Vengeance in Vienna Read online

  “Yes?”

  “Don’t.”

  That was it. It was so terse, so short, an I’ll be back, or Hasta la vista, baby, moment if she’d ever heard one. She felt her confidence crumple a little bit inside, like a used tissue.

  He turned and started to walk away coolly, motioning to Ugbodu to follow him across the street.

  Ugbodu nodded, reached into a fancy silver case and pulled out a business card. “Contact me if you think of anything that can help,” he said, handing it to her.

  Right. I know how that works. You only half-listen to me and then tell me to mind my own business, or only contact you when I think of something “not obvious.” “Thank you,” she said, tucking the card in her purse. “Are you helping the Detective look for who murdered Lukas Huber?”

  He nodded. “Considering it is a very high-profile case, and he has several influential friends, his superiors want it solved as soon as possible.”

  “Well . . . good luck,” she said. I’ll help . . . if I can. If you’ll let me.

  He looked over his shoulder and then leaned in. “To you, also. But if I were you, I’d listen to Moser and stay away from any possible suspects. The police mean business. I’d say it’s very suspicious of you, hanging around the location of the murder, interviewing people who knew Huber.” It was as if he had read her mind. He tapped his silver case and placed it back in his breast pocket. “And from what I see about your history, they have good reason. You understand?”

  She nodded. He turned around and headed across the street, following Moser.

  Shaken, she stood there, frozen, words from the conversation repeating in her head. If I were you . . . I’d stay away. That sounded like more than just friendly advice.

  It sounded like a threat.

  With a bit of indignation, Diana crossed the street in the other direction and headed toward Musikverein, away from the officers. As she did, she gnawed on the inside of her cheek.

  How dare they tell me where I can and can’t go? Musikverein is the society of the friends of music. I am a friend of music! That’s all! I’m not some murderer, returning to the scene of the crime, for goodness’ sake!

  She turned around, expecting to see them watching her. But they were gone. She let out a sigh of relief.

  Dark clouds filled the sky as she went around the side of the massive building, thinking about what the woman had told her in Café Opus. Gunther Graf definitely had a motive to want Lukas Huber dead for taking his prized position as soloist in the Vienna Philharmonic. But had he?

  She had to find out.

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  Yes, Moser had told her to stay away. But she couldn’t. Not when she had such a good lead on her hands. If she could just find out where Graf lived, she could go over there and ask him a few questions. Hopefully, Detective Moser had so many suspects on his list of leads that he hadn’t gotten around to Graf, and she wouldn’t run into him again.

  She climbed the steps to Musikverein and went to the box office. There, she saw the same, acne-faced kid, sitting behind the glass, looking bored. “Hi, there!”

  He stiffened when he saw her. “Uh,” he said, his voice cracking like a preteen’s, “I’m not supposed to let you in.”

  She looked around. He’d been so friendly before. “Who told you that?”

  “Uh. . . my boss. Sheila. The police came by and said to be aware of some American lady, poking around, prying for information. That’s you, right?”

  Diana blinked. It was a wonder they hadn’t plastered WANTED posters with her name on it, all over town. “Well, I don’t—”

  “Sheila said you probably didn’t lose your stole at all! That you were looking for something else. Is that true?” He looked hurt at having been lied to.

  She sighed. “Okay, I’ll be honest with you. Yes, it’s true. I was looking for the name of someone I thought I’d seen with Huber before he died. I’m sorry . . . what is your name, again?”

  “Dieter.”

  She smiled at him sadly. “I’m sorry, Dieter. But to tell you the truth, I’m afraid. They seem to think I did it. When I didn’t. And I only want to clear my name. But instead of looking at anyone else, they seem to be narrowing in on me. And I’m a little—actually, a lot— nervous. So I am very sorry that I lied to you. But could you understand?”

  He sniffled and wiped his nose with the back of his hand. “Why do they think you did it, of all people? There were a thousand people in Musikverein last night. Why you?”

  “Because I went into the back to get my program signed by him. And we had a bit of a confrontation.”

  “Confrontation?” A smile spread over his face. “Like what kind?”

  “Oh, I just told him he’d never be Beethoven, or something like that,” she said, much to his amusement.

  “Ha!” He seemed to approve. “It’s true. Good for you. And that’s all they have on you? That won’t hold up in court.”

  “Well, I did happen to find the body, and—”

  “You did? Wild!” he said, excited. “What was it like? Was he all bloody and gross and bloated?”

  She shook her head. “No. Actually, I didn’t look very long. It was something I don’t want to ever see—"

  “Wait ‘til I tell Sheila this! She’ll go crazy when she hears this,” Dieter said, pumping his fist excitedly. “Someone who actually saw the body. That’s cool.”

  “Yeah . . . maybe you shouldn’t tell her that I came back?”

  He stared at her, uncomprehending.

  “She’s your boss, right? Well, after what the police said, if she knew I came back and you were talking to me, she might be . . .”

  His eyes widened with understanding. “Ohhhh. Got you. Right.” He winked as if the two of them were in some vast conspiracy together. “But I don’t see how they could think you did it. Strangling someone? You’re far too nice.”

  She smiled. “Well, thank y—”

  “You’re like my kindly old grandmother,” he added.

  Her face fell. Part of her wanted to explain that it would’ve had to be a miracle of science for him to be her grandchild, since her own children were just a few years older than him. But she didn’t want to waste her time. It didn’t matter. “Well, then, do you mind if I ask you a question?”

  He shrugged.

  “Gunther Graf. You know him?”

  He nodded. “Well, not very well. I’ve been working here a long time, but he was kind of an old, quiet guy who didn’t say much to anyone. Kept to himself. Nice, but all we ever said to each other was Guten Tag.”

  “So you were working here when he was fired?”

  He nodded.

  “And was there a disagreement over his being let go, did you know?”

  “Disagreement? That’s putting it mildly. It was like a big blow-up. Everyone saw it. The only time I saw the billiard ball was when he was bouncing out the door. He slammed it so hard that all the panes in it shattered. There was glass everywhere. We had to call in someone to fix it that day, before the performance started.” He motioned to one of the heavy and old wood-and-glass doors behind her.

  “So he was angry. And he stormed out . . .” Diana mused, thoughtful. This was looking better and better. “Did he say anything?”

  “Oh, yes. I’ll never forget. He made a big scene. He was calling Huber a phony, a charlatan, a second-rate rock-star performer with no real talent. That sort of thing. It was definitely a show.” He grinned. “I suppose one would do that, after they’d just been sacked.”

  “You wouldn’t happen to know where Graf lives, would you?”

  “No, but it’s probably still in our records,” he said, pulling away from the window and starting to type on the computer. He squinted at the screen. “Here it is. It’s—”

  He looked up and stopped, then sheepishly looked around.

  Then he shook his head. “I probably shouldn’t tell you this. I’m in enough trouble for letting you in to check the lost and found.”

&
nbsp; “Dieter. You said I was too grandmotherly to be a murderer. Don’t you want to help find out who could’ve done this terrible thing?” she coaxed, leaning forward to see if she could glimpse the address on her own.

  “Well, yeah . . . it makes sense . . . and I bet you could probably find his address online, anyway.” Finally, he reached down, scribbled something on a piece of paper, and handed it to her. He looked over his shoulder again. “But you didn’t get it here. Got it?”

  She took the paper and held it up triumphantly. “Yes. Of course! Thank you.”

  Quickly stepping outside, she looked at the address on the paper. Ybbsstrasse 97. Good luck pronouncing that one.

  She started to enter it into her GPS but frowned when she saw that it was in a location on the other side of town. She was far too tired, after all her gallivanting, to walk it. She marched to the corner and lifted a hand, hailing a taxi.

  When she slid into the back of the cab, a message popped up from her youngest, Bea: OMG you will never believe what Hai just told me!

  She typed in: What? expecting something big, like that a tsunami was on its way or foreign invaders were storming Austria.

  Then she looked up and realized the driver was still waiting there, with the meter running, for directions. “Oh. Uh. Ninety-seven, yibber—yib . . .” She finally gave up and handed him the paper. “Sorry.”

  The driver nodded and headed off. By then, she had another message from Bea: He tells me he wants to have sushi at the wedding. As a main course!

  Diana stared at it, failing to see the problem. So?

  So? It’s absolutely gross. That’s why.

  She typed in: Not everyone thinks so.

  Bea’s response: But I do! Doesn’t what I think count? Like I want to start my rest of forever eating slimy raw fish.

  Diana typed in: Bea, honey, don’t get carried away. You’re going to be with the man of your dreams for the rest of your lives. That’s all that matters.

  A second later, her phone started to ring. She answered, already knowing what to expect from her young daughter.

  “Mom!” she sing-songed the second Diana brought the phone to her ear. “How can you say that’s all that matters? A wedding is a very important day. Practically, the most important day in my life!”

  “Well, is the sushi going to ruin it? Honey. I really can’t talk. I have—"

  “Mom, you don’t get it. My entire life is hanging in the balance as we speak,” she said, as if she was explaining a difficult concept to a toddler. “Of course it matters. But it’s not all that matters. Yes, Hai and I love each other and want to build a life together. But there’s nothing wrong with having everything just so—in fact, it’s important to begin things in a good way! And sushi will traumatize me.”

  Diana glanced out the window, as the buildings of Vienna blurred by. There was a beautiful columned building flying an Austrian flag and a statue of some Greek goddess in gold—but she missed it. Maybe she could check it out on the way back. “Funny. Your father and I had a wedding that was less than perfect. We got marr—”

  “I know, I know. The local church, with a reception at the VFW Hall next door. But mom, things are different now. That was a simpler time. You don’t elope and spend the weekend in Niagara Falls for your honeymoon anymore. That ship has sailed.”

  “My parents did the Niagara Falls thing,” Diana corrected. “We did Bermuda. But any way it’s done, it doesn’t matter. It’s still all about the love. The commitment. Not what kind of food is served. But like I said, I have to go. I’m in the--”

  “Mom. Come on. This is important.”

  “And my life isn’t?”

  “Your life is vacationing, mom.”

  Oh, she doesn’t know the half of it. “Why is it not important to you that I have a good time on my vacation?”

  Bea groaned. Her youngest always had been one for exaggerated emotions and drama. “Yeah. It is. Great. You can tell me all about the latest museum you went to, later. But what do you think I should tell Hai? I mean, I’m the bride. Is it bad to put my foot down?”

  “No,” she said, as the taxi began to slow in a rather unkempt part of town on the outskirts of the city. Gone were the massive, architectural marvels that had defined the center of the city; now, there were small, narrow, nondescript townhomes in a dingy gray, lined like soldiers, shoulder-to-shoulder up the street. “But you choose your battles, dear.”

  “Is that all you have to say?” Bea said, clicking her tongue. “Mom. Sometimes I get the feeling you really don’t even care about us!”

  Diana had been gazing up at the home that the taxi had stopped in front of. She looked at the driver with a question on her face; he motioned to the place and nodded. She ran her credit card through and glanced up at the place. As she did, she was hit with an obsessive need to end the call and get a move on. Strange, since she always loved hearing from her kids. But lately, their constant messaging had driven her nearly to the brink. And now, the investigation needed her.

  “Mom! Hello?” her daughter groused, impatient.

  Diana scrambled out of the car and slammed the door, this time, being sure that she didn’t catch any part of her clothing in it. Her face was steaming by the time she stepped onto the curb. She thought about the last item she’d written on her itinerary: Stand up for yourself!

  Her head was spinning. She pressed her lips together like a volcano ready to blow its top. Come on Diana. It’s now or never.

  “Listen to me, young lady,” she said, in the voice she’d used when Bea was five and spilled chocolate milk all over the living room rug. “I may be your mother, but I am not your slave! I am not at your beck and call, waiting to solve all your problems. I have enough of my own problems than to worry about solving everyone else’s, too! I thought I raised you to be someone with the wisdom to make her own way in the world! Now, don’t tell me that isn’t true!”

  She realized she was shouting into the phone when a woman who was walking on the sidewalk crossed to the other side of the street to avoid her.

  “Mom,” Bea said quietly, sufficiently reprimanded. For a second, Diana felt guilty, like she had when her daughter had wanted to play but she was too busy with work. Her face heated and her temples pounded. “What is up with you?”

  Diana took a deep breath and let it out. It was the stress, mostly, of yet another murder investigation. But after how up-in-arms they’d gotten over the last one, she didn’t want to tell them about it. Not to mention that Bea, Agatha Christie fanatic that she was, would probably hop the next plane to Vienna, just so she could help solve it.

  Calm down, Diana. Breathe.

  The next time she spoke, her voice was more in controlled. “Nothing. Nothing at all. I’m sorry if I was abrupt. I just want to know that my daughter is equipped to handle things. Especially small things, like this.”

  “It’s not—”

  “No one is bleeding or dying. It’s small.”

  She was silent for a moment. Then she said, “Well, yes, in those terms, it is. But a girl only gets married once. At least, I hope. And geez. Most moms would love to help their daughters plan their weddings.”

  “And I will, my love. I promise. But these decisions are not mine to make. They’re yours and your husband-to-be’s. Communicate. Work things out together. That’s what marriage is all about.”

  She sighed. “I guess. All right. Fine. I suppose I’ll talk it over with him. Maybe we can compromise and have it during the cocktail hour.”

  “Good, that’s the spirit.” She looked up at the townhome. The windows were covered in shades, leaking nothing of what was inside. She wondered if Gunther Graf had completely self-destructed after his firing, and now lived in utter darkness and despair. Only one way to find out. “I have to go.”

  When she got to the foot of the stairs, she noticed a small sign in the window: Musikunterricht, with a phone number underneath.

  I don’t know what that means, but it has to have something to d
o with Music. And that means I’m probably in the right place. Of course, just about everything in this city has to do with music. . .

  “All right, Mommy. Have fun.”

  She ended the call and stuffed the phone back into her purse. No, this probably wouldn’t be fun, but it would be necessary. She needed to move the investigation along, and she was sure that Gunther Graf, former lead pianist of the Vienna Philharmonic, held the key.

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  Diana gripped the iron handle and pulled herself up the steps, hoping and praying that this would be the answer to all her questions. When she reached the top of the landing, she looked up and down the street, shuddering at the thought of those two scary lawmen, Moser and Ugbodu. They weren’t happy before. They’d go practically ballistic if they saw her, now.

  She pressed on the doorbell and heard a faint buzzing inside. A moment later, an entirely bald, very tall man with a trim white beard answered the door. He had watery blue eyes and despite his relative lankiness, a bit of a double chin under his whiskers. He was wearing a cardigan over a dress shirt and slacks, with slippers. What a very Mr. Rogers ensemble, Diana thought.

  That didn’t mean she suspected him any less.

  “Hello,” she said. “Mr. Graf?”

  He smiled. “That is correct. Are you looking for lessons for yourself or someone else?” His voice was as gentle and sweet as Mr. Roger’s, too, with only a slight German accent.

  She patted her chest. “Oh no. Oh no no. I’m not looking for lessons. You see, I’ve come from Musikverein, and—”

  He smiled broadly. “A-ha. I knew you’d be coming around. I thought it might take a bit longer, but once I read the news about that charlatan, I suspected it would not be long before you came knocking on my door.”

  She stared at him in confusion.

  “Here are my demands. I want the big dressing room. Not that little closet you thought fit to put me in, before. Also, I don’t think it’s too much to ask for every third Friday off. I have grandchildren, now. And—”

  “Oh. No. Actually, I’m not from Musikverein. I just walked over here from there.”