ROOM OF FIRE 45

Chapter 45

The Amber Room, 1715

If you’re just joining this story, you may want to start from the beginning.

This story follows the first in Jenn’s Rediscovered series, Last Assault on Oak Island.

Onward with the search for the Amber Room. . .

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It should have been a beautiful city. When Lauren had arrived with Carlos at the Colmar train station over two weeks ago, there hadn't been time to appreciate the Alsatian-Germanic flavors of the streets.

It should have been beautiful, with the aroma of flaky croissants in the warming morning sun at a café near the station, the red-bricked walks past the Unterlinden Museum and mammoth churches from the fifteenth century, the brightly patterned tile roofs and Italianate façades of the houses lining the Lauch River.

Lauren saw none of this as they exited a street-side clothing store and waited for the car Reuben had rented. She smoothed the blouse and pants she'd just bought, her nerves edging at thoughts of the day ahead. Reuben had deemed her former apparel inappropriate to meet the Duke and had waited while she had picked out new clothes at a shop.

He hadn't wanted to wait, but she refused to let him make the clothing choices while she stood around like a large doll awaiting clothes choices to be made. He eventually gave her a handful of bills and relegated himself to the tie and belt rack while she shopped.

She kept an eye on him as he drifted to the public phone near the shop door and made a phone call. She only caught a few words he said, something about car rentals and petro and fees, a bit of wrangling over something she couldn't hear because of the outside street traffic, and then he hung up. She avoided looking at him as his attention returned to the tie and belt rack, still watching her. She wondered why he called a second car rental agency. Maybe the first had fallen through. She shook her head. Probably lining up a truck for the crates of amber he was using her to steal. She grabbed a few hangers of clothing from the rack of women's attire and went to the cashier.

Reuben approved of the outfit she'd chosen and made appreciative comments on the outfit. She only glared at him, ignoring the words he'd spoken last night on the train that kept replaying through her mind, and gave him back the change as they exited the store. Since those moments in the train compartment and restroom, she'd buried more of her need to believe him, and found a different fury topping her list of offenses.   

An hour later Reuben pulled the car he'd rented off the road and into a glen of lilac trees a quarter-mile from the Chateau de Rappoltsweiler. Lauren looked straight ahead from the passenger seat, quiet since they had gotten into the car, as her fingernails made purple marks in her clenched hands.

"Don't get nervous now," he said.

"It seems like a good time." She uncurled her cramped fingers.

He sighed and turned in the seat beside her. "You'd be making acquisitions for the museum on your own anyway. It's only a matter of time, Lauren."

"I hope to, yes, but Carlos Sheldon's life won't be dangling at the end of Geil's noose."

"You've no reason to fear Geil if you cooperate." His tone was as gentle as he dared make it. Too much consolation would dissolve the risk he'd installed. "This is purely a technicality. Carlos has arranged everything."

She scowled, her unfocused gaze on the Ulrichsberg castle ruins half hidden in the emerald hills above them in the distance. She thought how unfair it was that the birds in the lilac tree should sing so sweetly when Carlos was still with Geil. She wanted to wring each bird's neck—after Reuben's.

"There it is."

She watched as a second rental car and the driver's transportation car back pull into the glen. Reuben got out, met the cars—the second rented car decidedly better equipped than the first more economical rental car—and generously tipped both drivers. When the delivery car was out of sight with both drivers, he opened Lauren's car door and looked at her.

"You understand everything?"

"Of course I do." She got out of the car and snatched the second rental car's keys from him, but he kept his hand on hers and the keys.

"One hour, Lauren." His voice held only a detached admonition. "No more. If you're late, I'll—"

"You'll let Geil kill Dr. Sheldon." She ripped the keys away, ignoring the metal teeth that crossed her palm. "I know, I know. You don't even do your own dirty work." She watched the road nearby. There was no traffic. The afternoon seemed too peaceful and warm to hold the danger it did. She looked back to him. "What if something goes wrong? Reuben, what if he won't sell to me? I've never purchased anything of this magnitude on my own."

"Few have."

"I've . . . I've never acted as an official proxy alone, or done—"

"Carlos knows that." He ushered her to the second car. Her back was rigid, flinching from him. "He's made the arrangements for you, Lauren. You meet Gustalav now for details, then with the draft at four o'clock at the bank in Colmar, and you'll have a truck sent to the chateau this evening. This is just preliminaries."

She got into the car and started the engine. He leaned in the open window as her fingers whitened tightly as she gripped the steering wheel.

"Nothing heroic, Lauren." His eyes had the dark severity she'd seen a few times before. "You try to drive past this glen without stopping and I'll run you down. You can't help Carlos by refusing to bring back the panels. He's not—"

"Don't get dramatic," she snapped, searching for the window control. "You'll get your damn amber."

The chateau was emptying. Gone was the seaport painting from the south parlor, the matching satinwood bacon settles that had guarded the main hall, the cherry wood cabinet displaying the collection of Kutani cats and Jacobite artwist goblets.

Lauren missed the cats the most. She caught herself wondering about Madame Varlette's cat as she waited in the small parlor as the maid went to announce her.

Reuben was right, she thought reluctantly. There was no reason to believe there would be problems with the purchase. She wasn't the one maneuvering an immoral transaction. She would close the deal with Gustalav now, meet him at the bank later, and send the truck Reuben arranged for the amber to the chateau that evening. Simple.

The maid returned. "Mademoiselle."

Lauren followed the woman to Gustalav's office. The last visit there had been nerve racking, but led to a good end. This one had similar makings.

Gustalav greeted her with a stiff formalism that increased her discomfort. He gestured to a chair across the desk, but didn't himself sit down.

She learned soon that formal was too kind of a description.

Twenty minutes later, Lauren had paled at the Duke's words. They were unbelievable. Her brain rushed cold at Gustalav's words—accusations—and she blinked at his searching scrutiny.

"Who are you working with, Mademoiselle? What have you done with Dr. Sheldon?" he demanded.

"Me?" She swallowed forcibly.

"Were you conspiring with Osnewski and Rybak from the start or is this a recent development?" He hadn't moved nearer, but he seemed to grow larger as her mind rushed numb.

"I've never worked with . . . with them," she stammered, confusion mounting. "I don't even—"

Now Gustalav did take a step closer. "Monsieur Grant?" His face darkened at the thought.

"No." She stood up, hoping he'd keep the distance. Any ideas of asking the Duke for aid vanished. He suspected her.

"I told your superior the amber was destroyed in a fire," he said tightly. "He arranged for your appointment today. Very clever, Ms. Gates. Your own museum still thinks you're working for them." His expression took on a different curiosity. "Who is it? Diprovitch? I knew he'd be trouble, despite his connections. I thought you were above something like this," he muttered.

"I've never. . . I don't even—"

"Save your explanations for the authorities, Mademoiselle." He turned briskly to the door. "You'll remain here until they arrive."

She stared with disbelief at the door after he left the room. The lock twisted behind him.

It wasn't going to work, Reuben's plan. Gustalav wasn't going to cooperate. She glanced at her watch. Twenty minutes.

She stood silently next to the door. No sound came from the hall. She closed her eyes, thoughts racing furiously through her head. If she waited for the police, Reuben may show up and they could apprehend him, too.

She sighed. But he wouldn't come. He'd watch the estate, assume she had called for the police, and that would be the end of Carlos. Even if the police could arrest Reuben, she doubted he'd cooperate.

Her story sounded weak even to her, she thought as she rummaged through the only unlocked drawer of Gustalav's desk. She found a tablet of paper and pen and wrote a short note with an urgent plea and the Hotel Drehoff's room number where she'd last seen Geil with Carlos.

She stepped onto the balcony behind the desk and looked down at the ivy-laden trellis, glad she hadn't picked the form-fitting skirt at the shop in town.

Her watch beeped. Fifteen minutes left.

She swung a leg over the balcony side, her shoe seeking a foothold in the trellis below.