Aria in Ice Read Online Free PDF Page A

large-sized boar. Doubtless more than one pig had
met his doom there courtesy of hungry Duskovas. Tongs with gargoyle
heads rested alongside a poker that had to be at least six feet
tall. The top of the poker featured the unfriendly visage of a
dragon—must be first cousin to the doorknockers. I couldn’t help
wonder how many murders had been committed using that dragon as
weapon of choice. The shorter sister (Marta?) picked up the poker,
presumably to sift through ashes before starting a nice fire.
Veronika and Trina ushered me across the hall into a salon.
    I released the breath I’d been holding since
first seeing the dragon-headed poker in the hands of someone a foot
shorter than the deadly instrument. The ladies led me to a sitting
area complete with café table, dainty chairs, reading lamps, and a
window seat offering comfort and doubtless a spectacular view of
the countryside and river below.
    I turned to Veronika. “Do you mind if I sit
on the window seat? This view is truly breathtaking.”
    Marta appeared, without the poker, just in
time to join her sisters in nodding. Veronika spoke for all. “Iss
fine. Iss nice to see view. Hass been in family many year. Tapestry
made by ancestor from Emperor Jozef. No one buried under seat for
two centuries now. I get tea for you now.”

Chapter 4
     
     
    Veronika and her sisters exited the small
space, leaving me gaping at the embroidered fabric that topped the
window seat. The scene depicted was that of a sienna-colored horse
bearing the image of a knight prepping to throw a silver lance at a
group of beige and brown-clad peasants. The lance appeared
bloodstained and the peasants were obviously scared witless.
    I swallowed hard. I had no desire for the
murdered spirit of some hapless enemy of the Duskova family to rise
up from the window seat and plead for my intercession in his quest
for justice and vengeance.
    “Cream and sugar?”
    I turned to watch the taller sister (Trina?)
who was inching her way into the salon. The slow pace was doubtless
due to the fact that she was struggling to carry a huge platter of
pastries, cream and sugar pitchers, and dainty napkins stamped with
the visage of dragons. Sis Numero Dos , Marta, was close
behind her, bearing a tray with what had to be a teapot. Hard to
tell. It was hidden by a ‘cozy’ displaying an agitated black
rooster crowing at his harem of six depressed chickens decked out
in canary yellow bibs. Veronika allowed her sisters to play servant
while she smiled and gestured toward a dainty chair on the far side
of the café table. I smiled back.
    “Thank you, ladies. Yes, cream and sugar
would be lovely. And, oh my! Kolaches . I love them.
Especially the ricotta cheese and poppy seed.”
    Veronika’s eyebrows shot into the top of her
tightly bound hair. “You haf had kolace ? You haf been in
Prague how long?”
    “Oh, it’s not from being in Prague. I grew up
in El Paso, Texas but had buddies from Austin to Dallas which meant
stopovers in West—this little town that’s primarily Czech. West is
really name of the town, not the geographic location. The owner of
the film company, Bambi Bohacek, comes from West and she’s always
getting her mom to send kolaches as care packages to New York.
There’s a marvelous bakery not too far off the interstate that make
fresh kolaches daily and Mrs. Bohacek just goes in and buys them
out. Yummy. I’m beyond addicted to these guys.”
    Veronika’s eyes glazed a bit. “Ah.”
    Any conversation we’d’ve attempted came to a
halt while we drank very strong tea from very delicate cups. Then
the sisters watched, squealing with delight, as their crazy
American guest devoured five of the kolaches. They did not partake.
For those uninitiated as to the delights of Czech baked goods,
kolaches are a sweet breakfast pastry. They can be filled with
fruit, cheese, poppy seed, almond paste, or for a heartier meal,
with sausage. I’ll eat any of them with whatever stuffings are
inside.
    I