“Ah, we meet again, Mr. Yeaton! I am always pleased to reacquaintmyself with a man of such discerning taste buds.”
“And I’m always eager to spend time with a master brewer,” Brycesaid.
London chuckled to herself as they took seats at the table andSir Reggie jumped up into her lap. She realized the two men were going to havea lot to talk about.
This might not turn out to be much of a date, sherealized.
Or at least not the kind I’d expected.
Helmut leaned over and said to Bryce and London, “Word is gettingaround that there’s been a break in the murder case. Do you happen to know ifit’s true?”
“The police just made an arrest,” Bryce explained.
“Who is the suspect?” Helmut asked.
“Willy Oberhauser, the security guard,” London said.
“Oh, my!” Helmut said. “Is Detektiv Erlich sure of it?”
“Quite sure,” Bryce said.
“Well, I don’t suppose I should be surprised,” Helmut said. “Willyhas a terrible temper. And his hatred of poor Sigmund was always extreme.”
He breathed a long sigh of relief.
“That puts my mind at ease, in any case,” he added. “I dreadedthe possibility that Sigmund’s killer might never be brought to justice.”
London remembered something she’d wanted to say to Helmut.
“Helmut, I was doing a bit of research this afternoon, and Ilooked up Herr Forstmann’s review of last year’s festival. I realized you musthave been very fond of him—and he of you. I’m sorry for your loss.”
“Thank you, that’s a very kind thing to say,” Helmut said, hisvoice choking a little. “And now, let’s get something to eat, shall we?”
Leaving a reserved sign in view on their table, Helmut escortedLondon, Bryce, and Sir Reggie over to a row of steam tables from which wafted amind-boggling array of delicious aromas.
“I don’t even know where to begin,” London said.
“Allow me to recommend the Bayrisches Schweinebraten,” Helmutsaid in a gallant tone. “It is always excellent.”
Following Helmut’s instructions, London put together a deliciousmeal that included the Bavarian pork dish called Schweinebraten, potatodumplings, sauerkraut, and a salad.
After they’d filled their plates, she and her companions headedback over to their table, where Bryce put Sir Reggie in a separate chair andgave him an enormous hot pretzel called a Brezen. It was more than bigenough to be an entire meal for the little dog, and London hoped he wouldn’teat too much of it too fast.
Three bottles of beer awaited London and her human companions onthe tabletop, and Helmut suggested that they try each of them.
“I believe these three beers will be the medal winners in tonight’saward,” he said.
From one bottle he poured some clear, brownish beer into a glass.
“This is a bock beer from Otto Laube’s Seltzames Bier brewery,”he said. “I can’t yet tell you its name, because I don’t yet know it, andnobody else does except for Otto himself. It is a tradition to announce thenames of our beers when the awards are given.”
London and Bryce each took a taste of the beer, which had a rich,toasty flavor—with a hint of caramel, as Bryce observed.
Pouring from another bottle into another glass, Helmut said, “Thisis a Märzen from the Eroberer Brauen brewery, owned by LotharMencken.”
Again, London and Bryce each took a taste of the amber-colored Märzen,which had a full, malty flavor and a yeasty smell that reminded London offreshly baked bread.
Helmut chuckled as he poured from the last of the three bottles.
“And this is one you tasted yesterday—an innovative new Hefeweizenof my own creation. You shall hear its name shortly—when I win one ofthe three medals!”
Bryce and London laughed at Helmut’s good-natured boastfulness asthey chose his slightly foggy, enigmatically flavorful Hefeweizen todrink with their meal.
And a delicious meal it was. London’s BayrischesSchweinebraten was a delicious pork roast drenched with dark beer sauce.Bryce gave her a taste of his Kässpatzen, a kind of Spätzle—eggpasta—flavored with creamy cheese sauce and fried onion. Helmut invited her totry his cabbage rolls, which were stuffed with lamb filling seasoned withgarlic and onion and various spices.
London listened with interest as Bryce and Helmut discussed bothfine foods and beer recipes, speaking some of the time in German, some of thetime in English. The surroundings were so pleasant and the company so charmingthat London felt herself relaxing and enjoying herself.
But why did Willy Oberhauser’s words run through her head again?
“You don’t understand … You don’t understand … You don’tunderstand …”
Ignoring that refrain, she followed her friends back to thebuffet for desserts and strong and delicious hot coffee. London enjoyed tastingBryce’s Bavarian apple strudel and Helmut’s apple rings, as well as her owncream-filled éclair garnished with fruit and chocolate sauce.
By then, Sir Reggie had only eaten about half of his enormouspretzel and given up on the rest. So London wrapped what remained in a napkinto take back to their stateroom.
As London and her companions finished up their desserts, the redcurtain opened to reveal the altered stage. A huge Hoffmann Fest signhid the gigantic vat and its darker associations completely from view. A podiumwas placed in front of the sign for the final awards ceremony.
Helmut chuckled as a portly gentleman stepped up to the podium, atuft of unruly gray hair rising from the top of his head like a puff of smoke.
“Our beloved Lord Mayor, Ulrich Haas,” he said to London andBryce with a wink. “I believe I will take a short nap. Wake me up when he hasfinished talking.”
London laughed as Helmut closed his eyes and ducked his head andpretended to snore. Of course he immediately reopened his eyes and actuallylistened. But the speech was every bit as dull as Helmut had predicted—the sortof speech London had heard at countless awards ceremonies, an interminablelitany of names of people to thank and announcements of upcoming events.
When the Lord Mayor left the podium, a dapperly dressed,small-chinned man took his place and spoke into the microphone.
“Meine Damen und Herren,” he began—“Ladies and gentlemen…”
London was startled at the sound of his voice.
Where have I heard that voice before?
“… it is my distinct honor—and also, if I may say so, mydisappointment—as the king of this year’s Hoffmann
