Free The Doctor Dines in Prague by Robin Hathaway Page A

them a lift, but Mrs. Doyle had promised to take Marie on the bus.
    As soon as they were gone, Jennifer drew a sheet of paper from Mrs. Doyle’s desk and wrote a brief note. She anchored it with the sugar bowl. When the door closed behind her, Sal crept out from under the radiator. Listening to the silence of the empty house, she found a spot of sun and stretched luxuriantly.
    It would be weeks before Fenimore found the gray and dusty dolly cap under the radiator and wondered how it got there.

CHAPTER 14
    B ecause things were cheaper in the Czech Republic than in the United States, Fenimore discovered that he had enough money left over after paying the rent to buy his necessities: milk, eggs, coffee, sugar, bread, and aspirin. The little grocery store down the street where he had gone before had been able to supply all his needs—even a bottle of wine. Such a thing was unheard of in Philadelphia. There had been only one embarrassing moment. When he had asked for eggs ( “vejce” ), the lady behind the counter had looked puzzled, then smiled and brought him a wooden spoon ( “vaeka” ). Fenimore shook his head and clucked like a chicken. With a laugh, the woman had produced the eggs. After that everything had gone smoothly.
    He had agreed to meet Ilsa at the coffee shop where they had met the previous day. “A ‘coffee break’ should begin with coffee,” she had told him.
    It was a dull, overcast day and the coffeehouse was darker than he had remembered it. The only bright thing was Ilsa’s head bending over something at a table in the back. As he came near he saw she was looking at a street map of Prague. He took the seat opposite.
    She glanced up with a smile. “I’m planning our day.”
    Fenimore felt a flutter of anticipation. Concentrate, you ass, he
admonished himself. Remember your mission. A waiter came for his order. “Espresso,” Fenimore said.
    â€œYou are becoming a native.” Ilsa nodded her approval.
    He didn’t confess to his hangover. “What have you planned?”
    â€œWe will begin with the Astronomical Clock in Old Town Square. Cross the bridge …” (When you say “the bridge” in Prague, everyone assumes you mean the Charles Bridge, even though there are many bridges over the Vlatava.) She traced their route with her finger on the map. “We’ll work our way up the hill to Prague Castle and the Cathedral of St. Vitus. Stroll through Golden Alley. On the way back, we will visit the Strahov Library and I will show you my manuscripts. Dinner at a Czech restaurant. The theater. And afterwards, an aperitif at Café Slávia.” She smiled, inordinately pleased with herself.
    And after that? thought Fenimore, and instantly reproved himself. He swallowed his espresso in two gulps. “Let’s go!” He stood up.
    She folded the map and stuffed it into her huge tote bag. Fenimore paid the bill. Plenty of time to ask questions as they walked, he told himself. A whole day and evening lay before them. As they left the coffeehouse, the sun burst from behind a cloud as if conferring a blessing on them.
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    While they waited for the light to change at Vaclavske Namesti, two scruffy youths brushed past them, almost knocking them off the curb. Ilsa dropped her tote bag and the contents spilled out on the sidewalk.
    â€œPozor!” shouted Ilsa. ( “Look out!” )
    Ignoring her, they mounted their motorcycles parked nearby, and roared off.
    Fenimore helped pick up her things. Among them was the crumpled fortune-cookie slip, from dinner the night before. He put it in his pocket, intending to throw it in the first trash can.
    â€œThugs!” she said indignantly. “Dregs of the Communist era.”
    A chill shot through Fenimore. Those youths fit Marie’s description of the kidnappers. “Are there many like that?” he asked.

    â€œToo many. Always looking for trouble. If you pay