Franz.
“I play guitar. Other stuff as well, but that’s my primary
instrument.” He smiled. “ So, Franz? Tell us about Vienna, would
you? I’ve never been there, but heard it’s gorgeous and the people
are friendly—and the pastries? Wicked.”

Franz complied with the request and began to
regale Johnny and me with a guide through Olde Vienna, talking
about the great sights such as the Spanish Riding School where the
Lipizzaner horses are trained. I heard about St. Stephen’s
Cathedral and the Baroque Schonbruan, aka the Hapsburg dynasty
palace. My attention was wandering after the list of orchestras in
the city, but I perked up at the mention of the Giant Ferris Wheel,
which was portrayed in the classic movie,
The Third Man
. And
I began to drool when he described the dream dessert of carboholic
freaks the world over—
Sachertorte
, named for the restaurant
that originally served the dish.

Franz did not mention that Vienna had
premiered
The Magic Flute
. He also did not mention that
Vienna was the place where Mozart died; or whether that death had
come by means of cup of poison administered by rival composer
Salieri, by simple ill health, or perhaps by someone with motive
even nastier than jealousy.

When Franz finished his whirlwind tour
through Vienna, we all simply sat in silence. Other than the Ferris
wheel and the visions of torte running through my head, I had no
idea what other bits of info Franz had given us. My mind was in the
Czech Republic, not Austria.