Secretive

by Sara Rosett

  “I wouldn’t call it brilliant. Devious. Cunning. Something along those lines.”

  Zoe ran her finger along the edge of the laptop. “I wonder why Bent called me. And why would he take ‘my case’ in the first place? I’m sure he recognized your name and Costa’s.

  “He probably saw an opportunity to fleece you—take your money, but give you no real information.”

  “He said he’d only charge me if he found something, but it looks like he wasn’t the most honest guy on the planet.” Zoe sat up straighter. “I just thought of this—do you think he told Costa I hired him?”

  Jack shook his head. “There was nothing about that in the emails, and those two seemed to communicate exclusively by email.”

  “So you don’t think Costa had anything to do with Bent’s death and the fire?”

  “Which we were so conveniently almost caught in? I don’t know. It could have been Costa, or it may have been someone else from the Ares side of his life. It looks like he dealt with a lot of shady characters.”

  Zoe chewed on her lip for a moment. “Jack, there’s another thing about these emails.”

  “Don’t tell me you’ve found another email account on that laptop.”

  “No.” Zoe smiled feebly. “I’d almost take another email account over what I just realized.”

  “That sounds ominous.”

  “Once the police find these draft emails, they’ll think we have an excellent motive for killing Bent.”

  ––––––––

  ANNA waited until after midnight to slip out of bed. Costa lay motionless beside her, his breathing heavy. He wouldn’t miss her.

  She knew that Costa could not resist panettone, an Italian sweetbread dessert with raisins and candied fruits. That’s why she put the powder from the crushed decongestants in his slice of the cake. The few times she’d seen him sick with a cold, the medicine had made him so drowsy that he could barely open his eyes for several hours.

  Wrapped in her thick robe, she took her cigarettes and walked down the chilly hallway into the offices. She went to his desk. He was keeping something from her and she wanted—no, she needed—to know what it was.

  He didn’t think she knew his habits, but she was more observant than he realized. Always security conscious and wary of hackers and investigators, she knew Costa changed his passwords to his accounts each week. She also knew he made a note of his new passwords on an index card and kept it under his blotter, religiously shredding the old index card himself each Monday morning.

  She consulted the index card, found the password for his computer and then for his private email account, and replaced the index card. The screen came to life, and she opened a special program on the computer that she had installed.

  Costa shied away from using his computer, but he couldn’t avoid it completely. When he did use it, he consistently deleted his Internet browsing history each day, but the handy program she’d installed kept a history of every site visited and all search words entered. She skimmed through links to banks, financial sites, and news until she came to several unusual links about art.

  She clicked on them, a smile growing as she read about a Monet oil painting called Marine. There was only one reason a man like Costa researched artwork. Either he was going to steal it, or he was going to buy it. Since the painting was already stolen, Anna was sure he intended to buy it. Probably with the money from the pump-and-dump stock scheme he’d engineered through Jack Andrews.

  He’d wanted to set Jack up as the fall guy for the transaction. He had some sort of personal vendetta with Andrews; that was why he’d waited for Andrews to resurface, to make sure he was actually dead. If he had resurfaced, Anna didn’t doubt that Andrews would be the scapegoat. With Andrews dead, Costa intended to put the blame on Jack’s ex-wife. Costa was not a man you wanted to cross. His hatred extended to the families of his enemies.

  She would have to be very careful, but she was sure the package Costa had mentioned on the phone tonight was this painting. She also found an order for a leather tube described as “perfect for transporting delicate oversized papers such as blueprints and artwork.”

  She couldn’t find any new emails, even in the draft folders that she knew Costa used, so she opened the history on the print queue. A few changes to the preferences on the printer menu, and she had a record of every item that Costa printed. She clicked on the single item listed, “letter.doc,” and printed her own copy, then deleted it from the history. She knew it was odd when she spotted Costa alone in the village a few days ago, walking quickly away from a post box. He rarely ventured out of the castle alone, and he never went to the village on his own.

  Anna took the document from the printer. A letter, how antiquated. No email trail and no phone record either to give away the connection between Costa and the recipient. She leaned back in the chair, little puffs of white air escaping as she breathed. There was a way out after all, and it was even simpler than her first plan.

  ––––––––

  IT was late Thursday afternoon by the time Zoe and Jack arrived in Lintzberg, and, with the early twilight of fall, the sun had slipped below the horizon leaving only the orange wash of sunset tinting the high points of the forested hills above the town. Situated in a hollow of land below a high precipice, the village was already in darkness, but lights shined from inside the windows of homes and shops. Glowing white Christmas lights hung across the main road, which curved through the town between rows of two-story stucco-faced buildings painted white, gray, and cream.

  Zoe pushed her chilly hands deeper into her pockets, glad that she didn’t have to expose one hand to the cold to pull her suitcase. They’d left it in the luggage storage area at the train station. At least the buildings sheltered them from the icy wind that had sliced through the fibers of Zoe’s coat the moment they emerged from the train.

  The little town was busy with activity as small cars zipped by them on the narrow road, and people moved along the sidewalk, some carrying baskets filled with the day’s shopping.

  “How far is your car?” Zoe asked as they trudged along.

  “Up there.” Jack pointed to the outcropping of rock, a dark black blob against the star-speckled sky. “I left it in the castle’s parking lot. I didn’t want to draw anyone’s attention. It’s been there for weeks. If it was suddenly gone, it might arouse suspicion,” Jack said, moving on through the crowd of people wearing heavy coats and scarves, their breath making little wispy clouds as they exhaled.

  Zoe rubbed her hand across her eyes. “Of course, it’s at the top of a mountain,” she muttered.

  Jack turned to her. “Say something?”

  “Just ignore me. I’m tired and crabby. And worried,” she added, thinking of Bent’s motionless body.

  They’d spent most of the time on the train from Paris going over the draft emails and searching the computer for more information, but they hadn’t found anything else as revealing as the emails. They’d arrived in Stuttgart, Germany at four in the morning then switched to the first of two regional trains that brought them to Lintzberg.

  Their train had been delayed out of Stuttgart, causing them to miss their next one, and they’d had to spend two hours in a small German hamlet that Zoe couldn’t even remember the name of, much less pronounce. Her grasp of one foreign language, Spanish, had been basic, but enough that when she was in Italy she could decipher some of the Italian signs, even catch a few words of Italian, but she had no clue about the German words or signs. The incomprehensible strings of letters made her feel completely out of her element, despite having edited several German guidebooks.

  She knew part of her discombobulated feeling came from lack of sleep. She’d tried to catch a few hours sleep on the regional trains, but there had been too many questions circulating through her mind. She hadn’t been able to relax. Unlike Jack, who reclined his seat, crossed his arms, and was snoring in about five seconds.

  “Come on, where’s the sightseeing fanat
ic I know? I thought you’d love this—a quaint, German village at Christmas.”

  “I can’t take in quaint right now.”

  “Let’s get some food. We’ve got time,” Jack said as the road widened into an open cobblestoned area with a towering Christmas tree decorated in red stars and Santa hats. Small shops ringed three sides of the open area and a brick church with a gothic-style spire dominated the fourth side.

  Zoe led the way to an open-air vendor who was set up near the Christmas tree. A woman was leaving with a cup of what looked like hot chocolate. Zoe pointed to the cup and held up two fingers, after glancing at Jack with raised eyebrows to see if he wanted one.

  “I’m afraid that’s the extent of my German communication abilities right now. I can’t remember anything beyond bitte and danka.”

  “You got the job done. That’s all that matters.” Jack handed some money that they’d exchanged in one of the train stations to the man behind the counter. “Do you want one of those?” Jack asked nodding to a customer standing at one of the high tables eating a sausage on a stick.

  “Sure. When in Rome and all that.”

  A few minutes later, Jack handed her a sausage and they moved to a tall table.

  “It’s good,” Zoe pronounced after a few bites. “Spicy, but good. Of course, I’m starving, so I’d probably down some cardboard right now and say it was fantastic.”

  “This is definitely better than cardboard.” Jack held out a thin pancake that had been folded in half then folded over again. “Try it. It’s a crepe filled with Nutella.”

  Zoe took a bite and closed her eyes in bliss as she chewed. “I think I need one of those, too,” she said. She opened her eyes and realized Jack was smiling, his eyes half-lowered. She looked away quickly and felt her cheeks heat up despite the freezing air.

  “Have another bite,” Jack said in a deep, almost lazy tone that made her stomach do a little flip.

  “I—ah—thanks, but I’m full now.” Zoe looked around for something to distract her from the crazy feelings she was having. What was it about Jack? How did he do this to her? He’d been gone for months, and she’d decided to keep all her options open, but then he offers her a bite of food, and she practically needed to sit down because her knees felt so weak? Her knees had no business going all wobbly on her. They had other things, problems—big problems—to sort out. Would the information Jack had convince the police they were innocent victims in this mess? Would they believe Jack and she had nothing to do with Bent’s death and the fire at his office?

  “So where are these files again?” Zoe asked, her voice brisk.

  “Back to business? You’re not usually so tightly focused.”

  “I’m focused on getting the flash drive. Our whole reason for being here.”

  He sighed with disappointment. “If you insist. The drive is in my room.” He nodded at the dark precipice overhead. “In the castle.”

  “So tell me about the castle.” Zoe sipped her hot chocolate. “I can’t even see it.”

  Jack finished the crepe and wiped his mouth with a thin paper napkin before he spoke. “It’s set back a few feet from the edge. You’d be able to see one of the towers during the day. It was once a triangular fortress with towers at each corner. It was shaped like an isosceles triangle, two long walls and one short one. The short wall looked out over the valley. Today, only the short wall and the tower connecting it to one of the longer walls are standing. The rest of the place is in ruins. Some wealthy industrialist bought it in the eighteen-hundreds and restored the tower and some of the buildings that adjoin the standing wall.”

  “Is it a tourist site? Can you visit it?”

  “Not now. It used to be, but Costa bought it and closed the livable portion to visitors. The ruins are open from June to August. There’s quite a bit of rumbling in the town about the reclusive owner. Most people here have never seen him, only the Mercedes with tinted windows that he drives to and from.”

  “How could he buy a castle when he’s a wanted criminal?”

  “He probably had an attorney act on his behalf during the negotiation. I’m sure that the title is in an alias, or he’s bought off any local officials so they will look the other way and protect him from potential investigation.”

  “And you maintain the grounds there?”

  “Yes. Temporarily. The prior groundskeeper had an accident with a chainsaw. Cut up his leg. He’s going to be fine, but he’s afraid that if his reclusive employer found out about his diminished work abilities he might lose his job. He was more than happy to have someone step in and fill his shoes.”

  “Without his employer knowing it?”

  Jack nodded. “Fortunately, the only other staff is a cook-slash-housekeeper who comes in from the village when Costa is in residence, and she happens to be the permanent groundskeeper’s aunt, so she won’t give the game away. She wants her nephew to keep his job.”

  “And how are your groundskeeping skills?” Zoe asked, thinking of the minimal yard work Jack had done at home.

  “Let’s just say it’s a good thing it’s winter,” Jack conceded. “The heavy pruning is finished, and there’s no mowing this time of year. I open the gate in the morning, do minor repairs and maintenance during the day, and lock up at night.”

  “Sounds more like a general handyman,” Zoe said. “Don’t think I’ll forget this. I’ve got a kitchen ceiling that needs some drywall. Sounds like you’re just the man for it.”

  “Believe me, I’d rather be there than here, avoiding Costa.”

  “And have you been able to do that? Avoid him?”

  “Yes. It’s not too hard. He stays mostly in the refurbished living quarters on the second and third floor. My room is tiny. I think it was originally a storage room. Either that or part of the dungeon. I make sure Costa and his entourage are out before I venture up to their rooms.”

  “His entourage?”

  “Only two people. Ernesto Moretti, an oversized, no-neck kind of guy. Chauffeur-slash-bodyguard. And, Anna Whitmore, his American secretary-slash-mistress.”

  “Wow. He must have been hit hard by the downturn in the economy. Does everyone who works for him have to do double duty?”

  “Tough times everywhere, I guess, even for criminals. No, seriously, he’s just being smart. A large group of people would attract more attention. He can move quickly, and he limits the potential for leaks when he only has a few people around him.”

  “So we walk to the top of the mountain, get the flash drive with the files, and then get it to the FBI,” Zoe said as she gazed across the square at the people shopping or pausing for a hot drink.

  “You take it to the FBI. I stay here and keep an eye on Costa.”

  “I don’t like that part. Nothing good ever seems to happen when we split up.”

  “Not what I want to do either, but I have to stay. If Costa disappears again, we’re right back where we were.”

  “No,” Zoe countered. “We have evidence of what he’s done. With the draft emails and your info, we can prove we weren’t involved in the pump-and-dump scam.”

  “But our position is even stronger, if we can pinpoint where Costa is.”

  Zoe knew he was right, so she didn’t argue with him. Instead she said, “This really is a quaint little town.” Now that she’d had some food and the hot chocolate had warmed her, she could appreciate her surroundings.

  Small evergreen trees in pots edged the street. Single gold bows were tied at the top and streamers of ribbons draped from the bows straight to the ground. Garlands threaded with lights hung in scallops from balconies and storefronts.

  She frowned as she caught sight of a familiar silver-headed figure. “That can’t be...” she murmured.

  Jack’s relaxed attitude vanished. “What?”

  “There, on the far side of the open area where the cars are creeping through the pedestrians. Is that Sam?”

  “Which car?”

  “The small one.”

  “They�
��re all small.”

  “The smallest one. Blue.” Zoe pointed. “The one that’s turning onto that street beyond the church.” As the car turned, she got a good look at the driver’s profile. “That is Sam. How can he be here? Surely there’s not another tracker on us.”

  “No, I don’t think so,” Jack said, as he reached for her hand. They hurried away from the exposed table, merging into a group of people crossing to the other side of the square. “He didn’t seem to be looking for us—or anyone else, for that matter.”

  “You’re right. He didn’t even scan the crowds. All he was interested in was turning onto this road,” Zoe said as they left the open area and began climbing up the steeply inclining road. “Where does this go, do you know?”

  Jack glanced up. “The castle.”

  Chapter Eighteen

  ANNA was browsing on-line, looking at handbags and considering which Louis Vuitton bag she would tell Costa she wanted for Christmas when she heard the commotion, feet moving rapidly through the hall and the slam of doors. It had been a fairly busy day, and she had been careful to act as she always did, and not vary her routine. Costa had seemed exactly the same, so she didn’t think she’d given herself away.

  She left the drawing room and followed the sounds of the raised voices to the office then gently opened the door a crack. Costa stood, his arms braced on the desktop. Another man with gray hair, but a young face stood on the other side of the desk.

  Anna hadn’t seen him before, but she’d bet this was Sam, the American who had been monitoring Jack Andrew’s ex-wife and watching for Jack. If he was here, things were coming to a head.