The Wurst Is Yet to Come (30 page)

“Then I'd have to sue you,” Judith said. “I hope I've accomplished what you originally wanted me to do, which was find out who killed Bob Stafford. You're on your own with Wessler. Good luck.”

Judith walked out of Duomo's office, through the reception area, and left the building. She hadn't seen such a heavy snowfall in twenty-five years when she'd had to walk two miles home from the Meat & Mingle. As she opened the station door, the dim memory of someone or something came back to her—and disappeared into the snow that obliterated Little Bavaria.

 

Chapter Twenty-one

T
he snow blurred Judith's vision, preventing her from seeing more than one step ahead of her. Worse yet, she had no transportation except for her own feet. At least there was no sharp wind stinging her face. It was the quiet that disturbed her. No laughter, no music, no vehicles—just silence. She squinted at her watch: 3:10.

Judith was about to eat humble pie and go back inside to ask if someone could give her a ride to Hanover Haus when she saw a dim figure moving toward her from across the street. A moment later, she realized it was Renie.

“Why,” her cousin demanded, “are you standing out here?”

“I'm an idiot,” Judith admitted. “I forgot I didn't have a car.”

“Hang on to me. The snow's soft, but not slippery.”

Judith grabbed Renie's arm. “Why aren't you guarding Astrid?”

“A neighbor came who looked as benign as Mrs. Bauer. I told them to lock the doors and not let anyone in. I couldn't stay there forever.”

Judith wiped away the snowflakes that were gathering on her face. “No, you couldn't. I wonder if tonight's grand finale is canceled?”

“Could be, unless it stops snowing so hard.”

They paused before crossing the main street. “Did you get Mrs. Bauer to talk about her daughter?”

“No,” Renie replied as they crossed the deserted thoroughfare. “But she did go on about the senior Hellman. I'll tell you more when we get back to our room.”

Upon arrival, Judith took off her jacket and flopped onto the bed. “I'm tired. Again. Amuse me with tales from the crypt.”

“That's sort of what it was,” Renie said, tugging off her boots. “I insisted Mrs. Bauer—let's call her Astrid since she and I are now best buds—drink something stronger than water. She had an unopened bottle of Absolut vodka and, better yet, pickled herring. Thus, we whiled away almost an hour while she revealed all about the Hellmans.”

“Wow! Tell me more.”

“I will, but let me take off your boots for you while I do it.” Renie tossed her own pair aside. “Astrid has done her homework. In fact, she has a copy of that Kommandant book Bill wants.” She paused, grunting as the first of Judith's boots required extra effort. “Astrid apparently got the only copy Sadie's Stories had before the title fell off the radar. What she read confirmed her suspicions about the senior Hellman. In fact, he's not Heinrich Hellman, but Engelbert Vogel, a Nazi collaborator. Every lie he told about Mr. Bauer apparently was true about
him,
including a new identity and a change in religion. Oops!” Renie cried as she almost toppled over yanking off the other boot. “His crimes included turning Jews and other so-called undesirables over to the SS and the Gestapo.”

Judith propped herself up on the pillows. “What was the original connection between Bauer and Hellman aka Vogel?”

“Bauer was hiding some Jewish friends in a small town where Vogel was an official. He found out about the family of seven and they were sent to the camps. Bauer and Astrid—who'd come to Germany to work as an au pair just before the war—barely escaped Vogel's wrath.”

“And the men didn't cross paths until they met again here?”

“Right. Bauer and Astrid fled to another town, where they got married and moved in with some people who had taken in displaced persons.” Renie sat down on the other bed. “Hellman—I mean, Vogel—had grown a beard, dyed his hair, and married an American woman at some point. Maybe, Astrid thought, a WAC. She died not long after giving birth to their son, Jack. That was before the cemetery existed. Astrid doesn't know where she's buried.”

Judith grew thoughtful. “So who planted Vogel by the river?”

Renie's eyes sparkled. “Herr Wessler. Who else? He was the one person who believed Bauer was innocent.”

“My God! That's a motive for murder.”

Renie grinned. “It sure is. Now where do we find Jack Hellman?”

“Good question.” Judith stared up at the half-timbered ceiling. “A disguise?” She shook her head before Renie could respond. “If Jack Hellman killed Bob
and
Wessler, did he hang around here for two months? That doesn't seem likely. Maybe we
are
talking about two murderers. But what's the motive for either killing?”

Renie fingered her chin. “Can we cross Jack off as the griping letter writer?”

“I guess.” Judith sounded uncertain. “Wait. I've got an idea.” She delved into her purse and took out her phone. “Can you grab that folder on the little table? It's got my information in it. I need the number for Wolfgang's restaurant and bar.”

Renie got up, grabbed the folder, and handed it to Judith. “Who are you calling?”

“Ruby, the barmaid and waitress.” Judith punched in the number. “I hope she's at work.”

Ruby wasn't on the job, but whoever answered obliged with a home number. A sullen female voice answered. “Ruby?” Judith said.

“Yeah. Who's this?”

“Your sub from the other night when you were pulling double duty. Judith McMonigle Flynn. Have you got a moment?”

Ruby uttered a short, bitter laugh. “Sure. Time on my hands, nobody in my arms. What can I do for you?”

“This sounds odd,” Judith said. “When did your dad die?”

“You want to send flowers? It's a little late.” Ruby paused. “It was August, a Friday. I'd have to look at a calendar.”

“How about August nineteenth?”

“That sounds right,” Ruby said, sounding surprised. “Why? Are you suing his estate for what he stole from your bar?” She laughed again. “He didn't have an estate. I told you he was broke.”

“Do you know how the motorcycle accident happened?”

Ruby paused again. “Well . . . no, and I wish I did. It was on one of those sharp, narrow curves. He was with some sleazebag buddy who took off, according to a witness. A trucker saw it happen and said Dad ran over an embankment. He always rode like a bat out of hell.”

“Who was the buddy?”

“Let me think. Oh—it was that guy who hung out with him at your place. Big Badger or Bad Bull or some damned thing.”

“Do you recall his real name?”

“No. I only saw him once or twice. I didn't see him when Dad stopped in to put the squeeze on me.”

“Would you recognize the sleazebag if you saw him?”

“It's been a while. Hey, what is this? You working for the cops?”

“Yes.” Judith was no longer playing games. “I'm a police consultant on the Bob Stafford homicide.”

“Holy crap! You think Dad killed Bob?”

“No. I've got a sketch of his pal. Are you going to work?”

“I'll try. It's only three blocks. I live near the railroad tracks. I'll be there around four. Are you coming to Wolfgang's?”

“Probably not, but I can fax you the drawing.”

After hanging up, Judith noticed that Renie was giving her a curious look. “What? Do you think I'm nuts?”

“No,” Renie said, “but we don't have a fax machine.”

“I mean, the cops can do that,” Judith replied, not wanting to admit her cousin was right. “But we're missing something.”

“Such as Jack Hellman or whatever his name is?”

Judith nodded. “Who burned down the original town hall? Was it someone who wanted to destroy the records?” Suddenly she brightened. “It happened when Jack's father was still alive. He hanged himself from the lamppost at the site. Wessler buried him by the river where his wife and baby died. That's the connection.”

“You're reaching.”

“No. I think it means something very important—symbolic. Wessler could've planted Hellman—and let's keep calling him that to avoid confusion—in the forest or the local garbage dump. What if Hellman killed Mrs. Wessler and her child? And why would he do that? Did she know the truth about him from when they lived in Germany?”

“If Mrs. Wessler knew, then so did Mr. Wessler.” Renie clapped a hand to her cheek. “Of course! Astrid Bauer told me Wessler knew Hellman was guilty of war crimes.”

Judith started to nod in agreement, but suddenly stared at Renie. “What if Hellman's death wasn't a suicide?”

“You mean . . .” Renie bit her lower lip. “Damn. It makes sense.”

“It also makes a motive for Jack killing Wessler. Maybe Bob, too. He was Wessler's attorney and possibly a confidant. If the old guy was as decent as everyone says, he'd have to clear his conscience. His priest may be long gone. Next on the full-disclosure ladder is a lawyer.”

“You're doing just fine,” Renie said. “But where
is
Jack Hellman? He can't be hiding in plain sight.”

Judith leaned back on the pillow. “Something's tickling my brain—evil and how it . . . damn! I forget. Do you recall hearing that?”

Renie rested her head on her hand. “Gee . . . we've talked to so many people. But it does ring a bell. Let me think.”

“Okay. Meanwhile, I'll call the cops and ask them to fax that sketch to Ruby at Wolfgang's. If she doesn't get to work, there's a chance someone else might recognize it and have some information about Jack.”

“Dubious,” Renie murmured, still apparently in deep thought.

Hernandez took the call. In his usual no-nonsense manner, he agreed to fax the sketch to the restaurant. “I wonder,” Judith said after disconnecting, “if he feels out of place with the rest of the local cop crew.”

“They should lose the cop cruiser and have a clown car,” Renie said. “Of course there aren't enough cops on the force for ten or fifteen of them to come out of one tiny vehicle. Besides, their uniforms aren't as funny as . . .” Her jaw dropped as she gaped at Judith. “Mrs. Bauer, at the cemetery, with the flowers.”

“We're playing Clue again?”

Renie shook her head. “No. She was talking about the Hellmans and how evil comes in disguise.”

“It was probably a figure of speech,” Judith said. “Though Oktoberfest is a good place for a disguise, clowns included.”

For a few moments the cousins were lost in thought. A knock on the door made both of them jump. Renie stood up. “If it's a clown, call the cops.” She cautiously opened the door. “Are you a clown?” she asked Eleanor Denkel.

“I beg your pardon?” Ellie huffed as she stalked into the room. “Really, you don't have any manners, do you?”

“Guess not,” Renie said. “Have a seat.”

Ellie, however, remained standing by the bed where Judith had sat up and was eyeing their visitor with curiosity.

“What now, Ellie?” she asked.

The other woman's usual bravado faded. “You must think I'm an idiot.” She took a deep breath. “You know I didn't kill my grandfather.”

“I never thought you did,” Judith said.

“But you don't know why I confessed. Three times.”

“I'm listening,” Judith said, her expression sympathetic.

Ellie took a deep breath. “Ingrid Heffelman made me do it.” She moved to the vacant chair and pulled it closer to the bed. “If I didn't, she was going to pull my B&B license.”

Judith couldn't hide her dismay. “I don't get it.”

Ellie sat down. “Nor do I. She called me as soon as she heard about what happened to . . . Dietrich. I thought . . .” She winced, her eyes darting in Renie's direction. “If your cousin is a sleuth or if you are, do you know why she'd ask such a thing?”

Judith hesitated about being candid. Ellie seemed sincere. “Okay, I
am
FASTO. Serena is my able assistant.” She was glad Ellie couldn't see Renie roll her eyes. “But I truly don't know unless Ingrid has ties to Little Bavaria. Is that possible?”

Ellie shook her head. “Not to my knowledge.”

“Was it her idea for us to take part in Oktoberfest?”

“It was her decision.” Ellie paused. “But we've had a presence at other events—state fairs, festivals, conventions. Several B&B owners have suggested Oktoberfest and small-town celebrations.”

“True,” Judith said. “This is a first for me.”

“I've done a few others in the city,” Ellie said. “This was convenient for me with family here.” She looked away. “For a while, at least.”

“I
am
sorry about your loss,” Judith said solemnly. “What kind of pressure did Ingrid put on Connie?”

Ellie's head jerked around to stare at Judith. “You knew? She told Connie to make sure I confessed. She bribed her with that workshop.”

“I don't get it,” Judith admitted. “Why did Ingrid do any of this?”

Ellie sighed. “You tell me. You're the sleuth.”

Another knock on the door startled all three women. Renie, who had been sitting in an unusual state of quiet, jumped up to open the door. Franz Wessler rushed into the room.

“Eleanor!” he cried. “You're safe.”

Ellie swung around in the chair. “Of course. I got back here before the snow started coming down so hard.”

Franz looked chagrined. “I'm sorry. Delmar is frantic. He thought you were stranded at the exhibit area.”

Judith gestured at Franz. “Why don't you take the chair my cousin just vacated, Franz. You look cold. And weary. Please.”

“No, thank you,” Franz said, still looking at his niece. “I must tell Delmar you're safe. He's outside.”

Ellie looked annoyed. “How silly of him. Go to the balcony and let him know I'm fine. And tell him to come inside, for heaven's sake.”

Franz froze. “You know I can't do that.”

“Oh!” Ellie put a hand over her mouth, turned pale, and bowed her head. “I'm sorry,” she mumbled, removing her hand. “I didn't think.”

“Never mind,” Franz said, awkwardly patting his niece's shoulder. “I must go. I'll tell Delmar to come in on my way out.” He made a little bow to the cousins. “Forgive the intrusion.”