Trojan Gold - Elizabeth Peters [96]
“That’s very nice of you,” I began.
“Eat it and go,” said Friedl. She folded her arms. “I need the room. It is reserved. You will please check out before Mittag.”
There were two cups on the tray. I sat down and poured coffee. “Are you joining me?” I asked.
“No.”
“Then why…Oh, I get it. Not bad,” I said judiciously. “As you can see, Frau Hoffman, I am alone. What’s bugging you? Why aren’t we friends anymore?”
“You can ask?” She flung out one arm in a dramatic gesture toward the door, sagging on its hinges. “I do not allow such things in my hotel.”
“Oh, that was just Schmidt,” I said. “He’ll pay for it. He’s got pots of money.”
Now that the coffee had cleared my head, I could see her outrage was not assumed. Her chin was jerking spasmodically and her eyes were about to overflow.
“Something is wrong,” I said. “Please, Frau Hoffman, won’t you sit down and tell me about it?”
“But that is just it. You don’t talk to me. I invite you here, I appeal to you for help and you betray me….”
Her voice broke into ugly, gulping sobs.
“You’re right,” I said quickly. “Absolutely right. I owe you an apology.”
Her sobs subsided into snuffles. She looked suspiciously at me. “You apologize?”
“Yes. We’ve neglected you, I know that. But believe me, Frau Hoffman, that’s only because there is nothing to report. We’ve explored every lead we could think of and found nothing.”
Tears had excavated deep tracks through her make-up. “That is what you say; but how do I know you aren’t lying to me—keeping it for yourself?”
Friedl was herself again. I decided it was time to respond in kind instead of being so bloody polite. “You don’t,” I said. “Whereas I know you have consistently lied to me. I want to help you, but you must tell me everything you know.”
“I have….” Her hand went to her mouth.
“I don’t think so. What happened to Freddy? Why are you so frightened?”
“Freddy?” Her voice rose shrilly. “What does he have to do—”
My abused door swung open. “More screaming,” said a familiar voice. “Again it is Schmidt to the rescue!”
It wasn’t just Schmidt, it was an entire delegation—Tony, and behind him, looking uncharacteristically shy, Dieter.
“Nobody is screaming,” I said irritably. “We were just talking. If you will all go away, perhaps I can resume what was beginning to look like a very interesting conversation. Girl talk. Do you know about girl talk, Schmidt? It’s between girls—females. No men allowed.”
Nobody took the hint. Dieter shoved Tony, who shoved Schmidt, and the trio came into the room.
“We will talk, too,” said Schmidt. “We can put the cards on the table, since the spy is not here.”
“He’ll probably turn up any second,” I said resignedly.
With the instincts of a homing pigeon, Schmidt zeroed in on the second cup and my hitherto untouched breakfast. He said indistinctly around a mouthful of pastry, “Let us have three more cups and perhaps an omelet, eh? Then we can sit back and have a pleasant—”
“Drop that telephone or I’ll break your wrist,” I said. “This is my room, dammit; I’m tired of people walking in and out as if—”
“I’m not leaving until everyone else leaves,” Tony announced. He folded his arms magisterially.
“Why not talk now?” Dieter was frankly amused. He dropped into the armchair and smiled impartially at all of us. “Cards on the table, as the Herr Direktor has said. You were holding out on us, weren’t you, Vicky? You are in the confidence of this charming lady. Don’t you think it is time you admitted the rest of us to her confidence?”
Friedl glanced at him askance. “I don’t know anything,” she muttered.
“That’s true,” I said. “Friedl—Frau Hoffman—asked me to come, and Schmidt and Tony were in on the deal, too. But she knows even less than we do. Only that her husband was mumbling about some long-lost treasure.”
Dieter rolled his eyes and looked skeptical. “It sounds very peculiar to me.”
“Your basic premise still holds,” I pointed out. “If any of us knew where it is, we’d grab it and run.”
Friedl’s reddened,