Read Online City of Lost Dreams by Magnus Flyte - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Magnus Flyte
Tags: United States, Literary, Romance, Literature & Fiction, Fantasy, Paranormal, Mystery, Science Fiction & Fantasy, Genre Fiction, Mystery; Thriller & Suspense, Contemporary Fiction, Literary Fiction, Paranormal & Urban, Mystery & Suspense, Romantic, Metaphysical & Visionary, Metaphysical
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Alessandro from the
Platz
. By then, Nina Fischer had arrived.
It was Nina who had sent the police to the lab. Bettina Müller, it seemed, had phoned Nina in a panic, saying she had gotten a text from a blocked number telling her that her laboratory had been broken into.
“But she couldn’t come herself,” Nina explained. “Because she was already on a train.”
Sarah showed the police her own message from the doctor, though it, too, was from a blocked number. Nina was allowed to look in the lab, though she said the only thing she could find missing was Bettina’s own laptop, which the doctor might very well have with her. Sarah, Nina, and Alessandro were all taken to the station to make statements. They filled out form after form, repeating all their information, and signing reports. Neither the
Polizei
nor Nina was able to reach Bettina Müller, who, by the end of the evening, was under suspicion of having stolen her own laptop from herself.
• • •
“P erhaps she is not getting phone reception on the train,” Nina offered, outside the police station.
“Do you know where she lives?” Sarah asked. “I’m sorry. I’m really not a crazy stalker. It’s just that I urgently need to speak with her. She did invite me to the lab tonight. . . .”
If she had even sent that message.
“I don’t.” Nina raked her fingers through her pink hair. “Somewhere near the Naschmarkt, I think. She always breakfasts there. Shit. But, look, she should be back by Friday at the latest. That’s when our team always meets. And there is a concert that night, at the Konzerthaus. She never misses when Kapellmeister Schmitt is conducting.”
“I’ll stay till then,” Sarah said, frustrated. “Maybe she’ll be back in touch.”
• • •
I n the morning, Alessandro left to teach his class on synaptic connections, and Sarah decided to breakfast at the Naschmarkt, an open-air market near the Secession Building.
A year ago, Sarah thought, as she made her way down the wide boulevard of the Museumstrasse, she would have been thrilled just to
be
in Vienna. The summer she’d been invited to Prague to catalog Beethoven’s papers for Max, she had planned to visit Vienna until Prague had nearly consumed her, literally. Now she figured she could use the time waiting for the return of Bettina to explore the city, visit all the places where Beethoven had lived. (Though that might take more than two days. Beethoven was a notoriously bad tenant and had lived in nearly seventy different apartments.) She could go to the Lobkowicz Palace here, where the
Eroica
had premiered. She could visit Beethoven’s grave in the Central Cemetery.
Sarah stopped in front of the Secession Building. Sporting clean classical lines, it thumbed its nose at the huge and heavy Baroque, Gothic, and Renaissance pastiche that surrounded it. The gold filigree ball atop the building was commonly thought to look like a cabbage, but Sarah thought it looked sort of like a golden brain. She paid her admission fee and made her way downstairs to see Klimt’s famous
Beethoven Frieze
—inspired by Luigi’s “Ode to Joy” and painted for a 1902 exhibition that was an homage to the composer. Painted on thin plaster, it had never been intended to outlast the 1902 show, but had ended up being sold, cut into seven pieces, and stored in a furniture depot for twelve years before being sold again, this time to an industrialist and patron of Klimt, August Lederer. Conveniently for the Nazi leaders who “collected” art, the Lederer family was Jewish, and so the Nazis dispossessed them in 1938 of their extensive Klimt holdings, including the frieze. After the war, ownership of the frieze returned to the current heir of the Lederer family, living now in Geneva; but conveniently for Viennese art lovers, an export ban was placed upon it. Eventually, in the 1970s, the heir sold the frieze to the Austrian government, probably because at that point it was
Platz
. By then, Nina Fischer had arrived.
It was Nina who had sent the police to the lab. Bettina Müller, it seemed, had phoned Nina in a panic, saying she had gotten a text from a blocked number telling her that her laboratory had been broken into.
“But she couldn’t come herself,” Nina explained. “Because she was already on a train.”
Sarah showed the police her own message from the doctor, though it, too, was from a blocked number. Nina was allowed to look in the lab, though she said the only thing she could find missing was Bettina’s own laptop, which the doctor might very well have with her. Sarah, Nina, and Alessandro were all taken to the station to make statements. They filled out form after form, repeating all their information, and signing reports. Neither the
Polizei
nor Nina was able to reach Bettina Müller, who, by the end of the evening, was under suspicion of having stolen her own laptop from herself.
• • •
“P erhaps she is not getting phone reception on the train,” Nina offered, outside the police station.
“Do you know where she lives?” Sarah asked. “I’m sorry. I’m really not a crazy stalker. It’s just that I urgently need to speak with her. She did invite me to the lab tonight. . . .”
If she had even sent that message.
“I don’t.” Nina raked her fingers through her pink hair. “Somewhere near the Naschmarkt, I think. She always breakfasts there. Shit. But, look, she should be back by Friday at the latest. That’s when our team always meets. And there is a concert that night, at the Konzerthaus. She never misses when Kapellmeister Schmitt is conducting.”
“I’ll stay till then,” Sarah said, frustrated. “Maybe she’ll be back in touch.”
• • •
I n the morning, Alessandro left to teach his class on synaptic connections, and Sarah decided to breakfast at the Naschmarkt, an open-air market near the Secession Building.
A year ago, Sarah thought, as she made her way down the wide boulevard of the Museumstrasse, she would have been thrilled just to
be
in Vienna. The summer she’d been invited to Prague to catalog Beethoven’s papers for Max, she had planned to visit Vienna until Prague had nearly consumed her, literally. Now she figured she could use the time waiting for the return of Bettina to explore the city, visit all the places where Beethoven had lived. (Though that might take more than two days. Beethoven was a notoriously bad tenant and had lived in nearly seventy different apartments.) She could go to the Lobkowicz Palace here, where the
Eroica
had premiered. She could visit Beethoven’s grave in the Central Cemetery.
Sarah stopped in front of the Secession Building. Sporting clean classical lines, it thumbed its nose at the huge and heavy Baroque, Gothic, and Renaissance pastiche that surrounded it. The gold filigree ball atop the building was commonly thought to look like a cabbage, but Sarah thought it looked sort of like a golden brain. She paid her admission fee and made her way downstairs to see Klimt’s famous
Beethoven Frieze
—inspired by Luigi’s “Ode to Joy” and painted for a 1902 exhibition that was an homage to the composer. Painted on thin plaster, it had never been intended to outlast the 1902 show, but had ended up being sold, cut into seven pieces, and stored in a furniture depot for twelve years before being sold again, this time to an industrialist and patron of Klimt, August Lederer. Conveniently for the Nazi leaders who “collected” art, the Lederer family was Jewish, and so the Nazis dispossessed them in 1938 of their extensive Klimt holdings, including the frieze. After the war, ownership of the frieze returned to the current heir of the Lederer family, living now in Geneva; but conveniently for Viennese art lovers, an export ban was placed upon it. Eventually, in the 1970s, the heir sold the frieze to the Austrian government, probably because at that point it was
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