Page 38 of Risky Obsession
“Are you okay?” Tory asked as we stepped out into the bitter cold.
“Yep, just felt a bit claustrophobic in there.”
She hugged her chest. “Well, this is much better.”
Leaning into the breeze, we trudged up the hill to the inn. The door creaked as we entered. Pausing in the doorway, I glanced over my shoulder toward the pub, but other than dead leaves tumbling up the asphalt, the road was empty.
Tory shuddered. “Brrr, damn it got cold out there.” She climbed the stairs ahead of me, giving me a mighty fine view of her ass.
We didn’t run into anyone as we crossed the creaking floorto our room.
I used the key to enter and once we were inside our room, I locked the door.
Tory shivered again. “Jesus. I think it’s colder in here than outside.”
I strode to the oil heater against the wall. “We should have checked this was on before we left.”
“You sort that out. I need a hot shower.” She grabbed the handle of her suitcase and disappeared into the bathroom.
Beyond the closed door, the shower turned on, and I tried not to picture her undressing barely five feet away.
I adjusted the heater to full, and it clanged like I’d hit it with a wrench.
Rubbing my hands against the cold, I lifted my bag onto the bed and unzipped it, searching for something to wear to sleep in. I pulled out a T-shirt and a pair of soft exercise shorts.
Tory emerged, wearing a simple pale pink tracksuit that looked much sexier than it should.
“I’ve been meaning to ask you about Emmy Sonnemann,” she said as she positioned her case against the wall. “Do you think her connection to Goering has something to do with the treasure?”
“I think that note I found proves that she did. Why are you skeptical?”
Her eyes narrowed, and I could almost see the gears turning in her head. “We know Goering was obsessed with art and valuables, right? It’s possible that Emmy was his silent partner, helping him hunt down these treasures and hide them.”
“That’s possible,” I said, returning my duffle to the floor.
“This is just a theory,” she added, her voice tinged with uncertainty. “But it would explain why her name keeps popping up in connection to the treasure.”
“Let’s say they worked together. How is that information helpful?”
“The date on that note you found. Have you researched that? I wonder where Emmy was on that day?”
That question sent a shiver down my spine. I had been so focused on tracing the origins of the treasure that I hadn’t considered Emmy’s involvement.
“What happened to Emmy Sonnemann?” Tory asked as she sat on the bed. “At the end of the war?”
“I don’t know. Let’s see what Google says.” Sitting a few feet from her, I keyed the question into my phone. “Okay, here we go. After the end ofthe war, a German court convicted her of being a Nazi and sentenced her to one year in jail, and thirty percent of her property was confiscated.”
“Only thirty percent?” Tory frowned. “Why didn’t they confiscate everything? And only one year. What the hell!”
Her anger surprised me.
“I think they had much bigger assholes to convict.”
“Doesn’t explain her light sentence. What did she do after that?”
Frowning, I scanned Google. “According to this, a few years after she was released, she bought a small flat in Munich, and that’s where she stayed until she died in 1973 at eighty years old.”
Tory groaned.