Copenhagen Cozenage (2 page)

Leroy barked in earnest once August left. I attempted to stuff little, stinky dog treats past the bars and into his slobbery jaws. Leroy was not pleased. He plopped his enormous head down at the door of the crate, looked up at me with sad brown eyes, and began to whine. Water! He probably needed water.

Water is not an easy thing to procure for large beasts trapped at the airport. Finally, I was able to order an ice water from the food court using the services of an enterprising teenage boy. The conniving teen charged me ten dollars to walk fifty feet of tile and order a drink that cost a single American dollar. But since I could not leave Leroy to fend for himself, I forked over the cash.

Disposable cup in hand, I stuffed a few ice cubes into his mouth. But as soon as he snorked down an ice cube, the whining returned. OK, desperate times. I slowly unlatched the kennel and held the cup under Leroy’s massive nose. A great deal of slurping commenced. I glanced down at my white suit as I waited for him to finish. A silky, black dog hair had stuck to one lapel. I plucked it off. Then I noticed another, and another, and suddenly about ten thousand more magically appeared! What in the world? How had that happened?

“Here you go, Morgan.” August rolled my pretty pink suitcase up beside the crate and took the slobbery cup from my hand.

Leroy launched out of his prison and hit August straight in the chest like a giant bullet of hair and drool.

“Oh, my goodness, I’m sorry. He was so thirsty and loud and this door is really hard to latch. Did you notice that?”

August wrestled Leroy back into the crate and slammed the door, panting.

I peered down at the wet black nose pressed up against the mesh. “I don’t think that’s shut.”

He jiggled it until the locking mechanism finally unstuck. Then he turned and flashed that dimpled smile. “Thank you, I hate to leave him alone, and I was able to find my suitcase, as well.”

“So, what do you do when you’re not rescuing people from the luggage tunnel?” That sounded normal right? And maybe if I kept talking, he wouldn’t notice all the dog hair.

“My grandfather owns a small theater supply business. We make custom costumes and props for plays all over the Pacific Northwest.”

“You work at his shop?”

“Yeah, I specialize in fake mustaches and costume monsters.”

“So, what brings you to Copenahgen?”

“Ahhh…would you believe, a mysterious package and the Cinderella Bandit?”

Knowing about my own mysterious package, this was not the least bit of a stretch for me. Denmark seemed to be full of intrigue. But I’d never heard of the Cinderella Bandit.

“Who’s the Cinderella Bandit?”

“Everyone within ten feet of my grandpa has been living and breathing the Cinderella Bandit ever since the package arrived. It’s hard to remember that most people have never heard of her.” He gave Leroy another sausage. “It sounds made up, doesn’t it?”

The story did sound made up. But I decided to give August the benefit of the doubt, shook my head “no,” and leaned closer.

“The Bandit captured Grandpa’s heart and sent me to Denmark.”

“Maybe the story will sound more believable if you explain it.”

August flashed me his amazing grin and leaned over Leroy. He wiped the drool off Leroy’s snout with a napkin from the food court and gave him a scratch behind one floppy ear through the crate’s mesh. If I didn’t watch myself, I would start drooling worse than the dog. It should be illegal for guys who were both gorgeous and conversationally adroit to talk with us mere mortals. With difficulty, I pulled my dwindling mental faculties back into focus.

“Because he grew up here, my grandpa was actually on a tour of Rosenborg castle when her famous theft occurred. An impressionable ten-year-old boy sees a beautiful young woman make off with one of the nation’s treasures. She was his first crush, the mystery he could never solve. That day the Cinderella Bandit hooked him for life. He’s been poring over old Danish books and buying boxes of moldy records from estate sales in Denmark ever since I can remember.”

“So what exactly happened?”

“According to the legend, she stole a piece out of Denmark’s crown jewel collection in 1958. The chain of the Order of the Elephant. It belongs to the highest order of knighthood in Denmark. Well, she got half way out the door and the strap of her fancy shoe snapped.”

That I could believe. I glanced down at my own mangled footwear.

“The Cinderella Bandit fled the scene, leaving a single shoe and the necklace behind. Grandpa’s theory is that she dropped a fake piece and the government has been covering up the loss of the real necklace all these years.”

“He sounds like a good, old-fashioned romantic.” I attempted to pat my tangled hair back into place.

“Most definitely. And it gives him something fun to research when his arthritis acts up. Last month was his first real breakthrough. A package from Denmark arrived out of the blue. Some Danish lady died and left it to him in her will.” August pulled out an old-fashioned pocket watch. It was gold with some kind of animal engraved on the front and a delicate scrolled key in the side to wind it. “All it contained was this watch, a picture of the Chain of the Order of the Elephant, and instructions to eat at a certain table at a local restaurant for brunch. Grandpa couldn’t resist. So here I am.”

Hmmm…apparently strange packages were more common than I had thought. It made me feel a little bit better, knowing that I was not the only one chasing a mystery halfway around the world.

Upon the death of Silje Østergaard, who appeared to be my grandmother, I’d received a mysterious package from her lawyer. Apparently I was the only child of her youngest daughter. My mother had run away to the States thirty years ago and disappeared. All she left behind was a baby girl in foster care. Somehow the lawyer had found me. That single, oversized envelope from Denmark contained everything I knew about my past.

There was a round-trip plane ticket to Copenhagen, an antique watch with a key to wind it, a brochure about the crown jewels of Denmark, and a receipt for a room and the Sunday luxury brunch at the Nimb Hotel in Tivoli Gardens. The package even held instructions regarding where I should sit during brunch. My grandmother’s favorite table was near the fireplace, next to an antique elephant’s head displayed on a short marble pillar.

The similarities between mine and August’s packages wasn’t lost on me. Apparently, the Danes had different customs than Americans upon the death of a loved one. Giving out family heirlooms, sending brochures about national treasures, and having one eat at a favorite restaurant of the deceased was obviously some kind of tradition.

Right before my plane left, I’d won the bonus prize. An e-mail from Freja, my Danish cousin, wanting to meet for the brunch. I had family in Denmark, living family. Nothing short of three hurricanes and a broken arm would make me miss meeting my birth family.

My attention snapped back to the conversation at hand when Leroy gave me a generous slurp across the arm. “So, why did you bring Leroy?” I scooted back a step and wiped the slobber on the side of my suitcase.

“Leroy’s here to work. A local artist needed the loan of an enormous dog. I was here anyway, so bringing Leroy wasn’t too much hassle since the other guy is paying.”

I stood and tried to dust some of Leroy’s hairs off my new skirt. They just smeared around. “Um, well…thank you for rescuing me, and good luck with the jewel thief and Leroy’s job.”

“No, thank you for watching Leroy.” Our conversation dwindled down to a thick awkward silence that sat between us like that lava monster Snarvich The Reticent was forced to calm with his telepathic abilities in Season One of the original series.

August fumbled a paper out of his back pocket, braced it against Leroy’s crate, and scribbled something down. His blue eyes were strangely serious as he broke our silence. “Here, take my number. I’ll be visiting the crown jewels and snooping around some fancy hotel, but other than that I’m free if you need a tour guide.”

I smiled and took the scrap of paper he slipped into my hand. Wow, what were the odds I’d meet a man undeterred by the sorry state of my appearance.

I attempted to keep a blush at bay, gathered up all my pink items, and clicked off toward the bathrooms. A few steps into my grand exit I couldn’t help myself and looked back.

August had opened the cage to give Leroy a drink, and was now attempting to stuff the dog back into the crate. The latch on the crate appeared to be giving him trouble again.

Leroy burst free. The dog’s wagging tail swept across a stand featuring Copenhagen’s most popular attractions. The flyers fluttered out of their carefully labeled pockets and scattered across the floor.

Man, he was cute, and I was not talking about the dog.

2

The Taxi

I may not be considered much of an artist. Sadly, the complexities of creating a fierce unicorn that remains majestic without appearing too proud is lost to most of the artistic community. Still, I love art. And God added a bonus blessing to this trip I would never have thought up on my own. My favorite artist in all the world would be at the Nimb Hotel today—the very day my Grandmother arranged for my brunch.

Axel Rasmussen was famous for his candid sketches of everyday people on a bad day. How he thought up his subjects’ misadventures and coaxed his models to accurately portray every indignant pose was a mystery. They were unequivocally hilarious, especially the one of a businessman whose briefcase got hooked by a passing trolley. By the time he retrieved the tooled leather case, it had been run over by five cars, a garbage truck, and a mounted policeman.

I owned ten of his coffee table books. I’d heard rumors, in a few online chat rooms, that Axel Rasmussen would finally reveal his process. And I, Morgan Nicole Ravn, would witness his genius first hand.

I dragged my luggage to the ladies’ room where I changed out of my damaged attire. I donned a slim navy dress with a wiggle skirt, cap sleeves, and matching heels. I hid the pink purse at the very bottom of my suitcase underneath my ragged jeans and orange “Live Long and Thrive” T-shirt featuring Snarvich The Reticent and his intergalactic space craft. It was the only classic Morgan outfit I had condescended to bring—just for emergencies. I pulled out a small leather backpack that Bret had given me and stuffed my wallet inside.

The navy heels were even higher than the pink ones, but they made such satisfying clicks on the shiny airport floors that it almost made up for how I lived in fear for my ankles. What if I hit a puddle and my ankle bent and my leg snapped right off? No, I had to focus. This was what normal women dealt with every day.

I could sculpt six different styles of the same movie hero in two weeks (one Somalian, one Japanese, one Swedish, one Peloponnesian, one French, and my favorite, the Chilean hero). I was going to this fancy schmancy brunch as a woman. Heels and a slick floor would not thwart my plans.

I flagged down a taxi, tossed my carry-on into the seat, and stashed my larger bag in the trunk.

Someone behind me gasped.

I turned.

Several travelers ran toward me waving their arms and shouting in Danish.

Oh, no, this was my taxi. The frantic travelers would just have to wait their turn. I leapt inside and slammed the door, shouting out the address for Tivoli Gardens where the Nimb Hotel and Restaurant was located. Sensing my urgency, the driver zipped out into traffic. I sighed and looked across the seat to make sure that my carry-on and purse had made it.

I screamed and scrambled back against the door.

A massive black dog looked back at me. I covered my eyes and peeked through my fingers. Leroy was still there. I could see neither my carry-on nor my purse, for the giant animal lounged across most of the seat in a great, floppy mess of fur and slobber.

How had I missed him? My mind flew back to the shouting travelers who had charged my taxi at the airport. Perhaps they weren’t trying to pirate my ride. Chivalrous knights, the strangers had hoped to save me the horror of a giant canine sharing my seat.

I looked back.

Leroy had not disappeared. In fact, he panted and oozed closer to me across the seat. This could not be happening. I couldn’t take this massive beast on my tour of Rosenborg Castle to see the crown jewels. He would not blend in during Sunday Luxury Brunch at Nimb. And I would not tolerate another hair on my newly-acquired girly clothes.

The dog had to go.

I informed my driver that we had an unwelcome guest. He almost crashed the taxi when he glanced in the mirror to see if I was joking. Fortunately, there were no cars in the opposite lane and he managed to swerve us back to safety.

Soon I was back at the airport, paying him to wait for me.

I yanked on Leroy’s leash trying to coax him out of the taxi. Leroy would not budge. I called August on my cell, but it went right to voice mail. How could I move Leroy without obtaining a whole new coating of hair? I pulled on his front paws, which didn’t help any, and then tugged at his tail from a distance. The meter continued to tick, ringing up a larger and larger fare. Finally I lowered my shoulder and shoved Leroy’s hairy rear across the slick seat until the beast yawned and stepped out of the car. OK, now all I had to do was find his person.

August was nowhere. I called his number twelve times. I searched baggage claim and every taxi out front. I even stood in line at the help desk and asked if they could hold Leroy with the other lost suitcases until August came to get him.

No, they could not. They couldn’t even find the flight that August and Leroy had taken to Denmark. However, the smiling lady behind the counter did suggest that I would feel much better if I got a nice, strong coffee and had some cake. Cake?

I wanted August Bruun. I mean, really, how hard could it be to locate his flight? It had to have arrived today. August had gotten his suitcase the same time he’d brought mine. But the tall, thin woman who guarded the counter simply shook her head. I was stuck with my new best friend.