by Kate Collins
I glanced in surprise at the sandal-clad feet of the marble Athena and saw that Case had indeed scraped off a bit of what appeared to be a cement coating.
“I’ll take that as no,” he said. “Therefore, my question for you is, why would someone put cement over the sculptor’s name unless it wasn’t a genuine Antonius?”
I absorbed the information with a sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach. Had my pappoús been ripped off?
Case straightened his jacket cuffs, clearly satisfied that he’d made his point.
And indeed, he had. With one eye on the black clouds overhead I asked, “How long will it take you to find out if she’s authentic?”
“Five minutes, and I won’t even charge you for my services.”
I stared at him in surprise.
Case smiled, revealing a charming dimple in his cheek. “I’m joking.”
His teasing helped break the tension between us, and I couldn’t help but smile back. I glanced at my watch. “All right, Case Donnelly, you’ve got five minutes.”
As he crouched down to work, my nerves kicked in. What if this outrageously expensive statue was a fake, not even worth what we’d paid to move it from the Talbots’ estate to the diner and then to Spencer’s? I felt sick to my stomach thinking about it.
I’d protested mightily that it was too big for the diner and too far out of my grandparents’ budget anyway, but as always, my voice went unheard. The family had gathered behind my stubborn pappoús because he was the head of the family and his decisions were final, regardless of what his college-educated granddaughter had to say.
The problem was twofold: it was too large for The Parthenon’s front entryway, and Spencer’s was stuck with it until we could convince Pappoús we needed to sell it, which didn’t seem likely. He loved his Treasure of Athena and would often bring his lunch down and sit at one of the outdoor tables gazing at her as though waiting for her to come to life.
As Case worked, I had to admit that the statue was beautiful. I hadn’t seen such exquisite detail in a sculpture since I’d toured Greek museums with my family years ago.
Standing at over six feet tall, Athena wore a traditional flowing toga gathered over one shoulder with a clasp so that the material draped down over her small, firm breasts. Another layer of material swirled down from her waist to the sandals on her feet. Her hair was swept up beneath a helmet that covered the top of her head. Her arms were bare and slender, but her strength was evident. One hand rested on her right hip, the other hand was outstretched in greeting. She was the goddess of war and wisdom, strong, courageous, and independent, none of which I felt.
Case blew away the dust he’d scraped off, uncovering a small brass plate attached to the bottom of one of Athena’s soles. I knelt down for a closer look as he wiped off the brass with his palm. “There’s your marking.”
I squinted at the etching but couldn’t make sense of it. “Is that in Greek?”
“You don’t read Greek?”
“I usually skipped Greek school. Does that mean the statue’s an authentic Antonius?”
“She’s authentic, all right, and worth a small fortune.”
As he hoisted the sculpture back to its standing position, I stared at it in awe, my heart racing as the words small fortune echoed in my head. We owned an authentic Greek Antonius? Surely Pappoús wouldn’t mind selling now. And just think what they could do with that money to spruce up the interior of their outdated diner.
Case held out a hand to help me up. “There’s one more thing you should know about her, Athena.”
“And that is?”
He brushed dirt off the statue’s exquisite marble face. “She’s mine.”
CHAPTER TWO
A bolt of lightning lit up the night sky, and the clouds opened up, the sudden downpour sending me dashing for the door. I pushed it open, gritting my teeth in anger as Case followed me inside.
“That statue is not yours,” I called over my shoulder, “and I knew I shouldn’t have trusted you. I should’ve called the police when I had the chance.”
“Call them right now if you want, but remember, you told me you wanted to know whether she was authentic.”
I whirled on him. “I’m supposed to believe that some ancient Greek letters—which I can’t read by the way—prove you own her?”
In a calm voice he said, “No, the proof of ownership is hidden inside a compartment beneath that brass plate.”
“You really expect me to believe that?”
“As soon as the rain stops, I’ll go back outside and show you.”
“Not happening for two reasons.” I tapped my watch. “I have to leave right now, and my grandfather bought her fair and square. The end.”
Case pulled out a chair at the long oak table and sat down. “Show me the sales receipt and I’ll go.”
“What?” I spluttered. “You promised you’d go if I let you prove you didn’t break in.”
“I will go—as soon as I see the sales receipt.”
“Look, I’m hungry and late as it is. If you want to see the receipt, you’ll have to come back in the morning. The garden center opens at nine a.m.”
“Be reasonable, Athena. How long will it take you to pull out a piece of paper? Another two minutes? As you said, you’re already late.”
My cell phone beeped to signal an incoming text. I glanced at the screen and saw Kevin’s name: Maître d’ will hold our table only ten more minutes. Better hurry. Xoxo K.
Muttering under my breath, I texted back: Be there shortly.
Case cleared his throat. “Boyfriend getting impatient?”
I scowled at him, but he merely smiled and tapped his fingers on the tabletop.
“Fine. I’ll show you but then you have to leave.”
“You have my word on it.”
I marched through the big converted barn and into the office, my leather flats pounding the wooden floor. Still muttering, I yanked open the old green filing cabinet and rustled through the files. I found the one marked Statue and thumbed through the papers until I found the receipt. I was ready to pull it out when a thought occurred to me. The only way this stranger could’ve tracked the statue to our business was to know we’d purchased it at the estate sale. Then why was he playing dumb?
I felt a cold shudder ripple down my spine. What if my instincts were wrong? My mother had often told me that I was too trusting, especially with strangers. And it was strange that I’d just let a man I didn’t know inside the building with me. I straightened at the thought, feeling the sudden need to escape.
I turned to find Case casually leaning against the doorway, looking around with interest. I had to admit that he was quite attractive and really did seem like he was telling the truth, but something about him still bothered me. Trying not to betray my nerves, I pretended to search further, then shut the filing cabinet with a bang. “I don’t have it.”
He studied me for a few seconds. “I see. Then who does?”
“I’m assuming you know where my grandfather acquired the statue, so I suggest you take it up with them.”
“You’re talking about the Talbots?”
I nodded and pulled out my phone. “Now, I’m going to ask you one last time to leave or I will call the—”
“Not necessary. That’s all I needed to know. Have a nice dinner.”
With that, he turned and walked out.
* * *
“What were you thinking, Athena?” Kevin scolded, making me feel as though I were five years old. “You could’ve been killed. You should’ve run back inside, locked the door, and called for help.”
What I was thinking was that I should’ve eaten supper with my son instead of sitting here listening to Kevin’s annoying lecture. I’d had enough of those during my marriage to last a lifetime. The only reason I’d accepted his late date was to keep my mother off my back. As long as she believed I was seeing a “good Greek boy” she wouldn’t try to fix me up with anyone else. As the quote went, “Bet
ter the devil you know than the devil you don’t.” At least I was dining at an upscale Italian restaurant, a nice change of pace from Greek food.
Kevin paused as the waiter refilled our water glasses. “Next time phone the police before you go exploring a noise in the dark. Or better yet, call me. I would’ve come right over and thrown that bástardos out on his ear.”
I reached for my water glass, thought better of it, and picked up my wine instead, trying to control the urge to fire back at him that I wasn’t some helpless female who needed a big, strong male to protect her—even though I felt that way sometimes.
But all I said was, “I’ll take that under advisement, counselor.”
“You don’t have to be snippy.” He reached for his glass and finished his merlot in one big gulp.
My guilt kicked in instantly. “I’m sorry, Kev. It’s been a long day. Let’s change the subject.”
“Good thinking.” He snapped his fingers to get our waiter’s attention and held up his empty wineglass. I ducked my head, afraid to see the expressions on the other diners’ faces. What kind of person snapped his fingers at a server?
“By the way,” Kevin said, as the waiter filled his glass hastily, “I was asked to do a presentation for a political science class at Sequoia Community College. The professor asked me to speak on Roe v. Wade. So I’ve been mulling over a few ideas. . . .”
I sipped my wine as he talked, thinking back to when I’d first met Kevin Coreopsis thirteen years ago, when our mothers had arranged for us to attend the annual high school spring dance together. The nice-looking, curly haired senior class president and I had dated casually until he’d gone east to attend college and law school. We’d lost touch completely after he’d taken a position as a bankruptcy attorney at a high-powered New York law firm, and I’d moved to Chicago, and that had been fine with me.
Last winter Kevin had moved back to our small town of Sequoia to “reconnect with” his “roots,” as he’d called it. But I’d learned through the Greek grapevine that he’d actually returned because he’d been let go by his firm. Now he worked at a local law firm as a legal aide. It was quite a step down from his previous position, but he kept saying something big was in the works, he just couldn’t talk about it yet. I had a feeling it was something he made up to save face.
Kevin was still handsome and fit, although his face had rounded out and his dark hair had thinned, but there were so many things that annoyed me about him. The main one was his possessiveness. As soon as I’d come back home, my mom had invited him over for dinner, and ever since, he’d acted as though it was a given that we were a couple and therefore he should know everything about my life. For that reason alone, I chose not to tell him about the Treasure of Athena’s history and potential worth.
I caught sight of a very large bald man in an ill-fitting brown suit heading toward us. I immediately grabbed my menu and opened it up, whispering to Kevin from behind it, “Don’t look now but here comes Donald Fatsis.”
A wet, folded newspaper landed with a plop next to my water glass, an article on it circled in red. “Do you believe this?”
Fatsis, owner of the Acropolis Art Gallery, a pricey shop on the block of Greene Street known as Little Greece, yanked out the chair between Kevin and me and dropped his portly body onto it. He slapped one beefy hand on top of the newspaper. “That greedy son of a—” He caught himself as diners around us began turning their heads, but then began talking again just as loudly. “Talbot Junior is going ahead with his father’s plans.”
“What?” I was so stunned I had to set my wine down before I spilled it. “I thought Grayson Talbot Senior canceled the project, and even signed a document to that effect.”
“He did, but we don’t have the document,” Fatsis grumbled. “The GMA let him walk right out of the meeting with it and his promise to file it with the court. And then, what do you know, he up and dies before filing the damn thing.”
“Then someone has to have it,” I said. “What about his assistant, Harry Pepper?”
“I’d bet good money that Talbot’s son had that document destroyed,” Fatsis said, “so he could go ahead with the project. Remember, Junior’s even more dangerous now that Senior’s kicked the bucket. He’s younger, greedier, and has much more influence on the town council now that he has control of the entire Talbot fortune.”
I reached for my glass to take a steadying sip. That meant The Parthenon, as well as my grandparents’ apartment above it, was once again in jeopardy, as was all of Little Greece. I felt a knot forming in the pit of my stomach.
It wasn’t until after I’d moved back home that I’d learned about the plan to raze the block of Greek-owned shops and build a huge condominium complex in its place. My family had been in a state of panic but hadn’t told me because of what I had been going through at the time. The condominium project had been the brainchild of real estate mogul Grayson Talbot Sr., and his son Grayson Talbot Jr., the most ruthless, politically connected, and extremely disliked men in town.
The Greek Merchants’ Association, or the GMA, had met with the town council and the Talbots many times, begging them to reconsider how their project would hurt not only the families who owned the shops but also the town itself, whose main flow of income came from tourism. But the Talbots had refused to budge, and the councilmen, as usual, had sided with them, their position being that Little Greece was old and outdated, a hindrance to drawing in more tourists, which was far from the truth.
But then, at the last Greek Merchants’ Association meeting, Talbot Sr., in an apparent change of heart, had canceled the project, shocking not only the GMA but Talbot’s son as well, who had immediately walked out. However, shortly before Talbot Sr. could file the necessary papers to officially stop the project, he’d died in what the coroner had ruled an accidental drowning in his bathtub, something no one in the Greek community believed. As my mother said, it was simply too coincidental.
And to make things even more suspicious, none of the town officials had demanded an inquiry, and Talbot Jr., or Sonny, as he was called by my family, hadn’t even ordered an autopsy. When I heard that, a red flag was raised instantly in my mind. My first instinct had been to tell my father to have the GMA fight the council’s ruling, question the coroner, and demand answers, but Kevin had talked me out of it, reminding me that the Talbots owned this town and there wasn’t anything the GMA could do.
“Remind me again, Donald,” Kevin asked, “when is the next GMA meeting?”
“Tomorrow at eight p.m. at Spencer’s,” Fatsis answered.
“Which is when you should’ve brought this up,” Kevin said, giving the man a withering glance. “We were in the middle of a conversation.”
Actually, it was more like a monologue.
“Well, excuse me,” Fatsis said snidely. “The evening newspaper just came out and I thought you’d want to know.”
“I already knew,” Kevin fired back.
I stared at him in surprise. “You knew and didn’t tell me?”
His face flushed a deep red. “I didn’t want to spoil our dinner.”
I narrowed my eyes at Kevin, then turned back to Don. “Thanks for the information.”
“You’re welcome.” Fatsis pushed himself to his feet and pulled out a handkerchief to mop his perspiring face, pausing to say, “I hope to see you at the meeting this time, Athena.” And then he ambled toward the door.
“Didn’t I say you should have come?” Kevin asked in his superior tone of voice.
I hated arguments, so I held my tongue.
As soon as Fatsis was gone, I picked up the newspaper to read the article and then wished I hadn’t. As Fatsis had said, the plan to level the entire block of Little Greece was still going forward despite the now deceased landowner’s last-minute promise to halt it. “Demolition Phase One is scheduled to begin in thirteen days,” I said to Kevin, “and you didn’t think to tell me? You know The Parthenon is on that block!”
“I found out just th
is morning.” Kevin shook out his napkin and placed it on his lap, as though it was no big deal. “The GMA is going to need a court injunction to halt the project until they can get a hearing on the matter.”
“Seriously, Kevin, do you really think a judge will rule against the Talbot Corporation in favor of a handful of Greek shop owners? I still say the best approach—”
“Don’t worry about it, honey.” He reached across the table to pat my hand. “I’ll be there to guide them through the filing process.”
“I can predict right now the GMA won’t go along with taking the matter to court.”
“That’s why you should attend tomorrow’s meeting with me. Our two voices combined could be very persuasive. Because of your newspaper experience and knowledge of big city politics, they trust you. With your encouragement, I’ll bet they’ll even let me speak for them before the town council.” He gave my hand a squeeze. “Admit it, Athena, we’d make quite a team.”
I eased my hand away from his. Kevin might have thought he had good intentions, but sometimes—make that most of the time—he came across as way too self-important.
“Hey,” he said, lifting my chin, “why so down in the mouth? I’m here for you. Now wipe off that scowl and give me a big smile.”
I hated it when he treated me like a child. But because his feelings were so easily hurt, I merely took a deep breath and gave him that big, fake smile he wanted.
“Good. Just remember, no matter what happens, I will be there for you. Now I want you to put your hand in mine and promise me you won’t let this new development get you down.”
Truthfully, he was getting me down.
“Come on,” he said again. “Give me your hand.”
At that moment the waiter set a basket of Italian bread between us.
“Thank God,” I said on a sigh, and reached for the basket.
Kevin gave me a puzzled look. “Thank God?”
Thinking quickly, I said, “Thank God the bread’s here.” I picked out a slice and reached for the butter. “I’m starving.”
IT’S ALL GREEK TO ME