“Won’t her daughters do that?”
“I’ll take care of it.”
“Then I’d suggest you do it soon,” the doctor replied, standing and continuing to pet Sheriff. “In fact, I recommend you go ahead and make the arrangements so all you have to do is call.”
Gage led the doctor a few paces down the hall. “How long do you think she has?”
“It’s difficult to say.”
“Best guess.”
The doctor twisted her lips to the side of her face. “She’s shown a great deal of resiliency. Her lungs are still mostly clear. If she avoids sickness, maybe four weeks? Perhaps even more?”
“And if she gets sick?”
“She’ll struggle to fight off an infection.”
“I’ll continue to limit her visitors.” Gage stepped back and poked his head into the bedroom. Claudia was asleep—visits exhausted her. He pulled her door shut, able to monitor her via a speaker app on his phone. Gage walked the doctor downstairs, where the nurses were waiting.
“Thanks for your help,” he said to the group. Though he felt extremely strange acting as the custodian for Claudia’s health, he’d gotten into the rhythm of it. In fact, there was something therapeutic about helping someone in their time of ultimate need, despite the dysfunction of the Vogel clan.
The oldest nurse stepped close to Gage. “May I ask a question?”
“Sure.”
“Claudia told us she has two daughters here on the estate.”
“Yes,” Gage replied, already knowing the next question.
“Where are they? She’s alone up there, dying, and we’ve never seen either of her children. Are you married to one of them?”
“That’s two questions,” Gage said, attempting to add some levity.
The nurse didn’t smile.
“I’m not married to either of them. While I’d like to answer you, it’s not my place. You should ask Claudia when you return. I hope you understand.”
The older nurse was obviously perturbed. She nodded and the processional departed into the ankle-deep snow, piling into the Volkswagen van that was parked in the quadrangle. Gage watched them go. After the van had departed, he surveyed the entirety of the courtyard. No activity anywhere. The sky was dark gray and more snow threatened. For the moment, all that blew was an icy wind.
He eyed Katja’s house, located directly across the broad courtyard from the manor. In the top left floor-to-ceiling window—probably a bedroom—he noticed movement. Gage focused on the window; it was Katja. Her dark hair was pulled severely back. She wore what looked like a shimmering bikini or perhaps underwear, top and bottom. Her skin seemed rather tan for winter in Germany. Katja’s left hand held the drape back and her right hand was on her hip.
She cut a striking image on such a bleak day. It took his breath.
Just like she’d always done, she eyed Gage fiercely. He was reminded of the clever lyrics from the old Loggins and Messina song: What a shot you could be if you could shoot at me with those angry eyes...
Gage waved politely before calling Sheriff out of the snow. They went back inside. Gage leaned his head against the door and shut his eyes.
What the hell?
It wasn’t the first time he’d caught Katja scantily clad and watching, either. She always seemed to be lurking, simmering, waiting—an erotic tigress on the prowl.
His cellphone buzzed. He eyed the caller ID…
Katja.
He touched the green button on the screen. “This is Gage.”
“I’d like you to come over here.”
“Who is this?”
“You know who this is,” Katja snapped.
“May I ask why?”
“It’ll take fifteen minutes. Come now.”
Gage switched on the SOS system. It was a device Claudia wore on her wrist that she could summon him, or the paramedics, with. The device provided him a greater measure of comfort when he was away. When he had to leave the estate for any length of time, which was always planned, a nurse from nearby Friedberg came to the manor to attend to Claudia.
Leaving Sheriff inside, Gage stepped outside and armed the manor alarm. He then walked across the snowy courtyard, rather curious about why he was being summoned.
Katja waited at the door and had pulled on a robe. She wore clogs on her feet, adding at least an inch to her diminutive height. She motioned him inside.
“The porch is fine.”
“Oh, please…get over yourself. Just come in.”
For the first time since arriving, Gage walked into an estate house other than the manor. The sensation was peculiar, making him feel as if he were somewhere entirely different. Katja’s house was quite chilly inside, unlike the manor. It smelled different—more feminine. The interior was heavy with blond wood and chrome, and there seemed to be a preponderance of grays and splashes of orange. Though Gage was no style expert, he believed her house was decorated in the 21st Century version of Danish modern. Whether or not it was in good taste, a quick appraisal told Gage the interior had cost a fortune.
He shuffled his boots on the rug by the door, attempting to remove most of the snow. “What can I do for you?”
“I saw you looking at me.”
“I was on the porch bidding farewell to the hospice staff. You were looking at me.”
“Come upstairs,” she commanded.
“I’d rather not, thanks.”
She stopped halfway up. “You have such a high opinion of yourself. Come upstairs—this will only take a minute.”
Feeling as if he were being invited into a black widow’s tangled web, Gage followed. The second floor was decorated in concert with the bottom floor. He followed her to the left at the top of the stairs, passing a number of immaculate bedrooms that seemed to be awaiting guests. On the far end of the house, she led him into a bright dance studio. It had windows on two walls; the other two walls were covered in mirrors, bisected by ballet bars.
