“How you doing, Mom?”

“Okay.”

“The kitchen’s taken care of.”

“I see that.” She made her coffee, letting her hair fall forward so they couldn’t see how emotional she felt this morning.

“It’s no big thing,” Kurt said. “I always celebrate Thanksgiving. My sister came over last year.”

“How did the police get your address?”

“They called,” Kurt said. “I already had your plane tickets out tonight. I thought it would be okay. Is it okay? I don’t think they’ll be staying long.”

“Sure.” Nina went back into the living room and Elliott made room for her on the couch. The detective was taking him through the same story as yesterday, and Elliott seemed quite coherent for a guy who in the middle of the night had just about convinced her that nothing was real. The detective spoke very passable English. Nina sipped her coffee and listened.

When they finished with Elliott, he went in for a shower and they started on her. She had to repeat everything she could remember about the shooting. They looked disappointed when she had nothing new to add. At length the lead detective, a pale man with a shock of blond hair, gathered up his papers and said, “I knew Silke and her family.”

“I’m sorry.”

“An old family in Heddesheim. Her father was killed in a car accident when she was a baby. Her mother is a baker. Silke’s brilliance was noticed from an early age. She will be greatly missed. She was the first person in her family to go to university, and such a university! You know how it is in a little town-we had a parade for her. A send-off, I think you say.”

“It’s so unfair,” Nina said. “Such a waste.” The full weight of Silke’s death had finally fallen on her shoulders.

“Is there anything you can add to your description of this man with a gun who is wanted in the U.S.? He limped, he spoke American English, he moves around freely, he shoots well, medium height, medium weight-anything?”

“No.”

“Do you have any questions for us?”

“Where did he shoot from?”

“Across the street. The upper floor of a furniture store, empty at the time.”

“What did you find up there?” Nina was just doing her job, asking. She didn’t expect an answer of any substance. The police are adept at not giving out information.

“A fresh fingerprint,” the detective said. “At the window.”

It struck like a brick in the face. Nina put down her mug. “You have a print?” She was covering her mouth, willing it not to cry out and willing her eyes not to water. Evidence! A print.

“We’re running it through Interpol and your IAFIS right now.”

“He’s been so careful. It’s hard to believe.”

“A full impression. A thumbprint.”

“A print.” She blinked and lowered her head.

“Here.” He handed her a handkerchief.

“I’m afraid I’m still pretty upset,” Nina said.

“He took a cab to the airport. We have a partial description. But he wore a-”

“Ski mask?”

“A hat that covered much of his face.”

“Did the driver notice if he had a limp?”

“He favored his left leg.”

“It’s the same man. He has killed four people.”

“So it seems. We will track him down. He will pay.”

“Thank you. I can help, after you know more. You have my card. A print!”

“We will let you know.”

“Thank you,” Nina said again.

“I’m not afraid of this jerk,” Bob said, selecting a big piece of turkey breast from the platter. The police had left. The four of them were gathered around the coffee table, which Kurt had covered with a batik. A big fire burned. They were all starving.

“Hang on,” Kurt said. “We’re going to have a blessing.”

“Oops.”

“Who’s going to do it?”

“You should, Kurt,” Nina said. “We’re just visitors.”

“All right.” He thought a moment, then said in his reverberant voice, “On this Thanksgiving Day we gather for a meal like the old pilgrims, grateful to be here together. We are grateful for this meal, and feel glad to share it. I am happy that my son is here along with his lovely mother. And that all here in this house are safe.”

“I am grateful that you cooked,” Bob said, sniffing, “and it smells so good. And I’m glad to be here, too.”

Kurt smiled at him. “Thank you, Spirit of All, for this moment, for this fine food. In the midst of trouble and sadness, together we celebrate life.”

“Think of my friends Silke and Raj,” Elliott added quietly. “Remember our missing friends and family.”

“Amen,” they all said. It was the most heartfelt “amen” Nina had ever heard.

It was also the best turkey and stuffing she had ever eaten. A creative type who undoubtedly needed a lot of nurturing himself, Kurt was taking care of them. He had realized how close to chaos they had come, how battered they felt, and he had prepared a meal and a cocoon of warmth for them. Nina would always be grateful to him for that. They ate, and ate more. They clinked glasses. They even laughed.

After they had finished an entire pumpkin pie and pot of Earl Grey tea, Kurt stood up, rubbed his stomach, and stretched. “You guys clean up.” He nodded toward Bob and Elliott. “I’ll direct you on the dishwasher.”

“What about me?” Nina asked.

“We’re going for a walk around town, of course. It’s traditional on a holiday.”

“But is it safe?”

“You yourself said nobody but the police knew we were in Wiesbaden.”

“Right.”

“And I’ll keep you safe, Nina.” He pulled her coat out of the closet and held it out for her.

She put her arm through the sleeve, trembling slightly at his touch. “I guess we could. Bob, don’t you want to come?”

“You go ahead, Mom.”

Kurt held open the door. “See you in a while,” he called to Bob and Elliott.

“Later,” Bob called from the kitchen.

The light was fading. “Let’s go toward the park,” Kurt said. “You’re not too cold?”

“Me? No.” They walked down the street, the stores still open, matrons choosing fruits and vegetables for dinner. At the end of the street was a green park full of tall trees. Old fellows in overcoats behind tightly leashed and well-behaved little dogs walked among the lindens.

“Do you often come here?” Nina asked.

“All the time. I’d like to have a dog, but the landlady’s afraid of them. Franz keeps me busy, though, always trying to get out. He’s a hunter. You don’t want to know some of the funky prey he’s brought me.”

“This whole morning he lolled innocently on the windowsill.”

“His eyes narrowed, secretly on the alert for danger,” Kurt insisted. They both laughed at the idea of his slumbering cat on the lookout. “Is this really your first trip to Europe?”

“’Fraid so. I always wanted to go to Paris to see the Picabias at the Musée d’Orsay. I took French in high school and I love French wine, so I meet the minimum qualifications, I believe.”

“You should go.” He closed his eyes. “I see it all. Your pretty hair hanging down your back, bugging you because it’s come loose; drinking too much St. Emilon in a cafe on the Ile de la Cité, inside to hide from the rain, a good man holding your hand, confessing his love across the table while you flirt with the Moroccan waiter.”

“Don’t forget the part where I’m making a fool of myself ordering frog legs in aspic when all I really wanted was a turkey on rye.”

“You’re many things, Nina, but never foolish.”

What presumption, she thought. You don’t know me anymore. Then she smiled to herself. Here she was being foolish, annoyed by what amounted to a compliment. “Oh, you’ve forgotten.”

“I haven’t forgotten anything,” he said seriously. “I haven’t forgotten we talked about Paris before, and that I promised to take you there.”

They walked on in silence as a soft mist fell between the trees along the parkway.

“Do you have to go back right away?” They had reached an allée of trees, the path civilized and crunchy beneath their feet. The twilight lingered.