She smiled at Louise. “Dental appointment downtown? I bet. You could try. I know his workload is lighter these days, and he probably'd have time to see you. Something has to be done; we can't go on this way. The more I think about it, it would be nice of you to talk to him, to try to get through to him. I know you and Mort haven't always seen eye to eye, but he likes youâand he's a good man at heart.”
“I know.”
After a companionable silence, Sarah said, “Do you know something funny? We ought to be scared, living in a neighborhood where there's an unsolved crime. But I'm not spooked at all, are you?”
Louise had just been upset by a series of small household mishaps, that didn't have anything to do with Peter's murder. “Why aren't you scared?” she asked her friend.
“Whoever did it was someone Peter knew, someone who hated him viscerally.” Sarah clenched her strong potter's hands into fists. “I have to admit that I knew Peter for at least six years and hated him from the first time I met him. I hated having Mort represent him.”
Louise didn't know how to respond.
Sarah continued. “Someone was after just him. Whether it was that wife of his or some business associate he cheated, the killer's not going to come after anyone else.”
Louise laughed and decided to share her story. Then she said, “But almost anything can scare me these days,” she said. “Probably the only thing I should be scared of is being thrown into jail for murder.”
The potter laughedâa big, deep laugh. “That'll be the day. My dear Louise, if that ever happens, I'll personally organize the neighborhood to come by the jail and picket the place.”
“I only wish I could help you in some way. I'll try today, if I get a chance to talk to Mort.”
Sarah reached out a rough-skinned hand and clutched Louise's. “I wish the same thingâthat I could help you. And if I find anything out about this, I'll call you immediately. At least Mort and I have Hilde. She's so helpful, and it's a pleasure having a young person around who's like the daughter we never had. You're used to it, with your charming Janie and Martha. What I'm most pleased with is that she's become Martha's buddy. They were out together last night with some young man named Charlie, and they're together again today, having lunch.”
Louise was unsure whether she was pleased with that or not. Hilde, Martha and Charlie Hurd could be a powerful combination. She knew that two of the three, Martha and Charlie, were real operators, though she didn't want to go so far as to call them devious. Yet she had no reason to worry. Martha was so busy with plans for her own wedding that she hardly had time to get in trouble.
21
M
artha had never seen anyone more enthusiastic about a mere house than Hilde Brunner. She strode through the rooms exclaiming and touching. “So many things!” she cried. “Such delightful appointments! The plants, the antiques, the books and, oh yes, the charming art glass ...” Martha looked around through new eyes and realized her mother had packed the place with stuff. It did look interesting, almost like an antique shop in training. But Martha pictured Hilde living in much simpler, more Spartan surroundings in some house in Europe.
Strolling casually after her guest, Martha tried to analyze why Hilde looked different from the rear. She'd noticed it first while they were playing tennis yesterday. And then she got it. Janie was right. Hilde, wearing that stylish, sleeveless dress, walked like a model, with a pelvic thrust and self-conscious pivoting of her fine legs, as if to show them to best advantage. Perhaps it was the European in her, mused Martha. Or maybe Hilde had at one time been trained for the runway.
Hilde had been just as enthusiastic during the garden tour and was fascinated when Martha led her into the deep woods and showed her the garden under which Peter Hoffman's body was buried. “Maybe this will become a local tourist attraction,” Martha had said with a laugh. Actually, it made her a little nervous to stomp around a site where someone killed and buried a man. She continued the joke. “I know! My mother can erect a sign: âThe garden plot where they found the body.' ”
Hilde gave her a puzzled look. “Should you joke about that?”
Martha sighed. “Why not? It's what we call a sick joke.” She chuckled, incapable of stopping herself. “Of course, it won't do to put up the sign until after the police let her off the hook as a suspect.”
Hilde seemed shocked. “Martha!” Then she changed the subject. “The poor plants in this gardenâthey suffered, didn't they, by being dug up?”
“Yes. You can see they're still kind of droopy. But my mother's hoping they'll survive. Azaleas apparently are hardy.”
“They suffered, just as she suffered.”
“How sympathetic you are, Hilde,” said Martha, giving her guest a quick glance.
As much as Hilde enjoyed the tour, Martha decided it had gone on long enough. “I don't know about you, but I'm hungry. Also, we need to get lunch organized and take it onto the patio before Mrs. Baumgartner gets here to clean. She is terribly nice, but she appreciates it when people stay out of her way so she can get her work done.”
“Your housekeeper, I expect?”
“Not exactly. She comes every two weeks and bails Ma out by digging in all the corners we miss. To put it crudely, Mrs. Baumgartner saves my mother's ass.” Martha knew Hilde well enough to know she'd understand this expression. “She also teaches me the occasional German phrase.”
“Let me help you, then.”
“It's salad, and the ingredients are prepared.”
They stood at the counter and assembled the dish together, Martha handing off the greens for Hilde to arrange on two plates.
“Ah, the
Vogerlsalat
,” said Hilde.
They heard a knock, and Elsebeth Baumgartner came in the front door. She embraced Martha and said, “I feel so sorry for what has happened. It is a terrible thing to plant a body in the garden of a woman as nice as your mother.”
“Thank you, Mrs. Baumgartner,” said Martha. She introduced Hilde. “Hilde's from Switzerland, and is living and working in Sylvan Valley for a while.”
Elsebeth smiled at the girl. “And I am originally from Vienna.” She turned to Martha with a concerned look. “You, dear, you must do what your sister does and call me Elsebeth. You make me feel very old otherwise,” said the woman, who was not much older than fifty or so.
“We're assembling our
Vogerlsalat
and crabmeat salad.”
“But you'd call it â
Nüsslisalat
,' ” said Elsebeth, turning to Hilde.
Hilde shrugged her bronzed shoulders. “I call it
Vogerlsalat
,” she abruptly said.
Martha glanced at Elsebeth and watched the woman's face darken with displeasure. At her side, the indifferent Hilde was still busy arranging greens. It wouldn't do to have the irreplaceable Elsebeth ticked off by an outspoken luncheon guest, though what was wrong with Hilde's remark, Martha couldn't fathom. Could Elsebeth be jealous because there was another German speaker in the house?
She touched Elsebeth's arm and gave her a wink. Elsebeth smiled back at Martha. The tense moment passed.
Martha returned to Hilde's side and unceremoniously plopped the crabmeat in the center of the greens. “There,” she said. “Now we're getting out of your way, Elsebeth, and I know you'll be glad of that.”
“I am, Martha,” said Elsebeth. “I can stay only three hours today. So, Hilde, â
Servus
.' ”
Hilde smiled. “
Servus
.”
Martha and her guest carried the trays to the patio. As they sat down at the glass table, Hilde said, “I thought your sister was to be here, too.”
“Me, too,” said Martha. “But I left the crabmeat and, uh,
Vogerlsalat
in the fridge, and Janie can assemble her own salad if and when she arrives. Now, Hilde, tell me more about Charlie Hurd. It's nice that you've become friends. I've heard stories about him for years from Ma.”
Hilde smiled. “I called my mother âMama.' ”
“That's nicer than just âMa.' Is your motherâ”
Hilde had a stoic expression on her face. “She died two years ago. My father died the previous year.”
“I am so sorry,” said Martha. “You are so young to have lost both of your parents.”
“There's little to be done when people die, except to mourn them properly.”
There was a long moment of silence, during which Martha thanked her lucky stars that she still had her lovingâthough sometimes annoyingâparents. Then she said, “So, getting back to Charlie. Do you think he's a smart man?”
Hilde suspended her fork over her plate. “He is quite intelligent, I think, but naive in certain ways.” She gave Martha a knowing look. “Do you have a sense of what I mean?”
Last night, when the three of them went to a bar in Georgetown, their drinking, talking and taking turns on the dance floor was not an opportunity to get to know someone in depth. She did notice that Charlie was absolutely gaga over this luscious female. Yet Martha guessed that if she'd come onto the reporter the way Hilde came onto him, he'd probably have fallen in love with her, too. Her final assessment of Charlie: egocentric, vulnerable and probably decent at the core. She didn't share this opinion with Hilde, on the theory that the less she shared of her own opinions, the better.
“I know he did some brilliant detective work in the past,” said Martha. “Yet he is a little kiddishâmaybe that's what you mean.”
“Kiddish is a good word for it,” said Hilde, and took a small, elegant bite of French bread. “I hope I do not hurt him.”
Martha waved a hand casually. “Sometimes it's hard, isn't it, not to hurt men? I had the impression he'd like nothing better than to have you, or maybe you and me, trot around with him and help him find Hoffman's killerâjust so he'd have a good story. I had to tell him I was busy with wedding preparations, but there's nothing to stop you. It might be fun to do a little detective work, wouldn't it?”
Hilde shrugged. “Maybe. It would be a new thing for me.” She slanted a gaze at Martha. “Like you, I have other friends as wellâ”
“Yes, Mike Cunningham, for instance.”
“Yes, Mike. I do not have all my time for driving around with Charlie.”
“Mike seems like an interesting man,” offered Martha. This young woman might know just how interesting.
“Mr. Cunningham is very intriguing.” A shy smile passed her face. “I really know nothing about him except he seems willing to advise young people like me with their careers.”
“Does he talk about his business?”
Hilde seemed almost shocked. “Oh, no. I think he's too professional to do that.”
This conversation is yielding nothing about Mike Cunningham
, thought Martha. She dropped her detecting mode and decided to relax and enjoy lunch. Diving into her crabmeat salad, she said, “On to another topic, and Europe is always one of my favorite topics. Tell me about what you've studied. We never got a word in about such things last night. I know you've been specializing in more than pottery, although pottery is certainly a, uh, wonderful thing.”
Hilde giggled charmingly. “Yes, last night there was too much talk about deadlines not met, and a country editor furious with Charlieâ”
“I think it's a city editor who'd get furious with Charlie.”
“Yes, yes. You want to know about my major. This might sound ... inbred, perhaps, but I studied European cultural history, specializing on the years 1933 through 1945.”
“I guess that means focusing on Hitler and the Holocaust, and all his works.”
“Yes,” said Hilde, eyes narrowing. “Some of us are trying very hard to see it straight.”
“That's a good thing.” Martha realized, despite the fact that she looked and walked like an international model, that Hilde was very serious-minded, apparently part of the European students, most of them German, who wanted to see history through a clear lens. This made her feel warmly toward her new acquaintance. Some acquaintances remained just that: passing acquaintances. She had a feeling Hilde was more than that. Hilde was a keeper.
Hilde said, “Tell me more about your life, Martha. Your fiancé is with the government? And if so, why?”
“He's an assistant district attorney at the moment, but he's running for public officeâthe job of alderman in the city of Chicago. And why does he do this? I guess it's because both of us love the urban environment. We have this ridiculous sense of pursuing justice. You know, of trying to make better cities, and better lives for people in cities.”
Hilde casually plucked a cherry from the fruit bowl. “Pursuing justice. In many ways, that is what I've been doing. Men are okay, aren't they, Martha? But pursuing justice is much more important.”
Martha laughed. “All the more reason for you to go out with Charlie and try and get a line on Hoffman's killer.”