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This story follows the first in Jenn’s Rediscovered series, Last Assault on Oak Island.
Fredericks was open on time the next morning, but Ian Fredericks was not to be found. The antique shop had been closed one day a week during the festival to allow the employees time to enjoy the holiday. This week the owner was taking two.
Lauren walked through the shop's various rooms. It was separated into sections, including furniture and clocks, glass and porcelain, weapons and nautical devices, and jewelry. The sight of a bayonet that hung on the wall reminded her of Reuben's interests at the chateau and she wondered if she and Carlos would encounter him again. Perhaps he was working with the Polish agent.
She walked around a gilt nautical clock, squinting at the alabaster dial that bore the signature Monro Fils Aine a' Paris. No, Carlos gave her the impression that men like Reuben Tolchov worked best alone. Does not play well with others, an elementary school teacher would write in a report card on such a student.
The man with the ring was another matter entirely. Of course, the man may not represent a Polish interest, not specifically, but Lauren couldn't imagine why else the man would wear such a ring unless it held some significance. Surely it was a relic in itself.
She walked around a case enclosing assorted Lalique works. Few were plates. Most of the collection was molded glass in various frosteds, tints, and engravings.
She also knew that Carlos could be mistaken about the ring. It was a bright day. Maybe he hadn't seen it well. The stone could have been something else, such as citrine or golden topaz.
She frowned, watching as a Japanese couple entered and made a beeline for a green-stained glass timepiece bearing mermaids. No, Carlos' eyesight may have weak days, but he was not colorblind.
She looked up as he concluded his business with the shop's clerk in the first room. He took her arm and they wove back into the Salzburg crowds on the street. She found herself searching faces in the traffic for the man with the ring until she realized he would likely be watching from behind them.
"No luck?" she asked Carlos.
"None." He sighed in exasperation, then halted and took her to one side where a bookstore window was displaying biographies on famous composers. "Do you have a mirror? Put some lipstick on."
She knew this wasn't really a suggestion to use the cosmetic, but shuffled through her handbag and found her compact and a lip balm. She flicked it open and angled it for Carlos to see as she applied the balm.
"He's there," she said, glancing in the mirror and searching the crowd. "Leaning against a tree, but not looking at us." She moved the mirror so Carlos could see what she could in the small reflection. Rybak was all too obvious near the curb and a phone box. "He's watching Fredericks' down the street. Oh. . ." She stuck the accessories back in her bag. "Now he's looking our way."
"Are you hungry?" he asked abruptly. Without waiting for her reply, he pushed her into a nearby konditorei.
The sight of the pastries in the shop window brought the Vienna bakery to Lauren's mind. She kept one eye on the passing traffic as Carlos went to the counter deeper in the small shop awash in rich bakery aromas. She half watched him point and dictate his order to the blonde woman behind the counter and then return with a bag of selections.
She took the raspberry jam-filled Danish he offered. "Why the sudden sweet tooth?"
He glanced casually out the shop window to the opposite street curb. "Our Polish friend is wearing a gun. Just above his ankle." He looked at the pastry, munching a large bite. "This is good."
She tried not to look out the window, but managed a covert peek. "What do we do now? Camp out in here?"
"No, we'll go back out in a minute. If you saw him in Vienna he already knows too much—as do we." He finished the Danish. "He's only looking for leads, like us. Chances are good that he won't make any intrusions until we actually purchase something."
"That's a relief. We won't get shot until later."
"With any luck we won't get shot at all."
She raised an eyebrow. "I thought you didn't believe in luck, Dr. Sheldon."
He smiled, a strange twinkle in his eye. "I don't."
They braved an exit and found room on the crowded sidewalks again. There were a few days left of the festival and the weekend promised to be climactic. Neither Lauren nor Carlos turned to see if they were being followed.
"How did you see the gun?" she asked.
"The way you were holding that mirror, I could only see his shoes and your . . ." He cleared his throat. "Décolletage. I'm glad you're not dressing too far down for the warm weather."
She nodded. "It's warm enough."
He looked ahead to the densely forested mountains enclosing the city. "Considering that we can't see Fredericks until tomorrow and our Polish shadow is relatively harmless until we make an acquisition," he said with unusual levity, "the afternoon is at our leisure."
She knew he was relieved to identify and assess the third party interested in the chamber panels, even in such a limited capacity. By all logic, Reuben was probably slinking around the Salzburg streets as well. She doubted they would see him unless he wanted to be seen.
Reuben would have even more reason to trail them than the Polish agent, she decided. He may have told Gustalav he had leads of his own to soothe his wounded pride at not being a potential purchaser, but it may have been all talk. Perhaps he was even following the Polish man.
But Gustalav had given the third party leads as well, she recalled. The Polish agent wouldn't need to trail them. Unless, she reconsidered, he wasn't the third party the Duke had mentioned.
She groaned aloud. There could be yet another contender for the amber panels. She was certain their Polish shadow hadn't been at the auction.
Four parties involved?
All following each other, waiting for one of them to make a purchase so that the others could swoop down like a chicken hawk on a field mouse?
She groaned again. She hoped not.
She didn't dare air this conjecture to Carlos until they had settled for dinner at one of the classier beer gardens. The cool evening slowly slipped over the banks of the Salzach River that separated the new and old parts of the city.
She looked around at the diners. The Polish man wasn't present, disguised or otherwise. Maybe they had lost him.
Carlos' idea of a hasty tour of the city that afternoon was dizzying. In four hours they had visited the marble statues of Mirabellgarten and the baroque Schloss Mirabell at a trot, crossed the river to the Alter Markt to collect freshly baked bread and too many sausages and cheese logs, and then finally moved on to the Festung Hohensalzburg. An eclectic whirlwind if there ever was one; she hoped that she was as active as Carlos at his age. She came away with two pewter souvenir spoons for her Aunt Helen and mother.
She considered the fortress across the river from their table at the beer garden. Hohensalzburg perched ominously above the city, overlooking the congested streets that huddled along the waterway. Unlike most European castles and other protective residences, Hohensalzburg had not been built by a succession of kings and queens. The twelfth century fortress was constructed, and ruled, by the archbishops, complete with torture chambers.
She cut into the ham tart on her plate, glancing at the nut-filled second beside it. At least these were smaller than the other pastries she'd had earlier. "The Polish man has a bad eye. Glass. He wasn't at the chateau auction, Dr. Sheldon. I'd remember him."
He chewed his bite of tart thoughtfully. "Perhaps he heard of the panels by another source. But that wouldn't explain why he has latched on to us."
"Maybe he's not following us. Maybe," she said, leaning closer, "he's following the third party Gustalav mentioned. Not Reuben; the other one he gave the leads to."
He nodded. "We'll be at Fredericks' early tomorrow." He made a discreet survey of the tables around them clustered with food and tourists. "We seem to have lost him for the moment."
"He's probably still wandering around in the castle." She cut into the chestnut-filled tart.
"Still best not to linger too long." He looked over his glasses at a man who'd taken the table behind her. "We'll finish here and then head back."
Lauren pulled the curtains in the small second-story hotel room that evening. The knotty white material was thin, almost threadbare in some places, and probably transparent as well, she thought. There was lot to be said for booking reservations, especially during festival seasons.
She turned down the lamp at the table. From the hall bathroom she could hear the pipes clanking and Carlos mumbling about the timid water pressure. At least there was hot water, however meek the trickle.
From her bag she withdrew the cotton nightgown, which was thicker than the curtains, thankful she'd brought the sleeveless option, and a thin robe. She took out these and a few other toiletries, and picked a blouse out of the larger bag to rinse at the sink in the room's corner. With the blouse came another article of clothing.
She held up Reuben's shirt. For a moment she recalled the brief awkwardness in the stable tack room and the lengthier conversation over tea with him. It would have been nice to meet him for breakfast. Maybe that would have given her some sense of departure to her questions.
She stuck the shirt back into the bag. There was no way to return it now and she was unsure what to do with it. Keeping it out of Carlos' sight would be a good start.
The curator knocked on the door and opened it when she called to him. "The facilities are yours. Don't expect much, Lauren."
She nodded and gathered her nightclothes, giving her second bag a quick glimpse to see the zipper pulled closed. "Thanks. I won't."
Watch your inbox for more chapters as Dr. Sheldon and Lauren try to stay ahead of competitors as they follow rumors in pursuit of the lost Amber Chamber.
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