Gretel and the Case of the Missing Frog Prints Read Online Free Page B

front door with something of a spring in his step. There was still an outside chance that an hour from now she’d be hauling him out of the public bar of the inn, but ifanything could lure him home it was the whiff of a sausage picnic.
    Packing for Gretel was a form of exquisite torture. Opening the wardrobe doors and breathing in the scent of silk and velvet and satin was as pleasurable an activity as she had ever known. Selecting only one or two of her favorite gowns and ensembles presented her with hard decisions. There was no time to fill a trunk, and the cost of taking such a thing on the coach would be scandalous. No, she must choose carefully, and choose quickly. She let her fingers glide down the gossamer skirts of the ball gown she had intended to wear on Friday night. It was not to be. The delight of feeling Ferdinand’s strong arms about her as they whirled across the dance floor would have to wait. He would have to accept that she was a detective first, and a woman second. These were the facts, and in times of doubt or trouble, Gretel always went back to the facts. She did not wish to leave, but leave she must. If the general was genuine in his apparent interest in her, it could be rekindled upon her return.
    In the meantime, she would have to turn her attention to the new case. There was a client to woo, a crime to solve, and money to be made. Sighing like a schoolgirl over a shapely pair of legs and a handsome smile was a luxury she could not yet afford. So far, she had scant information upon which to work. Albrecht Durer the Much Much Younger was clearly a man of means, living as he did in a suite at the Grand, adorning his walls with priceless works of art. Moreover, though he might be somewhat enfeebled if his handwriting was anything to go by, he was evidently a man of good sense, in as much as he had seen fit to send for Gretel. She allowed herself to enjoy, for just a moment, the warm glow of professional pride. Why wouldn’t he choose her? Her reputation as Private Detective Gretel (yes, that Gretel) of Gesternstadt, clearly reached far and wide. Her cases were varied in scale and importance, but her success ratewas exemplary. What she lacked in knowledge of art and the art world she would more than make up for in skills of deduction, logic, and investigation. If the pictures had been stolen, someone had stolen them, and that someone would have left a trail of clues, however tiny, that could be found, and find them Gretel would.
    She had just wrestled the lid of her medium-sized valise shut and was fastening the buckles when she heard the front door slam.
    â€œHans? Is that you?” She hurried to the top of the stairs to find a rather out of breath Hans steadying himself on the newel post at the bottom. “You look puffed, brother dear, is anything wrong?”
    Hans shook his head, panting his way through his words. “Not wrong . . . no . . . just . . . not entirely as right as . . . one might have liked.” He sat down heavily on the second stair. Gretel descended to sit next to him.
    â€œLet’s have it,” she said.
    â€œI did as instructed,” he assured her, taking out a worryingly gray kerchief with which to dab the perspiration from his brow. “Posted the letter . . . proceeded to the offices of the stagecoach company . . .”
    â€œAt some speed, by the look of you.”
    â€œAt that point I was still moving at a . . . sensible pace. Didn’t wish to attract unwanted attention, d’you see?”
    â€œI can only applaud your thinking, Hans.”
    â€œFeel free, applaud as much as you like.” He waved his hankie at her before stuffing it back in his pocket.
    Gretel ignored this. “And then you bought the tickets?”
    â€œWe- eeellll . . .”
    Gretel heard a sickly glugging noise and recognized it to be the sound of her heart sinking.
    â€œYou didn’t take a short detour to the inn, by any chance?”
    Hans looked