Free Vienna by William S. Kirby Page A

is man’ and all that.”
    Vienna saw the words. “Alexander Pope, ‘An Essay on Man.’” She read several sentences. “He published the first part anonymously.”
    Justine laughed. “You know it’s okay to take Pope’s advice.” She nodded toward a knot of people standing at a gallery window. “See the man in the black pants?”
    â€œYes?”
    â€œHe is—as you would say—a poser.”
    Vienna looked back to Justine. “How do you mean?”
    â€œBlack Versace pants, black tee, and a black belt. Very swank. Did you notice his shoes?”
    â€œNo.”
    â€œLight brown,” Justine said. “You don’t spend that kind of money on clothes and get it so wrong unless you’re a hack.”
    That made no sense. “Is this important?”
    â€œSuch observations lead to the most intricate puzzles.”
    â€œPuzzles?”
    Justine hesitated before continuing. “What was Grant doing in the hotel bathroom when he was murdered?”
    Vienna sighed. Why was talking to Justine so futile? “His real name wasn’t Grant Eriksson. It was David Andries.”
    â€œHe will always be Grant to me. That’s all I knew him as.”
    Vienna shrugged. “What difference does it make where he was?”
    â€œOur suite at the Cosmopolitan had two bedrooms with attached bathrooms, plus a small kitchen and great room. James told me there was no sign of a struggle; the assumption being that Grant knew his killer. But why was he in my bathroom? People go to kitchens to talk, or maybe the great room.”
    â€œHe was running away?”
    â€œThat’s what the police think, but it doesn’t work. Grant was a careful man. Why run to the worst possible room? There was no way out. There wasn’t anything there he could use as a weapon.”
    â€œBut the bathroom door could be locked.”
    â€œAgainst a man with a gun? It doesn’t take much to break through a bathroom door. Any decently strong man could do it.”
    â€œMaybe he was shot by a woman.”
    Justine exhaled. “Not Grant. He would never have run from a woman. Such an ignominious retreat was not in his genes. He may have been shot trying to sweet-talk a woman, but he never would have run.”
    â€œThen he was looking for something?”
    Justine shook her head. “There was nothing in the bathroom except what is in every bathroom.”
    â€œThen I don’t know.”
    Justine shook her head. “Neither do I. It doesn’t make sense.”
    Vienna shrugged. “Neither does dying your hair blue and being starkers.”
    â€œStarkers?”
    â€œNude.”
    â€œAh! Gotta love British slang.”
    â€œBut why do it?”
    â€œBecause it beats flipping burgers for a living.”
    Vienna looked down. “I don’t understand you at all.”
    â€œGood. I make my money by keeping them guessing.” She patted Vienna’s arm. “Now we have to be careful. This next shop is right next to the Grand Place.”
    Since Justine was being so mean, Vienna took another detour. But it all went wrong because in the end it didn’t matter if Justine was lost or stupid. The truth was that she was placing her trust in Vienna. No one had ever done that before and Vienna didn’t like it because what if she took a detour and they were crossing a street they had no business being on and a speeding car hit Justine and killed her? Even if no one else discovered the truth, God would know.
    And now it seemed there was no way it couldn’t happen.
    Vienna stopped. Her throat tightened below the saliva that flooded her mouth.
    â€œVienna? Are you okay?”
    No words would come.
    â€œVienna? It’s okay. I’m here. Do we need to go back to the hotel?”
    â€œI took a wrong turn.” Not really the whole truth, but maybe enough?
    â€œAre you lost?”
    Vienna shook her head.
    â€œThen no