Island Casualty (Andy Veracruz Mystery Book 2)

by D. R. Ransdell

  Rachel returned with fresh drinks. “Still sitting here doing nothing? I thought you had postcards to write.”

  “You’re getting feisty. You must be feeling better.”

  “After sleeping most of yesterday, I’m making up for lost time.”

  “The customers missed you.”

  “They miss anything they get used to. Even Theodore.”

  “Who’s Theodore?”

  “The lazy young waiter who spends all his time at the bar.”

  “He was glued to the spot like a kid to a cartoon. Customers had to shake him off the stool before he would prepare their bills.”

  “That’s Theodore. The townspeople are so adverse to change that if he takes a night off, they even miss him. By the way, I hope you don’t mind coming along to help at the taverna again tonight.”

  Rachel’s wrist was still swollen. She tried to hide her grimaces, but whenever she used her right hand, she winced.

  “I’ll be glad to come if you’d like me to.”

  “That would be great. You play the guitar, and I’ll sing. Spiros will be glad to have an extra player.”

  “Wouldn’t you rather rest?”

  She shook her head. “I don’t have the concentration for reading, so I’d be miserable not having anything to do all evening.”

  I understood exactly. I’d been playing so long that nighttime equaled music time. The nights we didn’t play, which usually meant both Monday and Tuesday, had always felt strange.

  Nikos shot out of the café and headed down the street. I sat straight up, alarmed. “What’s wrong?”

  Rachel pulled up an extra chair and used it as a footstool. “He’s gone to get his fix, meaning The Athens Daily News. The Amirosian doesn’t do it for him.”

  “How long has he been living on the island?”

  “Long enough that he shouldn’t need a fix.”

  “When you’re used to the capital, Amiros must be a culture shock.”

  “It’s more extreme than being in a different country,” Rachel admitted. “And I love Athens. It’s a vibrant madhouse. But what I love about the island is that it’s taught me to relax, something I’m not generally good with.”

  “Eleni said you worked like a devil to play with the band last summer.”

  Rachel nodded. “What a nightmare! I needed to learn enough songs to pull my weight, or at least part of it. We still get requests for lots of songs I can’t play, but now I have a fighting chance.”

  Nikos returned, reading as he walked. Two tiny cyclists dodged him to avoid crashing.

  “Nikos!” Eleni called, nodding towards a table of new customers while she served single scoops of orange sherbet to elderly tourists nearby.

  “Guard my paper,” Nikos said, tossing it down.

  I tried to offer Rachel a section, but she desisted. “We’re on Amiros. Who cares about what’s going on somewhere else?”

  Chapter Thirteen

  For half my life, I’d spent most evenings performing. Of those I’d spent a healthy number flirting with members of the audience or wishing the night were over so I could take things to the next level. Performing alongside the object of my flirtations was a new and welcome switch. Rachel communicated with me throughout the evening, fake-frowning when the crowd bored us with requests for Never on Sunday or The Zorba Dance or winking during easy songs we didn’t have to think about. Emotionally we were experiencing the evening the same way. I was working harder than she was because I had to watch Dina for the correct chord changes or take Kostas’ cues, but I didn’t have to be anxious to finish playing because no matter what time Rachel and I finished playing, we’d be going to the same place.

  Better yet, by performing with Rachel I learned more about her: her tolerant reactions to the crowd, her struggle to get through harder passages, the zeal with which she sang favorite tunes. No wonder Spiros had encouraged her to return to the taverna. She got along well with her companions and maintained an easy rapport with the crowd. Her lively humor lifted the atmosphere, and I started appreciating the odd steps she’d taken to secure a job playing Greek music on an island paradise.

  When old friends engaged Dina in an extended conversation, Rachel and I slipped outside to the parking lot for a moment’s break.

  “I like performing here,” I told her. “Everybody’s friendly.”

  Rachel shook her head. “They’re on their best behavior. Spiros is so grateful you’re helping out that he’d kill anybody who didn’t cooperate. He knows all too well what it’s like to get stuck with no musicians.”

  “You know an amazing number of Greek songs.”

  “I had a good teacher.”

  “Vangellis?”

  “Yes.”

  Her eyes glistened in the dim light. I could imagine a slightly younger version of Rachel stumbling through Greek yet attracted to Vangellis’ charms. He and Rachel had probably connected in this very space.

  “Are you still in love with him?”

  She sank to the steps like a car with four flats. Immediately I was sorry.

  “Strike that. I didn’t mean to ask.”

  “Good. Then I won’t have to answer.”

  I sat beside her. “Anyway, it’s none of my business. Sometimes I have the bad habit of saying whatever’s in my head.”

  She took my hand. “I like you for it. It’s silly to hold things in.”

  “Even so, I have no right to pry.”

  “I’d rather tell you straight out. I’m probably still in love with Vangellis. Maybe I always will be. But I hate him at the same time.”

  “Why don’t you try to get him back?” I felt masochistic for asking.

  She shook her head repeatedly. “I’m much too angry.”

  “Because he hasn’t left his wife?”

  “Because he hasn’t had the courage to decide what he wants. That’s worse.”

  The way Rachel stared into me, I got the feeling she was accusing me of a similar flaw. At least the Greek singer had the excuse of making sacrifices for a career. All I’d been protecting was a simple lifestyle and a job. I’d gotten involved with Louloudi by accident. She’d tricked me into it because I’d forgotten to keep my guard up even though I’d known from the beginning that she had the potential to be dangerous.

  Rachel and I understood each other because we’d made similar mistakes and fallen into similar traps. Rachel was ahead of me, though. I was pretty sure she knew what she wanted. More importantly, she knew what she didn’t want. Sometimes that was the harder realization.

  “Are you still in love with Louloudi?” Rachel asked.

  “She’s dead.”

  “That doesn’t stop people from loving.”

  I couldn’t decide on a reply. I hadn’t been in love with Louloudi, not exactly. I’d been in fascination, in awe, in lust. Like a novice and his master, I’d been under her control. Since she popped into my head uninvited and stayed as long as she liked, I was in her control even now. But admitting I wasn’t in love with a woman I’d taken risks for wasn’t any better than admitting I had loved her. Either way I came out as having done the exact wrong thing. It was something I had a knack for. It was like always getting out of bed on the wrong side.

  If I wanted to move forward, now was an excellent time to set the past aside. Inspired by the night’s intimacy, I leaned towards Rachel deliberately but slowly. When she didn’t move away, I gently took her into my arms. That’s when I noticed the dark blue sedan parked behind her.

  She felt my sudden tension and wiggled free. “What’s the matter?”

  “That car. It’s the one that trailed us the other night.”

  “Which?”

  I pointed to a vehicle at the edge of the parking lot.

  “Are you sure?”

  “No.”

  The car’s nose pointed away from us. I approached it slowly from behind and then studied it from the side.

  Rachel came up beside me. “Try looking over your shoulder the way you saw it f
rom the scooter.”

  I did. The car was either the very one that followed us or a similar model. We peered inside but saw nothing noteworthy. The car was a decade old and well cared for.

  “S80094,” said Rachel, memorizing the license plate number. “We’ll have Soumba check it out.”

  “That would help.”

  “How sure are you that this is the car? Fifteen per cent? Forty?”

  “Fifty-one.”

  “We could ask Spiros to announce that the lights are on and see who comes out to check on it.”

  “Might be dangerous.”

  Rachel tried to open the passenger door.

  “Rachel, don’t!”

  “It was just a thought,” she said. “It’s locked anyway.”

  I herded her back towards the restaurant. “They could be watching us now.”

  “Andy, you don’t even know if this is the car.”

  “They shot at us once. Let’s not give them a second chance.”

  Back inside we scrutinized each unfamiliar face, but not a single one was menacing. If anything, the crowd was boring. A group of Greek women had escaped from their husbands for the night. Several couples held hands over brandies. Two parties of French tourists poured over guidebooks. Five American men loudly debated the merits of retsina. No one seemed sneaky enough to be our pursuers. I didn’t suspect any of the staff, and I couldn’t trust my memory of those short, intense seconds.

  By the time we went outside for another break, the car was gone.

  ***

  I set down the shot glass that I’d emptied for the third time. “So you’re spending three months here before going back to Tucson. Seems like the best of both worlds.”

  Having reached the house, Rachel and I had retreated to her private balcony where each successive brandy helped me forget about the car. We sat side by side, our chairs touching. We’d changed into casual shorts and sleeveless shirts. While the evening at the taverna had been too warm, now we could appreciate the deep night air.

  “Kostas does the same except that he goes back and forth between here and London.”

  I’d done a stint in Vegas, but other than that I’d always played at Noche Azul in Squid Bay. Then I’d learned the owner was the one who ordered a hit on Louloudi. I’d debated with myself for several weeks before turning him in.

  “I suppose Kostas has steady girlfriends in each town,” I continued.

  “Several of them!”

  “Don’t you have someone back there?” Lightly I squeezed her knee. I watched her face to catch her reaction. I told myself it didn’t matter if she had a boyfriend several thousand miles away, but at least I wanted to know about it.

  “I haven’t dated for months. My mom says I’m too much trouble to date because I work late every night.”

  “That’s a good way to avoid getting involved.”

  “The best. It’s saved me on about a million occasions.”

  Sometimes I wondered if that was why I played in a restaurant night after night. My chosen line of work gave me a convenient way to extricate myself from social entanglements. I didn’t have to spend nights going to romantic movies or meeting girlfriends’ parents because by the time I got off work, the theatres were locked up and most of the world was in the middle of a night’s rest. I didn’t have to make excuses so that I could spend an evening out with the guys because every night at work, I was with my pals. The problem was that sometimes the women I pursued recognized the disadvantages to my schedule before I’d figured out a reason for wanting to break things off with them.

  I jabbed Rachel’s arm with my index finger, “You can meet new men on the island every day.”

  “Most of them are boring.”

  “That night in Squid Bay, what made you focus on me?”

  This was not strictly what had happened. She’d been focusing on my brother, who had been pretending to be me.

  The streetlights shone enough to reveal a smile that lingered on the left corner of her mouth. “I first noticed you five years ago. And then the year after that.”

  “Five years ago?”

  “The first time I was in the area, I was with some friends. We asked the hotel clerk where to go for swell entertainment, and we wound up at Noche Azul. Small world, isn’t it?”

  “Are you sure it was me?”

  She regarded me calmly. “When did you start playing at Noche Azul?”

  “Nineteen and a half years ago.”

  “Take much time off?”

  Until the business with Louloudi, I’d rarely missed a night. Once in a while Joey filled in for me, but never on the weekends. “Not in the summer.”

  “I’m sure it was you.”

  “It could have been.”

  “We can take bets. I can prove it.”

  “How’s that?”

  “I took pictures. I’m not saying I could put my hands on them right away, but I’ve got them stuffed in my closet somewhere back home.”

  Most nights tourists took pictures of us. I always wondered what I looked like in family photo albums around the world. In a picture from four or five summers ago, I would have looked about the same. I would have been wearing the same mariachi suit with the same Aztec sundials.

  “When you were in Squid Bay last month, did you go to Noche Azul to find me?”

  “I was curious to see if you were still there. Besides, we wanted to go somewhere fun, and I liked the atmosphere at your restaurant.”

  I had too. I had absolutely loved playing at Noche Azul, which was one reason why it was such a big disaster that I’d had to ruin everything.

  I stroked her arm. “I’m glad you remembered me.” A more appropriate word would have been “stunned,” but I didn’t want to let on.

  She attempted to hide a smile with her hand, but I saw most of it. “I have a good memory.”

  “Coming to look for a musician a few years later is the sign of a true romantic.”

  “Don’t feel too flattered. We were staying nearby.”

  I put my arm around her shoulders and planted a series of kisses along her neck. “Think any of your neighbors have binoculars?”

  Eleni’s house was in the middle of a semi-circle of five structures. From the porch of the second house on the right, a solitary light shone.

  Rachel didn’t so much as check. “They’re all asleep.”

  When I tapped on her arm, she responded by sitting on my lap. I leaned back and let her lips find mine. After a few minutes, when she started tapping her fingers along my hips, I carried her inside.

  Chapter Fourteen

  “Do you mind if we take the boys?” Rachel asked. “The beach is supposed to be fabulous.”

  I was packing our swimsuits in the trunk of Eleni’s mother’s car. It was an old clunker of a station wagon, but it had plenty of gas, and it was ours for the day. We’d determined to head south to Petronaki. Rachel wanted to check out the archaeological ruins Soumba and Eleni had always told her about; I wanted to get out of town.

  “The boys’ grandmother is loaning us the car,” I said. “Taking her grandsons is the least we can do.”

  Rachel disappeared into the house. “Páme!” Let’s go! she yelled. Alex rushed outside as if afraid he’d be left behind. “We can go with you?” His straight, limp hair drooped into his face as pathetically as mine did.

  “Sure. Hop in.” I opened the backseat door.

  “Do you know how to drive Yiayia’s car?”

  “We’ll see.”

  Rachel appeared, carrying a brown paper sack and holding Christos’ hand. “Eleni is afraid we might starve.” She handed me the supplies: cheese sandwiches, chips, fruit, cookies, water.

  “Is she afraid we’ll get lost?”

  “No,” Rachel said. “She’s resigned to taking after her mother, meaning that she has to worry excessively even after packing a week’s worth of food for an afternoon’s excursion.”

  “It can’t hurt,” I said. “We might be able to work up an
appetite.”

  “You better behave!” she joked. She knew exactly what I was referring to. We’d spent half the night testing one another’s stamina. As it turned out, she’d had more than I had.

  The journey south was quiet and peaceful. The road was seldom used because thanks to the inward curve of the island, the three towns at its tip could be reached nearly as fast by boat, which was a more luxurious alternative. The villages in between were too sparse to warrant much traffic.

  I didn’t care about the scenery. I was more interested in watching Rachel and remembering the way she had lain on top of me when we finally decided to sleep. I was annoyed that circumstances had eaten up half the nights of my vacation, but when we finally connected, we’d locked all the skeletons in the closet and made love without holding back.

  We travelled an hour before Rachel silently pointed out the sign for Lepidopteros, where Hari’s body had been found. My stomach grew tight. On a postcard the island looked like a paradise, but currents brewed beneath the surface the way earthquakes teased San Franciscans. Unfortunately, no one took the waves seriously.

  I kept trying to regard Hari’s demise as an unrelated circumstance, but Nikos and I had called the police station repeatedly that morning to see if Soumba and his crew could check on the license plate of the mysterious car that Rachel and I had found in the parking lot. No one answered the office phone and Soumba didn’t answer his cell. We couldn’t even leave messages. Presumably the entire staff had been at Himena’s having coffees. That was Nikos’ assessment, and Eleni had seconded it. Between a bright sun and a gentle breeze, it was hard to blame anyone for taking advantage of the day.

  Rachel looked over her shoulder at the boys, who found their imaginary airplanes much more interesting than either of us were.