Cassie sat alone at her desk, the memo from HR in front of her. Sophia’s death had been reported a week ago, and it still felt like a dream. The story made its way into the paper the day after the report from the Hennhofen authorities was received, and since then, the phones had been going crazy.

Sophia had been in the small mountain village in Germany, exploring the spring skiing when she was caught in an unexpected avalanche. Her body was discovered two days later, or what was left of it, after the wolves had claimed her. She was buried in Hennhofen, in a small graveyard in the mountains.

Her death was a horrifying reality, shadowed with images found only in the worst nightmares. Cassie didn’t want to believe her best friend was dead. It seemed so…foreign, so alien to everything Cassie knew about her. Sophia had been a very cautious skier, even writing about the precautions every skier had to take before going out. She always took an avalanche beacon with her on every trip, and never skied alone. It was the most unlikely event that nobody was with her when she was buried beneath a heavy layer of snow.

The newspaper arranged a special memorial for Sophia on Friday, with a luncheon and drinks to follow. A special grant was being established by the paper’s owners, to help those students without parents, who wanted to become journalists. It was a very generous gesture, though Cassie couldn’t explain why she felt indifferent about it.

All the support she received on behalf of her friend, was touching, as well as the cards and emails the paper had received from Sophia’s loyal readers. But there was a strange, almost unreal sensation in the back of Cassie’s mind, that told her the story was wrong. Nothing of the report made sense, and she couldn’t bring herself to believe any of it.

“Are you alright, Wynn?” Bateman asked, stepping up to her small desk.

Cassie looked up to see the fatherly concern on the man’s face and forced a smile across her lips. She knew everyone was worried about how she felt, but right now she didn’t know what to feel.

“I’m okay,” she answered the man. “I guess I’m just…in shock. I can’t believe she’s gone.”

“When I was a rookie, we had a reporter here that I was good friends with,” Bateman began, sitting on the corner of her desk. “We did everything together, we were even witnesses at each other’s weddings. Then he was called out to a fire on the east side. He was phoning in the report when a fire escape broke free from the building and fell on the phonebooth. He was killed instantly. It was the hardest thing I have ever had to go through, and there are times when I can still imagine him walking through the door. I can see his stupid grin and his cheesy mustache, and I can hear him call out, eh buddy-boy, let’s get a beer.”

“Does it ever get easier?” she asked weakly.

“Sure, it does, but it takes time. You just have to remember the good things about her, and the fun you shared.”

“I can’t believe it happened. She was always so cautious. She took her skiing very seriously, and I can’t imagine she’d forget her beacon, or go out alone on an unfamiliar trail.”

“I didn’t know Sophia very well, but she didn’t strike me as a careless person, either. Still, I suppose if it’s your time to go, you can’t avoid it. Maybe there was something wrong with her equipment, or maybe she was supposed to meet others and got separated. The report was rather vague.”

“I guess that’s why I don’t want to believe it. There’s not enough information for me to grasp hold of.”

“That’s the reporter in you,” Bateman laughed. “It’s a fatal condition we all suffer. Details, that’s all we want. The more, the better.”

“I suppose,” she said, looking at the memo again.

“Why don’t you knock off and go home early. Take a few days for yourself. Have a drink, and spend a few hours crying. It may help.”

“Thanks. I think I will leave.”

Cassie opened her desk drawer and pulled out her purse, then took her jacket off the back of her chair and walked out the door, with Bateman by her side. They paused by the elevator and he did the one thing she never imagined the gruff old man to do. He wrapped his arm around her shoulders and gave her a sideways hugged, then patted her back.

“Take as much time as you need. We’ll work around you for a little while. Maybe sorting through her stuff will help you come to terms with your loss.”

“Thanks, Mr. Bateman.”

Cassie left the building with a lump in her throat that she had never felt before. She rarely cried, even when her aunt died, and she was left alone, without anyone to lean on. But this was different. This was senseless and careless. She just wouldn’t accept that Sophia had been killed because of something as stupid as forgetting her equipment.

The bus pulled up in front of the building when she stepped into the spring sunshine, and she ran to catch it. It made her ride home much shorter. She sat on the back row, as she always did when she was alone, and took out her phone. She pulled up the app for her paper and saw the front-page news about her roommate’s death. She read the story again, feeling frustrated at the cold, impersonal words written by a reporter who didn’t know anything about Sophia.

She closed the app and opened her yahoo, briefly glancing through the dozens of emails from friends and acquaintances at the paper, each one filled with condolences and warm wishes. There was a voicemail from Pop, telling her he was there if she needed to talk and another from Sophia’s on-again, off-again, boyfriend, Thomas Patrick. He asked if she was okay and asked if she wanted to get together for a drink. Being with a man who often suggested she join him and Sophia in bed, was the last person she wanted to be alone with.

The bus stopped at the curb in front of her apartment building, and Cassie moved through the aisle to the back door, avoiding the eyes of those near the front. She knew most of these people were on this bus day after day, just like she and Sophia were, and she knew they had seen the paper. At this point, the article was all anyone could talk about, and she didn’t want to see anyone’s sympathetic smile.

Cassie left the bus and headed to the outside door of the old building. The bus stop was the main reason she managed to talk Sophia into renting this place. Even in the winter, it was a short ride to work, and the bus took them straight to the paper’s front door. There was little walking that had to be done, and even less worry about the weather causing problems with their hair, or one of Sophia’s new pair of shoes.

Slipping the key into the lock, Cassie turned it and pushed the door open. She moved quietly to the row of mailboxes and opened the small metal door. There were the usual bills mixed among a handful of sympathy cards from people Sophia knew and the latest shopping ads. She closed the box and turned to the three flights of steps to her apartment. She was at the top of the first set when the manager’s door opened. An old woman in her late sixties, with dyed red hair, a faded lime green jogging suit, and a metal cane, came out.

“I’m sorry to hear about your friend,” the woman said, in a deep smoker’s voice that sounded rougher than normal.

Cassie frowned, then quickly forced a smile across her lips. It was obvious the woman’s COPD was getting worse, but since she refused to quit smoking, it was her own fault she was as bad off as she was.

“Thank you, Mrs. Peterson,” Cassie answered, reaching for the railing of the second set of stairs.

“I was talking to the building owner this morning,” the woman continued, preventing Cassie from walking away. “He’s agreed to give you a month off on your rent, to help with the arrangements and whatever. It’s not much, but I hope it helps until you can find another roommate.”

“Thank you, but that won’t be necessary. Sophia gave me her share of the rent before she left. I’ll bring a check down to you tomorrow.”

“Well, the offer is still there, if you want to take it. Just remember, we’re willing to help if we can.”

“Thank you, Mrs. Peterson.”

Cassie forced a smile across her lips and continued her way up the stairs. She didn’t know who the old woman was trying to fool. Everyone in the place knew her brother owned the building, and she was there only out of his consideration for her. Cassie also knew the lecherous old man would love to have her in his debt, but it was one situation she planned to avoid at all costs.

The mewing of Hemingway met her at the door, and Cassie stooped down to pick him up. She tossed the mail on the small table beside the door, then slid the bolt across the wooden barrier, and carried the cat to the sofa. She sat down on the end she had claimed as her own when they first moved in, and scratched the animal behind the ears, listening to the soft, vibrating purr he rewarded her with.

She felt jealous of the animal. He had no idea what was going on, and no clue that Sophia wasn’t coming back. To him, it was just another day of lounging around, waiting for someone to fill his food dish. But she still thought Hemingway was a stupid name for a cat. Sophia named the Persian after her favorite author. She insisted the little furball was good company, and his soft purring was comforting after another of Sophia’s failed relationships. Cassie had to admit, the animal did have a way of curling up and making her feel consoled, so she was content to just pet him.

She closed her eyes and began reliving the happier times she shared with her friend. She remembered one of the last times they went out before Sophia left on her new journey. She had just received approval from the paper to go skiing, and they decided to celebrate.

They went to Pop’s bar, along with a dozen or so of their friends, and toasted the woman’s good luck with nearly a full keg of beer. The night had been long and eventful, with Sophia disappearing twice, each time with a different male friend. It was after dawn when they returned home, and while Cassie fell into her bed exhausted, Sophia and Thomas shared an hour of pleasure in the bedroom next door.

Cassie sighed deeply, kicking her shoes off and pulling her feet up beneath her, as she found a more comfortable position to pet the cat. Sophia was a great believer in physical expression and shared many sexual experiences along her path of gratification. The only good thing Cassie could say about her roommate’s private life was that she insisted on using condoms. Despite her use of an IUD, Sophia refused to become another statistic among the long list of sex’s casualties.

Hemingway jumped off Cassie’s lap and onto the soft shag carpet. He stretched his front paws out in front of him and raised his butt in the air, then sashayed into the kitchen, mewing at his empty food dish. It wasn’t time for his supper, but she had thrown off his schedule by coming home earlier than normal. Sophia was insistent that the cat was fed at a specific time of day, but this was an unusual day, so there was no harm in giving him a bite or two a little early. Besides, it wasn’t as if Sophia was there. What was the worst she could do; haunt her overfeeding the damn cat before supper?

The sound of the can opener made the cat purr all the louder, as he wound around her legs, but Cassie barely noticed it. Her mind was still on the loss of her friend. She dumped the fishy-smelling food into the cat’s dish, then took a bottle of water from the fridge, and poured it into the second dish. Cassie watched the animal for a few silent moments, then drew a deep breath and removed the bottle of wine Pop gave them last Christmas, from her cabinet.

She was eager to forget the day, and the best way she knew how, was to take a hot bath and drink the bottle’s contents alone. Maybe she’d toast her friend a time or two, before collapsing in her bed to cry herself to sleep. It was the least she could do for one of the two people in this world she considered family.

Cassie filled the tub full of steamy water, then sprinkled her favorite bath salts along the top and undressed. She poured a glass of wine and climbed beneath the scented water, gasping at the heat. She loved hot baths, though a part of her always felt guilty for taking it before Sophia had the chance to call dibs. That was the one thing she didn’t have to worry about anymore. The tub was all hers now.

Tears began to fall from her blue eyes as she tipped the glass to her lips. She could feel her grief taking hold of her soul, demanding her full attention. Alone, with nobody to disturb her or ridicule her for being an emotional female, Cassie allowed herself to feel the anguish of her heartache.

She never had a family, not as other people did. Her parents had died shortly after she was born, and her great aunt took her in, raising her as her own child. Even though she was close to the old woman, she hadn’t cried much when she died. Mazy had been ill for several years and had three strokes before the last one finally took her, two months before Cassie’s graduation from high school. Once again, Cassie found herself an orphan.

Tipping the glass to her lips again, she drained the sweet liquor in a single swallow, then reached for the bottle to pour a second drink. Perhaps with a little indulgence, and a few sleepless hours, her dismal existence and her budding career would be enough to pull her through the rest of her life.

Cassie washed her face and brushed her teeth, then slowly pulled the brush through her long blonde hair. She had spent so many hours crying, drinking, and scolding God for taking everything away from her, that she was left with a hangover to break all previous hangovers combined.

Her head ached all the way down her spine, and her eyes were red and puffy. Her neck was stiff and sore from sleeping in the wrong position, and her shoulder ached from being beneath her all-night long. Pulling the brush through her long silky hair was torturous, and she grimaced with each stroke.

She looked in the mirror and sighed. She looked like hell and knew she wouldn’t be able to hide her grief from everyone at the memorial service. But then, maybe she shouldn’t try. Maybe Sophia deserved to have at least one person mourn her loss.

With a heavy sigh, Cassie opened the zipper to her sunflower covered bag. Fortunately, she had a large supply of makeup, and the skills to use it. She could at least reduce the effects of the past twelve hours from her face. After all, wasn’t this one reason she’d taken all those cosmetic classes in high school?

With a yellow concealer to hide the dark circles, and a light pink to contour the sides of her nose, Cassie successfully masked her hours of torment. With a smoky grey eyeliner and a simple lip gloss, she’d be able to make her face look less puffy and nearly flawless. She only hoped she didn’t embarrass herself by crying in public and washing away all her hard work.

Cassie went into the kitchen where she found the empty wine bottle on the counter and nearly moaned. She tossed it into the trash can, then fed the cat, and took the cereal from the cupboard. With the milk carton in one hand and the bowl of fruity-smelling circles in the other, she walked to the small table and sat down. She wasn’t all that hungry, but she knew the pills she had taken to relieve the pain in her head, would soon begin dissolving, and her stomach would ache for hours if she didn’t fill it with some sort of calories. Even empty ones were better than nothing.

The sound of the cat’s soft purr filled the empty spaces of the apartment, and Cassie felt the irritation of her mood begin to grip her. She had to force herself to remain silent, as she poured the milk in her bowl. It wasn’t the cat’s fault she stayed awake most of the night drinking, nor was it his fault she was suffering from her choices this morning. At least she had an excuse to leave the memorial early.

Hemingway wound his way around her legs while she tried to eat, forcing her to nudge him away with her foot. He returned a moment later, only to be pushed away a bit rougher. She was in no mood for his vibrations against her ankles, and she didn’t want to have his long hair clinging to her nylons all day.

Cassie took her empty bowl and the milk back into the kitchen, kicking the cat out of her path so she wouldn’t trip on him. She set the bowl in the sink, and returned the milk to the fridge, then went back into her bedroom to get her purse. She took one last look at her reflection and sighed.

The simple black dress she wore for job interviews and special events, rested just a couple of inches above her knee and hugged her slender figure perfectly. The design was basic with long black lace sleeves, and a scoop neck that revealed a deep cleavage. It may not have been the most suitable outfit for a memorial service, but then with the size of her breasts, everything she wore made her look busty.

She wore the strand of pearls Pop gave her when she graduated college, and a pair of matching earrings Sophia gave her for Christmas last year. Her slender legs were hidden beneath black nylons, and the black mule pumps and matching clutch purse completed the ensemble.

A soft hum echoed from inside her purse, informing her that she had a voice message on her cellphone. Reluctantly, she pulled it out of the bag as she headed to the front room. There were twenty texts of condolences, four messages from coworkers telling her they were there for her, and Bateman informing her the paper gave her five days leave, and grievance pay. She had people she didn’t even know wishing her their best and offering to help her if she needed them. Even the psychiatrist assigned to the paper offered her time to talk if she wanted it.

As if that wasn’t bad enough, her front door was covered in cards of condolences, with three potted plants, a bag of kitty snacks, and a basket of assorted fruit sitting on her doormat. Sophia knew every neighbor by name and made it a point to visit them when they were ill, or out of sorts. In a way, Cassie always envied her friend. Where she was shy and preferred her own company, Sophia was outgoing and outspoken. It was no wonder so many people cared. She managed to make friends everywhere she went, with little effort at all.

Cassie quickly cleaned everything up, tossing the cat a handful of small fish-shaped treats, then left the apartment, locking the door behind her. She hurried down to the bus stop, just as the bus arrived. She was grateful she wouldn’t have to endure the few people who caught the bus with her, telling her how sorry they were for her loss.

She followed Bart, the heavyset janitor for a nearby school, and their neighbor Trixie from the first floor, onto the bus. She showed her pass to the driver and was about to head into the back as usual, when the driver reached out and placed a gentle hand on her arm, stopping her from moving past him.

“I’m sorry to hear about your friend,” he told her, causing her to draw a deep breath to keep calm. “She was a very nice girl.”

“Thank you,” she told him briefly, forcing a smile across her lips, then began her long walk to the back of the bus.

She and Sophia had taken this bus every day for two years, and not once had the driver said more than a courteous good morning to them. Hell, she didn’t think he even knew they were on the bus, most days. But being Sophia, her friend always made a point of speaking to the man, complimenting him on his appearance, or thanking him for the ride. Once, she even brought him a cup of coffee, though she learned later that he only drank tea.

As she moved down the aisle, Cassie received another half dozen people wishing her their sympathies and another dozen who just smiled at her. They were the same faces she saw every day, sometimes even in the evenings, but everyone seemed to be consumed with their own lives to make idle conversation. They didn’t socialize much, and Cassie always thought it was because everyone was too tired to talk that early in the morning.

Once she was in her usual seat at the back of the bus, the driver pulled away from the curb, but that didn’t stop the passengers from glancing at her. She knew the whispered discussions were about Sophia, and frankly, she wasn’t in the mood to deal with it.

Everyone had an opinion of what must have happened, how horrible the details were, or shared a memory or two about the woman. It was only natural that people would remember her. Sophia had the personality that demanded attention, but not in a bad way. She was just a cheerful, happy person, and her mood was usually contagious.

Cassie drew a deep breath and removed her earphones from her purse. Her head was splitting, and she was tired of feeling like the center of a horrible nightmare. She tucked the tiny buds into her ears, then turned the music on her phone, allowing her some personal space away from the world.

She hadn’t spent much time on the internet since receiving the news that Sophia was dead, and forgot to check the emails from yesterday. Despite clearing out the junk, the letters and memos kept pouring in. Cassie deleted the spam and junk mail she never bothered to block, then copied and pasted a quick response to the personal letters of sympathy she’d been putting off. She responded to each with a brief thank you, then deleted them in turn. She was nearly finished when the return address of one email caught her eye.

Her heart skipped a beat, and she felt the tears welling up behind her perfectly made-up eyes. It had been sent a week ago, and like all the previous emails, the subject line held the latest location visited. This one simply read From Hennhofen to New York.

Cassie stared at it for a long time before she found the courage to open it. A part of her imagined it would say, April Fools, while another part wondered if someone had hacked into her friend’s account. The email was in response to the one she sent, telling Sophia about the article she’d written for the paper.

'That’s incredible! Congratulations! the email read. I knew you could do it. I can’t wait to read it, and I expect more great articles from you. What a subject to write about. How in heaven’s name did you come up with the idea of human trafficking? That’s deep, even for you. LOL.

'Things here are good as well. I met a guy, a Baron no less, and I’m having supper with him tonight. This village is really…weird. Not good weird, but Stephen King weird. It’s like the town time forgot. There are very few young people here who aren’t tourists or skiers, and the only females in the town are over forty. All the girls are sent to school elsewhere when they turn twelve, and according to the ski instructor, Lars (don’t you love the name!) they never come home, unless they are married with their own families.

'You’d like Lars. His parents own the lodge, and he works here as a server when he isn’t on the mountain teaching skiing to the tourists or doing odd jobs for the Baron. He’s nice to look at as well, but a bit young for my taste. Too bad I already know how to ski.

'The people are friendly and polite, but they act kind of bizarre around the women, especially ones without a male escort. I guess it’s because there aren’t very many women with a waistline smaller than 42 inches. Whenever I mention their daughters or sisters, they immediately change the subject. It’s like something out of those old late-night movies you love watching. I’m half expecting to find the town holding a midnight witch ceremony in the woods, all in black cloaks and hoods, sacrificing a virgin to their gods or under-lords. There are even crows flying around town, just to make matters spookier.

'The Baron’s castle is on the mountain and looms over the town like an eerie shadow. It looks like it was carved out of the rock itself. It’s a large, old medieval place, though it has been rebuilt several times due to wars and such. In a way, it makes me think of a protector, looking out for the village, like a fairytale king or knight in shining armor. But then I look at it closer and realize how creepy it is. If Mary Shelley had seen Hennhofen, she would probably have found an actual mad scientist lurking among the trees.

'There’s a clock in a twenty-foot stone tower, right in the middle of town, and it chimes every fifteen minutes. At night, when it’s real quiet, you can hear it echo off the mountain. Everyone seems used to it, but I get shivers when I hear it. It’s kind of creepy if you take the time to think about it. And to make things even better, my room is number 13.

'Hennhofen only has about five hundred residents, and most of them are farmers or herders who live on farms away from the village. To get here, you take a bus up a narrow mountain road, with a steep drop-off. That’s the one thing I know you’d hate. You and heights have never gotten along very well.

'I think you would love this place, Cassie. It’s like those pictures you have from your aunt’s travels to Russia. The village is small, super small, and very old, but very quaint, even though everyone acts like they stepped out of the Twilight Zone. Little has changed over the centuries. The buildings are all made of brick or rock, but they are well cared for. The farmers still round the animals up on foot, and everyone meets once a month for brunch. The village is surrounded by tons of trees, and packs of wild wolves. You can hear them howling at night. At least they don’t come into the village. The hotel owner said they avoid people as much as possible, but don’t stray into their territory alone, or you may not return.

'Anyway, the skiing is amazing, and so long as you stay on the trails, the wolves leave you alone. It’s like they’re trained or something. Fortunately, the trails are marked so you don’t accidentally cross their borders. The snowpack is incredible, despite the fact it is spring. There was an avalanche here a few weeks ago, and the back trails were closed until they were certain there weren’t any more threats. Luckily, they got it cleared up before I arrived, and I can’t wait to check them out.

'I’ve arranged to go skiing with some tourists from France, early tomorrow morning. I’m looking forward to watching the sunrise from the top of Zugspitze. The mountain is impressive and there is still plenty of snow for skiing. This high altitude keeps the season colder a little longer than it would in Colorado or Utah.

'Despite the villagers who seem to stand and stare, the tourists are friendly. I’ve enjoyed meeting them, and we have hot tub parties every night. There’s nothing more romantic, or alluring, then sitting in a steaming hot tub at midnight. It’s beautiful up here. The sky is so clear, and the air is crisp and clean, not like New York, where you can’t see the sky, and breathing is impossible unless you wear an oxygen mask.

'I’ve enclosed a few pics of the mountain and the village since I know how much you love that sort of thing. If any strange spirits are lingering in them, it will explain the people’s reactions to outsiders. LOL. I’d love to see this place in the summer. I’ll bet it’s even more beautiful than it is right now. Who knows, maybe I’ll stop back by before coming home.

'Time to close for now. I’ll try and write more tomorrow, or at least when I reach my next destination. Tell everyone there I say hello, and hug Hemingway for me. My next stop is Switzerland! I can hardly wait. I’ll be leaving this place tomorrow afternoon, and to be completely honest, I’ll be glad to leave. I’m getting tired of the way people stare at me. About the only person who doesn’t look at me like I’ve got two heads is the Baron.

'Did I tell you about him? He’s in his early thirties, tall, muscular, and extremely handsome. He has this kind of tough mountain man persona about him. And he’s single! Cha-ching! I can’t wait to see how supper ends. Maybe I’ll get a chance to watch the sunrise over his castle. LOL.

'I met him my first night here. Some of the other tourists and I went to the Howling Ale Tavern, (what a name for a bar). We were having a drink when he walked in. I swear, everyone stopped talking and just watched him, but I’m sure it was my imagination, even though he has that air about him that demands attention. I took one look, and he had mine!

'I’ve gotta run get ready for my date. I’ll write more soon. Love you. SA.

Sophia wrote the email the night before her fatal ski trip. She seemed to be in her usual high spirits, with no indication that she was writing her final letter. She was having supper with a Baron, and in typical Sophia-style, she was hoping for a romantic conclusion with the man. Most likely, he was the last one to see her alive.'

Cassie frowned as she read through the sentences once more. Sophia said she was going skiing with friends, so that meant she wasn’t alone as the report indicated. And the trails had been cleared of a recent avalanche before she arrived. So how was it she was caught in one, and why did the authorities say she was by herself? If there was a risk of an avalanche, Sophia would have mentioned it, or better still, she would have avoided the back trails. It wasn’t in her nature to be careless. Her friend’s email left Cassie with a cold, eerie feeling of disbelief.

Cassie opened the pictures attached to the email, and her frown grew. Sophia was right about the place being surrounded by trees. It looked as if the village had been cut in the middle of a forest. There was a picture of her with a group of four people, two men, and two women, and Cassie could only assume they were the tourists she mentioned. They looked happy and held up their drinks in silent, eternal salute.

There was a picture of the castle, and it did indeed look like something a mad scientist would have loved. She could almost hear the wolves baying in the nearby forest and the chiming of the town clock echoing off the castle walls. In her mind, she could see the interior of the castle. Cold, damp, impersonal, and foreboding. The sound of footsteps echoed on the stone floors and the darkness of the unknown loomed around her.

The bus stopped in front of the newspaper, causing Cassie to bolt back to reality. She hurried out the back door, as usual, and nearly ran to the entrance of the paper. She was eager to get on her computer and look up this town her friend had visited, and the area where she had died.

She nodded to the few people lingering around the foyer, offering her their sympathy, but ignored the typical demand for polite rebuttal. Cassie skipped the elevator and chose the stairs instead and almost ran up the three flights to the editing department.

Once she reached the office, she hurried to her small desk and logged into the internet. Thankfully, the office was quiet with her coworkers indulging in the thirty minutes that was left before time to clock in. Cassie pulled up Hennhofen, Germany, and quickly began to read about the area. The photos were like those Sophia sent her, and in a strange way, she felt as if she was familiar with the village.

Little was written about Hennhofen itself, or the Baron Sophia had met. It was a very small mountain resort near Bavaria, close to the Austrian border, in southern Germany. It had a population of five hundred and thirty. In town, there was one lodge, with twenty-two rooms, a restaurant, and a reception area for meetings, weddings, or the occasional gathering, and the tavern where Sophia met the Baron. Several shops dotted the main street, along with a small, ancient church, while most of the population lived on farms. There were three photos of the area, one of the town's only tavern, one of the ski lodge, and one of the castle.

Outside Hennhofen, were two additional lodges, not far from the village. They were still part of Hennhofen, but instead of having the lure of the medieval town setting, and the normal trails around the mountain, they offered the backcountry skiing Sophia enjoyed. Cassie wondered if one of these places was where Sophia had gone to, that fateful day.

Based on information from the internet, the castle was built in the mid fourteen hundred’s and had been laid to waste four times over the six hundred years. It was rebuilt each time, and in 1902, Baron Claus Heinrich von Hennhofen began a modern reconstruction of the castle. It now had indoor plumbing and electricity that had been updated in the late 1990s, and the grounds had been enlarged to encompass an outdoor pool, a rose garden, a tennis and golf course, and a pasture for horses. A ten-foot-high stone wall surrounded the property, to keep the wolves out, and the family safe.

Claus Heinrich died in 1934, leaving the castle to his son, Dolf Richart, who later died in 1967. He, in turn, left the property to his son, Konrad Willem, who died in 2008. The latest Baron was Hans-Claus, a thirty-two-year-old businessman, with a large security firm that had offices in New York, Paris, and Greece. He and his sister, Rosa Kristina, a physician who once practiced medicine in Italy, were the last heirs to the castle and the long line of von Hennhofens that dated back to medieval times.

Cassie stared at the photo of the young Baron and saw the attraction her friend found in him. He was quite handsome, with dark blondish-brown hair, and green eyes, a firm jaw, and a perfectly straight nose. He was broad across the shoulders, and narrow at the waist, but below that was cut off by the photographer’s cropping. His sister was rather attractive as well, though she appeared to be younger than he was, with dark hair and eyes.

Cassie could see the attraction for Sophia. The area was known for great skiing, and the quiet village was serene and simple. Little had changed through the centuries. Even the clothing the people wore was old-fashioned and traditional. It was literally the town set in time.

“I thought I told you to take some time off,” Bateman said in his usual gruff voice, as he came out of his office.

“I can’t sit at home doing nothing. I’d rather be working, and not thinking about what’s happened.”

“I suppose I can understand that. How are you holding up? Do you need anything?”

“No, I’m fine,” Cassie said with a half-grin, amazed that her head was starting to clear. She looked down at her computer and the picture of The Baron von Hennhofen. “I got an email from Sophia.”

“Excuse me?” Bateman asked with a deep frown.

“It was sent the night before she…” her voice trailed off. Even speaking the word made her death seem less real.

“What did she say?” he asked, sitting on the edge of her desk.

“She talked a lot about the town and the people, and the skiing, of course,” she told him as she took her phone out of her purse and pulled up the email. “She said she’d met the Baron and was having supper with him and was planning to go out the next morning with some tourists she’d met. She wasn’t skiing alone as the report said.”

“She could have gotten separated from the others,” he offered, hoping to give her some information to grasp hold of.

“I don’t know. She seemed so…definite. She was excited about leaving the town and going to Switzerland. She was having fun but said the town was creepy. She said there were very few young people and no girls whatsoever. All the girls are sent away at a young age, and never returned.”

“That sounds odd, but then again, the way Europeans think is different than the way we do. Maybe it’s their tradition.”

“Sophia said there was an avalanche a few weeks before she arrived, and the lodges closed the backcountry trails until it could be cleared up. She said there were no more threats, and they opened it. It sounds odd that she was killed in one.”

“You’re sounding like a reporter,” Bateman chuckled, taking the phone she handed him. “You can’t assume there’s always a story behind the story. Maybe it snowed the day before she went out, or maybe she took the wrong trail, and ended up in a dangerous zone.”

“That’s not likely,” Cassie assured him, watching the man begin reading through the email. “She said the skies were clear, and the wolves left people alone so long as they stayed on the trails. Sophia hated anything that even looked like a dog, so she would never be so careless as to go off the trail. When she was a kid, she was bitten by a Rottweiler and had to get stitches. She was terrified of dogs. I know she wouldn’t do anything as dangerous as crossing into their territory.”

“So, what are you saying? Do you think Sophia’s death is a cover-up? For what?” Bateman asked with a frown as he handed her cellphone back to her.

“I don’t know, but I intend to find out. Mr. Bateman, I have two weeks’ vacation coming, plus the five days of grievance. I want to go to that lodge and do some looking around. I want to know if the story is true, and…maybe just have a chance to put it all to rest. Maybe if I see the place for myself, I’ll be able to accept her death.”

“I need you back to work, alert and ready to focus,” he told her with a deep sigh as he stood back up on his heavy legs. “No more than two weeks.”

“And five days,” she added with an excited grin.