It was the silence that woke Herta. At first, she thought it kind of the birds to be so quiet. She snuggled deeper into the warmth of the feather blanket. It was like being... Cocooned! She sat bolt upright and almost fell over again. Where was she? She struggled out of the bed, relieved and oddly dismayed to see she was still dressed.
The room was small. The bed in which she'd slept was more like a box against the wall than a bed. A captain's bed with tall sides, she thought, only with four drawers beneath, not three. Flanking the bed, head and foot, were two large cupboards. One, as she discovered, was a closet, several suits and shirts hanging neatly on a rod. The other cupboard consisted of shelves and drawers, but she didn't investigate the contents.
Turning around, she saw a small window in the opposite wall. Beneath it stood a table and chair. Two doors, one in each of the remaining walls, were closed. One to the closet and one downstairs, she wondered? It took four steps to cross to the window. Leaning over the desk, she looked out. This was her house!
The view was of the roof of the porch and the woodshed, the clearing behind the house and the woods beyond. By the sun, it was late afternoon.
Herta sat down heavily on the chair. Her eyes travelled around the very neat, very clean room behind her. A braided rug covered most of the floor, but what she could see of it was highly polished. Her teeth clenched and her hands balled into fists as she thought of the squalor below. Her first reaction was anger that someone would dare live in her house. Beyond that, she reluctantly admitted, she felt hurt that someone, probably Turan, lived here and hadn't thought to put any effort into the downstairs rooms. Compared to this room, her efforts to restore the kitchen seemed juvenile and clumsy. If you were generous.
She put her elbows on the table and dropped her chin into her hands. She hated housework of any kind and the thought of getting the entire house to look like this seemed daunting. How would she ever manage?
The sound of a door closing downstairs brought her out of her reverie. Someone was in the house!
Anyone who knew Herta would have recognized the jutted chin and deep sherry colour of her eyes for what they were - signs of an impending explosion of temper. She descended the stairs, oriented now as to which door led downstairs, opened the door at the foot and stared, totally amazed by the transformation.
Everything shone. She smelled floor wax and carbolic soap, starch and pine. A fire snapped and crackled in the wood stove. Sunshine yellow curtains fluttered at the open window. Her suitcase and barracks box stood neatly in one corner, the gleaming floor reflecting their dullness. Waiting to be taken upstairs?
Awed, she moved further into the room. Someone had been busy, but who? Turan? She shook her head in rueful amusement. She couldn't picture him in an apron.
Low voices down the hall caught her attention. Her stocking feet noiseless, Herta padded to investigate, following the sounds and the sudden silence to the office.
Turan, she'd expected. His deep rumble was becoming familiar. Turan's companion, however, wasn't quite what she'd imagined. Long, ice-blonde hair was pulled into an intricate knot at the top of her head. A bright turquoise blouse emphasized her breasts and matching stirrup pants outlined a firm backside and obscenely long and shapely legs. Turan's hands seemed huge against the woman's small waist. They were oblivious to the rest of the world. Turan had obviously found his solute and Herta took refuge in sarcasm.
"It would appear that this room is more necessary to the smooth running of the household than I'd imagined." Herta folded her arms and crossed her feet at the ankles, leaning in deceptive laziness against the door frame.
The two reluctantly parted at Herta's words. The woman had a self-satisfied smirk on her face and Turan looked angry at the interruption.
"You must be Herta," the blonde woman said, and walked toward her, hand outstretched. "I am pleased to-"
"I am Fräulein Tanner, yes," Herta corrected icily. "And I'm not." She tipped her head in inquiry, raking the blonde woman with blazing contempt. "You are?"
Turan stepped forward, hoping to avoid bloodshed. "Fräulein Tanner," he said formally, "May I present Sondra Hörst. She was kind enough to help prepare the house for your arrival."
Herta's eyes met Turan's and he could tell she was furious. Her eyes had changed to a deep sherry red.
"It's a pity Frau Hörst is not more..." Herta shrugged one shoulder. "Circumspect?"
Turan wasn't sure he understood. Die Reizengebleiterin couldn't be jealous. Could she? His thoughts were interrupted.
"I am certain that sufficient... recompense... will be given for your time and effort, Frau Hörst. Now, if you will excuse me, I have work to do." Herta straightened and brushed past the two to the open roll-top desk where her laptop was in plain sight.
Turan hustled an indignant Sondra outside before either woman could explode.
"The nerve of that... that... As if I were a parlour maid caught with-"
"You were," Turan interrupted, closing the outside door behind him so that Herta wouldn't hear. "I have told you before, Sondra. I am not interested in what you have to offer."
"Don't tell me you're chasing that ice maiden, Turan," she sneered. Her voice changed to a sultry purr. One long fingernail traced the vee of Turan's open shirt. "You need someone who is all woman, Turan, not some halfling girl-child terrified of a simple kiss. You need someone who can match your fire, your passion. Someone who can satisfy all your needs. You need-"
"I need to apologize to Fräulein Tanner and then see Father Edmund, Sondra. That is all. I thank you for your help today." Turan opened the driver's door of Sondra's bright red Citroen and waited, implacable, for her to enter.
Sondra's eyes narrowed as she realized Turan wasn't changing his mind. Not now, anyway. With a muttered oath, she stepped into the car, almost catching Turan's fingers as she slammed the door. Gravel sprayed as she accelerated and sped down the drive.
Turan stared after her. In less than six hours, he'd managed to incur the wrath of three women, one of whom was his solute, his other half. He shrugged and turned back to the house. Of the lot, only Dahila's anger made sense to him. After a fashion.
A quiet snick-snick-snick came from the office. Herta didn't turn around as he approached. He knew she was aware of him, though. There had been the slightest of pauses in her typing as he'd entered. "I regret that you met Sondra, Frau Hörst," he amended quickly, "under such circumstances. It was she who organized the clean up of the lower rooms. If you wish, she can also help you with furnishings and-"
"My personal effects will be arriving shortly." The ice hadn't thawed in the least.
Turan swallowed a sigh of frustration. "I will see Father Edmund about other accommodations. It is no longer appropriate for me to remain here."
Herta lifted one shoulder in a shrug. Her typing didn't falter.
Turan spun on his heel and stalked off. Women!
The outer door closed behind Turan before Herta let her hand fall from the keyboard into her lap. After several deep, steadying breaths, she closed the computer, erasing the page of nonsense she'd typed and went upstairs to bed.
Dawn found Herta already hard at work. The fire had gone out because it hadn't been banked the night before, but it didn't take long to restart it. She'd had a cold breakfast of bread and cheese while she waited for the coffee to finish. Halfway through her first cup, she got up and went out to the woodshed. By the time the sun peered into the clearing, Herta had split enough wood for several days, a kerosene lantern providing light. While the house had power, she'd discovered, there was none in the woodshed. She blew out the lantern and went inside.
She straightened from piling the last of it into the wood-box by the stove and reached for her now cold coffee. One mouthful. Two. Into the pantry. Two large copper kettles drawn out of the cupboard, filled with water and put on the stove to heat. Another mouthful of coffee. Her bags were carried upstairs and unpacked. Downstairs for another mouthful of coffee and a check on the water. Into the office to make sure the computer was plugged into the outlet and charging properly. She'd bought a power adapter before she left Canada.
Into the kitchen for half a mouthful of coffee and then out to check the level of wood in the woodshed. She would need to get more. The water wasn't hot until she'd been over the house, checking everything at least once, some things, three times.
The bathtub filled with lavender-scented water, her clothes strewn on the floor, Herta sank into the warmth. It was, she thought drowsily, like being with Turan. Herta indulged in her memories; Turan's smile, his sense of humour, his honour, his... protectiveness. That thought made her smile. Imagine! Someone wanting to protect her. How novel, how...
She sighed, remembering Sondra. How humiliating to know that one's judgment was so lacking that they couldn't tell the difference between 'protect' and 'polite', but imagined the former from the first 'tall, dark, and handsome' man one met. She blew out a breath. It all boiled down to trust. That Turan could be trusted with her life, she knew. It was a pity that his heart was given elsewhere.
Herta shrugged and got out of the tub. It was a moot point, anyway. Turan wasn't coming back. As he'd said, it wouldn't be appropriate, especially not now that he'd found his soulmate. Was it going to be like this with every Seeker? She hoped not. Wrapping a towel around herself, she padded upstairs to get dressed.
After emptying the tub and getting a fresh cup of coffee, Herta sat down in front of her laptop, staring at the blank screen. She needed to have at least two articles finished and sent off soon, but her mind was elsewhere. She grimaced. What she needed was some inspiration outside her current problems. No one would believe her story about being die Reizengebleiterin. Herta chuckled. And to think that her current dilemma all started with her visit to Father Edmund.
Father Edmund! The church! That was it! A quick glance at the clock on her screen and a quick calculation said that her editor would still be available for a while yet.
The phone hadn't been installed, not that she'd noticed, but there was a phone in the cafe. She'd seen it yesterday. That would do.
Grabbing the digital camera from her camera bag, Herta automatically checked the battery level of it and of the tape recorder in her purse. That done, she stuffed both into her purse and left the house.
She breathed deeply of the pine-laden air as she strode to the village. It stung her nostrils and cheered her spirits. If nothing else, the scenery was worth the aggravation. To the south and west, mountains loomed over flower bedecked meadows. The sky was a crisp, clean blue. Herta felt as if she'd been transported back in time. She wouldn't have been the least bit surprised to see Heidi tending goats, or King Ludwig himself, roll by in an ornate carriage, surrounded by courtiers and guards.
She knew she probably looked like a tourist, stopping every few minutes to take a picture of something that caught her fancy - flowers, brilliant against the dark trees; homes, bright painted and looking like flowers themselves, tucked into copses or standing proudly by the road. At least, I'd look ridiculous if anyone saw me, she thought. The land seemed empty, strangely devoid of humanity.
She shrugged, grinned and curtsied to a cow, head over a fence to investigate the strange creature on the road. "Well, madam, if I must be ridiculous..." The cow lost interest and wandered off. Herta grinned. Bump-a-dump-ing an off-key rendition of the "Nutcracker Overture", she continued on, breaking into the occasional dance step to relieve the monotony of her tramp.
It took a little over an hour for her to walk to the village. She'd seen no one during that time. It was a pleasant change from Toronto's constant bustle.
The cafe was open. It didn't take long for her to make a collect call and have Rae-Lynn, her editor, okay a set of travel articles. "How soon can you get them to me?" Rae-Lynn asked.
Herta grimaced. "I'll try for Friday, but don't quote me on it. The phone's not installed yet and I still have to find an ISP."
"Well, don't take too long. Are you okay?" Rae-Lynn asked, her concern obvious.
"Well enough," Herta responded. "Things are a bit upside down yet." Her gaze travelled around the lobby of the cafe, where the public phone was located. Sitting on a shelf above the entry was the strangest creature she'd ever seen. But she'd heard of them. She chuckled. "Trust me, Rae-Lynn, it shouldn't take me too long to organize a Walperdinger Hunt."
"A what?"
Herta laughed. "You'll see. If all else fails, I'll fax it to you by Friday."
Rae-Lynn sounded suspicious. "You'd better."
Herta said her good-byes and hung up. Dragging her camera out of her purse, she took several pictures of the Walperdinger. Part squirrel, part duck, part bird, part everything else, she grinned delightedly. What better way to show her readers Bavaria than by taking them on a hunt for the shy, illusive creature, stuffed and mounted, before her.
She managed to get several good pictures and was about to ask if it could be brought down for a closer inspection when she was interrupted.
"Fräulein Tanner! Here you are." It was Gebhardt.
"Good morning, Gebhardt," Herta greeted him. "Did you sleep well?"
He looked a bit taken aback. "Well, thank you," he managed. "Fräulein, we needs must talk."
Herta took one last picture and put the camera away. Taking Gebhardt's arm, they walked into the cafe proper. "Certainly, Gebhardt. There are a couple of things I'm going to need. I'm not sure I'm ready to drive here yet, but I need some transportation. Do you know where I could get a bike?" She chattered on, explaining her need for other things, maps and so on, as Gebhardt pulled out a chair for her.
He sat down opposite her, his face grave. "Fräulein Tanner, this is more serious than a mere job."
Herta bristled and opened her mouth to speak.
He held up his hand to forestall her. "Fräulein, a woman was found dead this morning."
Herta looked confused. "What's that got to do with me?"
Gebhardt looked uncomfortable. Very uncomfortable.
"Gebhardt?"
He sighed. "I've only heard rumours, mind you, nothing official, but-" He broke off as the waitress brought coffees that they hadn't ordered. It was the same woman as yesterday, Herta noticed. So much for the good day.
When she'd left, Herta leaned forward. "What's up, Gebhardt?"
He grimaced. "I'm not sure, Fräulein. I suspect that the autopsy report will have more information, but for now..." He sat, thinking worrisome thoughts, judging from the frown on his face.
Herta put her elbow on the table and propped her chin in her hand. "Anyone I know?" she prompted.
Gebhardt met her eyes. "They say Frau Hörst was killed by a vampire."
Herta frowned. "Sondra?"
The clerk shook his head. "I don't know her first name. The older woman from the bank."
Herta sat up in surprise. "The one who fainted? I thought she was okay."
"She was yesterday evening," a new voice answered, just as a familiar tingle invaded Herta's senses.
Turning in her seat, she looked up to see the grave face of Father Edmund and behind him, Turan.
"Do you mind if we join you?" Father Edmund was asking as Herta tried to drag her eyes away from Turan's.
"What? Oh! Oh, no, Father. Please. Do."
After the confusion of seating the newcomers and introducing Gebhardt, Father Edmund, with a stern glance at the waitress, ordered tea for himself and Turan and something to eat for everyone. "Now," he murmured when the waitress had left, "You have questions?"
Herta blew out a breath. "Yeah. How did Frau Hörst die? And when? What does it have to do with me and am I going to need an alibi? Means and opportunity I may have, but no motive. I've only seen the woman, never met her. How professional are the police here?"
Father Edmund smiled reluctantly, a smile that froze as he caught site of someone behind Herta. The men stood up.
"We are quite professional, Frau Tanner," a woman's voice answered coldly.
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