Ralf suddenly felt cold, as if ice water were flowing through his veins. It couldn’t be Emily. That left only Sara and Werner. Werner had a girlfriend, and thus a motive. He wanted to share his life with Emily, so he had to get the current Mrs. Möhring out of the way. That would definitely save him a hefty chunk of alimony, what with those restaurants of his. But then why hadn’t he let Brian finish the job? He’d ended up protecting his wife and killing Brian. Ralf stared at the paper. The letters danced before his eyes as he strove to understand what it all meant. Sara could have planted a gun. She could have provided Brian with all this information. But what was her motive? He was missing something. Ralf held his face in his hands and thought carefully. Sara was a money-grubber; maybe she wanted to raid her inheritance. But then both her parents, not just her mother, would have to die. Is this part of a bigger plan? Is this . . . step one?

He started the car and drove out of the parking lot. Shivering, he reached for the heat and turned it up. The cold had seeped into his bones.

17

17

“I think it’s been stolen.”

Werner raised an eyebrow. “How come?”

“The zipper on my bag was open.”

“When did you realize?”

“Just now, right here in the car. Shit, it’s definitely gone.” Helen zipped up her bag and put it on the floor by her feet. Her sunny image of Brighton had just been severely dimmed. “I want the kids to be able to get ahold of me.”

“They still can.” Werner dug his iPhone out of his pocket and held it in the air. “Just give yourself a quick call, to make sure.”

Helen selected her own number and listened intently. “Voice mail,” she said. “It isn’t even ringing. That’s weird, isn’t it?”

“It must be switched off. That means it’s been stolen.” Werner took the phone back from her.

“Should we report it?”

He shook his head. “Waste of time. They probably won’t be able to do anything more about it than the police in the Netherlands would.” He glanced at her briefly before looking back at the road. “I’ll tell you what: when we get to the hotel, I’ll ask them to call that café. Maybe your phone fell out of your bag there, or you left it on the table, and a waitress found it. It happens all the time at the Horn of Plenty.”

She nodded, but she wasn’t optimistic. A waitress wouldn’t turn off a phone she had just found. A thief would.

He put his hand on her thigh and gave it a friendly squeeze. “It happened, honey. We can’t do anything about it now. But I refuse to let it ruin my vacation, and nor should you.”