Murder [and Baklava] (A European Voyage #1)- Blake Pierce Page 0,48
Reginald Taft for the time being.
She picked up the dog and sat down on her bed. Setting Reginald beside her, she started to think over her situation.
“What’s going on, exactly?” she asked herself aloud.
The dog let out a low rumbling sound, as if he was curious himself. She looked Sir Reginald in the eyes.
“The Alezredes says he suspects foul play—concerning Mrs. Klimowski’s death, I mean.”
The dog tilted his head as if he were considering whether he agreed or not.
“I actually got that feeling right after I found her,” London said. “Somehow I couldn’t quite believe she died of natural causes. I’m not sure why I felt that way. Maybe it had something to do with how that pendant wound up in her purse. But that doesn’t really make any sense, does it? Why would anybody kill somebody in order to steal something, then leave it behind like that?”
Scratching Sir Reginald under the chin, London said, “Anyway, Borsos wouldn’t say why he thought it was foul play. And he wouldn’t say how Mrs. Klimowski was supposedly killed. Was she poisoned? If so, does he think she was poisoned in the restaurant? I don’t see how that was possible. She might have had some soup, but we all had that. She just took some of her medicine pills with water, but others certainly drank water too. It’s pretty ridiculous to think she might have poisoned herself.”
London thought for a moment.
“And why is Borsos so suspicious of our group, anyway? Doesn’t he suspect that it might be someone who lives right here in Gyor? Now that I think of it, couldn’t it have been that waiter named István? Couldn’t he have put something in Mrs. Klimowski’s water or her soup? Maybe the Alezredes has already thought of him. Why do you think he’s being so secretive, anyway?”
Sir Reginald let out a little yap as if the answer was obvious.
“Yes, it’s procedure, I suppose,” London said. “He’s going to be asking some of us a lot of questions, and he’d rather not tip us off as to what kinds of answers he might be looking for. Still, I really don’t like this situation.”
She almost thought she saw Reginald nod in agreement.
“And I wouldn’t want this to get around but … I don’t like Alezredes Borsos. I don’t like him at all. He strikes me as arrogant and way too self-confident. I’m not even sure he knows what he’s doing. You met him yesterday. What do think of him?”
The dog didn’t react at all this time.
Of course not, London thought. He doesn’t have any idea what I’m talking about.
Still, it felt good to have some kind of sentient being to share her thoughts with.
“‘Hamarosan megtudjuk,’ he keeps saying. ‘In good time.’ As if he’s got the case solved already, and he’ll tell us who the killer is when he’s gathered up enough evidence and feels good and ready.”
Before she could think through this dawning realization, her phone rang. To her alarm she saw that the call was from Jeremy Lapham himself.
Oh, no, she thought.
This is going to be very bad.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
London had never before heard her name spoken with such obvious vexation.
Even over the phone, “Hello, London Rose” sounded more like a rumble of annoyance than a greeting.
The CEO’s displeasure came through loud and clear, all the way from New York City to the Nachtmusik docked in Hungary.
“Hello, sir,” she replied nervously. “How—how are you?”
“Rather distressed, I’m afraid. And this is hardly a friendly social call. Captain Hays contacted me last night with some extremely upsetting news.”
London swallowed hard.
“Yes, sir,” she said. “I’m afraid I know what it was about, sir.”
“So is it true? Did a client of ours die on your watch?”
The words your watch felt like a punch in London’s gut.
“I—I suppose you could say that, sir.”
“And was there nothing at all you could have done about it?”
“I’m afraid not, Mr. Lapham.”
She heard the CEO let out a dissatisfied groan.
“Well, I suppose that might be the case,” he said. “The captain seems to think you notified the appropriate authorities.”
His voice trailed off. Then he muttered, as though making the case for London’s competence, “After all, I understand that the poor woman was elderly and a bit frail. And it seems that she did die from natural causes.”
London felt a wave of panic.
Things are about to get even worse, she realized.
As of last night, there had been good reason to believe that Mrs. Klimowski had died from natural causes. But the captain apparently hadn’t