Trojan Gold - Elizabeth Peters [99]
“Yes, I would like to know that, too,” said Schmidt. “You have found a clue? If you have, and you keep it to yourself, you can find yourself another position. I will set fire to you.”
“Not ‘set fire,’” I said automatically. “Oh, never mind. I don’t have a clue, Schmidt. I will come clean with you, though. I think Friedl may be having second thoughts. She’s wound tighter than one of Dieter’s trick snakes. It’s barely possible that, properly persuaded, she will break down and talk to me. Me,” I added, clutching Schmidt’s collar as he started to rise. “Confidences of that sort are best induced on a one-to-one basis.”
“Why not me to her?” Schmidt asked hopefully.
“I think Tony to her would be more effective,” I said. “But give me a crack at her first, okay?”
They agreed. Then Schmidt said, “Can I have my gun back?”
“No.”
“Humph.” He glanced at his watch. “Ha. It is time for Mittagessen.”
“Schmidt, you just ate a huge breakfast,” Tony protested.
“But it is now almost Mittag. Come, I will take you both to lunch. Then…Then what shall we do?”
“You guys can do anything you like,” I said agreeably. “I’m going to Garmisch. I have to do my Christmas shopping.”
“Christmas shopping!” Tony was incredulous.
“This is Christmas Eve,” I reminded him.
“Ha, yes,” Schmidt said eagerly. “And tonight we have the roast goose and the presents and the Christmas tree…. I will find a tree, a little one, and we will put the ornaments on it—”
“I thought you were going to your sister’s.”
“I will call and tell her I am dying,” said Schmidt. “I would rather be with you, Vicky.”
“Me, too, Schmidt.” I smiled at him. “And I’d rather be here than trying to explain to the Munich police why there’s a dead man in my garden.”
“So that is why you stay,” said Schmidt.
“It’s a good reason. What do you want for Christmas, Schmidt?”
I figured it was safe to leave Schmidt unattended. After lunch he would have a nice long nap, and then his shopping would keep him busy for the rest of the afternoon. Tony asked to go with me, expecting, I’m sure, that I would fob him off with some excuse or other. He was disarmed, poor innocent, when I said it was fine with me. “But you’ll have to go off on your own part of the time,” I warned him. “I’m not going to buy you a present with you looking over my shoulder.”
Tony smiled shyly.
As soon as I’d gotten rid of him, I went to the magic shop Dieter had mentioned. They had what I wanted; I also bought Schmidt a lightbulb nose like Dieter’s and a few other props. After that, I let myself go; what the hell, it was Christmas Eve. When I got back to the car, loaded with parcels and wrapping paper, Tony was waiting for me.
“You really did go shopping,” he said in surprise.
“You must stop doubting me, Tony. I told you I wanted to get something for you. Here it is…. No, no fair peeking.”
It was a sweater, made in Taiwan. I had the tag all made out: “From Ann, your imaginary fiancée in the Far East.”
Tony had packages of his own; he showed me what he had bought for Schmidt while we drove back. It was getting dark. Clouds shrouded the sky and hung low over the mountains. The lights of Christmas trees and candles, placed in the windows of every house to honor the Child, defied storm and darkness. The radio was playing carols, and even the voice of the announcer predicting heavy snow in southern Germany didn’t spoil my mood. Damn it, I thought, I’m going to have a happy Christmas Eve. I’ll forget about poor frozen Freddy and all the rest of it for a few hours. Caesar would be having the time of his life with Carl, feasting on goose and pudding and anything else his canine heart desired. He would then be violently sick—on Carl’s floor, not mine. And John would be—where? Probably freezing his butt in the snow while he spied on me or on someone equally harmless. Serve him right. That cynical creature was as far removed from the gentle kindliness of Christmas as the pagan deities the priest had exorcised.
For the first time that year, and under rather inauspicious circumstances, I found I had some genuine