Page 103 of Hell to Pay
“Oh, that would be a pity,” Dr. Müller said, still mildly. “I’m sure Fräulein Glücksburg makes the best bread in Bavaria.”
I was about to answer that—although how, I had no idea—when the bell jangled at the door and somebody stepped into the shop. Somebody in a short, neat olive-green jacket, matching trousers, and khaki shirt and tie, with his cap tucked under his arm. Somebody tall, with a thin face, a beaky nose, and glasses.
Frau Lindemann said sharply, “Is your hearing failing? I asked for a loaf of potato bread.”
“Oh!” I said, and jumped. And then forgot again.
It was like wind going through a field of wheat, the way everybody turned and stared.
“Grüss Gott,”Joe said politely. That was nice—he’d learned to say hello, and a specifically Bavarian hello, too.
Frau Lindemann said, “Are we having not just seditious talk in this shop now, but Americans as well? When do the Russians arrive? Perhaps we should have a tea party for them!”
Joe said—in German!—“I believe the Russians arrive next month. I’m sure they’d appreciate a tea party when they do get here, though. I came for a loaf of bread, myself, but I’m happy to wait my turn.”
NowIwas the one goggling. I said, “How did you—how are you—” Then realized that I couldn’t possibly reveal thatI’d met him before—thathadbeen seditious, even if there wasn’t anyone to punish me for it anymore. Other than by shunning me, of course. For the sake of the shop, and Frau Adelberg, too, I mustn’t let on.
As if summoned by the thought, Frau Adelberg came out of the kitchen, saw Joe, and jumped back as if she’d seen a snake. “Oh!” she said, patting her chest. “How did?—”
I handed Frau Lindemann her bread and took her coins, my only thought being,I have to get her out of here, for if anybody jumps to the least charitable conclusion, it will be her.
Of course, she didn’t go. Neither had Dr. Müller, and Frau Neumann wasn’t even pretending to ask for bread. Between Frau Neumann and Joe was Frau Olsen, a blonde with protuberant, pale-blue eyes that made her look constantly astonished. I realized with a start that she was the mother of Axel, the boy who’d shot Joe. Did she know about my adventure? She hadn’t said anything so far, but Axel would certainly know—he’d been right there to aim. Although with Joe’s helmet having been on at the time, would Axel even recognize him? I could only hope.
First things first.“How can I help you, Frau Neumann?” I asked. I didn’t look at Joe, and Frau Adelberg must have caught on, for she didn’t say anything else, just stood there looking like she didn’t know what to do.
Eventually, when nothing exciting happened, Frau Neumann and Frau Lindemann left the shop, and Frau Olsen, too, didn’t seem to want to stick around. Her glance at Joe was hostile, though not as poisonous as Frau Lindemann’s, but neither challenged him directly.
Dr. Müller, though, was not so easily put off. He just stood there as Joe reached the counter, then clearly expected him to ask for bread. What did I do now?
Joe didn’t seem to know either, for he glanced at Dr.Müller, then at me, and said in English, with a sheepish smile, “Sorry about that. I couldn’t resist.”
“It was funny,” I said. “But you speak German!”
“Yes,” he said. “Sorry about, ah, earlier. I don’t need any bread, actually.”
“No,” I said. “I figured as much.”
Dr. Müller said, also in English, “You know each other, then?”
“No,” I said, just as Joe said, “Yes.” We both started talking at once, then stopped again, and Joe grinned ruefully and said, “I guess I overestimated our acquaintance. Hello, sir.” He put out a hand. “Joe Stark.”
“Good morning, Mr. Stark,” Dr. Müller said, shaking his hand. “Friedrich Müller.”
“Dr. Müller,” I said firmly. Few men were as highly respected in Germany as professors and physicians, and I’d long suspected how much Dr. Becker’s loss of status had hurt. Surely it was the same here.
“A pleasure to meet you, Herr Doktor,” Joe said politely, and I felt oddly and stupidly proud that he’d got it right.
Dr. Müller said, looking between the two of us in an uncomfortably perceptive way, “Fräulein Glücksburg is a very pretty girl, no?”
“Yes, sir,” Joe said. “I guess you’ve caught me out.” He glanced at the book on the counter. “Who’s reading this? That’s some hard-boiled stuff. A good yarn, too. Nothing like Agatha Christie, but I enjoy them both.”
“I have just loaned it to Fräulein Glücksburg,” Dr. Müller said. “We have enjoyed discussing novels together in recent months. I am very fortunate to still have a library, for I confess that I have always spent more money on books than on things some would consider more important.”
“Like heating,” I said, teasing a little, but so aware of Joe’s eyes on me. “And food.”
Dr. Müller gave me his gentle smile and touched his handkerchief to his lips. “But for what does one live now but books? I am yet more fortunate to have come to know Fräulein Glücksburg. How rare in these times to meet a young woman who reads both English and French. Italian as well, I think you said. You have the better of me there.” His tone was still mild, but his eyes were watchful. Looking out for me, but here I was, dying of curiosity! And possibly something more, since my heart was beating hard and I was sure my cheeks were flushed.
“My Italian is rudimentary, I’m afraid,” I said. “Only enough to understand the gist of an aria.”
