He saw her eyes were less red now. She had that half-smile back.

“Those too,” he managed. He glanced over at Opa Nagl.

“Actually, I was just thinking about Opa here, listening to him.

The things he comes up with.”

“Unique,” she murmured, with a look in her eye that bespoke long practice at summing up her father. “There’s no doubt.”

“How different,” Felix said, without thinking.

She gave him an inquisitive look.

“From the other one, I meant.”

His mother looked away, and he could not see if she had kept her smile. Laughter broke out behind now, and he turned. Now, somehow, Opa Nagl had brought up the topic of teeth, or horses, or something.

“Of course, I’m right,” said Opa Nagl. “You want to know a good husband, a good wife, before you go to the church to marry?

Look at their teeth. It’s like a horse.”

The manager was waiting for them by the restaurant door of the gasthaus.

“Gruss Gott, Inspektor.”

Felix returned the greeting, and shook hands. He was sure he’d hidden his irritation at the title.

He and Oma Nagl turned, waiting for the stragglers. Aunt Gusti hobbled in last. Berger Willi Hartmann was almost licking his chops in anticipation of a meal. A true pro, Felix had heard before, attending many funerals and memorials, praying devoutly whether Catholic or Protestant. It was as though those indiscriminate prayers along with his energetic stumping along at such an epic age were a way to firmly declare that he had many more years of his own to complete.

Felix began to believe that some soup and sausage would be manageable now. Then he’d have a grossen braunen to perk him up, its milder mixture of espresso coffee and cream firing up at least some part of his brain. He might make it after all.

Felix realized his mother was eyeing him. Of course he was supposed to lead, he was the man now.