Where the Bones are Buried by Jeanne Matthews

hear.
    The light of welcome dimmed in Florian’s eyes, and the painted black hand that held his mouth, compressed. “I don’t know anything about that. Reiner is an acquaintance. A member of der Indianer club for a long time, but not active in our meetings. I know nothing of his business or financial affairs.”
    Dinah laid a restraining hand on Margaret’s arm and smiled—disarmingly, she hoped. “We don’t know anything about Mr. Hess, either. We’re just trying to locate my mother. She left a note that led us to believe she would be paying you a visit this morning. It’s her first day in Berlin, she speaks no German, and I’m concerned that she’ll get lost and won’t be able to find her way back to her hotel. Do you have any idea where else she might have gone?”
    The reference to Swan restored his obliging manner. “Yes, you would naturally be worried. I will of course be happy if she drops by the gallery today, but in her last communication to me, she said only that she looked forward to meeting me and the other club members at the powwow tonight.”
    â€œHere at the gallery?” Dinah couldn’t picture a bunch of would-be Indians whooping it up in this crowded shop.
    â€œNo. It is held near the south shore of Müggelsee in the southeastern suburbs.”
    â€œWhere exactly is that? And when?”
    â€œSeven o’clock. Take the S-bahn to Friedrichshagen. There is a ferry across the lake and we will meet at the top of Kleiner Müggelberg.”
    Having so far not traveled much beyond the Mitte, Dinah had no idea where this Müggelsee might be. She racked her brain. Where could Swan have gone? Her note was vague as to time, but stated clearly that she was going to meet Farber. Had she taken the wrong train? What and where were the other “errands” on her itinerary? Or had she been kidnapped? Was she locked up somewhere in this gallery? In a secret chamber behind one of those paintings, perhaps? She scanned the walls and display cases.
    Farber said, “You will of course be most welcome at the powwow tonight also.”
    â€œThank you. Do you by any chance sell Indian dolls?”
    â€œDolls? No, I seldom see a doll worth acquiring, although I once had a very nice Inuit doll made in eighteen-twenty.” He smiled. “While you are here, you must come into the courtyard and meet some of our other members.” He gestured them toward the rear of the shop.
    Margaret vented a succession of impressive sneezes. When she could speak, she said, “You go. I need to sit down and rest for a few minutes. If there’s a chair.”
    â€œ Ja, ja. Durchaus !” Florian fetched a folding chair from behind the desk and seated her. “Are you ill?”
    â€œJust tired.” She cut her eyes at Dinah. “My young friend sets a mean pace.”
    â€œI’d like to meet the other club members,” said Dinah.
    â€œVery good. Come.”
    She followed him past the desk, which was almost as cluttered as hers, and out the back door. A lanky man wearing long braids and a fringed buckskin shirt and leggings stood in front of a yellow tepee decorated with red zigzags and black buffalo heads. His face had been colored with tan makeup, but his hands were white. He wore a silver Indian head ring with a teal enamel headdress on one hand, and a Zuni ring with multicolor stone inlay on the other. A youngish blonde in a beaded deerskin dress squatted in front of a charcoal fire tending a tin kettle. She looked up at Dinah and smiled. “ Moin .”
    â€œDinah, this is my assistant, Drumming Man, and his wife, Little Deer.”
    â€œA pleasure to meet you,” said Dinah. Drumming Man shook hands with her, which was the usual manner of greeting strangers in Germany. His wife didn’t offer.
    â€œAnd I am Baer Eichen,” said a silver-haired man sitting cross-legged on the ground. He reached out and