Herta sat back and rubbed her face, exhaustion finally making itself felt. After her argument with Turan yesterday, she had stormed off to the bike shop, terrorized the shop clerk into selling her a bike quickly, and pedaled home. Even that exercise didn't ease her fury at Turan's cavalier attitude. The subject was an old one for her. Her ex didn't think much of her career as a writer, either, however much he enjoyed the paycheck.
She shrugged and saved the last image onto her computer. The articles, three of them, had been written yesterday after the telephone installer had left. The woman had given Herta several places to call for Internet services, calls which had yet to be made.
But Herta had called the lawyers, telling them her phone number and letting them know that Gebhardt was on his way back to München. After that, Herta had grabbed a quick sandwich and gone back to the computer. By dark, she had uploaded the images from her camera and edited most of them. She had a quick wash and went to bed.
Her sleep had not refreshed her, being filled with dreams of racing down a hillside, men chasing her and a furious Turan demanding her soul before he would help her. Herta arose, made a pot of coffee and went to work. Once she'd had the articles edited, she stopped long enough to get dressed, and then she concentrated on finishing up the images. She could, she hoped, use her previous Internet connection to email the files to RaeLynne. The long distance charges would hurt, but it would be worth it to contact a friendly face, so to speak. With a start, she realized that her coffee cup was empty. She rose to get a refill just as someone knocked on the door.
"Detective Zwitzer! Um, come in, won't you?" Herta wasn't sure what to make of the detective's appearance, especially considering that the woman's casual skirt and top didn't look like a uniform. Herta wanted to ask a hundred questions, but the only one that came out was "You timed that perfectly, Detective. I was just going for a coffee. Will you join me?"
"Call me Krista," she asked as she stepped inside. "Today, I am not a detective."
Herta gave her a skeptical look. "Uh-huh? And I'm not a reporter. I'm on coffee break. But you're welcome all the same."
As she led the way into the kitchen, Herta tried to figure out what it was that made Krista Zwitzer seem like an old friend. She pondered the question as she poured two coffees, found a plate for the pfeffernuesse, gingerbread cookies, she'd bought the other day and talked of inconsequential things, the weather, her — Herta's — adjustment to a new home and country.
"So what brings you out this far on your day off, Krista?" Herta asked as she sat down.
Krista smiled. "Curiosity, mostly," she admitted. "I've heard a great deal about Hans Theiner, and I saw him once or twice when I was a child, but—" She shrugged.
Herta laughed. "If Smalltown, Germany is anything like Smalltown, Canada, I can well imagine what you've heard. As far as I know, there are no dead bodies in the cellar, the walls aren't stuffed with money and," she added with a chuckle, "no bats in the belfry."
Krista's eyes lit up with amusement. "No familiars lurking about? No cabalistic sigils written in blood? No ghosts? How—What's wrong?"
Herta had paled at the mention of ghosts. She shrugged, not sure if it was important. "Not a ghost, exactly, but I did have a visitor my first morning here," she admitted. She explained about the face in the window, her chase, and the box of supplies left on the doorstep. "But I have no idea who he was or where he went."
"You're sure it was a man?"
Herta frowned and then shook her head. "I thought so at the time, but I'm not sure now. It could have been a woman." Another moment of thought. "But she'd have to be fairly strong if she brought the box. It was heavy."
"Could it have been Frau Hörst?"
Herta shook her head again. "Thing is, no one knew I was coming. Not that I knew, anyway. Actually, I arrived a week earlier than I'd expected to."
"The lawyers, perhaps?"
Herta tipped her head, thinking. "Someone could have phoned the village, I suppose. After Gebhardt and I left München," but her tone of voice indicated doubt.
"Did Herr Brunwold make reservations at the Gasthaus?"
Herta stared at Krista. "I'm not sure. He may have. I know he didn't expect me to spend the night here. And he did know about the Gasthaus."
"He could have known about it from when your grandfather died."
Herta chuckled. "Whose side are you on, anyway?"
Krista grinned back. "Old habits."
Seeing that Krista had finished her coffee, Herta asked, "Care for a fifty-cent tour?"
"I thought you'd never ask."
The pantry was the first stop. Herta, her perverse sense of humor forefront, wanted to see Krista's reaction to the tub. She wasn't disappointed.
"That is your bathtub? You carry water to it? But that's, that's—"
"Primitive? Archaic? Outrageous?" Herta chuckled. "Actually, it's not that bad. It's deep enough for a good long soak before the water cools. But I'll see if I can get some sort of water heater in here. Those buckets get pretty heavy."
A surprised look crossed her face as she thought of something. "Of course!" she muttered, striding to the chalkboard she'd put up behind the door of the pantry. It helped keep track of what she was running low on. 'Horse heater' was added to the bottom of the list.
"A horse heater?"
Herta explained as she led Krista to the back porch. "It's a long electric probe. I've seen them used to heat 200 liter drums of water in barns. I could fill the tub at night and have a hot bath ready by morning."
"It still seems like a lot of work."
Herta shrugged. "So's the wood stove, but it'll keep me from gluing myself to the computer."
The inspection of the porch and the wood shed didn't take long. Krista shuddered at the thought of what amounted to an outhouse.
Herta grinned. "It doesn't bother me, but I'll let you know after I've spent a winter here."
Krista gave her a dirty look, and they both grinned. "So you'll be after me to find you a plumber by this time next year?" she asked.
"Probably."
Krista shook her head at the bare shelves lining one wall of the porch. "You'll need some flowers in here. I know a good greenhouse."
Herta nodded. "I was thinking more along the lines of herbs, but I suppose I could put a few flowers in, marigolds or something to keep the insect life down." Judging by the profusion of blooms she'd seen in town, Herta figured that plain green herbs might not be enough to suit the German woman. And she wasn't wrong.
Krista had several ideas for plants, both for the greenhouse and for the front yard. Herta finally had to hold up her hand and try to hold back her laughter. "Krista, I don't have time for that much work. The front yard is going to be all chamomile, if I can find enough plants. That way I don't have to mow it." She pointed out the window. "It looks like Grandfather had a bit of a garden out there, so I'll probably plant some vegetables, potatoes, carrots and easy things like that. But I'll probably be spending a good deal of time trying to find something to keep me out of trouble." She shrugged. "I don't have to work for a while, thanks to Grandfather's foresight, but I'm not the home-body type, really. I need something to keep my mind occupied and writing is all I know."
Krista nodded. "We have a newspaper here, but you'd need to have the appropriate papers in order to get a job. I'll see what I can find out for you."
"I'd appreciate that. Thanks."
The two women left the porch and went upstairs.
"Oh, what a lovely room!" Krista exclaimed as they entered the bedroom.
Herta grinned. The bright light coming through the windows showed the carved cupboards and bed to perfection. Herta hadn't noticed them the first day, but they were beautiful. Vines entwined with flowers along every possible space. Small animals peeked out from between the vines and from behind flowers. There were even a few pixies to add a whimsical touch. "Isn't it neat? Like something out of 'Heidi'. All the comforts of home in a five by three meter room. My bedroom in Toronto was larger than this, but not nearly as well designed. I've got more space with those two cupboards than I had with my bedroom suite."
"Larger?" Krista asked, picking up on the one word.
Herta nodded. "Four meters square, including a two meter long closet. But my bedroom suite didn't have this many drawers and I should have plenty of space to hang what few clothes need it."
"Reporters are well-paid in Canada, then?" Krista asked, awed.
Herta chuckled. "Not in the least. The pantry here is bigger than my kitchen was and my living room and dining room were combined and about the same size. All told, I had about 32 square meters of space. " She grinned ruefully. "I made enough to pay about five dollars a meter rent. It was the cheapest I could find."
"That's still larger than what you'd find here, but once you figure out the conversions, I suppose it's pretty close to the same." She shook her head. "But the space!"
"It does take some getting used to, yeah. The idea of a whole room for my office—"
The two women looked at each other and began to laugh. "Cultural differences are wonderful, aren't they?"
"So what's through that door?" Krista asked, pointing to the second door in the bedroom.
Herta looked startled. "I have no idea, but I'm going to look awfully foolish if it's a full bath."
The door creaked loudly as Herta pushed it open. It was obviously a storage room. Two narrow windows in the west wall were flanked by rows of shelves, each one groaning under the weight of what appeared to be banker's boxes. The inside wall was the same. The lower shelves contained boxes, as well, but these looked more like boxes of odd shaped items than for paper. Underneath the window in the north wall were six large steamer trunks. Four were actually against the east and west walls, stacked one on top of the other, while the two directly under the window sat side by side. Probably clothes for die Seeleocran, Herta thought, mildly curious. A layer of dust looked like it should have been covering everything, but it was missing from several of the boxes and obviously disturbed on the floor.
"Yesterday's work, no doubt," Herta observed mildly, pointing to the tracks.
Krista flushed.
"Oh, I don't blame you, Krista. I probably would have done the same had our positions been reversed."
"Thank you."
Herta peered into a box about halfway down the rack, one that was labeled 'History'. "Someone said that Grandfather had been working on the family tree," she said. "This looks like some of his research," she lied smoothly. The top paper hadn't been written in German — or in English.
"Research?"
Herta grinned, peering into another box. "Either that or he made copies of every thing he ever wrote and saved every scrap he received. These look like old tax forms."
Krista chuckled. "If my father didn't go through our stuff every year, Mom would have a pile like this or bigger. As it is, we have a stack of boxes lining one wall of the cellar."
Herta laughed. "Well, if nothing else, I'll have something to do for a while. Once my things get here, I'll enter most of this stuff onto the computer and toss the originals if necessary. I don't think I'll need to keep anything that doesn't have his signature on it."
"If you need a hand—"
"Trust me, you'll be the first person I call. I'm okay with regular German, but legalese and German?" She shuddered in mock horror.
The rest of the house was duly gone over, Herta explaining what she planned for each room as they went. Krista offered suggestions and Herta accepted them gratefully, grabbing a notebook to jot down ideas and names of contractors.
Krista glanced at her watch and sighed. "As much as I'd like to stay, I've got a meeting in a short while. We have a fair every year and I'm on the planning committee. You wouldn't care to join me?"
Herta smiled. "Not just yet, I'm afraid. Let me get a few things ironed out—"
Krista nodded, knowing that Herta wasn't referring to household matters. "When you feel ready."
"I'd like that. Thank you."
Herta walked outside with Krista, the bike propped against the porch railing explaining why she hadn't heard Krista's arrival. They talked of gardening and what would be needed for the front yard as they walked to the main road. Krista turned back to the house at one point, to explain a point she was making and stopped in mid-sentence.
"What? What's wrong?" Herta asked.
Krista remained silent, leaning her bike against a nearby tree and walking slowly back to the house.
Herta followed, confused. Krista seemed to be staring up at something, but Herta couldn't see anything unusual about the house. And then it hit her. She ran to catch up to Krista who was staring at the east side of the house.
"You see it now?" Krista asked.
Herta nodded. "Yeah. Unless my sense of measurement is drastically out, there's more space on the outside of the second floor than there is on the inside."
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