Ghost Phoenix (20 page)

“That's one explanation,” Richard said.

The other was that this waiter was connected to Rasputin. Now they had her being paranoid.

A busboy came out and put bread and butter on the table. They resumed talking after he left.

“It would be a huge coincidence if we stumbled across one of the monks at lunch,” Marian said. “The hotel and the museum aren't connected.”

“We're here in the off-season, we're Americans, and the prince and I are hard to miss. Not too many mixed-race dudes in a small German town. If our robed friends are about, they know we're here or will know soon.”

Daz looked around, his eyes focused on the two men in the far corner, near the window, chatting. “At this point, it is a good idea to assume everyone is a possible hostile.”

“That's a rough way to live,” she said.

“Live. That's the operative word.”

She turned to ask for a second opinion and caught Richard staring off into space.

“Richard?”

He blinked. “Yes?”

“Daz thinks the waiter could be involved with the monks.”

Richard shrugged. “Likely not but it does no harm to assume so and be cautious.”

“I've eaten in many places in Europe and I've had incompetent waiters, indifferent ones, ones who hit on me, and ones who ignored me, but I've never had anyone sneer at me before like this,” she said.

“It's odd,” Richard said.

“Good thing we're not in the islands off Scotland,” Daz said. “They burn up outsiders there.”

“
What?”

Daz smiled. “It's a movie.
The Wicker Man
. A police officer goes to investigate a missing kid on this isolated island and all the natives treat him oddly, so he thinks everyone knows who killed the little kid and is covering up.”

“Are they?”

“Nope, it's something worse than that,” Daz said.

“What? He finds out they did it and they burn him up?”

“Close but not quite. I don't like the vibe here. That's why I thought of the movie. Maybe the whole town's in league with Rasputin. I don't remember this kind of thing from my earlier visit.”

“You might have been focused on your lady friend,” Richard said.

“Maybe,” Daz said.

The waiter came with the check. He gave it to Richard. Marian grabbed it out of his hands, took out her own credit card and gave it back to the waiter. He glared and practically snatched it from her hand.

“He's not getting much of a tip,” Daz said.

“You were right, Daz,” Richard said. “I first took his rudeness for a quirk but have you noticed the other patrons? Their eyes keep sliding away from us. It's eerie. Your Wicker Man analogy may be apt.”

“You've seen that movie too?” she asked.

“I'm always curious about how the current Englishmen view the past.”

“Weird glances won't hurt us,” Daz said. “But I still wish I had a gun.”

After they paid, Marian was glad to step out into the afternoon sunlight. The oppressive atmosphere dissipated, though she half expected monks to jump out from an alley and block their way through the cobblestone streets. Old-world architecture never seemed so foreboding before.

We beat the monks the last time.
She must keep reminding herself of that. Besides, she could go phantom. Daz was the only one whose life was really in danger, and he was calm. She could be too. “How about a walk around the block before we go into the museum?”

“Excellent idea.” Richard offered her his arm and she accepted. “The more we're seen, the better the odds that we'll stir something up.”

“And it will give us a chance to see if all the villagers are as unfriendly as the ones inside the restaurant,” Daz said.

It might have been the sunlight, it might have been the company, but her spirits lifted. She walked, head held high, with Richard, letting the day's warmth fill her.

She almost imagined she was on holiday, having an adventure, though Daz's careful steps behind them made her aware he was still on watch, so the illusion wasn't complete. If only she were on vacation with Richard.

“I should like to take you on a real holiday,” Richard said.

Maybe he was a mind reader too. “Where?”

“Perhaps Hawaii and some of the Pacific islands. The surf is beautiful there.”

“I can't surf,” she said.

“I'll teach you.”

“Sounds better than this gloomy town,” Daz said.

“I doubt it was always this gloomy,” she said. “Remember, it used to be the center of the gem trade. The local economy has been hit hard the last couple of decades, like some areas in the states.”

“You're saying this is the gem equivalent of Detroit?” Daz asked.

“Something like that.”

They encountered only a few people on the streets, neither friendly nor unfriendly, but obviously uninterested in the visitors. In no time at all, they were back at the museum entrance.

The museum loomed before them, three stories of whitewashed stone set just off from the entrance to the
Felsenkirche
. As museums went, it was strictly small-time, Marian thought, which only meant it was locally run and supported, rather than having wider scope. It was no Smithsonian, but local museums often held knowledge not in facilities with a wide, less focused scope.

She'd no idea why Romanoff's source would have been located here. Surely, Rasputin would want to be in Russia.

A single employee manned the relatively small desk in the front room, which almost seemed a twin to the lobby of the bed and breakfast where they had stayed the night before.

The receptionist instantly came to attention, stood up and welcomed them in German. The middle-aged woman reminded Marian of many Germans she had encountered through the years. Solid, friendly but not too friendly, and with crisp, careful movements.

Richard answered the receptionist in German, and then asked for three tickets in English.

“It would be rude to speak only German in front of my American companions,” he told the receptionist.

Playing along, Marian turned in a circle to look at the photographs of the gem mines and the Church of the Rock that were hanging on the walls.

“Just how did they carve that church into the mountain?” Marian said, letting her voice fill with real awe. The Church was truly a work of artistry.

“It took many years and many skilled craftsmen,” the receptionist replied in halting English. “You must visit it after your visit with us. You must experience it.”

“Thank you, we will,” Marian said. “I wouldn't miss it for the world.”

“Do you have any recommendations on what exhibits we should see in the museum?” Richard asked, also in English.

“The whole museum should be seen.” The receptionist smiled. “We are small, so it should not be a hardship.” She lowered her voice in a conspiratorial whisper. “But there is a room all in darkness to better see the light given off by the crystals. And I am especially fond of the fossil coral display.”

“Those sound unique,” Richard said.

“All of our stones are beautiful.” She frowned. “They are far better than the synthetic rocks they make now. These are real, made by nature and God. Synthetic is not the same. Fake. No good.”

“I agree. I want to see the real ones,” Marian said as she took the guidebooks from the receptionist. “Tell me, do you get many other visitors who appreciate the real stones?”

“Not as many in passing years but in the last few months, the number of visitors has picked up. There were even some monks who came a few months ago.”

“Monks! Fascinating. Well, it is a place to worship what God has created,” Richard said.

“So they said, almost those words, sir,” the receptionist answered.

“Were they traveling? I didn't realize monks traveled in packs,” Marian said.

“I have no idea. I never thought to ask.” The receptionist sat back down in her chair and picked up a pencil, as if going back to work. Perhaps they had been too nosy, Marian thought.

“Thank you so much for your assistance,” Richard said again in German and smiled at her. “It has been a pleasure to deal with someone who appreciates history.”

That won him a small answering smile from the receptionist. She bent back to the journal or whatever she was writing in.

They passed through the museum doorway into the first room. Daz looked back.

“She didn't have a computer that I could see.”

“Obviously, they don't have enough visitors to need a computer to track them all,” Marian said.

“So she sits out there alone all day, with no internet connection, unless someone happens to come in?” Daz shook his head. “I'd go crazy. And if monks did arrive en masse one day, I'd ask them all kinds of questions, if only for the company.”

“Maybe they told her they had a vow of silence?” Richard said.

Daz laughed.

“Germans as a whole aren't big on questioning or curiosity,” Marian said more seriously. “A German client visiting the U.S. once asked me why police had to guard an area cordoned off. I said it was to prevent anyone from crossing the crime scene tape. He said in Germany, no one would dare cross the tape.”

“Hah,” Daz said. “I guess we're not big on following directions.”

“I've noticed that,” Richard said. “It's not always a positive trait.”

“You would say that,” Daz answered. “But even so, it might not be a cultural difference with the museum employee. For all we know, she's Romanoff's contact.”

“True. So now what?” Marian asked.

“We look at the gems and minerals,” Richard said. “And see what happens.” He took Marian's hand. “I've noticed that patience is not an American virtue either.”

Daz only shrugged.

“Once we see the museum, we can ask her more specific questions, which might lead to some information,” Marian said.

Overhead lights lit the exhibits in the museum. Their first stop was a room of whitewashed walls with wooden braces along the walls. The exhibit featured various rocks and minerals not only from local sources, but around the world. Pretty stones but nothing spectacular. Marian sighed. Not a promising start, but at least no one was trying to kill them.

The next room held the fossil corals. She stared for a long time at wide-mouth rock that looked to have blue fungus growing out of the bottom of its yawning opening. But she knew if she could reach out and touch it, it would be solid and unyielding.

Richard stared for a time at green lichen trapped inside a glorious field of blue rock.

Until someone had split it open, it had looked like any other large rock.

Daz whistled. “Maybe I should I have explored this place instead of the
Felsenkirche
.”

“Maybe,” Richard said but his voice was flat, as it had been when talking about the abbey.

“Bummed these stones are even older than you?” Daz teased.

“Only noting that while I seem old, I am but a tiny child compared to the rest of the Earth. One day, even I will be dust. These rocks will remain.”

“That's hardly a happy thought,” she said.

“I suppose I have had too many years that provide too much time to think.” He smiled. “It's good to see such beauty, even if I half expect murderous monks to jump out of the shadows.” He pulled her close, with his arms wrapped around her waist. “Nature produces the most amazing things, more so even than man. And that includes you, Marian Doyle.”

Daz cleared his throat. “I'll just check the next room for problems, since this one is clear.”

Marian let Richard hold her, for a time not wanting to speak. Richard had all the time in the world. She wondered how much time she had in comparison, at least with him.

“Have I scandalized you, Angel?”

“With Daz? No, after the last couple of nights, I think I've gotten over that. Or, at least, he has.” She closed her eyes, letting her head rest against his shoulder. “I've no idea what this is between us but I'm glad it exists.”

“Have I not made my feelings clear?”

I have no idea if your feelings are the same as ordinary human feelings.
“I know you're glad to be with me.”

“Ah. I forget, even after all these years, women require words along with actions. Shall I quote some poetry?”

“Are you kidding?” She pushed back from him. “Poetry is the last thing I want. Try something less showy and more real.”

“I don't understand.”

“Richard, I know you care about me. It's not hard to see that. But you must have had so many women over the years, and I'm sure you'll have many more in the future. I don't need pretty words or romantic gestures. I want something real.”

He put his hands on her shoulders. “There were no women like you.”

“Because I can turn into a phantom? Because I'm a novelty? Because I'm interesting? What in the world makes me so unique?”

He frowned. “Why do I have to sort out reasons? I want to be with you. It makes me happy, as I haven't been in at least the last hundred years. I want to be with you for as far into the future as I can imagine.”

“I love you.”

She put her fingers over her mouth. Oh, God, would she never stop blurting stuff out when nervous? She tried to break away from Richard.

He held her shoulders firm, preventing any escape. “Oh, Angel,” he whispered. “After all my years, I'm unsure of what love is. But rest assured, I'm yours.”

She looked up to meet his gaze. “You are?” Her voice broke.

“And you are mine.”

He kissed her and she kissed him back, pulled him closer, wrapping her hands around his neck, trying to show him just how crazy in love she was with him.
Crazy
being the operative word.

“Now, before the world crashes in, let us enjoy ourselves,” he said.