Songbird Under a German Moon (21 page)

Betty didn't realize she'd fallen asleep until she felt her head jerk, and she opened her eyes, noticing rays of morning light filtering into the room. She sat up with a start and saw the silhouette of a body on Kat's bed.

“Kat.” She jumped to her feet and hurried over, almost tripping over Irene, who slept on the floor. Then confusion filled her when she saw the red, curly hair splayed on the pillow.

“Kat?”

“Is she here?” Irene mumbled behind her.

“Did someone say Kat's here?” the red hair mumbled, and then the silhouette sat up. Dolly ran her hand down the side of her face. “I didn't mean to fall asleep. Kat's going to kill me if I shed red hair on her pillow.”

“That'd be okay—I'd like to see Kat wring your neck.” Irene sat up and leaned her back against Betty's bed. “Then at least we'd know she's okay.”

Betty moved to the window. She was surprised to see a line of jeeps in the driveway. “Ladies, look. This is getting serious.” She pointed out the window at the jeeps. Dolly and Irene hurried to her side.

“Look over there too,” Irene said. “There are guys walking down the road and up the hill. They must be searching for her.”

Betty's stomach rumbled and nausea overtook her.
This can't be happening. This can't be happening.
She covered her mouth with her hand and returned to her bed, perching on the edge.

Last night Howard had come back with more MPs. They'd asked questions, but even then, Mickey hadn't revealed the news about Edward's death. Some of the guys offered to hang around and watch the house. A few more offered to walk the trail.

She and the other USO ladies had waited up, hanging around the foyer, alternating between sitting on the steps and pacing, until finally—after two hours had passed—all the guys returned and said their search had come up empty.

Only then did they head to their rooms. Dolly and Irene had joined Betty in her room, vowing to stay up until Kat returned. But she never did.

“I think we should head out there.” Dolly ran her fingers through her wild hair and snagged one of Kat's scarves to hold it back. “Or better yet, maybe we should go to the opera house and check out things there.”

In her mind's eye, Betty pictured Kat where Kat was at her best—at the Festspielhaus. She imagined her singing and smiling. She thought of her running around, dressing, practicing, getting lost in the halls….

“Oh my goodness!” Betty turned to Irene. “That's it. Oh, what if that's it?” Betty squeezed Irene's arms tighter and did a little hop. “What if that's it?”

“Betty? What are you talking about?” Irene tried to pull her arms away. “Ouch, you're hurting me.”

Betty released her grasp. “Remember the other day during rehearsal, and Kat was trying to figure out the best way to get on stage for her last number?”

Irene nodded.

“Yes, I remember that too,” Dolly piped in.

“Well, when Kat ran off, what if she went down the wrong hall? I mean, that doesn't sound too crazy, does it? What if she got turned around. You know what a bad sense of direction she had, and then there was the fact that she was upset.”

“So you're saying that it could be possible that she went down the wrong hall and ended up in some back room. If that was the case, she'd never find her way out.”

“Oh, that makes me feel so much better!” Irene embraced Betty.

“What? The idea of Kat being lost in the Festspielhaus makes you feel better?” Dolly shook her head.

“Well, it's better than all the other things I've been thinking,” Irene said.

“I suppose it
would
be horrible, I mean getting lost and stuck there overnight, especially when she'd just received that news about Edward.” Betty pulled on her USO jacket and trousers. It didn't matter what her makeup looked like after sleeping in it. It didn't matter what her hair looked like. All she wanted to do was to get up to the opera house and find her friend.

They headed down the hall and found Mickey still there. He was sitting on the stairs, staring at the front door. Betty followed his
gaze and noticed two MPs leaving. They refused to look at her and instead stepped out, shutting the door behind themselves.

“Mickey, we have an idea where Kat is,” Betty said. “We're going to the opera house. You know Kat, she always got lost…”

“Yes,” Irene added, “we think that she must have gotten lost down one of the halls. It must have been so sad and lonely last night, and she—”

“Girls.” Mickey stood, and for the first time Betty noticed tears on his face.

“And she's going to have to take another airplane flight to get home,” Dolly picked up where Irene stopped.

“Listen…” Mickey's voice was hoarse. He coughed into his hand and then lowered his head, his shoulders shaking.

“What is it, Mickey?” Irene asked.

“They found her.” He said it without looking up.

“Oh, that's great news. Is she okay? Was she at the opera house?” Dolly asked.

Mickey shook his head. “She was—in the pond.”

“I don't understand.” Betty's eyebrows furrowed.

“They found her this morning floating in the water. There wasn't a mark on her from what they can see, and it didn't look like there was any type of struggle. They—they say she committed suicide. And after I told them about Edward—well, we don't have any reason to think otherwise.”

“Suicide.” Betty looked around wildly. “Dead? Kat's dead?” She felt her knees tremble. Then her legs gave out and she reached for the banister for support, sinking onto the bottom step.

Irene gasped. “No, that's impossible. Kat would never do that—she's not dead. How dare they say she's dead?”

Mickey didn't answer. He just sat on the stairs, appearing older than he had last time Betty had seen him. His face was a map of wrinkles and his eyelids looked heavy, as if they were going to close under his grief.

“She doesn't like the water.” Betty's voice sounded hollow, even to her own ears.

“Yes, that's right. She doesn't like the water. Kat would never go into the water.” Irene placed her hand over her mouth.

Mickey rose. “They're waiting for me. They're going to take me to the scene. I—I need to identify the body, although everyone knows it's her. She's even still wearing her white dress.”

Betty rose. “She wouldn't have done that. Kat wouldn't have killed herself. Something else must have happened.” She rushed toward Mickey. “I know she lost Edward. I know Kat—well, she ran off the stage, but there was something else. Something to live for.”

Betty knew that she'd promised Kat not to say anything about the baby, but things were different now. Betty wanted them to know, wanted them to understand that Kat wouldn't have done this to herself.

She turned back to Irene and Dolly. “She was pregnant.”

“What?” Irene strode to her.

“Are you sure? How do you know?” Dolly gasped.

“She told me. That first night—actually she didn't tell me, I guessed by the things she was saying.”

“You can't tell anyone that.” Mickey grabbed her arm. “That does not leave this room—do you understand?” Mickey's eyes were wide, wild. “First of all, who do you think you are to say such a thing? Kat wasn't like the other girls. She never, never would have cheated on her husband. Do you want to slander her name in order to take her place? Is that it?” He squeezed harder. “You will never take her place. Never.”

Where is this coming from? Why is he acting this way?
Pain shot up Betty's arm, and she struggled to pull away.

“No, never.” Tears sprang to her eyes. “You're hurting me, Mickey, you're hurting me. I'd never do that.”

Dolly and Irene both rushed toward her.

“Let go!” Irene cried. “You can't do this again, Mickey. Let go!”

Mickey's eyes widened, and he released his grasp. Betty turned toward Dolly, as if hiding behind her could provide some protection. Her steps paused when she saw the angry look on Dolly's face.

“Mickey's right, Betty. It's not possible.” Dolly's voice was hard, sharp.

“Kat said when she was in Paris, Edward came and they had one night together.”

“We were in Paris with her, Betty. Edward wasn't there. If this gets out—it's even worse than her being dead.” Dolly stepped away, walking to Mickey, as if lining up on his side.

Betty's chest ached, and she sucked in a shuddering breath. “Irene?” She turned to her friend. “You believe me, don't you? I wouldn't make that up. Why would I make that up?”

“I don't know what to think, Betty, but they're right. It's sad enough with everything that's happened, and this will only make things worse.”

“So do you really believe that she committed suicide?” Betty directed her panicked expression around the group. “That she walked to that pond, went in, and let herself drown?”

Irene shrugged. “I don't know what to believe, but I do remember what Kat said when she exited the stage. We all heard it. She said she didn't want to live like this. Maybe she came to the point where she didn't want to live at all. You weren't around her as much as we were. You hardly knew her—not like us. She'd lost her joy lately. She didn't want to be performing, and she didn't want to be doing that movie. She pushed us away—isolated herself from us. Edward was all that she had. He was the most important thing to her. Maybe she did kill herself, who knows?”

Betty felt the energy drain from her arms, and they dropped limp to her sides. She watched as Dolly walked Mickey outside to the MPs and the waiting jeep. After the door closed, Irene patted her shoulder and then climbed the stairs, heading up to her room.

Betty sat down hard on the stairs, not knowing what to think, not knowing what to do. She didn't want to go to her room—all Kat's stuff was there. She was too afraid to go for a walk. She didn't have anyone to talk to.

Her arm still stung where Mickey had grabbed it, and Betty rubbed the sore spot.

I can't believe it. I can't believe Kat did that. Someone must have done that to her—but who?
Nothing made sense.

Frank.
She wished Frank were here. She could talk to him. He would believe her.

Footsteps sounded from above her, and even though Betty knew it was Irene walking around—most likely waking up the others to tell them what had happened—a wave of fear washed over her.

“Kat knew something was wrong. She told me things weren't right. She told me she had a bad feeling,” Betty mumbled to herself.

Maybe none of us should be here—or in the opera house.
Evil had dwelt in this place. Madness had walked these halls.

Maybe I should leave, go home.
Betty stood and hurried to the window.
I don't belong here. We aren't wanted.

Someone had made that perfectly clear.

A pounding on the door of their house had awakened Frank before 5 a.m., when it was still dark out. Had Art had forgotten his key and wanted in? He leapt out of bed, ran to the door, and opened it to find Howard there instead of Art.

“Frank, we need you up at the gardens near the Festspielhaus—they've found Kat.”

“Yeah, sure.” He rubbed his eyes, wondering why they needed him.

“Is she okay? Does Betty know?”

“No to both those questions.” Only then did Frank notice Howard's red eyes, his weary face. “They found her body in the pond. We need you to take some stills—for evidence.” Howard lowered his head. “I knew something was wrong. She didn't seem herself, and everyone knew she was unhappy about returning to Hollywood. And after what she said on stage, they're all guessing it's suicide.”

Suicide?
The thought hadn't crossed Frank's mind, yet he had information the others didn't. He had the letters. Of course they'd think it was suicide.
Everyone around here thinks things are safe.
Yet he'd have to check things out before he gave his opinion on the matter.

It took two hours for the sun to cast enough light on the scene for Frank to get good shots. He swallowed hard and tried to control his trembling hands as he photographed Kat, floating near the bushes at the far end. Another hour passed, while he took more photos of the area around the pond, and they waited for someone to get Mickey. A low fog hung in the valley, hiding the town below and chilling Frank to the bone. But even worse were his pained thoughts.

It's happening just as the letters said. Why didn't I do more? I should have stuck closer to those singers. Someone's after them, all right. How come I let Kat go—running off without following her? It's my fault. I could have stopped this…

Frank lifted his eyes and spotted Mickey walking up the trail, with his head hanging low. The older man was distraught when he arrived, and he hung back—not getting too close to the pond—staring in disbelief.