Audrey asked, “So do you see anything revealing?”
London skimmed over the rest of the article. While Helmut Preiss’sSchutzkeller Brauen was the onlybrand Forstmann had anything good to say about, Rolf Schilder’s Zenitbrauenproduct was far from the only beer that he savagely attacked. And London sensedfrom Forstmann’s tone that many of these attacks were personal and utterlyunfair.
“There’s no shortage of suspects,” London said. “But Schilderseems to really stand out of the crowd.”
Audrey asked, “Do you want to go back a few years, check and seewhat Forstmann wrote about Schilder in the past? And maybe about other peopletoo?”
London stared at the screen thoughtfully for a moment.
Then she said, “I’d much rather know what he would have writtentoday—if he hadn’t been killed.”
Audrey scoffed. “Good luck finding that out! Dead peopletend not to be very forthcoming about that kind of thing. Or about anythingelse, for that matter. They mostly keep their thoughts to themselves.”
London smiled as an idea occurred to her.
Sometimes even dead people might tell us something important.
CHAPTER THIRTY
London felt certain she was on the right track. The answer to themystery might well be hidden in whatever the murdered man had been about towrite.
She just had to find out what that was.
“Let’s look at the masthead for contact information,” she said toAudrey.
Audrey brought up the Sternenkurier masthead, and Londonlooked over the list of names and contacts. She took out her cell phone andcalled the phone number for the editorial department. When she got a secretaryon the line, she asked to speak to Werner Mannheim, the newspaper’s arts,foods, and leisure editor.
When Herr Mannheim answered, she asked if they could speak inEnglish. When he was agreeable, she put the call on speakerphone.
“My name is London Rose,” she said, “and I’m an Americantraveling in Germany who is currently visiting Bamberg. There’s anotherAmerican on this call—Audrey Bolton.”
“How can I help you?” Herr Mannheim asked.
London hesitated. She didn’t know exactly how to put her questioninto words. Fortunately, Herr Mannheim spoke.
“Does this have something to do with Sigmund Forstmann’s death?”
London figured her best option was to be reasonably truthful,without actually admitting that she herself was a murder suspect.
“Yes, it does,” she said. “I was unlucky enough to havediscovered his body.”
“I’m very sorry,” Mannheim said with a note of genuine sympathy. “Thatmust have been very hard for you.”
“Thank you, it was very upsetting,” London said. “And naturally I’mvery curious about the murdered man.”
Mannheim chuckled a little.
“Well, he was quite a character,” he said. “He was abrasive, andhe made enemies very easily, but … I happened to like him. And I thought he wasa fine journalist. I’m sorry that his career had to end this way.”
London was relieved to hear Mannheim speaking so openly.
“Do you happen to have any idea about what he planned to writeabout this year’s Hoffmann Fest?”
Mannheim laughed outright.
“His usual diatribe, I suppose,” he said. “He didn’t tell meanything about that article in particular. But he did plan to write a featurearticle in addition to his yearly screed. In fact, the last thing he sent mewas an email about what he had in mind.”
“Could you tell me what the article was going to be about?”London asked.
Mannheim fell silent again.
“Who did you say you were again?” he asked.
Again, London saw no harm in being reasonably truthful.
“I’m London Rose, and I’m the social director aboard the rivercruise boat called the Nachtmusik. I work for Epoch World Cruise Lines.”
“Oh, yes, I’ve heard of it. A very reputable company.”
Another short silence followed.
“I’m looking at his email right now. It’s really ratherinnocuous, and of course nothing’s going to come of the story now, so … Isuppose it would all right for me to forward it to you.”
London felt a tingle of interest.
“Thank you, I’d really appreciate that,” she said.
She gave him her email address, and they ended the call.
“What do you expect to find out?” Audrey asked.
“I really don’t know,” London said.
But she had to admit to herself, Mannheim’s description of theemail as “rather innocuous” didn’t sound very promising.
The email arrived in just a few seconds, and London opened it onher cell phone.
Dear Werner—
Well, I’m off to Bamberg tomorrow, and I plan to getspectacularly drunk as usual, so wish me a mild hangover. Also as usual, Iexpect to stay there an extra day and rummage through the archives of Bamberg’sBayerische Biermuseum [Bavarian Beer Museum]. I’m hoping tocollect material for a feature story about lost beer recipes.
For example, last year I came across the files of Bamberg’s Braunbärenbierbrewery, which was owned by the legendary Leitner beer dynasty until it wentdefunct during World War I. I’m attaching a PDF facsimile of an especiallyinteresting recipe which was never manufactured due to the brewery’s untimelydemise.
The beer was to be named Illicium, which is the Latinword for “enticement” and also the proper name of the spice called star anise.Star anise is a common enough beer ingredient, but the Leitnerfamily found an innovative way to use it—one, I think, that’s well worthreviving.
That’s all for now. I’ll send in my yearly tantrum the dayafter tomorrow. Expect the good citizens of Bamberg to lodge numerouscomplaints about my behavior, which I fully intend to be perfectly abominable.
Freundliche Grüße [kind regards],
Sigmund
When London finished translating the email aloud, Audrey lookedat her skeptically.
“Doesn’t sound very helpful, does it?”
“I suppose not,” London said, feeling disappointed. She had feltso sure that she was following a good lead, but the email didn’t expressanything that might lead to the man’s murderer.
“Is there anything else we can do?” Audrey asked. “Do you want tokeep searching past articles?”
“No,” London said with a sigh. “I don’t guess we’ll find anythingexcept Forstmann’s yearly rants and tirades. We won’t learn anything except howmany people really hated him. Thanks for your help, though.”
“Don’t mention it,” Audrey said.
As London and Sir Reggie left Audrey’s stateroom, she glanced atthe unopened PDF attachment she’d just received.
A beer recipe, she reminded herself.
Alas, it was hardly what she’d hoped to find, and it wasn’t ofany
