Johann left the theatre. The strange notes left in his violin case unnerved him more than he wanted to admit. Did they have anything to do with Frederic the jealous violin player? If so, why didn’t the man want to confront him openly? That was how Johann preferred to do things—air grievances and sort them out, either with words or with fists. He’d gotten good at fighting without damaging his hands.
These French are crazy.
With his thoughts as tightly wrapped around him as his cloak, he didn’t see the dark figure that approached him until he ran into it.
“Oh, Maestro, I didn’t see you. This snow is falling hard.”
“Doctor Radcliffe, I apologize.” Johann stepped back a pace. “I hope I didn’t injure you.”
“Not at all. I was just seeing if there was anything on the sidewalk I might have mi
