Free Aria in Ice by Flo Fitzpatrick Page A

I decided to make
an exception, just in case whatever had been left here was
important. I quickly opened my bag then placed the manuscript
inside.
    Marching through the front door were three
men I’d not expected to see together—at least not now and not here.
Johnny Gerard, Franz Hart and Corbin Lerner.
    “My, my. Larry, Curly and Moe?”
    Johnny snickered. Franz looked confused.
Corbin bit back a smile. Well, hot damn. The man had a glimmer of
humor somewhere inside that handsome exterior.
    I stared at each one in succession, finally
asking, “So, guys. Is everything okay? I heard you were helping out
with this poor man—uh—Mr.—uh—Gustav?”
    Franz spoke first. “We took his body down to
a little village not far from here. There will be a memorial Mass
there tomorrow we were told.”
    “Yeah, that’s what I heard. I mean—about the
village. So, what are you doing here in the north wing? Hunting for
me? And why aren’t you running errands, Franz? Thought that was on
your agenda today?”
    Franz stiffened slightly. “I decided to come
early and alone to get a feeling for the castle and when I got to
the door, Madam Duskova was rather hysterical over finding this man
on the grounds. Someone suggested coming to the north wing which
could be of interest to the movie.”
    I nodded toward Johnny, then Corbin. “And
Curly and Moe? Just happened to pop in on the way to murals and
mausoleums?”
    Johnny calmly headed to the window. “I was
merely out for a nice tour around the castle. Three hours of
carefully painting a mural to appear centuries old can become
tedious. Saw ol’Fritz here with Madam D and decided to join them to
see if I could help with Gustav’s body.”
    Franz glared at Johnny. “Franz.”
    “What?”
    “Franz. Not Fritz. That would be a nickname
of a Frederick.”
    Johnny. “Yes, I suppose it would.”
    I pointed at Corbin. “What about you? Did you
just follow the crowd? Was there ever a leader?”
    Corbin shrugged. “I saw someone in the window
and was worried that a burglar was sneaking into the north wing so
I wanted to warn Veronika since no one is supposed to be here.”
    I opened my eyes wide. “Really? I thought no
one lived here . Is there a ban on touring? Or is that just
the graveyard?”
    Franz frowned. “We are not allowed in the
graveyard?”
    “Well, I’m not sure there’s an actual edict
stating that. I just had the feeling the Duskovas would prefer we
avoid it.” I paused. “Perhaps for safety reasons.”
    Franz nodded, as though this actually made
sense. “Ah, of course.” He then motioned toward Corbin, burying the
topic of the very recent death at Kouzlo Noc . “Pardon me,
but I never asked what you are doing for the Duskovas at the
castle.”
    Corbin quietly stated. “I am a
historian.”
    Silence. More silence. Everyone looked at me.
I felt like I’d become the hostess for this party and was expected
to draw out the shyer guests to reveal the intimacies of their
lives and work.
    No way. I smiled and said, “Shouldn’t that be
‘an’ historian’? Doesn’t the ‘h’ count as a vowel in that
word?”
    Corbin did not answer. Franz looked at me as
though I’d lost my mind. Johnny, bless his heart, joined right in.
“I believe either usage is proper. The ‘a’ or the ‘an’. I taught
English part time at a private junior high school when I was at
Columbia and I seem to recall that was one of those innocuous
little pieces of grammar that drives people crazy but has no set
answer.”
    “You taught grammar?”
    “No. I taught English Literature but grammar
occasionally raised its annoying head.”
    “Aside from inanimate substances having
heads, isn’t grammar plural? So wouldn’t it be ‘their’ annoying
heads?”
    “Grammar is of one. So it stays
singular.”
    We could have danced around this pole another
thirty minutes. Johnny and I were having a great time. I’d almost
forgotten why I was in the north wing and the fact that some