Read The Doctor Dines in Prague Online

Authors: Robin Hathaway

The Doctor Dines in Prague (17 page)

“
S
till no mail?” asked Mr. Nicholson, observing Mrs. Doyle's dejected expression.
“Not a thing. I can't understand it. I'm really worried.” she said, then wished she could bite off her tongue. She knew he hadn't heard from Jennifer either.
Mrs. Doyle had come over to the bookstore early to use the computer, bringing Marie with her. Full of hope and expectation, the nurse had been confronted by an empty screen.
“Have you tried telephoning?”
For the moment, Marie was occupied with picture books in a far corner of the store. “Yes. They don't answer,” she said.
The bookseller was at a loss for further suggestions.
“If it weren't for Marie, I'd have half a mind to go over there myself and see what's going on,” Mrs. Doyle said.
Mr. Nicholson cast a quick glance at the little girl—her head bent over a book. She looked much like Jennifer had looked at that age. “I could keep her,” he said impulsively.
“Oh, no. That's very kind but …”
“Seriously. I raised a daughter single-handedly, you know.”
“Oh, I don't doubt your competence, Mr. Nicholson—but I wouldn't want to impose.”
“Horatio's still on vacation, isn't he? He could give me a hand while I'm minding the store.”
“Well, I … .”
“Besides, I have an ulterior motive.” He fixed her with a serious gaze. “I'm worried about Jennifer.”
“Well, if you put it that way …” Mrs. Doyle said.
 
Once again Detective Rafferty's services were required. It was he who arranged her plane ticket, and her transportation to the airport. (Fortunately she had a passport from past vacation travels.) As evidence of his efficiency, the nurse found herself staring down at the vanishing lights of Philadelphia's skyline just four hours after she made her decision to leave.
A
s Ilsa and Redik advanced on Jennifer, she tightened her grip on the knife. Would she have the nerve to use it? She had never deliberately harmed anyone. She steeled herself.
The doorbell rang.
Saved by the bell. Jennifer repressed a hysterical giggle.
Ilsa opened the door and took in the small white envelope. Without a word, she went down the stone steps to the basement. Jennifer waited, watching Redik. He indicated she should go down after Ilsa. He followed her.
When they came into the room, Vlasta was sitting up, clutching his chest, his face strained and white. Anna stood by helplessly.
Redik, unconcerned, disappeared into the kitchen. They heard the water running in the kettle. Was he actually making himself tea, Jennifer wondered? Ilsa took a pill from the envelope and reached for the glass by the cot. Anna shook her head. “No water. These go under the tongue.” She gave the pill to her husband. He placed it under his tongue and fell back.
“We have to get him to a hospital,” Jennifer repeated.
For the first time, Ilsa looked disconcerted. She went into the
kitchen and Jennifer could hear her speaking urgently to Redik. Staring at Vlasta's waxen features, Jennifer thought,
They'd better not waste any time.
As if echoing her thoughts, Anna began to cry softly.
F
enimore had no trouble locating 16 Loutka Uli
ka. He stood in front of the wrought-iron gate as Jennifer had before him. He stared at the desolate flowerbeds and tugged on the gate to see if it was locked. But, unlike Jennifer, he did not look down at the grate under his feet. Instead, he ran his hands over every inch of the gate searching for a buzzer or bell. He found one—a button—cunningly concealed behind an iron floret. The bell would have been of no use to Jennifer, however, because she had wanted to keep her presence concealed—like the button. Fenimore didn't care.
In the basement of the house, once again they heard the bell ringing faintly overhead. Ilsa cast a frightened look at Redik. “Police?”
Redik paused, his teacup halfway to his mouth.
They remained immobile.
“I'll go,” Jennifer said, brightly.
Her words galvanized them. Ilsa started for the stairs. Carefully setting down his cup, Redik went after her.
Feeling like the perennial sheep, Jennifer followed them.
Upstairs, the previous ritual was repeated. Only, this time, it was Redik who opened the blinds a sliver and peered out. “It's him.”
Although he spoke in Czech, the meaning of his words was clear to Jennifer. The gloom was too thick for her to see if he turned pale. Who was the “him”? Did she dare hope … ?
Ilsa came over and looked out. Turning quickly from the window, she said, “What now?”
“Don't answer,” said Redik.
“What about him?” She nodded at the floor, referring to the other “him”—the one in the basement. “What if he dies?” She was becoming agitated. “We are responsible.” Her voice rose. “I never agreed to this!” she cried.
“Quiet,” he snapped, glancing at Jennifer.
“Don't worry about her. She doesn't understand anything. Americans are dunces. They speak only one language—English.”
Redik was thinking hard. Finally he said, “Maybe we can work something out. I have something on him; he has something on me. Tit for tat.”
Ilsa looked skeptical.
The bell rang again.
“Let him in.”
“Are you sure?”
“Ano,” he spoke sharply.
In the end, Redik ran the show, Jennifer noted.
Ilsa opened the door and went out to the gate.
M
rs. Doyle disembarked from the plane, stood passively by while her belongings were ransacked, and presented her passport to the Czech official. (She looked a fright in that picture. She had hardly had time to comb her hair!) Clutching the address of the doctor's cousins tightly in one gloved hand, she went to hunt up a cab.
She realized that she was probably on a fool's errand. If no one was at the apartment, how would she get in? She should have brought Horatio, she thought wryly. That unsuspecting youth had no idea how often his services were desired, and by how many.
Mrs. Doyle was so preoccupied, she hardly noticed the scenery as she passed. She would look at it later, she told herself, when she didn't have so much on her mind.
The cab pulled up in front of a nice apartment building—all gray stone and green awnings. She carefully counted out the correct number of korunas. (Rafferty had exchanged enough cash into korunas to carry her for a few days.) “Wait for me, please,” she told the cab driver, never doubting that he understood English—which he did. He nodded and stayed put.
Mrs. Doyle went into the foyer, found the apartment number,
and pressed the buzzer. No answer. She pressed again. While she waited, the inner door opened and a man stepped out.
“Oh, thank you.” Mrs. Doyle smiled pleasantly and stepped inside. The man looked surprised but let the door fall shut behind him. The hall was empty and silent. She sniffed, inhaling a mixture of scents; the residue of thousands of meals cooked by past and present residents. She padded down the hall until she came to number 1E. She tapped on the door. Nothing. She knocked louder. Still nothing. Although she hadn't expected anyone to be there, she was deeply disappointed. She retraced her steps and got into the cab. She asked the driver to take her to a moderately priced hotel. The source of her daily travel funds was the office cashbox, and she had to be careful. She sat back, closed her eyes, and tried to think what to do next.
F
enimore watched the front door of the Renaissance house intently. When it opened and Ilsa stepped out, he closed his eyes briefly. Why did it still surprise him when evil came in nice packages? Would he never learn? Remembering Pinocchio, he was amazed that her nose was still the same size.
She came briskly up the path, but had the decency to avoid his eyes as she unlocked the gate. Neither spoke. What was there to say? He followed her back to the house.
By the time they entered, Redik had relieved Jennifer of her paring knife. She had underestimated him. Because he was small, she had assumed he was also weak. He had taken the knife from her as if it were greased with butter. Now it was in his pocket and he held her arms behind her back in a strong grip.
Taking in the situation, Fenimore grinned. “Hi, Jen.”
“Hi!” She grinned back. Despite her awkward position she felt a warm flow of relief.
Rattled by this nonchalant exchange, Ilsa's eyes narrowed, her gaze sliding from one to the other.
Redik, retaining his grasp on Jennifer, said to Fenimore, “As you Americans say, ‘Let's make a deal.'”
Fenimore stared, expressionless.
“I will let your cousin go to the hospital, if …”
Fenimore glanced at Jennifer.
“He's very ill,” she said.
“ …
if
you promise to leave us alone. No police. No investigation. No retribution,” he finished.
“Let her go,” Fenimore demanded.
“Not until you agree to my proposition.” He gave her arms an extra twist.
Jennifer winced.
“So help me—” Fenimore started toward him.
“Stop.” Ilsa stepped between them. “Let's sit down and talk this over like civilized human beings. Come … .” As she turned, she tossed Fenimore a coquettish glance.
Fenimore felt a surge of nausea.
Redik shoved Jennifer toward the stairs, then nodded at Fenimore. “You two go first,” he said. Ilsa followed. And Redik brought up the rear. In the kitchen, there were only two chairs. Redik pushed Jennifer into one and stood behind her. He told Ilsa, “Take him to see his cousins.”
She looked alarmed.
“Do it.”
She gestured for Fenimore to follow her.
They weren't gone long. When Fenimore came back, his face had lost its natural color and his expression was grim. “Where is the telephone?”
“Have you decided?” Redik asked.
Fenimore gave a curt nod.
Jennifer looked away.
Ilsa drew the cell phone from the drawer in the table and handed it to Fenimore. They all watched him dial the Czech equivalent of 911.
While they waited for the ambulance to come, everyone was silent except Redik. He hummed an aria from
The Magic Flute
and stroked his cat. Everything was going his way.
“Tomas Tuk,” Fenimore said, abruptly.
Redik glanced up.
Fenimore met his stare.
Redik dropped the cat and gave it a mean shove with his foot.
Fenimore relaxed. He had tipped the scale.
 
While they waited in the kitchen for the ambulance, Fenimore decided it was time to get a few things straight. “Why did you kidnap my cousins?”
Redik and Ilsa remained mute.
“Was it for their knowledge of the cathedral and the secret passage to the crown jewels?”
The pair appeared startled.
“Speaking of that—where is the manuscript you stole?” For the first time, Fenimore looked directly at Ilsa. “You can have no use for it now.”
With a jerk of his head, Redik indicated that Ilsa should bring the manuscript.
She disappeared. Returning shortly, she handed it to Fenimore. A cursory look reassured him that it was unharmed. He tucked it under one arm.
“Now
I
have a question,” Redik said.
Fenimore waited.
“Where was the child hiding?”
Fenimore suppressed a smile. Remembering the Czech word for porcelain stove, he spoke it softly,
“Kamna.”
Their looks of dismay were worth all the hours he had spent with the Richard Scarry picture book.
“We almost had her at the zoo!” Ilsa blurted.
Fenimore peered at her.
“Hush!” Redik hissed.
Earlier, when Ilsa had ushered Fenimore into the room where his cousins were confined, the first thing Anna had said to him was not “Thank God!” or “Help us!” but “Is Marie all right?” And he had been able to reassure her. Now he began to have doubts.
The sound of an ambulance siren filled the kitchen.

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