Authors: Ekaterine Nikas
"Actually,”
I said, “I'm here to talk about you, not me."
Thin,
wary lines formed around her mouth.
"I really have no desire to speak to you, so if you'll excuse me
--"
I
reached out and seized her left hand to prevent her from closing the door.
"Sorry, I'm afraid I can't.
You see --"
I opened my hand and gently tapped her
fourth finger, "-- I have a question to ask you, and I’m going to insist
on an answer."
She
fell back a step, looking uneasy. "What question?"
I
took a deep breath and stepped forward into the room.
"Why have you been keeping your new marriage a secret,
Mrs. Humphreys?"
*
*
*
She
retreated back into the large suite, crossing to a table and picking up a slim,
white cigarette and lighter.
She
lit the cigarette with hands that shook.
"I suppose you've told Geoffrey?"
"No,
not yet.
I only figured it out
myself this morning.”
“And
how did you do that, if I may ask?”
“It
came to me in a dream.”
"A
dream
?” she repeated scornfully.
“Oh, that's right.
I'd
forgotten.
You're from California,
aren't you?"
I
shrugged, "The subconscious is sometimes good at putting pieces together
that don’t at first fit.
Like your
knuckle.”
“My
knuckle?” she echoed disdainfully.
I
nodded.
“The knuckle on your
finger -- your left ring finger.
I
noticed it three days ago in Lieutenant Mavros’s office.
It was red and swollen.
At first I thought maybe you’d been
fighting.”
Her
mouth twisted at the suggestion.
“Then
I remembered what a time my mother had taking off her wedding ring after she
and my father divorced.
She, like
you, has a tendency toward large knuckles, and she really had to worry at the
ring to get it off her finger.
When she was done, her knuckle was red and swollen -- just like yours
looked the other day.”
Elizabeth
took several nervous drags on her cigarette.
Was disdain beginning to erode into worry?
“I assume there’s more?” she said
tensely.
I
nodded.
“It's been over three
years since you and Jesse Conner divorced.
You aren’t the type of woman to keep wearing an ex-husband's
ring, so I figured that meant you’d married again.
But who?
And
why did you want to keep the marriage a secret?"
“Why
don’t you tell me?” she said.
“I
briefly considered Spiro Skouras might be the lucky man, but Spiro doesn’t seem
the marrying type, and besides Greek brides wear their wedding bands on their
right ring fingers not their left.
“Robert
was a definite possibility thanks to Mrs. Baxter --”
Elizabeth gazed at me blankly.
“The lady who attached herself to you and Robert on your
honeymoon,” I prompted.
She
nodded, her face wrinkling in distaste at the memory.
“She’s
here on Corfu,” I continued, “and it was through her that I learned Robert had
recently married and that his bride's name was Beth, short for Elizabeth?
I also learned Robert's honeymoon took
place near Nice, which is close to Monte Carlo, where you went to live after
your divorce from Jesse Conner."
Elizabeth
shrugged.
"That's hardly
proof.
Besides, if I were married
to Robert, why would I want to hide the fact?"
"I
don't know,” I admitted.
“That's
what I came here to find out.
It
could be that Geoffrey showed up on your doorstep and you didn't want him to
know you weren't available," I paused, and our eyes met.
She looked away.
"Or it could be,” I continued,
“that you wanted to hide your connection to Robert, since you’ll inherit the
Redfield millions if Michael dies --"
A
flicker of fear appeared in her eyes.
"Are you insinuating that I’m responsible for these attacks on my
son?"
I
shrugged.
"Actually, it's
your husband I suspect.
He has
almost as strong a motive as you do.
Of course, the two of you could be in it together."
Her fists clenched.
I decided it was time for a provident
lie.
"By the way, I should
warn you.
I haven’t told Geoffrey
about this yet, but I have told the police.”
Her
face went white.
"The
police?
But I don’t know anything
about these attacks on Michael!
I’m as much a victim of all this as he is!”
Besides, he’s safe enough!
Geoffrey assured me he was!”
Her voice was climbing higher and higher.
She stood there, poised on the edge of
panic, then suddenly she pulled herself together.
She drew herself up and her eyes narrowed belligerently.
"Of
course," she said slowly, "you have no real proof of any of this, do
you?
A few coincidences, perhaps,
but nothing more.
I'm sure if
pressed I could come up with an equally compelling story for the police: the
story of a jealous young woman willing to tell any lie in an attempt to win the
man she's infatuated with from the woman he loves."
I
regarded her steadily.
"Geoffrey will believe me."
"Will
he?" she countered.
"I
don't think so.
He's still in love
with me, you see, and is bound to take my word over yours.”
Her beautiful face assumed a look of
smug calm.
“In fact, after this
mess is cleared up, I plan to obtain a very discrete divorce from Robert so
Geoffrey and I can be married."
I
stared at her, a sudden hollow feeling in my stomach.
"What if he doesn't want to marry you?"
She
flashed me a scornful look.
"Don't overestimate your charms, my dear.
Geoffrey and I have a history.
In fact, I’m the mother of his son.
Michael is his, you see, not William’s.”
“I
know.”
She
blinked in surprise, but continued on, “In any case, I don’t need to wonder
what he’ll do.
He’s already asked
me to marry him, and I’ve already told him yes."
It
was a knockout blow, but I was still standing, and I still had a warning to
impart.
"If something happens
to Michael, you may not be around long enough to marry anyone."
She
paled.
"What are you talking
about?"
"Hasn't
it occurred to you that Robert may want more than half of Michael's
inheritance?"
Her
eyes widened.
"Robert would
never hurt me.
Besides, nothing
will happen to Michael.
He's safe
with Geoffrey's professor friend, Paul."
"Not
anymore," I said.
"What
do you mean?"
"Did
you tell Robert who Michael was with?"
"What
does it matter if I did?"
"Did
you tell him Paul was a professor at Ionian University?"
"Why
are you asking me these questions?" she demanded, her voice rising once more.
"Has something happened?
Tell me!
I have a right to know."
"Someone
drove out to Paul's house day before yesterday and took a shot at Michael
through the window.
Paul had a
rifle within reach and fired back, and the attacker fled.
Now whoever shot at them knew Michael
was with Paul and knew Paul's real identity; he found the house by phoning the
University.
So let me repeat my
question.
Did you tell Robert who
Paul really was?"
Her
face was ashen.
"What if I
did?
It wasn't Robert who fired
that shot!
It must have been that
Greek they've arrested for William's murder!"
"Perhaps,
but where was Robert yesterday afternoon, say between twelve and three?"
Something
flickered in the tawny eyes and she ran her tongue nervously across her
lips.
Her answer, however, was
interrupted by the telephone.
It's
loud, pealing ring startled us both.
She crossed to the table to answer it.
"Hello?
Oh, it's you."
Her voice dropped and she turned her
back to me.
"We’ve got to
talk.
Can you come by?
What?
Yes, I know.
She's here now.
You have?
I see.
All right, I will."
She
lowered the receiver and then turned to face me.
"I don't care to continue this conversation.
Please leave."
"Was
that Robert?
Did he tell you to
get rid of me?"
"No
more questions.
I'd just like you
to go."
"Your
ex-husband was murdered and your son may be next.
Doesn't that matter to you?"
She
replied tensely, "Do I have to send for someone from the hotel to escort
you out?"
"No,
I'm going."
I crossed to the
door and opened it, then turned.
"You don't seem to care one way or the other, but Michael is
okay.
He wasn't hurt, though Paul
took a bullet to the shoulder.
And
Mrs. Baxter is expected to pull through."
"Mrs.
Baxter?” she exclaimed.
“What
happened to her?"
"Didn't
you know?
Someone took a shot at
her Wednesday night and almost killed her."
The
golden eyes widened.
"At
first, there didn't seem to be a motive for the attack on her, but I can think
of one now, can't you?
She not
only knows Robert is married, she can identify you as his wife."
Elizabeth
shook her head, looking dazed.
"It has to be a coincidence."
"Coincidence?
She was shot the very day you
arrived."
She
shook her head again and turned away.
"Get out," she commanded hoarsely.
I
did as she asked and headed downstairs to look for a phone.
Fortunately, this was the Hilton, and
finding one wasn't hard.
Standing
in front of the grey box, I dug out a piece of paper from my wallet and dialed
the number scribbled on it, hoping desperately that Geoffrey himself might
answer.
But when the beeps stopped
and a voice came on the line, it was only George.
"Christine?"
His normally bouncy voice sounded
anxious.
"What's up?"
"Sorry
to bother you, George, but Geoffrey told me that if I needed to get in touch
with him, I should phone you."
"That's
right.
He's been checking in every
hour.
You in trouble?"
"No,
but I need to talk to him as soon as possible."