Your Perfect Year(75)
“It’s not an aversion!” Jonathan replied snippily. He wondered whether he and his CEO were actually having a serious argument. It sounded like it.
“No?”
“I’d always thought we were singing from the same hymn sheet and you were fully behind our list.”
“I am! Except it’s not simply a matter of my own personal taste—or yours—but also what sells. Grief & Son Books is a business, after all, and has a responsibility toward its employees.”
“It’s primarily a business built on a long tradition as a family firm. I also have a duty toward that tradition.”
“I understand that,” Markus Bode said placatingly. “I’m not suggesting that we should publish nothing but Westerns from now on. Just the occasional more popular title that’s likely to sell in decent numbers, in order to finance our core list.”
“I’d call that hypocrisy!”
“I’d call it wise.”
“Then we’ll have to agree to disagree.”
They stared at one another. Neither said a word or even blinked. High Noon by Innocentia Park.
Jonathan was about to clear his throat and de-escalate the situation, saying something to the effect that they may have spoken in unnecessary haste, when he heard a loud cry from outside.
“Let go of me right now!”
Jonathan leapt from his seat as if he’d been stung. Markus Bode did likewise, and the two men dashed down the hall to the front door.
“Help!” The voice was screaming now. “Daphne, get her!”
“That’s my neighbor, Frau Fahrenkrog,” Jonathan said as he tore the door open and peered out. “What’s going on here?” he asked.
Markus Bode remained close by his side. Jonathan saw the old lady a few yards away, on the sidewalk outside their villa, standing in the twilight facing another woman with whom she was obviously arguing.
“Is everything all right, Frau Fahrenkrog?” Jonathan called to her, about to rush to her assistance.
“Everything’s absolutely fine!” the unknown woman replied. “Just a misunderstanding!” There was something reassuring about her voice, and for a moment Jonathan really did believe everything was all right.
But then she hurried off so quickly that Jonathan would have had to run to catch up with her. His priority was to see to his neighbor, however.
“Are you okay?” he asked as he approached her.
“Yes.” Little Frau Fahrenkrog was trembling like a leaf. “I’m fine, thank you.” As if to confirm it, Daphne gave a belligerent woof.
“What did the woman want?”
“I don’t know.” She sounded pitiful. “She suddenly descended on me, just like that.”
“Should I call the police?”
Hertha Fahrenkrog gave him a weak smile. “That won’t be necessary, Herr Grief. Nothing actually happened, thanks to you.”
“Are you sure you can manage?”
Hertha Fahrenkrog nodded. “I’m going back in to make myself a nice cup of tea.”
“Good idea,” Jonathan replied. “And if there’s anything else, you know where I am.”
Another smile, this time more relaxed. “That’s good to know.” She nodded to him, tugged Daphne’s leash, and made her way on unsteady legs up her garden path.
Jonathan was about to turn and go back into the warmth, when something else occurred to him.
“Oh, Frau Fahrenkrog?” he called.
She turned. “Yes?”
“When’s your birthday?”
“In May. Why?”
“Not March sixteenth?”
“No.” She gave him a puzzled look. “May seventh. I’m not so doddering yet that I’d forget something like that.”
“Of course not,” he replied. “Well, I wish you an uneventful, relaxing evening.”
He went back to his front door, where Markus Bode was still standing.
“What was all that about?” Bode asked once they were both back in Jonathan’s hallway.
“My neighbor was approached by a complete stranger.”
“Around here?” His CEO shook his head in amazement. “Who’d have thought it?”
“Yes, I was rather shocked myself.”
“Was she on day release from the psychiatric ward?”
“It’s possible, though she sounded normal.”
Markus Bode nodded. “They’re the worst.”
“Shall we go sit down again?”
“I’d love to, but I’m afraid I have to go now.” He looked pointedly at his watch. “I’ve got an appointment with my lawyer, you know? So we’ll have to continue our . . . our discussion another time.”
“What a shame,” Jonathan said. And thought: Hurrah!
34
Hannah
Friday, January 5, 6:53 a.m.
Seven o’clock. Why on earth didn’t the bakery on the corner open until seven? Weren’t there enough people who had to get to work by then? Some of them might even have already put in half a day. What about them? Were they forced to start their mornings without rolls and coffee?
As Hannah shuffled from one foot to the other outside the locked door of the Hansa Bakery, she wondered whether to jump in the car and drive to the gas station at the Horner traffic circle. They were open 24/7 and were also sure to have today’s edition of the Hamburg News on the shelves.