We’re both in trouble with the law, London thought, butshe didn’t want to interrupt Audrey’s tortuous flow of thoughts. She clung to ashred of hope that Audrey would finally say what she needed to say.
“And the truth is, I haven’t been very nice to you, have I? I’vebeen complaining about everything nonstop and blaming you for things that aren’tyour fault.”
“It’s OK,” London said, and she actually meant it. After all, itwas her job to deal with customer complaints, even when they didn’t make muchsense—because “the customer is always the customer.”
“No, it’s not OK,” Audrey said. “And last night, alone in myroom, I started feeling kind of bad about that, and I was even thinking aboutgiving you a call, but then I started feeling something else …”
Audrey gulped audibly, and her voice grew tighter.
“It was kind of like bubbles inside, all light and airy, and itwas a nice feeling, but strange. And so I called my therapist in the U.S.without really thinking what a crazy hour of the morning it was there at thetime, and I asked him what I was feeling, and he told me …”
Audrey inhaled sharply.
“He said, ‘It’s gratitude, you idiot. Go act on it. And let meget back to sleep.’”
London felt an unexpected lump of emotion in her throat. Itsuddenly seemed brave and kind of Audrey to share her feelings like this.
“So you’ve really helped me, London,” Audrey said, wiping her eyewith the feathery tip of a wing. “You helped me feel something reallyimportant. And I’m grateful.”
London fell silent as Audrey’s words sank in.
“That’s a very nice thing to say, Audrey,” she said.
“Is it?” Audrey said with a surprised-sounding laugh. “It hadn’toccurred to me. I guess I’m not used to saying nice things.”
“Well, that was a nice thing.”
“I’m glad to hear it. You know, it actually feels good to saynice things. I could learn to like it. Meanwhile, I really owe you for it. So Idecided I’d do whatever I could to help you. I came into town this morning totry to clear your name—well, and my name too, I guess, since we’re pretty muchin this together.”
London felt truly touched to have had such a positive impact anAudrey, however inadvertently.
And yet at the same time, her mind was reeling
All this does sound pretty crazy.
Still, she couldn’t help feeling there was some method to Audrey’scraziness.
“So Audrey, tell me,” London asked cautiously, “have you had anyluck in your, uh, investigation?”
Audrey laughed again.
“Well, you’d be surprised the stuff I’ve overheard people saying.Being dressed like a gigantic chicken is sort of like being the proverbial flyon the wall. People forget you’re human, I guess. So they just talk away toeach other as if you weren’t there. It tells you something about human nature,doesn’t it?”
“Like what?” London asked.
“I don’t know yet. I’m working on it. Anyway, I picked up on someinteresting stuff while going incognito. For example, I’ve noticed that nobodyseems to be all broken up about the awful monocle man’s death—may he rest inpeace.”
“Yes, I’ve noticed that too,” London said.
“The brewers and vendors all hated his guts,” Audrey continued. “Andit’s hardly any wonder. After each year’s festival, he trashed just about allof them in his newspaper column—and pretty much the whole town of Bamberg, forthat matter.”
Yes, I know that already, London thought.
She kept listening in hope that Audrey might say something shedidn’t know.
Audrey went on, “And every year he got drunk, and the brewers hadto decide whether to cut him off, or keep giving him beer in hopes that hewouldn’t write anything too terrible about them. He got especially bad thisyear. Yesterday one of the vendors almost came to blows with him. I’ll bet youcan’t guess which vendor that was.”
London felt a sharp intuitive tingle.
“Rolf Schilder!” she said.
“That’s right—the guy in the cat suit. The awful monocle guy—”
“His name was Sigmund Forstmann,” London put in.
“That’s right, Herr Forstmann, may he rest in peace. He wascompletely plastered by the time he got to Herr Schilder’s stall. Schilderrefused to serve him any beer. Then Forstmann started saying awful things aboutSchilder’s beer—I mean really gross and disgusting things, referring to bodyfunctions and such.”
From what she’d heard about Forstmann’s beer, London wasn’tsurprised to hear this.
Audrey continued, “Then Schilder came out from behind the counterof his stall and tried to act threatening, raising his fist and all. But peoplesay Schilder always looks ridiculous whenever he tries to act tough like that.So Forstmann laughed at him, and so did everybody else watching. Schilder snuckback behind his counter, and Forstmann lurched and staggered away to find otherpeople to annoy. Do you think it means anything? Isn’t it possible thatSchilder is the killer?”
London’s brain clicked away trying to process what she washearing. She found it easy to imagine getting angry enough at Forstmann to wantto kill him.
After all, she didn’t see herself as the least bit aggressive orhostile. But even so, yesterday Forstmann had goaded her into nearly losing hertemper, maybe almost coming to blows with him. From what Audrey had just said,Forstmann had humiliated Schilder in a worse and very public way.
Had this year’s Katers Murr done something very rash?
And yet she remembered what she’d heard others say about him—forexample, what Helmut had said just a few minutes ago.
“He’s nothing more than a cowardly, untalented großmaul—theEnglish word is ‘loudmouth,’ I believe.”
Then Helmut had added, “Don’t give him a second thought.”
“So what do you think?” Audrey asked.
“I don’t know, Audrey. I’ve overheard people saying Schilder ismore like a mouse than a cat.”
“Maybe even a mouse can be pushed too far,” Audrey said.
London shook her head and said, “I find it hard to imagine amurderous mouse. And we don’t know Schilder as well as anyone else in town. Heseems to be pretty far from anyone else’s suspicions.”
Meanwhile, as they neared the ship, Audrey asked London, “Whathappens now?”
“I’m taking you right to the captain’s stateroom,” London said. “DetektivErlich is waiting
