CHAPTER FOUR
The same peeling white letters... The same old, worn sign. The outskirts of Freiburg looked exactly like she remembered it. No modern stores, no new homes. Even the cars, sparse as they were on the old streets, looked like something out of a time machine.
Some places never changed, she supposed.
Her eyes fixated on the letters Vogel Antiquitäten. Even more worn than she last remembered them. The store itself, beneath the sign was also familiar. Through the windows and glass, she spotted the telltale glimpses of varnished wood, old mirrors, counters with small chains and a scattering of jewelry. She spotted china, kettles, and even a couple of iron cast stoves.
Ilse double-checked her car door was locked. Then checked it again. Then again. She puffed a breath, trying not to
