Death [and Apple Strudel] (A European Voyage #2) - Blake Pierce Page 0,1
her position as social director would carry a certain status.
But of course, the entire ship was much more elegant than any of the huge ocean cruisers that London had worked on in her previous jobs. The Nachtmusik was built low like other riverboats, but it was smaller, more advanced in design, and able to travel some rivers where others couldn’t go. In fact, it felt very much like a large yacht.
All was silent at first as she walked down the passageway. But as soon as she neared her own room, she could hear the yapping sounds. She opened the door to her room and found herself facing the tiny, teddy bear–like dog.
Reggie stopped yapping and sat looking up at her. Like most Yorkshire Terriers, he was less than eight inches tall at the shoulder, but he had a giant-sized personality.
“Reggie, you’ve got to stop making that noise,” London whispered. “You’re going to get into serious trouble.”
Wagging his tail excitedly, Reggie trotted out the door into the passageway. London picked him up and wagged her finger at him.
“I get it,” she said. “You don’t like being left in the room alone. You’d like to go with me everywhere. And the truth is, I’d like that too, because I really enjoy your company, but …”
She felt a lump form in her throat as she continued.
“But I’ve got a job to do. And I can’t have you around all the time, everywhere I go. And this is where your food and potty is. I can’t always be running back here to let you in or out of the room.”
Reggie let out a whine of resignation as London set him back down in her room. She stood looking at him, and he looked back at her with an almost human expression of longing.
London felt a deep pang of pity.
He deserves better than this, she thought.
He hadn’t had a very good life under Mrs. Klimowski’s care. Since he weighed less than ten pounds, the woman had carried him around everywhere she went in a tight, uncomfortable leather handbag. Now that he was liberated from that bag, he naturally wanted more freedom—and more human company.
The lump in London’s throat tightened.
Aside from being adorable and smart, Sir Reggie had proven himself a hero—and scarcely less of a detective than London herself had unexpectedly turned out to be. He’d identified the killer with a sharp yap, then pursued him bravely when he tried to get away.
His courage had almost gotten him killed. He’d grabbed the escaping man by the pants leg on the ship’s gangway, tripping him up so the police could apprehend him. But in doing so, he’d been thrown into the river, and London had plunged in to rescue him.
She’d very nearly lost him. And now her eyes watered as she remembered how pathetic and lifeless he’d looked on the shore, his then-untrimmed coat soaked with water and mud, his little feet sticking up in the air. She also remembered her own gasp of relief when he’d coughed up some water and started to breathe again.
“I’ll fix this somehow,” London told him. “Meanwhile, please be quiet.”
She shut him back up in her quarters, and at least he didn’t start yapping right away. But she knew better than to suppose the silence could possibly last.
Meanwhile, she had to talk to her angry neighbor.
She knew his name from her passenger list, Stanley Tedrow, stateroom 108. But she couldn’t remember what he looked like. He certainly hadn’t been on any of the tours in Budapest or Gyor or any other activity she’d seen. She wondered what he’d been doing on the trip so far.
In an effort to look as dignified as possible, London straightened her uniform and ran her fingers through her short unruly auburn hair.
Then she walked over to room 108 and knocked on the door.
But what am I going to say to him? she wondered.
CHAPTER TWO
“Who is it?” growled a rough, raspy voice at the sound of London’s knock.
“This is London Rose, the social director,” she said.
She heard some grumbling, and then the door opened. A short, stooped, elderly man with a hawklike nose and squinty eyes stood there, glaring at London. He was wearing pajamas, a bathrobe, and slippers.
“You’re here about that dog next door, I take it,” Tedrow said.
London nodded.
“Have you talked to its owners about the racket it’s making?” he asked.
London gulped hard.
“Um, Mr. Tedrow—I’m the one taking care of the dog.”