Copenhagen Cozenage (9 page)

I braced both palms against his chest and shoved him away.

August nodded, acknowledging my anger. He dug a mismatched wad of bills from his wallet and laid them on the floor beside the scattered nesting dolls. “This is all I have on me, Morgan. I’m sorry.” Then he sighed and slipped to his feet, grabbed the dog, glanced back at me one more time, and walked from the room.

I stared after him, the kiss lingering on my mouth.

August was my pirate. All the men I’d seen that day scrolled through my mind. August was the guy with the cane at Rosenborg castle. He was the man at the pound I’d thought was the little girl’s dad. He was the priest and the clown who’d kissed my hand. He was the gentle Danish gardener and he was the man who’d left me to fend for myself with Leroy at the airport. Who else had he been during the most miserable day of my life? You know, besides the world’s biggest, actual ogre?

14

Sunday Luxury Brunch

The dog was gone. But so was my purse, my shoes, my sweet gardener friend, my traitorous pirate, my passport, my money, and Freja. In all the commotion and um…kissing I had totally forgotten about my cousin. At least she’d made it into Tivoli Gardens. Now if I could only make sure that I did as well.

Freja was supposed to meet me today at the elephant table at the Nimb hotel, wearing a floral patterned scarf featuring yellow tulips and daisies. She’d sounded fine in her text. All I could do was head to Nimb and hope the hotel had a record of my grandmother’s reservation. I padded back to Tivoli a barefooted soggy mess, trying to ignore the lingering burn of August’s kiss.

I stopped beside the fountain in front of the Nimb hotel to catch my breath. I glanced down at my dripping muddy garb and sighed. “Not exactly dressed for success, are we, Morgan?” I said to the beautiful gurgling pool. But I had nowhere else to go. I gritted my teeth and slogged toward the Venetian marble façade that made the front of the hotel look like a white Moorish palace. I felt like a street urchin sneaking into the princess’s private rooms as I crept past the beautiful arches and slipped inside.

The desk clerk closed his eyes and pressed his fingers against the bridge of his nose as I squelched across the gleaming tile. I passed an antique table, which held a pot of fragrant white orchids. A pair of delicate lamps and glowing candles bracketed the fragile blooms.

I slumped against the registration desk. “Hey, there.” I cradled my forehead in my hands as the room began to tilt.

“How may I help you, Ma’am?” The clerk raised an eyebrow and blinked.

I pushed a strand of sodden hair out of my eyes and tried to hide the fact that I was trembling with fatigue. A hard swim will do that, and a long fall, and being chased by a creepy man in a second-hand store. “This huge guy stole my purse down by The Gravel Road and the pirate and the gardener kissed me, but my grandmother wanted me to come here for brunch and sit at the table by the antique elephant head. Oh, and a room. I need a room where I can wash, but all my money is gone. Oh, wait.” I crammed the pile of wadded up bills August had given me in front of his nose.

“Ma’am, this is the equivalent to thirty-seven American dollars. For a room I am going to need seven hundred more.”

“Will you accept five hand-carved trolls and an action hero figurine that looks like a famous Caucasian movie star, except he’s Nigerian?”

The desk clerk stared at me for a long, silent eternity. “I’m afraid that this is neither a lost-and-found receptacle, a police station, nor a mental institution. Kindly take your grievances to the authorities.” He paused again, his eyes lingering on the sorry state of my dress. Then he pointed across the lobby. “You are welcome to use our phone.”

“No, you don’t understand.” I clutched the counter and did my best to glare as a wave of dizziness made the room blur. What with being smacked in the face by a mammoth brute, hiking all the way here without shoes, and having eaten nothing but two shortbread cookies and an authentic Danish Danish of the cherry variety seven hours earlier, I wasn’t feeling my best. “My grandmother had money.”

“Then may I suggest that you send her in.”

“She’s dead.”

He gave me his “I’m being incredibly patient because this woman is clearly certifiable” smile and whispered, “Then please don’t.”

I stared at him while he tapped a pencil against the side of his keyboard. I felt like leaping over the counter and snapping that ridiculous pencil over his pointy head. If only I had a little more energy…a soft throbbing spread across my face from my bruised cheek and my head was killing me. Apparently, God had designed us to eat occasionally and not get smacked in the head. The clerk’s computer gave an irritated beep. The computer! I covered my eyes in mortification and pointed at the glowing screen. “The computer. Just look in your computer. It’s Morgan Ravn.”

The clerk typed for a moment and glanced back up at me. “Ma’am, I need your ID please.”

“It was in my purse and my purse was stolen.”

“I cannot give you a room key without picture ID.”

I closed my eyes and shoved down the urge to leap across the counter and accost the clerk with Snarvich the Reticent’s famous nerve pinch. I struggled for self-control.
Lord, this is my last chance. If I don’t get into that brunch, I will have flown all the way to Denmark just so I could be dragged through every body of water in Copenhagen by a monster dog, get my purse stolen, and fall off a pirate ship.

The clerk flagged down a passing employee. “Could you please take these to the lost and found?” The clerk handed over a small basket, but not before I saw a rumpled envelope with my name scrawled across the front.

I snatched it out of the basket.
Thank you, Lord.
“I think this is mine.”

Both hotel employees looked skeptical, but upon further investigation, the envelope proved to contain fifteen dollars in cash, my coupon card for the local grocery store, my passport, and my driver’s license. At the bottom was a folded napkin with a note across the back.

Was able to get this much. Maks says the rest is gone. Working on it. So sorry.

August

I handed my passport to the desk clerk. He squinted at my picture, glanced back at me, and tapped his pencil against the keyboard again.

“Oh, my goodness, here!” I snatched the pencil out of his hand and struggled with my wet hair until it was up in a ragged French twist. I stabbed the pencil through the mass of tangles and then plastered a glassy smile upon my face. “Now do you recognize me?”

“Ah, of course, Ma’am. Your room and brunch this afternoon have been paid in full. Would you like help with your luggage?”

“Nope, I sent it ahead this morning.”

He checked the computer one more time and handed me a room key. “Yes, I see, you have two bags waiting in your room.” He smiled and held the expression on his face with admirable determination. But I saw him cringe as I dripped across the tiles toward the staircase.

I would get to eat after all. I dragged myself up to an opulent room with pinewood floors and the clean, simple lines of Danish design.

A warm blaze crackled in the open fireplace, the four-poster bed featured Egyptian cotton linens. There were original antiques and European design pieces scattered throughout.

An enormous wicker basket waited on the dark, antique desk that adorned one corner of my room. I tapped my fingers against the gleaming piece of furniture and glared down at the suspicious gift. Who was it from? Was this some horrible prank, like sending a handsome man to flirt with me, abandon his dog, and stalk me through Copenhagen taking mortifying photos? I peeked inside.

Lilac bubbles, bath beads, bars of handmade soap, bath crystals, three different kinds of lotion, soft flannel pajamas in a fanciful puppy print, and a box of Belgian chocolates. I tugged out an envelope with my name scribbled across the front. The card had a picture of a Newfoundland dog with sad eyes covering his nose with his paws. Scrawled across the inside were the words:

Forever Sorry

August

I’d forgotten that August was staying at the Nimb. Apparently, they had no qualms about housing charlatans and liars, as long as the aforementioned scoundrels had seven hundred dollars to burn.

I wondered if his room was as nice as mine. It wouldn’t be after a few minutes with Leroy. A small smile bent my mouth making my bruised cheek catch. What would the hotel staff think of Leroy and all of the mud and hair that invariably accompanied the ill-mannered beast? Maybe they would throw him out. Maybe they would charge August double, and then throw them out.

What was August thinking? An elaborate gift basket and a few stolen kisses did not an apology make. All it really did was emphasize how filthy I had become and remind me exactly who to blame for my drenched and damaged appearance.

I looked back at the basket. Hmmm…just because I loathed the man, didn’t excuse me wasting a fine collection of bathing accessories. I snatched up the basket and stumbled into the vast bathroom.

Two enormous white sinks balanced on the marble counter in front of shiny fixtures that jutted out of the wall. They resembled unfilled devilled eggs lying open on a cutting board. I blinked into the mirrors behind the egg-sinks. Not only did I resemble one of the walking dead, the mirrors were also TV screens. I eased away from the TV-mirrors to run a bath. The tub was an enormous white block, scooped hollow so that I could fill it with steaming water and every sudsy, perfumed substance in the basket. I collapsed into the water-filled hollow and let my eyes slide shut.

It was a heavenly five minutes, but a glance at the clock revealed that the brunch was scheduled to commence in twenty minutes. I didn’t even have time to try on my new PJs. I think the CIA should investigate insufficient baths as a form of humane torture. They could have a large dog drag the resistant criminal through a stretch of cold muddy water, and run a splendid bath for the miscreant. Then the torturers would allow her to soak for a few blissful moments before yanking her from the tub. When they asked her questions of national import, the inquisitors would promise a return to the tub if she answered forthrightly.

I’m pretty sure it would work smashingly. The process would probably even be legal. Inhumane, torture for sure, but legal…anyway, I almost stayed. I almost forgot every single reason I had traveled to Denmark and I almost sank beneath the blissful bubbles to die in peace.

But my mind jerked to life and I remembered that I had a past to investigate. I was not a faceless foster-care kid. I was a woman with a history and a family. I had to know where I had come from. I wanted to move forward, not return to “anonymous orphan” status. I had to know.

So I dragged free of the blissful waters and stared down into the near empty recesses of my pink suitcase. I had two remaining outfits. A delicate flower print dress in yellow and my tattered jeans and Star Jumpers T-shirt. I put on the dress.

There was no time for my hair so I did my best to replicate a French twist without the instructional video and slid into a pair of delicate white heels. Eyeliner, mascara, and some quick dabs of concealer across my bruised cheek and I was as pretty as a five-minute bath and thirty-five seconds worth of cosmetics could make me. I stared at my reflection in the TV mirrors.

Why had August kissed me? I mean, August the pirate, kissing the damsel in distress I understood. It fit with his character and the charade. But August the confessed stalker had no reason to pretend.

I looked tired and heartbroken. This was not the face of a woman who was so irresistibly scrumptious that every man with a pulse couldn’t help but plant a big smooch on her no matter what awkward crimes he had just divulged. It just didn’t make sense.

I turned away from the mirrors and their accompanying egg-shaped sinks, sent up a quick prayer for help, and clicked out the door toward the Sunday Luxury Brunch and my missing family.

I was ushered to the table that my grandmother had described. It was off in the far corner near one of the blazing fireplaces in the hotel’s main lounge.

A piano player filled the room with soothing tunes, while assistants scuttled around setting up covered easels for a silver-haired gentleman who had to be in his 80’s.

I was pretty sure he was the famed Axel Rasmussen.

A grand elephant’s head, carved in marble, scowled at me from a sturdy pillar. His eyes were wild with fury and his long trunk curled to grasp at the air. The trunk was rendered in exquisite detail, every wrinkle and crease polished to gleaming perfection. The sculpture felt almost off balance with the trunk stretching far away from the thick marble base toward my table. The elephant’s nostrils were flared, perhaps snuffling at some tasty aroma. Weird.

I almost preferred August’s monstrous dog. I turned away from the grasping trunk and flagged down a waiter. What exactly did a luxury brunch entail? Apparently, everyone else in Denmark was familiar with the menu. However, the waiter was happy to enlighten me once I convinced him of my ignorance. Brunch would be a strange and exotic affair without either scrambled eggs or Texas toast.

First, diners enjoyed a glass of champagne and some oysters. The second course was sliced fish and caviar in cauliflower and truffles, then fresh rolls and croissants followed by a poached egg in hollandaise sauce. There was also a buffet with sausages and smoothies and fresh breads and a dessert buffet that I hoped had more chocolate than caviar.

My grandmother really had lived in a different world.

I scanned the crowd for a yellow-and-white scarf matching my own, but couldn’t spot Freja or her lovely accessory. Fairly certain that I was committing some kind of heinous crime, I gathered up a few croissants and made a nice little sandwich out of the fancy oysters. I plopped a few strawberries into my champagne flute and took a delicate sip. I let the bubbles pop and sparkle on my tongue and took a cautious nibble of the oyster sandwich. It was much tastier than I had anticipated.