Kronberg Crimes 01 - The Devils Grin

thereafter I fell asleep.

    ~~~

    I woke up with the winter sun shining through the window of my old bedroom, which was really more a cupboard than anything else. Surprised, I noticed that my father had kept it in exactly the same state in which I had left it.
    I got up, washed, dressed, and walked into the small sitting room. The familiar smell and the furniture I had climbed as I was little greeted me like long forgotten friends. Quietly I said hello to the tattered armchair, hoping that no one would hear me talking to it or see me stroking its bleached backrest.
    I spotted our two wooden chairs that had been covered in kinks as long as I could remember and the small table where we used to sit and eat. Then I noticed the doily. I walked over and inspected it. Someone had a good hand at bobbin lace. The room was tidier than I remembered it in its best days. There was but one explanation — female influence.
    The scraping noise coming from the workshop lured me outside and I found my father cutting fine structures into a wardrobe door. Leaning against the shed, I watched him. His skill had always fascinated me. He had the rare ability to look at an apparatus, a tool, or a building, and know instantly how it worked and how it had been constructed. He could fix machines he had never set eyes upon before. He opened them carefully, poked and wiggled at their intestines with his small screwdriver, and then, with utmost concentration, he scrunched up his face and figured out everything in minutes. He could do that with people, too. After a moment of scrutinising a stranger he knew what character was hidden inside. Or he looked at me and knew what I felt. It was very annoying.
    He noticed my presence and smiled.
    ‘Who is the woman? Do I know her?’ I had to attack before he did.
    ‘Katherina,’ he said, without looking up from his work.
    ‘Oh, really? I liked her.’ She had lived in our street since I was little and had been like an aunt to me. I started wondering when they had fallen in love with each other and whether he would ask her to marry him. Ah, what a silly thought. Of course he would!
    ‘I’m happy for you,’ I said and my father’s cheeks reddened. He answered with a grunt.
    ‘Breakfast?’ I offered, shivering and eager to get back inside.
    He stroked his stomach once. ‘I had mine two hours ago, but there’s some space left.’ He tried his evil grin and mocked me, ‘Off you go into the kitchen, woman!’
    ‘For your information, I do know some self-defence,’ I lied, my arms akimbo.
    ‘Shall I ask the maid, Dr Kronberg?’ he retorted.
    ‘You could surely afford one with all that money you hide under your mattress,’ I said, while knocking the wood shavings off his shoulders.
    We kicked the slushy snow off our shoes, took them off, and walked into the warm kitchen. Leaning against the counter, we drank strong coffee and ate porridge, getting our tongues scorched.
    ‘Are you happy, Anna?’
    This question did not come unexpected, but I was still grateful for the hot food in my mouth. It gave me a little time to think before answering, ‘Mostly, yes.’
    He wanted to add something, but only scratched his ear.
    ‘What is it?’
    ‘Hmm… I’m getting old,’ he mumbled.
    ‘We all are. But what is bothering you?’
    ‘When parents are getting old, they start thinking about grandchildren.’
    I gazed up into his face while my heart skidded along. He didn’t know what had happened eight years ago and I would never dare tell him. I knew it would hurt him badly and he would want to avenge his daughter.
    ‘I’m sorry,’ I said.
    ‘Do you have someone, Anna?’
    I thought of Garret then, and, although I tried to hide that silly smile, he caught my expression. He looked satisfied; for a moment, at least.
    ‘Who is he?’ he asked casually, and, after a moment’s consideration, he added, ‘or she?’ very carefully.
    ‘Stealth attack, Anton?’ I joked. ‘The man’s name is Garret. He is Irish and the best thief in the neighbourhood.’
    The porridge flew from my father’s mouth and sailed in little flecks down to the floor. He coughed, ‘A thief!’
    ‘You know I live in the slums. Most people there have no other choice for making a living.’
    His face was red with anger.
    ‘I know he is not the right man for me. He is warmhearted and loving, but he would not accept my… style of living.’
    Slowly he regained his normal colour. I watched him and felt the urge to throw my