Leonie Martens sat bored on the low stone wall in Lüttmoorsiel’s village square, idly tapping her smartphone against her notepad.
In front of her, the latest edition of the Lüttmoorsiel News fluttered in the warm breeze.
On the front page:
“Rabbit Breeders’ Association Celebrates 75th Anniversary.”
Underneath was a photograph of three men who looked as though they had spent their entire lives voluntarily growing celery.
Leonie sighed.
At twenty-six, she had imagined her life rather differently.
Big city.
Big newsroom.
Maybe Hamburg.
Maybe even television.
Investigative journalism.
Breaking news.
People wearing headsets, frantically shouting, “We’re live!”
Instead, for almost two years, she had been writing about golden wedding anniversaries, missing garbage bins, the new bench at the harbor, and a bitter war of letters to the editor over aggressive seagulls at the fish stand.
Nothing ever happened in Lüttmoorsiel.
Ever.
No bank robberies.
No fires.
Not even a decent traffic accident.
Even the drunks here managed to fall off their bicycles carefully.
Leonie was just about to take a sip of her iced caramel latte, which the local greengrocer regularly ordered especially for her, when Dr. Wepper suddenly hurried across the village square.
Fast.
Very fast, in fact.
His medical bag banged against his leg as he marched toward the edge of the village without looking left or right.
Leonie raised an eyebrow.
A moment later, Mayor Henning Clausen emerged from the town hall. Directly behind him, as always, came his personal shadow, John McDoven, who even while walking looked as though he had swallowed a stick and was too polite to mention it.
But something was wrong.
The portly mayor wasn’t strolling along at his usual leisurely pace.
He was hurrying.
Almost panicking.
McDoven said something to him. Clausen gave a brief nod and quickened his pace.
Both men disappeared in the same direction as the veterinarian.
To the left.
For the first time in ages, Leonie’s reporter instincts came alive.
Maybe something was actually going on.
She grabbed her smartphone, tucked the notepad under her arm, and hurried after them.