The Wurst Is Yet to Come by Mary Daheim

English was understandable, when Renie showed up at the booth just before eleven. Mercifully, she hung back until the Chinese visitors had gone on their way.
    â€œHi, coz,” Judith said cheerfully. “We’re almost done here. Meet Gabe Hunter,” she added, turning to her fellow innkeeper. “This is my cousin. You may have heard me mention her at breakfast this morning.”
    Gabe frowned. “I did?”
    Judith realized Gabe had been engaged in conversation at the table’s opposite end. “Oh. Well . . . this is Serena Jones. She’s . . . here.”
    Renie shot Judith a curious look, but smiled and shook hands with Gabe. “Your backups are on their way. Connie and some guy named Phil are taking over. Phil forgot his glasses.” She turned around. “Here they come. Oops! Phil just walked into a lamppost. Guess he didn’t get his glasses after all.”
    â€œI don’t remember Phil,” Judith said. “Is he staying at Hanover Haus? He wasn’t at breakfast.”
    Renie glared at Judith. “Breakfast wasn’t at breakfast. By the time I got downstairs, the dining room was empty. Even the coffee urn was dry. You owe me, coz. It’s an early lunch or I turn Little Bavaria into Dresden circa February 1945.”
    Judith winced. “Don’t say that with so many Germans around. That wasn’t one of the Allies’ better ideas.”
    Gabe, who had been handing out brochures to a wholesome-looking couple who could’ve stepped out of a Norman Rockwell painting, turned around. “I read about that not too long ago. Half a million casualties in a city that wasn’t a strategic target? That literally sounded like overkill. So close to the end of the war, too.”
    Renie shrugged. “Guess the Americans and the Brits hadn’t had breakfast either. Come on, coz, Phil seems to be walking again. And no, he’s staying at some other place on the river.”
    â€œGo ahead,” Gabe said. “I’ll wait for the newcomers to get settled.”
    Glad to avoid Connie, Judith grabbed her purse and exited the booth. “Where to?” she asked Renie.
    â€œThere’s a pancake haus almost on the other side of Wolfgang’s,” Renie replied, leading the way. “You’re lucky I’m still civil.”
    â€œDon’t forget,” Judith said, wishing Renie wasn’t practically running, “I’m supposed to meet the police chief this morning.”
    â€œHe can wait,” Renie retorted.
    Judith spotted the Pancake Schloss some fifty yards away. “Slow down! Hey—there’s a police car parked outside the restaurant.”
    â€œOf course,” Renie said. “According to the Little Bavaria guidebook, this place also has good doughnuts. I figured maybe you could kill two birds with one scone. They have those, too. And Schloss translates as ‘palace,’ in case you’ve forgotten our visit to Germany.”
    â€œI sure haven’t,” Judith snarled. “You were horrible that morning when we took the ship up the Rhine. Our breakfast was late, and after it finally came, you got mad at me for some stupid reason and poured a pitcher of cream all over my food.”
    â€œYou’d filled the room with your stinking hair spray,” Renie countered. “I was damned near asphyxiated.”
    â€œToo bad you weren’t,” Judith said, still irked at the long-ago memory of Renie’s rotten morning mood. “Remember, the cops know who’s who. Let’s hope they don’t rat me out to any of the innkeepers who think you’re the sleuth,” she added as they went inside the Pancake Schloss. “You were right—Ingrid can’t get snarky with me this time.”
    The cousins were lucky. Their timing was such that most of the breakfast patrons were gone and the lunch crowd hadn’t started to arrive. The restaurant was only