Death Knell In The Alps (A Samantha Jamison Mystery) (9 page)

Chapter 31

Looking Through The Spyglass

Clay stared at my drink. “Vodka and orange juice?”

“I needed the Vitamin C boost to handle this shocker.”

He shook his head. “I never make it easy for you, do I?”

I took a sip. “No, but you keep it interesting.”

This couldn’t be easy for him either.

“…As a young US spy, my grandfather was assassinated during World War II. Many years later, as an investigative reporter, my father decided to look into
his
father’s death.”

“Your Aunt Jenny raised you. How’d you find this out?”

“Well, after my Aunt Jenny died, I cleaned out her attic and found letters: one from my Aunt with the truth, and the rest from my father to her. He was close to uncovering my grandfather’s killer and mentioned Kraus had helped him in his search.”

So, the onion gets peeled further back on Herr Kraus.

“Your dad didn’t die from illness, like your aunt said?”

“No. I located Kraus to confirm what was in the letters. Kraus said, yes, he knew my grandfather and father.”

“Did Kraus say how he met your grandfather?”

“In a foreign language class of the US government’s.”

This was not the obscure, aged author I had imagined.

It was obvious what Clay was referring to. “I’m thinking the OSS, a precursor of the CIA
.
What was the language?”

“You’re right. It was Russian. My grandfather was a young field agent. For years my father investigated to find out who killed his father.”

I couldn’t believe Clay’s unexpected mystery.
“And…?”

“Following up on a lead, my father was shot and killed.”

“Two deaths, too coincidental. Sounds like a setup.”

“Kraus figures my father came too close to the truth.”

“But what does this have to do with Herr Kraus now?”

“He’s publishing a memoir to flush out the killer.”

From obscurity to notoriety. Interesting metamorphous.

“Kraus let that news leak out on purpose, didn’t he?”

“Yes, but there’s a snag. He said it’s one of three spies.”

“…And Kraus isn’t sure exactly which one,” I added.

“He was sure the guilty party would surface. They did.”

“Because
they’re
not sure how much Kraus knows.”

“Kraus wants to be certain exactly which spy it is.”

“This all sounds complicated. How about more info?”

“I can’t tell you too much for your own protection.”

I didn’t like it, but I now understood Clay’s intentions.

“Kraus won’t even give me the names. He said I’m just here to protect him. I have no choice but to wait. If I say no to this arrangement than I find out by reading his book like everyone else. I want to at least be in on the takedown.”

“This is a dangerous bluff: Kraus playing a live decoy.”

“He’s terminal: cancer. All I’m after is the truth…”

“…Before Kraus dies,” I added, getting the crux of it.

“By killing Kraus, the killer’s identity is preserved and so is the integrity of their heirs.”

“Why don’t they wait so Kraus’ secret dies with him?”

“No one else knows Kraus is terminal. And Kraus is determined to keep it that way. Once the book is published, time or death is irrelevant. The truth will finally be out.”

“You’re fighting an unknown entity though,” I said.

“Kraus won’t stop until the killer’s name is in print.”

“Why the rush, the obsession on Kraus’ part?”

Clay eyed me steadily. “He has descendants too.”

“And he’s worried about their safety?” I added.

“Yes.”

This whole thing was nothing but a rat’s nest.

Chapter 32

As Memoirs go…

“Where did Kraus’ threat come from?”

“An untraceable email. Trust me, a specialist tried.”

“What exactly did it say?”

“That Kraus would end up the same way my grandfather and father ended up if he published his memoir.”

“What did Kraus have to say to that?”

“If it was just himself, he’d have dismissed it, but this anonymous email also threatened his family. They
must
be stopped, but we don’t know who
they
are!”

“How horrible! Where is his family?”

“Kraus had them whisked off under guard to an isolated village in Switzerland. He said there are individuals and their descendants who owe him a few war debts.”

“So then he called you, and Peter was hired to help.”

“Yes.”

“Can you trust Peter with this?”

“Yes.”

I recalled Peter’s meeting in the lobby.
“Are you sure?”

Clay weaved his fingers through mine. “Sam, trust me.”

Even though I was an amateur among professionals, I’d trust, but verify on my own. This had multiple tentacles.

“I do trust you. I was asking if
you
could trust Peter.”

I tried to think.

So where do I play in the scheme of things?

Was I perceived as a threat?

Would anyone expect me as Clay’s back up?

Not even Kraus. I was Clay’s girlfriend. You know, a blonde ski bunny: arm candy for Clay, the disarming PI. What kind of threat could I possibly be?

I thought about my
Spanx
.
Whoever did that must have thought I was the perfect bargaining chip for Clay, who landed on the scene, causing a ripple in their so-called plan to get rid of Herr Kraus so this book wouldn’t be published.

It would be much easier to scare me as a diversion than try and go after and stop Clay, who was more experienced, hardened, and had an agenda of his own. I was a soft target: an author who would scare easily. Protecting me instead of Kraus would then compromise Clay and his focus.

Kraus would be bare: without protection.

I was already mentally weighing the pros and cons of what was going on so that I could help Clay and possibly solve this mystery. But with Clay there’s always more to it, and for some reason I felt he was holding back.
Why?

I couldn’t wait for everyone to get back from skiing. This had book potential written all over it. Computers and phones would buzz as we considered angles and unraveled facts on another mystery because this was personal
.

It involved Clay.

Right now I’d leave the physical side of it to Clay, but the mental side was wide open as far as I was concerned.

As Clay and I parted, I was a little more than curious and somewhat concerned after checking my watch.

Where was Mona all this time?

It was unusual for her to skip a meal with us.

Uh-uh.

Something was up.

Chapter 33

Speaking Of Which…

The door to our suite slammed shut. I personally locked it myself, so it had to be Mona or the ladies. After having just left Clay, I knew it couldn’t be him.

I peeked around the bathroom door where I was getting dressed for my walk into town. My mouth fell open. Mona was a mess. Her dark brown hair looked like it was used as a mop. And her clothes weren’t in much better shape: jacket half off, knit hat askew, one pant leg half up, broken sunglasses, dangling slightly, and one glove was missing.

At least she was grinning. When she saw me, she panted quickly: “Don’t worry—I’m still alive.”

“What happened to you?” I asked, approaching her.

“You had to be there,” she said. Her breathing was fast, as though she’d just been running.

I ushered her over to the chair to sit. “Try me.”

“I had to take the stairs,” she said, sucking in air.

Was that a twig sticking out of her hair?

I covered my smile at her comical appearance, pointing.

“What?” she asked, raising a hand then yanking it out.

“I’m surprised they let you in the lobby,” I commented.

“I tried the back door, but some damn idiot locked it.”

Uh-oh! Change the subject.
“Are you going to tell me?”

“Just give me a second to catch my breath and wits.”

I leaned closer to her face. “Are you sure you’re okay?”

She held up a hand: a signal she’d speak.

“…I need a drink,” she said hoarsely.

“I’ll get you some water,” I said, turning to get some.

She clutched my arm. “No! I need something stiffer.”

At that moment, I didn’t think it was necessary to inform her I’d needed one myself earlier.

“Sorry, no can do. We could go to the bar or order in.”

“There are small liquor bottles inside my backpack.”

I moved toward it, but then stopped. “What’s alcohol doing in your backpack?”

“I’m like a St. Bernard. It comes in handy if I ever get injured and need first aid real fast, like now.”

I gave her a skeptical look.

“…Okay, I threw them in there on my flight over here. You know me when it comes to lucrative endeavors. It was a bonanza with that first class seat that Clay arranged for me and all those free hard liquor bottles for the taking…”

“He sent you first class?” I choked out. “Why that…”

She held up another hand. “I was a rush-order backup for you and on the next plane. Clay freaked when he heard about your
Spanx
. I was to watch over you and see what I could do to help. His mind and efforts were elsewhere.”

“I know,” I said, handing her one of the small bottles.

“He told you?”

“Earlier. I’ll explain later. Now, what happened?”

She cracked open the small bottle and took a swig.

“I followed Peter and barely escaped alive.”

Chapter 34

I Kid You Not

“…Peter?”

“I kid you not.”

I fell into the nearest chair.

What was going on?

“I should call Clay,” I said concerned.

Mona grabbed my wrist again. “No, don’t.”

“And why not?”

“Nothing happened, that’s what.”

I looked at her, and then at her half empty small bottle.

Maybe I should call a doctor instead.

“You’re not making sense.”

“It’s not what you think,” she said shaking her head.

“Then tell me exactly what happened.”

“I’m not exactly sure myself.”

I checked her pupils. “Did you hit your head?”

“No!”

“Then what are you talking about?”

“It felt like a near-death experience, but I…”

“…Wait a minute. Back up to the beginning.”

She took another swig. “Well, I begged off from the ladies, saying I’d check out downtown first, then join them. I was walking past the ski shop and saw Peter leaving, deep in conversation with Nick, the elevator repair guy you said you met when it got stuck, and figured I would tag along.”

That’s a second sighting.
“Okay, so far I’m following.”

“They walked between two buildings, and then stopped. Peter handed something to Nick, who pocketed it. Then they parted. I followed Peter. Other than Clay vouching for him, we really don’t know much about Peter now, do we?”

“Smart, I agree. I would’ve done the same thing.”

“I followed him to the cable station, and then the ski lift, staying a discreet distance still keeping him in sight. When he hopped off, so did I. Then he took a trail, one I’d never noticed before. I followed him for some distance until he stopped at a chalet and disappeared out back. It was like something out of one of those picture postcards in the lobby: stacked firewood, snow-covered pine trees, and get this, a corralled horse in the back…”

She stopped when I inhaled sharply, throwing me a questionable look. “You okay?”

“What color was that horse?” I asked.

“A blondish colored one.”

I gave a gasp.
Was it the same horse? Same chalet?

“What does the color of the horse have to do with this?”

I didn’t like the connection I was seeing. “…Hans.”

“What does this Hans have to do with what I just said?”

“It’s a long story.”

“How about giving me the shortened version.”

I did just that, plus my rock-throwing episode…

“Does Clay know about any of this?” she asked.

“Everything but those two times I encountered Hans.”