Hashtag Murder Read online

  “Yeah but presumably if it was you, then you’d just use the key.”

  “True,” I mulled things over. “But look at this! I can see a lot of footprints. Probably from the police. But I can’t see any trail.”

  “Your point?”

  “She wasn’t dragged here. Someone carried her. So it had to be someone who was strong enough to lift and carry fifty kilos for a while.”

  “Or she was killed in the pen.”

  “Maybe,” I considered the possibility. “That would mean that someone had to convince her to get in a pig pen while she was still alive. She didn’t really strike me as a farm animal enthusiast.”

  “Hey!”

  We were interrupted from a voice which seemingly came from the sky.

  “Hey, Hildi girl! What the hell is going on?”

  I glanced to the east and saw my neighbor Mitzi hanging out of her bedroom window.

  “Wait, I’m coming down.”

  Conrad groaned. My neighbor Mitzi had been romantically pursuing him for years, and he just wasn’t interested. In fact, Mitzi may have been the only woman in Drachenfels who did not appeal to him. And despite his grizzled looks, he was quite a success with the ladies. Sadly there was a shortage of eligible bachelors in town, so the few single men we did have generally had their pick of the female population.

  “I’m going to get out of here before things get even uglier,” Conrad was already making his way back to his old Harley. Keep me updated.”

  “Hildi,” Mitzi joined me. “Wasn’t that your uncle Conrad I just saw?”

  “Yeah,” I wanted to avoid any awkwardness. “He was just stopping by on his way home. Saw the commotion and stopped to find out what was going on.”

  “What was that?” Mitzi was apparently even more interested in the goings-on than she was in my uncle for the time being. “Cops, ambulance. What happened.”

  Once again I explained the entire situation, this time making a conscious effort to try to make myself look less guilty.

  “So?” my neighbor immediately asked. “Did you do it? You can tell me, I won’t tell anyone. In fact, you did us all a favor. She was awful. Everyone in town wanted to strangle her.”

  “Mitzi!” I couldn’t believe that yet another person suspected me of going wild and killing someone. “No, of course I didn’t kill her. But what do you mean that everyone wanted her dead?”

  This was interesting. So it turned out that Mandy Unterwegs did have a few enemies.

  “I’m surprised that Conrad didn’t tell you all about it; usually nothing in town slips by him.”

  It was true. Conrad looked and acted like an old biker dude but he also gossiped like an old granny. His familiar, a hawk he called The Boss, didn’t just assist him with his magic. He also had a tendency to hang around the town’s strategic vantage points, spying on everyone like a feathered drone.

  “Anyhow, she made her way through the entire town pissing everyone off today. You know she did one of her little photoshoots with me too? She had to change into brand new, sexy hiking gear and then take a million photos with Rogue standing at the head of Blue Point trail. She didn’t even step onto the trail! She just did her little shoot pretending. Wasted hours of my time, and Rogue wanted to kill her and me by the time she let us go.”

  Mitzi owned a local business called Alpine Trekking Tours that catered to tourists who wanted to appreciate the local nature without overexerting themselves. Her familiar, a white German Shepherd called Rogue, led people safely through the local forests.

  Despite her girlish name and crush on Conrad, Mitzi was an imposing woman. I was no twig myself, far from it, a little extra padding is unavoidable in my line of work. Mitzi, though, was built like a rugby player.

  I glanced in her direction and looked her up and down. She could definitely carry fifty kilos. As a matter of fact, she could probably carry fifty kilos up the entire mountain without breaking a sweat.

  Wait, I thought to myself. What are you doing? You are doing exactly the same thing as those cops from Munich, trying to pin this murder on literally anyone but yourself. You have no evidence at all that Mitzi was involved.

  “Anyhow,” Mitzi continued, “I would have liked to dump her lifeless body in your pigpen myself. And I know I’m not the only one.”

  Okay, maybe Mitzi wasn’t sounding especially innocent either.

  “Don’t hold back,” I joked. “Tell me how you really feel about her.”

  “Oh I’m not holding back. But you should hear about what happened with Saputra, that living porcelain doll. My god, he certainly met his match. He’s probably never met someone even more precious and high maintenance than he is.”

  Eno Saputra was the warlock who managed the Drachenfels Hotel and Spa, and as far as I could tell was also the most elegant man alive. It wasn’t often that Drachenfels got newcomers, but every once in a while a witch from the outside world joined us. Eno had come to us from Indonesia to manage our luxury Hotel, and he took his job very, very seriously.

  “Really?” I was surprised. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen him react to anything with any kind of emotional response at all. That guy is as cold as ice.”

  “Well, I guess it was emotional for him. I heard that he practically had steam coming out of his ears. Get this… that brat has been staying at the Hotel’s finest suite and eating all of her meals for free, and she’s had nothing but complaints. She had Saputra waiting on her every little whim hand and foot like he was her personal manservant, then she went ahead and left the Hotel a three star review on some fancy hotel website.”

  “Oh no,” I cringed. I couldn’t even imagine anyone leaving the Hotel a bad review. I often provided the dessert catering for the Hotel’s special events, like weddings and such. Saputra was a relentless nag if even a single sugared flower was out of place, but everyone knew that was because he was a perfectionist.

  “Oh yes,” Mitzi replied. “Can you believe it? Our Hotel? Average?”

  “Was there anything about Drachenfels that Mandy Unterwegs actually liked?”

  “Not as far as I’ve heard. But Hildi,” Mitzi sidled up to me in a conspiratorial manner even though we were completely alone in my pig pen, “I’ve got some suspicions about this girl.”

  “What kind of suspicions? I saw her body with my own eyes, much as I wish I hadn’t.”

  “No, I mean, I think she was playing a little game. I’ve heard that she was so ‘unhappy’ with the service of our local businesses that she was demanding some outrageous payments in exchange for overlooking our little shortcomings.”

  My head popped to attention. “Did she try to wring any money out of you?”

  “No,” Mitzi admitted. “But I know for a fact that she wanted nearly fifty thousand from Saputra and I already heard about what she wanted from you.”

  “You heard, huh?”

  “Everyone heard,” Mitzi looked at me with pity in her eyes. “Of course they heard. You’re the number one suspect.”

  Chapter Six

  It was hard to know how I was supposed to proceed with my life now that I was the number one suspect in a murder case. I had no idea what else I was supposed to do, so the next morning I just followed my usual routine.

  I got up long before the sun rose and headed downstairs to my bakery. I was short on pastry due to the previous day’s misadventures, so I thought that maybe I could bake off a few extra staples before I opened.

  First up: a ham and maple strata laced with borage for peace and tranquility. God knew that everyone in Drachenfels could use some peace, especially me. I sliced up some leftover French bread and soaked it in a mix of egg, cream, and cheese. The mixture would have to rest in the refrigerator for a few hours before I could pop it in the oven, ideally overnight, but I didn’t have the luxury of time.

  Next up: Spanikopita for my vegetarians. This one was an easy lifesaver, especially since I kept frozen spinach on hand for emergencies. I kneaded the defrosted spinach into some fresh f
eta and added chopped garlic and black pepper to drive out evil. I carefully spooned the mixture into some chilled phyllo dough I always kept on hand and pinched the edges, brushing the whole baking tray down with plenty of butter. It wasn’t long before my shop filled with the rich, buttery scent of the little Greek pockets.

  Finally, a little something for my sweet tooths. My shop was called Zuckerfee, after all, not Hamfee. I decided to whip up a quick batch of one of my personal favorites: lemon poppyseed muffins with mascarpone cheesecake filling. Lemon for fostering goodwill and friendship, poppy for euphoria, cheesecake because who doesn’t love cheesecake.

  Everything was ready before I opened my doors, so I sat down alone to enjoy a fresh muffin and an enormous vanilla latte. I might as well live it up now, I figured. I probably wouldn’t be enjoying many espresso drinks or cheesecake muffins in prison.

  Just as I was about to dig in, someone was tapping my front door yet again.

  “Jeez, give me a break, just wait half an hour, I’m closed,” I mumbled to myself, getting up to let whoever it was in anyways.

  “Horst,” I was surprised to see him. “Everything okay? You’re making me nervous.”

  “Well,” Horst entered my shop without invitation. “As okay as can be expected. Considering the circumstances, you know. Hildi,” Horst gave me an earnest look, “I’m worried about you. I actually stopped by because I’d like to talk to you. Alone.”

  “Okay,” I wiped my hands on my turquoise striped apron. “Have a seat.”

  “You mind if I grab some breakfast first?” Horst glanced at my pastry case. “Or maybe at least just some coffee? I know you’re not open yet.”

  “No, of course not, I’ve got everything ready. What’ll you have?”

  Horst perused my pastries, carefully examining every single item. He was one of my daily customers and I had already been wondering if he would continue to patronize the Zuckerfee while investigating me for murder. Apparently yes. He needed his sugar fix and was willing to risk his life with a dangerous woman like me to get it.

  “You ever think about carrying any low carb stuff?” he asked, eyeing the muffins.

  “Low carb baked desserts? I can’t say that I’ve considered it. I’m not sure if I’ve really got a market for exotic health foods here.”

  “I’ve just been trying to watch my waistline. A lot of the guys I know do the low carb thing and it supposedly works wonders.”

  That was news to me. Horst’s waistline looked just fine from where I was sitting. The rest of him looked pretty good too.

  “I can fix you some breakfast meat and eggs?” I suggested. “I’ve got ham, bacon, sausage, probably whatever you want.”

  “Nah,” Horst had moved on to the refrigerated case. “I can’t come in here and not get my piece of cake. What flavors have you got here?”

  I had forgotten to put the labels in the case, so I listed off my selection of cupcakes for the day. “Chocolate chili, spiced carrot cake, Caipirinha, lavender, Piña Colada…”

  “Wait, did you say Caipirinha,” he interrupted. “Like the drink? Is that the green one?”

  Horst had always been one of the most adventurous eaters on the mountain. Unlike some of my more conservative neighbors, he never shied away from the more exotic flavors I liked to try, like African peanut or Thai iced tea.

  “Yeah, the little green guys. They’ve got lime, carbonado sugar, and a little splash of Cachaća.” They also had rose water, which fostered romantic feelings, but I didn’t mention that extra ingredient. That one was my little secret.

  “They’ve got booze?” Horst seemed unsure. “Is that weird, having an alcoholic piece of cake at six in the morning before I go to work? It’s not like doing a shot, is it?”

  “No,” I reassured him, plating up his cupcake without waiting for him to decide. “It’s just a tiny, tiny amount that I added for the flavor. Otherwise they’d just be lime.”

  “Okay let me give it a go. And can I get a regular brewed coffee, but in my travel mug?”

  “Of course,” I poured his drink and then rejoined him at my table, him with his cocktail cupcake and me with my cheesecake muffin. “So, anyhow, give it to me straight. What’s the news?”

  Horst took a long swig of his coffee and a deep breath. “It’s bad,” he admitted. “Real bad. Right now, it’s looking like our victim was poisoned.”

  “Poisoned?” I panicked. If I was going to commit a murder, not that I would ever do that, but if I was… I’d almost certainly use poison. In fact, it was kind of one of my specialties. “How can you tell?”

  “Well, we don’t know for certain yet. They’ve taken her to a medical examiner in Munich. They have to run all kinds of tests on her and right now we’re waiting on something called a toxicology report, which will take a few days. That will show whether she’s got poison in her blood and what kind, hopefully, which will lead us to ‘new avenues of inquiry,’ as they put it.”

  “What does ‘new avenues of inquiry’ mean?”

  “It means that they’re hoping that whatever kind of poison they find is hard to get a hold of or difficult to use. That would narrow down the list of suspects to people who had access and knowledge.”

  “I see,” I considered what he was saying and picked at my muffin. Everyone in town knew about my vast knowledge of rare and exotic plants. “What makes them think that she’s been poisoned if they haven’t got the results yet?”

  “There were a few clues last night that indicate poison,” Horst explained. “No visible injuries to the body. Blue skin. Almond scent…”

  “Almonds,” I repeated absentmindedly. “Cyanide.”

  Horst pierced me with his gaze, suspicious once again.

  “That’s not really something I can grow in my garden,” I defended myself.

  “Who do you think would have access to something like that?” Horst asked.

  “I don’t know. Spies? Assassins?” I thought about the question. “I think it’s also used by photographers? I don’t think it’s the kind of thing you can just pick up in the store.”

  Horst nodded in agreement. “So we’ll probably be looking for someone who has made some strange purchases online recently. Need a warrant for something like that.”

  “Or a hobbyist?” I suggested.

  “A hobbyist?”

  “Like an amateur photographer? I don’t even know of any professionals around here. Most of the weddings at the Hotel bring photographers in from Munich.”

  Horst considered what I said.

  “You know anyone who is into photography?”

  “I don’t think so.”

  “Look, Hildi, I’m grasping at any straw here. I’m trying to help you. Do you have any ideas about who would want Chantal Nussbaum dead?”

  I started to answer and stopped myself.

  “Anyone?” he prodded.

  I couldn’t just start naming people at random with no evidence. This was serious. I had already seen for myself how dangerous accusations and suspicions could be. What if I turned the police on an innocent man? I didn’t want the wrong person to go to prison. I also didn’t want to spread unfounded rumors, and I certainly did not want the population of Drachenfels to hear about me pointing my finger at my neighbors.

  Horst picked at the crumbs of his cupcake and fiddled with the wrapper while waiting for me to continue. I suspected that his silence was some kind of tactic that he learned in police school. He’d just sit there until I felt awkward enough to start talking, even if talking wasn’t in my own best interest.

  If Horst was this good at interrogating people, I could only imagine how tough the Munich detectives would be.

  His stalling worked. The longer I thought about it, the more I felt like I was really just helping a friend. After all, he was in my shop at dawn trying to help me. Surely it couldn’t really hurt to make him aware of any possible lead. Plus, I knew I could trust Horst not to tell anyone that I was naming names. Or at least I was pretty sure I co
uld trust him.

  “Well, there was one thing I heard. Last night from Mitzi. She came by to ask me about the commotion in the yard and I don’t know if you’ve heard about this yet, but Mandy Unterwegs wasn’t exactly the most popular girl in Drachenfels.”

  “How do you mean,” prompted Horst, his shoulders tensing.

  “Well I didn’t see any of this for myself, but Mitzi told me that this girl was actually demanding money from businesses all over town. I wasn’t the only one who got the twenty thousand euro ‘special offer’ from her.”

  “I guess I’ll have to talk to Mitzi later too. I’m not surprised that she’s already discussed this incident with everyone in a hundred kilometer radius. Did she name anyone in particular?”

  “Well, actually… yes. Have you spoken to Eno Saputra?”

  “What?” Horst raised his brow. “The guy who manages the Hotel? Seriously?”

  “I know,” I agreed. “I was skeptical too. But Mitzi said that he’d been having trouble with Mandy all week. She got a free stay in one of the suites and all meals comped. Then she spent several days publicly berating Saputra, and finally left him a bad review on some luxury hotel website. Mitzi said that he was practically losing his mind trying to get her to take the review down or revise it, then Mandy made him one of her ‘special offers.’ Only instead of twenty, she wanted fifty thousand from him. I guess she thought that the Hotel would have a bigger budget for that kind of thing.”

  Horst whistled in amazement. “Fifty thousand? Good Lord, I’m in the wrong line of work.”

  “I know. At this point I think everyone in Drachenfels is considering a career move into the field of internet influencing.”

  “You think anyone ever paid up?”

  “Hmm,” I considered the question. “Maybe? I don’t know, that figure was so far out of my budget that she might as well have asked for a million. I don’t think I know anyone who has that kind of money sitting around. Maybe things are different in the city.”