Authors: Ekaterine Nikas
I
nodded, and reluctantly got out of the car.
"Christine
--"
"Yes?"
"You
will
be on that aeroplane tomorrow, won't you?"
"I
don't know.
Lieutenant Mavros was
pretty adamant."
"Blast
Mavros!
Don't you see?
The danger to you is no longer
hypothetical.
That car that almost
ran you down: did you stop to wonder where it came from?"
"I
don't know.
I suppose from the
direction it was going it must have come from Kassiopi."
"That
would mean it would have had to have been behind us.
But there was only one car behind us the entire time, and it
passed us right after we pulled off the road."
"Another
car must have come along then."
He
shook his head.
"No, there
was no sound of an engine.
There
were no headlights, either.
You've
seen how they shoot ahead.
In this
darkness, you can see someone coming for miles.
There was only the one car behind us all the way from
Kassiopi."
"We
were being followed?"
"I
think so.
When we stopped, the
other car must have passed us and pulled over as well.
When you got out and started running,
whoever was in the car waited to see what would happen.
When you ran out onto the highway . .
."
"You
think someone deliberately tried to run me down?"
"I
think it's a distinct possibility.
Which is why I want your promise that when your flight leaves tomorrow
you'll be on it.
I realize you
don't trust me, I realize you're afraid of me, but if you're thousands of miles
away there's nothing I or anyone else can do to harm you."
"Geoffrey,
you saved my life!"
His
mouth curved bitterly.
"Yet
you still wonder if I was the one who tried to drown poor Michael like a
kitten."
I
wanted to deny it, but couldn't.
"If you would just explain --"
"I'm
sorry.
I can't."
He regarded me in silence for moment,
and then said, "You will be on that flight tomorrow, won't you?"
He
was so obviously anxious to be rid of me, and Michael -- well, Michael had
Lieutenant Mavros and the Corfu police to look after him now.
Besides, the memory of standing
transfixed in the path of stampeding headlights was enough to drain away my
resistance.
I was tired of being
afraid.
"All
right," I said wearily, "you win.
I'll go."
Chapter Eighteen
When
I arrived at the villa, I found Demetra had already retired for the night.
My bags weren't out in the drive, and
there was no message pinned to my pillow telling me to clear out, so I
collapsed into bed, pausing only to strip off my dirt-stained clothes and kick
off my sandals.
Next
morning I rose early and packed, then went in search of breakfast and
information about Michael.
The
dining room was empty and only a single place was set at the table;
Aphrodite soon bustled in to tell me it
was set for me, as Demetra was still in bed and Spiro had not yet
returned.
I asked about
Michael, and was relieved to hear that the doctor had phoned to say he was
doing fine and would be coming home that afternoon.
I realized with a pang that I'd be gone by the time he
returned.
To
my surprise, Maria seemed genuinely upset to learn I was leaving, and made me a
large feta-filled omelette to insure I wouldn't starve on my journey.
While she bustled off to the kitchen to
wrap up the remainder I couldn’t eat, I asked Aphrodite if she knew the number
to call to order a taxi.
She told
me I shouldn’t waste my money, as Paul could drive me to the airport.
Entering
with a pot of coffee, Maria shook her head at the suggestion.
"He cannot.
He is not here.
Last night they call from
Ioannina;
his mother has fallen
and broken her hip.”
Aphrodite
expostulated and made her
stavros
.
“That’s
too bad,” I echoed politely.
Maria
nodded.
“When I telephoned to the
hospital and told Paul, he left and took the boat to Igoumenitsa.
He will not return before one week, so
I must care for the garden now."
"And
what about Mr. Skouras?
When will
he be back?"
Maria
shrugged and poured some fresh coffee into my cup.
"Who can say?"
"I'm
surprised he didn't rush back here when he heard the news about Michael,"
I said.
Maria
ignored the bait.
"I will
make you some lunch for the airplane," she said, setting down the pot of
coffee and gathering up the dishes from the table onto a tray.
I
tried to convince her I didn't need more food -- that her omelette would
probably last me the rest of the day -- but to no avail.
She headed for the kitchen.
Aphrodite remained behind.
Her
pretty face was unusually pale.
"Kyrios Skouras does not yet know what happened to the boy,"
she confided in a low voice.
"The mistress tried to telephone him last night, but he was not at
his hotel.
No one knows where he
is."
Her eyes opened
wide and she bit at her lip.
"I am afraid, Thespinis.
Perhaps he has been attacked like the boy and is lying somewhere injured
--" her voice faltered, “--or dead."
Her blue eyes suddenly filled with tears.
Whatever
my concerns about Spiro’s role in the attacks on Michael, I had no worries that
he, himself, was in any danger. I was about to reassure her on that point when
Demetra Redfield walked into the room.
As
always, she was stylishly turned out and perfectly groomed, but her face looked
haggard and there were dark smudges under her eyes.
"Thank you," she murmured as Aphrodite pulled out
a chair for her and then hurried to set a place at the table.
"So, Miss Stewart, this morning
you go."
"Yes,
my flight leaves at eleven."
"You
have telephoned for a taxi to take you to the airport?
Paul is not here to drive you."
"I
haven't yet, but I will after breakfast.”
She
nodded, and poured herself some coffee with a hand that was not altogether
steady.
For a few minutes we sat
in silence.
Then I thanked
her for her hospitality.
This
brought a ghost of a smile to her face.
"You are very polite.
Your stay with us cannot have been what you had hoped."
I
shrugged.
"It had its
moments."
Her
beautifully-shaped eyebrows arched briefly and then sank back down wearily over
her eyes.
"Yes, my brother is
a man of great charm -- charm enough to make one ignore, even forget, that
which is unpleasant."
“It’s
too bad he wasn’t here yesterday to help you with all this mess with Michael,”
I said.
“It must have been hard
for you to deal with on your own.”
She
looked up at that, and her dark gaze locked with mine.
“I am touched by your concern, but do
not worry for me.
The women of my
island are strong.
We do not
submit meekly to fate.”
There
was something at once both magnetic and chilling about the expression on her
face as she spoke the words.
It
was the sort of determination one could imagine finding in the countenance of a
Joan of Arc -- or a Medea.
*
*
*
After
breakfast, I phoned for a taxi, then retreated to my room to gather up my
things and prepare to go.
As I did
so, I pondered the news that Spiro was not where he was supposed to be.
Had he really gone to the mainland, I
wondered, or had he remained on Corfu, waiting for the moment when he could
swim up behind Michael unnoticed and throttle him into unconsciousness?
The
problem with that scenario was
why
?
Even if Geoffrey was right, and William Redfield had
discovered his brother-in-law was stealing from him, Spiro had a solid alibi
for the day of William Redfield’s death.
And if Spiro had not killed William, what possible reason could he have
for wanting to kill William’s son?
I
could think of none.
Yet my stay
at
Ithaki
had convinced me Geoffrey was right about one thing, Spiro
was
hiding something.
If only I’d been
able to find out what it was.
I
went into the bathroom and looked around to make sure I hadn’t forgotten
anything.
My glance fell on the
door leading to Spiro's room.
Perhaps there was still a chance . . .
I
crossed to the door and slowly turned the knob.
Fortunately, Spiro hadn't bothered with the lock.
I eased the door open, listening for
any sound that might indicate someone was in the room.
I opened the door wider and peaked in.
The room was empty.
All I had to do was walk in.
I started toward the dresser, but
suddenly I heard footsteps.
I
retreated to the bathroom, but didn't have time to completely close the door
before someone entered Spiro’s room from the hall.
I heard the click-clack of high heels crossing the floor.
Deciding to make necessity a
virtue, I peeked out the slightly open door and saw Demetra Redfield go to
Spiro's dresser, pull open the top drawer, and take something out of it.
She had her back to me, so I couldn't
see what it was.
She
crossed to the small desk by the window.
Her hand slid down along the right side of the desk and then stopped; a
moment later a small drawer popped out in front.
She slipped whatever she had removed from his bureau into
the drawer and pushed it closed.
It disappeared into a façade of marquetry decoration.
Then, her mission apparently
accomplished, Demetra left the room.
After
her footsteps had safely faded away, I eased the door open and walked over to
the desk.
I looked in vain for the
button or latch she had pushed, however.
The marquetry on the side was just as elaborate as the front, and the
opening mechanism was as well-camouflaged as the drawer itself.
I decided to try to find it by feel,
and ran my hand along the side as I'd seen her do.
Twice I tried and twice I failed, but on my third try I felt
a diamond-shaped piece of wood that seemed slightly recessed.
I pressed it.
The secret drawer popped out.
Inside
it lay Spiro's passport.
I
stared at it in surprise.
Why had
his sister hidden it?
Was there,
perhaps, something concealed inside?
Picking it up by the spine, I shook it vigorously, but nothing fell
out.
So it had to be the passport
itself.
There was something in it
Demetra wanted to keep secret.
But
what?
I held the small blue book
in my hands and thumbed through it.
Date stamps in various colors and shapes decorated a surprising number
of the pages.
The man certainly
got around.
Rio de Janeiro.
Marseilles.
Rome.
Birmingham.