She was a pretty young thing, strawberry blond with rosy cheeks and a lush figure. Ambrose took her hand and pulled her in my direction. I stood up from my table booth. “This is Eva,” said Ambrose, flushed and out-of-breath. “She has something she’d like to tell you.” “I’m all ears.” Eva wasn’t quite a dewy young milkmaid on closer inspection. The rose in her cheeks was pancake rouge and she had hard-stamped wrinkles around her eyes. Ambrose nudged her forward. We made eye contact. I felt a flush of embarrassment. Her blue-green peepers seemed to look right through me. “I have visit your Klaus Hilde,” she said in a thick German accent. “I can take you to him when I’m done work.” “You’re serious?” Eva smiled most fetchingly. “I am very serious girl.” She was that. I showed her the photo of Herr Hilde. “That is him, yes. But he has big beard now.” Eva rubbed her cheek. “Scratchy.” I didn’t know what to say to that. I didn’t know what to say period.
