He shook his head and added, “Poor Sigmund Forstmann. He deservedbetter.”
London was startled by his words.
“Excuse me for saying so,” she said, “but you’re the first personin Bamberg I’ve heard say anything really sympathetic about him.”
Helmut chuckled sadly.
“Yes, well—he didn’t make a lot of friends in this town. And I’llbe the first to admit that he could behave like a boor, and he definitelylooked down upon us Bavarians and wrote some pretty terrible things about us inhis Munich newspaper, the Sternenkurier, over the years. But …”
Helmut paused for a moment.
“But I liked him, and he liked me. In fact, he was a greatchampion of my brewery, Schutzkeller Brauen—and especially the qualityof my Hefeweisen. For all the ill he said about Bambergers, he sang mypraises far and wide every year after he came here. He appreciated my work likeno one else did. Also, he was, like me, a student and scholar of the history ofGerman beer. We used to talk at great length about it. I don’t know anybodyelse who has that kind of knowledge.”
In a voice choked with emotion, he added, “I will miss him.”
“I’m sorry for your loss,” London said.
“Danke schein,” Helmut said. “It just makes me angry thatwhoever killed him may never be brought to justice. I only wish …”
Helmut was interrupted by a flurry of phony money flying into hisface. Katers Murr had walked right up to them and tossed wads of fakemoney at the brewer. The man’s voice that came from within the enormous catheaddress was broken up by laughter.
“Why are you so gloomy, Helmut, old fellow? This is supposed tobe a happy day, after all! I know that I’m very happy.”
Helmut brushed a few fake bills aside and replied, “Yes, Isuppose you would be, Rolf. No more bad reviews from Sigmund Forstmann.”
“Indeed,” the man inside the cat suit said. “But of course I’llbe sad about not ever getting the chance to ask him why he had it in for mybeer in particular. Do you have any idea why he chose my beer to denounce sostrongly?”
“I can’t imagine,” Helmut said.
From the note of sarcasm in Helmut’s voice, London guessed thatthe reason must be perfectly obvious—that Rolf Schilder’s beer was simplyterrible.
“Oh well, I’ve got other reasons to be happy,” Schilder said,tossing more bills into the air. “I get to enjoy the glory of being KatersMurr, the King of the Hoffmann Fest, without the inconvenience of gettingdunked in cheap lager! Sigmund Forstmann was kind enough to get dunked in myplace. It’s too bad I’ll never get a chance to thank him.”
“Who knows?” Helmut said. “Maybe you’ll be seeing him sooner thanyou think.”
The giant cat drew back a bit.
“Why, Helmut, old friend—was that a threat?”
Helmut smiled a less-than-sincere smile.
“Not at all,” he said. “Why ever would you take it that way? Butyou’d better get back to work giving away all that money. I suspect you stilldon’t have enough votes to win this year’s award. You’ve got some seriousbribing to do.”
Now Helmut’s sarcasm was quite overt. London remembered beingtold a little while ago that the votes were already being counted, if they hadn’tbeen counted already. And judging from everything she’d heard, Schilder’s beerdidn’t stand a chance of winning any awards on its own merits—and certainly notwith the help of useless money.
The cat glared at Helmut for a moment, then turned away anddanced away through the crowd, calling out to his followers and throwing moneyin all directions.
London said to Helmut cautiously, “He seems so happy about HerrForstmann’s death. Do you think it’s possible …?”
“That he might be a viable suspect?” Helmut said with a laugh. “Oh,hardly think so. He’s nothing more than a cowardly, untalented großmaul—theEnglish word is ‘loudmouth,’ I believe. Don’t give him a second thought.”
London thought for a moment, then said, “Helmut, have you seen atall woman with wild curly hair? An American woman, not from Bamberg. She kindof stands out in a crowd.”
“I can’t say I have,” Helmut said. “Is she the one DetektivErlich told me about—the woman he imagines to be your accomplice?”
“I’m afraid so,” London said. “And he wants to speak with her. I’mtrying to find her.”
“If you’ll tell me how to contact you, I’ll let you know if Ihappen to see her.”
Then with a sly wink, he added, “Before I say anything about herto Detektiv Erlich, if you know what I mean.”
London couldn’t help smiling at his playfully conspiratorialtone. Given everything she was dealing with, she was glad to have an ally righthere in Bamberg. She took out a business card with her cell phone number andgave it to him.
Helmut looked at the card, then at London, then spoke rathershyly.
“Before you go, I was wondering … Would you like to join me forthe awards ceremony? It’ll be two hours from now, and there will be a tastybuffet, to say nothing of excellent beer.”
London blushed as she realized …
He’s asking me for a date.
She certainly felt flattered. With his cheerful eyes and ruddycomplexion, Helmut wasn’t at all bad-looking—although London couldn’t helpthinking that the lederhosen and feathered Alpine hat looked a littlesilly.
But of course, she immediately thought about Bryce and the thwartedkiss, and especially what they had said to each other when they returned to theship.
“I hope … sometime soon …” Bryce had begun.
“I hope so too,” London had replied.
The last thing she was interested in right now was a date with areasonably handsome German she barely knew. And yet, it didn’t look as thoughthe Nachtmusik would set sail soon. And the idea of being here for theawards ceremony really appealed to her.
“Um, thanks for the invitation, but …” she began.
“But?” Helmut said.
“Could I … bring a date?” she asked with a sheepish smile.
Helmut let out a good-natured chuckle.
“A date? Well, yes, of course!”
London was glad that he wasn’t taking her
