Her Boyfriend's Bones Page 9

  When the door closed behind him, she shut off the music and pressed the heels of her hands against her eyes, already wishing he’d tossed that pillow aside and kissed her. She went back to the window and misted up. You should have known that he was on the job, that his obsession with Marilita wasn’t idle curiosity and that song and dance about visiting with the local constabulary wasn’t because he wanted tips on how to manage a passel of rowdy tourists. You should have known this romantic fantasy on Samos was too good to be true and you may as well quit crying and get over it.

  Think about something else—the sack of Troy, the fall of Thebes, that chrome-white moon bellied out like Artemis’ boyfriend-killing bow. What had Marilita thought about when she looked up at the moon from this same window? Love? Betrayal? Murder? The overthrow of the Greek state? Thor must have cause to believe that her crime related in some way to the theft of those American weapons. It would be rich if it turned out that a Hollywood actress had outsmarted the junta, stolen a consignment of American weapons, and passed them out to the communists of Kanaris.

  Day 3

  Chapter Eleven

  “Son-of-a-bitch!” Dinah knelt down and looked at the Picanto’s tires, all four slashed to ribbons and flat. “Damn, damn, damn, damn, damn!”

  “The vandals again,” said K.D.

  Dinah walked through the parking lot, checking out the other cars. Hers was the only one to have received the special treatment. Thor’s car was gone. He must have left before dawn and there was nobody else around to help. The nearest gas station was miles away and, even if the rental company sent a tow truck and a new set of tires right away, the last flight to Athens would have departed by the time she got the bill paid and the paperwork settled.

  K.D. arched her back across the hood, covered her eyes with one hand, and struck a languishing pose. “Looks like we’re going to miss the seven o’clock flight.”

  Dinah gave her the gimlet eye. The vandals weren’t the only suspects. She had rousted K.D. out of bed at five to allow plenty of time to get to the airport for the seven o’clock flight to Athens. K.D. had been surprisingly speedy and compliant. Too compliant? To be fair, it would have taken more muscle than K.D. had to shred those tires.

  Well, as K.D.’s daddy used to say in his phony redneck vernacular, crying don’t feed the bulldog. It sure wouldn’t fix four flat tires. Dinah looked at her watch and rearranged her timetable. The police hadn’t showed up yet to investigate last night’s vandalism and she didn’t relish the idea of sitting on the curb all morning waiting for them. There was no guarantee they would come at all or, if they did, that they would waste time on her problem. She had no choice but to call the rental agency and it would probably be hours before they could muster up a tow truck.

  K.D. sauntered around the parking lot. “You could call the Greek Triple A.”

  “I doubt that there is one on Samos.”

  “Then we should go back to the house. At least it’ll be cool there. We can eat some yogurt and you can think about what we want to do next.”

  Dinah didn’t like the togetherness implicit in that remark. “K.D., you do understand this is only a temporary delay, don’t you? You’re going home to Atlanta and I’m going to Istanbul as soon as I can get us to the airport.”

  “I’m resigned to my fate.”

  “Uh-huh.” Dinah caught the handle of her roller bag and started trudging up the road. It seemed that Fate was forever ambushing her. The early Greeks believed that everything that happened was predetermined by a trinity of goddesses known collectively as the Moirai and, whatever they threw at you, it was futile to resist. Clotho spun the thread of life, giving life to both mortals and gods. Lachesis measured the thread from Clotho’s spindle, allotting each life a finite length. And Atropos got to decide the manner of death and snip the thread with her ruthless shears. Dinah was thankful her thread was still spooling, but the slashed tires pissed her off profoundly.

  She didn’t know where Thor had gone or for how long and she did not want to be lolling on the veranda when he returned. Don’t throw our chance away. That was why she had come to Samos in the first place. He was the one who had blown their chance, or at least relocated it to some other island at some unspecified future time. But it was her own fault if she felt hurt. She flattered herself that she was a cynic, but she was the worst kind of sap—a sap who was constantly surprised that people lied to each other. People lied all the time for a gazillion reasons they justified to themselves. If she wasn’t a full-fledged cynic yet, there seemed to be a worldwide conspiracy to turn her into one. If Thor thought she was too “tough-minded” and cynical to get worked up over his little deception, she was a victim of her own smarty-pants rhetoric.

  “You can be mean to me if you want to,” said K.D., “but I think you’re being immature about Thor.”

  Dinah sighed. K.D. couldn’t have heard their argument above the noise of the radio, but maybe she sneaked downstairs in the night and saw Thor bunked on the sofa. She said, “When I need your input, I’ll ask.”

  “Whatever you’re mad at him for, you should lighten up and cut the guy some slack. He’s obviously Level Ten about you and a woman in her mid-thirties doesn’t have much time left for a truly great love. Thor could be your last chance. You know what Lucien said to my mother? He said, my sister is the architect of all her disappointments.”

  Dinah whipped around with a strong message for her brother on her lips, but was distracted by the appearance of a young man on a Vespa motoring into the parking lot. He dismounted and took off his helmet. He smiled up at her and she had a brainstorm. Mentor. He had said that if she needed help while she was on the island, she should ask for him and that everybody knew him. It was worth a try. He might know a tow truck driver or a tire salesman who could do the job fast.

  “Parakaló,” she called out to the young man, going deep into her Greek vocabulary. It meant something like “hello” or “please” or “I’m here and I have a question.” It was a pointless word because her question was, “Do you speak English?”

  “Nè, málista.” He dipped his head to the side.

  She’d learned that nè meant yes, in spite of the fact that it sounded like no. An up-and-down nod and a word that sounded like “okay” meant no. She rolled her bag back down the hill and asked, “Do you know a man named Mentor?”

  “He lives down there.” He pointed along a grooved concrete path leading down the mountain from the parking lot. “The fourth house.”

  “Thank you. Efkharistó.” She stowed her suitcase in the trunk of the Picanto. “Leave your bag here, K.D. Turn on your phone and go up to the house and wait for me. I’ll call you if and when I get some new tires.”

  Dinah left K.D. chatting with the young man in the parking lot and hied off in search of Mentor. Tires weren’t the only things rolling through her mind. She was thinking that thirty-three was hardly the mid-thirties. She was thinking that if Thor was Level Ten about her, he had a funny way of showing it. He should have trusted her enough to tell her the truth up front. Even so, she should have been less accusatory and more understanding of his dilemma. How mature did a person had to be to navigate the rip currents of a romantic relationship?

  The concrete turned to dirt and the path steepened. The footing became increasingly treacherous and she couldn’t take her eyes off the ground for fear of falling. She had to stop at every switchback to look for the house. Her knees began to feel the strain. Dear God, her joints were creaking. She could hear…no. Somebody was tuning a violin.

  After a few sporadic twangs, the violin erupted in a wild gypsy melody. The beauty and the virtuosity were so improbable that she forgot her anger. She followed the music around two more switchbacks. As the fourth red-tiled roof came into view, she saw Mentor seated under a plane tree with the instrument tucked under his chin. He was wielding the bow like a man possessed. She approached almost on tiptoe, not w
anting him to stop. When he did, a large black cat vaulted into his lap.

  “Yia’sou, Mentor. You play beautifully.”

  “Yia’sou, Dinah Pelerin. That piece is from Russia. It is called ‘Black Eyes.’ But if you come to the taverna after ten tonight, I will play Greek music. My daughter will dance and her husband will play the goatskin.”

  “A drum?”

  “Nothing so ordinary. The goatskin is a kind of Greek bagpipe. You must hear it.”

  “That would be fun, but I’m afraid I can’t be there.”

  “Then you must sit down with me and taste my Samos nectar. It is made from our famous Muscat grapes, acclaimed by Charlemagne and celebrated in a poem by Lord Byron.” He set down his violin, petted the cat, and reached for a wine bottle on the table beside him. “After we taste, I will give you a private concert. Perhaps you will dance.”

  She laughed. “I’d love to hear you play more, but the house was vandalized last night and I discovered this morning that someone had slashed my tires. I thought you might know someone who could help me.”

  “But that is barbaric.” He threw up his hands. “First murder and now this. We are under siege. It must have been one of the refugees from the camp in Samos Town. What does your policeman friend think?”

  Mentor, too? She said, “I haven’t spoken with Thor about the situation yet. Things are in turmoil and I need to get my car fixed as soon as possible. Do you know anyone with a truck who could deliver a new set of tires this morning and mount them for me?”

  “I know a man in Karlovassi. But it is too early yet. Taste my wine and after an hour, I will call him. Sit.”

  “I’m sure your wine is delicious. But it’s a little early for me to drink wine and I was hoping to catch the last flight to Athens.”

  “You’re leaving Samos so soon?”

  “Unfortunately. My…my cousin needs me to chaperone her back to Athens.”

  “It is too bad that you must leave after two days and with such a bad taste of Samos in your mouth. I will pour you a small glass of wine and then I will call my friend and you can make an arrangement. In Greece, we are social before we transact business.” He made refusal seem like a breach of etiquette.

  “A very small glass, please.” She sat down and, as he poured, she noticed that he wore a leather thong on his wrist with a small evil eye amulet. “I’ve noticed several people wear those charms.”

  “The mati is a Mediterranean custom. Jason’s ship, the Argo, had an eye painted on each side of the prow when it sailed in quest of the Golden Fleece. Eyes were painted or carved on the bows of Greek war ships to keep away evil spirits. After all that has happened, it would seem that you need a protective talisman.” He took off his bracelet. “Here. Take this one.”

  “I couldn’t take your good-luck charm, Mentor.”

  “I have others.”

  “Thank you.” She slipped it onto her wrist and tasted the wine. “This is very good. Almost like butterscotch.”

  “Nè, nè. Fermentation was slow, but it is aging well.” He held his glass up to the light. “Will you come back to Samos after you see your cousin safely home?”

  “I don’t know.” Much as she hated to admit it, K.D. was right. She had behaved badly toward Thor. She had been unreasonable and she especially regretted that crack that he might not be up to the job. “Yes, I think I’ll probably return in a day or so.”

  Mentor shooed the black cat off his lap and tossed off his wine. “You and your young man should rent a room at the Lárisa. Living in Marilita’s house can only bring nightmares. ”

  “Did you know Marilita?”

  “Only a little. She was seven or eight years older, but she often visited my mother and brought me sweets and picture books. Mother doted on her as if she were her own daughter. She liked her friend Nasos, too, mostly because of his mother. My mother and Rena Lykos lived in Athens during the Nazi occupation in ’41 and ’42. Hundreds of thousands of Greeks starved. It was Rena who saved our family and others, too. She beguiled a German commandant to give her food, which she shared. She had the heart of a lion. She disseminated resistance leaflets throughout city, and even smuggled arms and explosives to the Greek resistance in the north. At the end of the war, Rena’s husband was killed by the German collaborationists.”

  “Nasos’ father?”

  “Yes. Rena remarried after the war, but she did not forget the barbarity of the fascists. When the junta came to power, with their tanks on every street corner and their martial music blaring constantly from loudspeakers, she was distraught. But it was death, or worse, to speak out against the junta. Anyone with leftist views kept them a secret.”

  Dinah knew about the atrocities perpetrated by the Nazis during WWII, but she had no idea that Greece had continued such flagrant abuses with the active support of her own government. She said, “Why do you think Marilita would have wanted to kill Nasos and Rena?”

  Mentor refilled his glass and held it up to the light. “With ambrosia, Hera cleansed all defilement from her lovely flesh. Do you know Homer’s poems?”

  “No. Is there a reason you’re evading my question?”

  “My mother and Marilita were close until Marilita’s death and my mother spoke of her with great affection. She never accepted the idea that Marilita could kill another living being. She said it was her sister Zenia who had the heart of a killer.”

  Zenia was a disagreeable old crank, but the rap against her started to seem to Dinah like piling on. “Why would your mother think Zenia could kill?”

  “She poisons the village cats.”

  Chapter Twelve

  Mentor finally made the call to the tire man in Karlovassi and Dinah arranged to meet him in the parking lot at noon, four hours hence. She walked back toward Marilita’s house with her phone in her hand, deciding. What would she say to Thor? That she’d been a blister? He would laugh and forgive her as he always did. That somebody had punctured her tires and she was afraid. Thor would tell her to go ahead and leave Samos and he would get back in touch with her when his mission was finished. But she had made up her mind. Danger or not, she wanted to be with him. She would take K.D. to Athens and as soon as she had put her on a plane back to the States, she would return to Samos.

  With that decision, her anxiety abated somewhat and she concentrated on the arduous climb back to the village. These Samian hills were murder. So to speak. She stopped to catch her breath at the fountain above the parking lot. She had started up again when she heard the grumble of a car behind her. She turned to see the majestic grill of the Isotta Fraschini gobbling up the hill in breathtaking disregard the no cars rule. The jewel in the middle of Zenia’s forehead scintillated in the sun like the third eye of a Hindu idol. Dinah jumped out of the way behind the fountain.

  The Isotta surged past but lolloped to a jerky stop after another twenty yards. Zenia was no doubt on her way to assess the damage to the house. She motioned for Dinah to come forward.

  “Running away, are you?”

  “I’m walking up the hill, Zenia.”

  “Good. I’ll want to speak with you when you get to the top.”

  “I’ll get there faster if you give me a lift.”

  “Take your time. I need to speak with Alcina first.” She gunned the engine and sped away, leaving Dinah to suck the Isotta’s exhaust.

  She trudged on feeling considerably less inclined to overlook Zenia’s meanness because of her age and the tragedy of her sister. The charge of cat poisoning, if true, made her into an outright ogre. If she was bothered by too many cats, the woman was rich enough to have every cat on Samos spayed and neutered.

  She’s poked Kanaris in the eye but good. Dinah replayed what Brother Constantine had said. It was no mystery why terrorists or arms traffickers wouldn’t want a cop in their midst. But why would anyone else give a rip about a cop on holiday? That first night
in the taverna, Thor had let the cat out of the bag that he was a cop back in Norway and Brakus had obviously blabbed the fact far and wide. But the only people who could know that Thor was here on official business were the local police who had seen his credentials. Why hadn’t N.C.I.S. provided him with a fake identity? She felt a stab of guilt. Thor may have nixed the idea rather than have to explain an alias to her.

  When she turned down the alley toward the house, Zenia was sitting in the car and Alcina was standing over her, ranting in Greek. The engine was still throbbing like a diesel truck, but Zenia had no need for her earhorn. Alcina was bellowing. She looked up and saw Dinah and pointed an accusing finger.

  Zenia cut her off. “Stop your childishness. I will send a man with new chairs this afternoon. And another cactus to protect you from the baskania, though the last one didn’t work and you should see the foolishness. If your birds aren’t back by the end of the day, you can be sure they have been eaten by a cat.” She raised an imperious hand to Dinah. “I want you to come with me to my house.”

  “Sorry, but I’m waiting on a mechanic to repair my car. It was also vandalized during the night. As soon as it’s drivable, I’ll be off to the airport and Athens.”

  “What time is this mechanic coming?”

  “Noon.”

  “Then you have time. I’ll drive you back. This is important.”

  K.D. drifted outside, her eyes glued to her phone.

  Dinah was curious about Zenia’s imperative invitation. There were several questions she wanted to ask her about Brother Constantine, but she didn’t like to leave K.D. in a house that had been the target of vandals, alone with the volatile wife of a possible murderer. “Can we squeeze K.D. into the front seat?”

  “What?” Zenia put the earhorn to her ear.

  “I don’t want to leave K.D.,” shouted Dinah. “What if the vandals come back?”