Free Once Upon a Crime by P. J. Brackston Page A

too seductive to resist any longer. She had had her fill of roasted pigs’ knuckles for the day, and Hans did not require her company any longer. The last she saw of him was, stein still in hand, grinning from ear to ear, disappearing down Uber Strasse, strapped backward onto a somewhat bandy-legged goat.

    Gretel had never been a fan of stagecoach travel and the daylong journey to Bad am Zee did nothing to win her over. Hans had admired what he considered the fine horses that were to power their conveyance. Gretel put his generous appraisal of them down to the fact that he was still half drunk from the Starkbierfest. She herself fancied the lead animal had a mean look in its eye, and that the rest were overworked and on the scrawny side. Despite spring having fully sprung, the coachman was so muffled against cold winds it was hard to determine his age or countenance. He gruffly hauled cases and boxes aboard, leaving the passengers to see to themselves. Besides Hans, Gretel was to have three traveling companions. There was a stout businessman who insisted on introducing himself to everyone.
    â€œBechstein. Bechstein’s the name. Pleasure to make your acquaintances. Weather set fair for a good journey. Should make excellent time. I’ve a meeting in Bad at six prompt this evening, so delays will not be stood for. Will not,” he told anyone who cared to listen.
    Gretel did not. She preferred to travel in peace, gazing through the window at the countryside to remind herself how lucky she was not to be out in it; snacking at irregular intervals to keep blood sugar and spirits up; dozing against the cushion that was her brother when the road was smooth enough to allow it. Sadly, the remaining occupants of the carriage had other ideas.
    â€œWe are the Petersons,” said Herr Peterson, proffering a hand that Hans felt obliged to shake. “Inge and I are touring the region.” He paused to touch his wife’s glowing cheek and smile at her. “We are indulging ourselves with a second honeymoon,” he added. “We are so happy to be reliving such pleasant memories, such wonderful times in such a beautiful place as this!”
    Watching the middle-aged lovebirds made Gretel queasy. Why did people feel the need to display their cloying affectionfor each other in public? It was almost enough to put her off her bratwurst. Almost.
    â€œCrack open the supplies, Hans. This is going to be a very long day.”
    To begin with, the landscape through which the little party rattled was of the picture postcard variety. An hour’s distance from Gesternstadt saw them leave the valley and begin the climb toward the mountains. The high meadows were full of spring flowers and lush grass, dotted with fat goats and cows with coats that shone in the brightness of the day. Pine forests began to fringe the road as they traveled through the Kilmfeld pass and emerged on the eastern side of the hills. Here drama replaced prettiness. The mountains rose so steeply even the goats had been defeated by them. Silver threads of waterfalls glinted against dark stone as they tumbled into glassy lakes. The terrain proved testing for the horses, as they scrambled along the twisting, stony path that traversed the side of the precipitous hill, sending dislodged rocks splashing down into the water far below.
    More than once Inge Peterson whimpered, causing her besotted spouse to pat her gloved hand. Even Herr Bechstein looked a little pale, his mouth set in a grimly determined line.
    Hans distracted himself from thoughts of possible death by taking out his hip flask. “Hair of the hound, an’ all that,” he told Gretel. When the stagecoach took a pothole at speed, making the rear wheels drop and then leap alarmingly, he passed it around and found eager takers.
    In an attempt to remain calm and make good use of the time, Gretel turned her mind to the case of the missing cats. The facts as she saw them were few and