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

unhelpfully far between. Three cats missing, all different colors and ages. The bell from a cat’s collar in the clutches of the dead man at what had been Herr Hund’s workshop.
    Bruder had been wearing a cat collar on his wrist. Agnes was sure the troll held vital information, but not the cats themselves. With a sigh she realized she had made precisely zero headway in her investigation. Other puzzles kept insinuating themselves into her thought processes, pushing aside matters she should be dealing with. For a start, who was the mystery archer? And what had Princess Charlotte been up to? And now, curiously, there was the girl at Madame Renoir’s: Johanna. There was something about her, something that stirred the mud of memory but would not quite reveal the treasure buried there.
    A brutal jolt as the coach negotiated further ruts in the road brought her back to the present.
    â€œNearly there,” Hans assured her. “Look!”
    She peered past him out of the drop-side window. Bad am Zee was laid out below them like a toy town, set down on the shores of the sparkling lake, a picture of tranquillity and loveliness.
    The coachman navigated the steep descent without mishap and delivered them safely to the town square, the low light and long shadows of the late-April afternoon softening the edges of the quaintly painted buildings around them.
    The travelers alighted, stretching their aching limbs to a chorus of clicking spines and knee joints, light with relief at having arrived unscathed save for the damage to their bruised posteriors and frayed nerves.
    It didn’t take long for Gretel and Hans to settle into the Bad-Hotel. Gretel unpacked, enjoyed a little pre-dinner nap, and then headed for the restaurant. Hans discovered the adjacent inn was running a mini beer festival and took himself off to sample the local ales.
    Gretel had not entirely forgotten the original reason for spending huge amounts of money on such luxury and indulgence, and did her best to quiz as many of the hotel staff as shecould concerning the whereabouts of the troll. Her questions were met with one of three responses: don’t know, don’t care, and don’t ask me, I’m too busy. She was forced to jangle a few gold coins in her hand to get any cooperation at all, but even then she gained nothing more enlightening than one possible sighting and an earful of hearsay.
    She was all for giving it up for the evening and turning in when she bumped into the Petersons.
    â€œAh, fraulein,” Herr Peterson greeted her like a long-lost friend, “how nice to see you again. Is the Bad-Hotel to your liking? It is over thirty years since last we stayed here, and it is still every bit as perfect as we remember. Isn’t that so, Inge?”
    Inge nodded enthusiastically.
    â€œWe are so excited about tomorrow’s excursion,” he went on. “Will you be joining us?”
    â€œExcursion?” The very word forced Gretel to stifle a yawn.
    â€œWhy, yes, the hike up into the mountains on the wildflower trail. Have you not been made aware of it? Oh, how fortuitous that we met! Just imagine, had we not, you might have missed the opportunity to discover the delights of the Alpine flora on offer in Bad am Zee.”
    â€œImagine.”
    â€œDid you know, there are sixteen species of miniature orchid to be found in this region alone and nowhere else?”
    â€œI’m ashamed to say I did not.”
    â€œWell, we must let you get to your bed.” Herr Peterson stepped aside, beaming. “The party departs at six sharp in the morning, and we must all be at our best for the steep climb. Good night to you, fraulein.”
    Gretel hastened away in the direction of the sanctuary of her room. Several of her least favorite words (of which “hike” was one of the worst) had just been lobbed at her. While experience had taught her that there were more terrible fates than aflower-spotting walk in the