Tulip Season by Bharti Kirchner Page B

under a navy cap. Mitra looked away from Ulrich and the new arrival and refocused on the chalkboard, her body and mind inhabiting different realms.
    “A Moon-Glow Almond Parfait,” Ulrich spoke from behind her. “A Haughty-Naughty Cherry Cone, a Rosebacher Mineral Water, and a Perrier.”
    Well done—that was a mouthful. He pulled out his billfold and deposited a twenty-dollar bill in the server's outstretched hand, despite her murmur of protest. He smiled, and she reconciled herself to accepting his peace offering. Together they walked to a table that allowed a view of the starry night sky, with Ulrich carrying the tray.
    “I must apologize to you for not calling sooner,” he said. “I've been very—how do you say it—preoccupied. Ja , preoccupied. Siegfried, my dog, died. I had back spasms from the grief and the doctor said I must stay in bed. Then I must buy a new mattress. But the store's website, In Bed We Trust, was out of stock for what in Germany we call federdecke —a down comforter. But naja , no complaining. My back is better now. And I've been coming here for the last two days looking for you, and here you are. Have you been well?”
    She hadn't been exactly well, worrying about Kareena and frustrated by her desire for him. “We're still looking for my friend, but there are days when I feel stuck and helpless. The police haven't come up with any real lead so far.”
    “She isn't back? I'm very sorry to hear that. It doesn't surprise me about the police, though. They're useless.”
    Mitra caught him up on recent events, including the fact that Kareena was last sighted at Soirée.
    “Soirée falls on the way home from the house I'm remodeling. I stop by there often. I might have seen her. Do you have a picture?”
    Mitra delved through her purse and held out a 3x5 snapshot of Kareena standing, her black hair in a sleek bob. She was dressed in a clinging white blouse and matching white pants.
    He studied the photo. “She looks a bit like you.”
    “You don't really see it in here, but anyone who knows her will tell you how cool she is. She's a kindred spirit. She was last seen with an Indian man.”
    He lifted his eyebrow, as though to share in the admiration. Examining the shot more closely, he stirred. “I recognize her. I have seen her.”
    “How recently?”
    He stayed quiet.
    “Think. How long ago? Where? Was anyone with her?”
    A flicker of annoyance passed over Ulrich's face. “I can't remember.”
    She must not press him so hard. She repositioned herself on the chair.
    He returned the photo to her. “An Indian man, you said? He'd be noticeable. We have many Indian doctors, scientists, and engineers in Germany. Fine-featured, gentle, respectful, distinctive clipped speech, either painfully reserved or chatterboxes. Am I stereotyping?”
    Teasingly, Mitra said, “Unbearably so.” She paused and added, “You'll keep an eye out for my friend?”
    “ Ja . Julie, our friendly barista at Soirée, can do that for me. She always notices a good-looking guy, even if she's served him only once. I'll ask her. I vant to help you.” He sounded firm and sincere.
    “Okay, but we have to keep it quiet. Her husband doesn't want us to look for her.”
    He squeezed her hand, a stroke of playfulness as well as masculine assertion. “It's really good to see you.”
    She shifted back in her chair, hard against her back. Something bothered her, the intimate atmosphere he'd created, just like the last time. What assurance did she have that he wouldn't disappear again?
    “But it distresses me to see you so concerned,” he said, eyes fully on her. “I know what it means to lose a kindred spirit.”
    She poked at the remains of her parfait and didn't reply, hoping that he'd say more. She wanted to understand his thought processes. Otherwise, she wouldn't rest easy.
    “I didn't have friends when I was young,” he said. “There was one boy, Klaus, a bully. He was bigger than me, and mean. He would practice