My favorite place in the world was the window seat in Ya-Yá’s front room. It was covered with old quilts and worn pillows and caught the afternoon light just right. Those afternoons in the window seat sipping an icy frappé and flipping through the pages of a dog-eared book from the market restored my aching heart.
Ya-Yá’s home was one of the last solitary buildings on her street. Most of the old houses in downtown Athens had been replaced by apartment buildings or turned into shops.
Because of a lack of space, if someone wanted to build a new house, they would just build on top of someone else’s. But Ya-Yá had no local family to build above her, and so her house had stood firm against the tide of progress. She even had a small, cluttered garden where a twisty cypress tree stood tall behind the cast iron fence among a few fragrant citrus trees.
It was an incredibly valuable bit of property, using up that much space for a simple, run-down home. The bank had been quick to point out the wisdom of selling. The property would fall to them if I did not fulfill every task specified in the Will.
I gulped and attempted further speech. As long as I didn’t look at his photo album, I was pretty sure I could accomplish a few sentences. “Mr. Elliot, why don’t you get your lunch to go, and we can head straight to Ya-Yá’s cold storage unit to pick up Chrysanthemum.”
There, that wasn’t so bad. Although, the use of “cold storage unit” and “Chrysanthemum” in the same sentence sent gooseflesh creeping across my skin. Ugh!
Shane Elliott was insufferable, but I absolutely had to fulfill my grandmother’s last wishes. If Chrysanthemum must be stuffed and placed upon the mantel in two days’ time, then I would see it done.
3
Chrysanthemum On Ice
It took a fair bit of searching the day before, but I had finally located Ya-Yá’s storage receipt for Chrysanthemum. It was in her cookie jar along with half a batch of semi-petrified Kourabiedes or Greek butter cookies and a handful of individually wrapped peppermints.
Receipt in hand, Shane and I took a taxi to Athens Professional Freezing Services.
The last time I’d ridden in a taxi in Athens, I’d been a teenager and immune to the stark terror that gripped me as we zipped through the narrow, crowded streets. Only compact cars crammed the roads, but they made up for their lack in size with an obstreperous flare of daring and speed.
Shane seemed oblivious to our peril.
An awkward silence hung over us for some minutes. We were traveling to retrieve a frozen cat after all. Could there be any quest more awkward that that?
Shane took in the scenery with intent scrutiny.
Strange, I couldn’t imagine the bustling, Mediterranean metropolis charming a Montana man. I’d heard they were all about wide open spaces, vast herds of leaping antelope, and fending off bears in the dead of night with only a bowie knife and a toothbrush. Maybe it was just the fascination of coming out of a place he understood and leaping into something totally new.
Athens was impressive with its vast blue sky, salt-scented Mediterranean beaches, and the leafy shadows of orange and lemon trees cooling each bustling street. But my city was also crowded, polluted, and incredibly hot.
I had expected Shane to note Athens’s every deficiency and none of her charms.
Finally, Shane turned away from the window and held my gaze. “Something confounds me, Miss Jack.”
“It’s Jacqueline. And I’m not surprised.”
His mouth tipped in a lopsided grin, and I did notice that his eyes were a pleasant shade of blue. Along with his light brown hair and the touch of stubble along his jaw, Shane had a certain amount of appeal. But he was not the dental surgeon I was destined for.
I’d spent three months in college helping a friend with a project for her psychology major. She made an all-inclusive testing system to find one’s perfect match.
I was waiting for Mr. Right. He would be a dental surgeon with a passion for financing foreign missions, and a love of Bonsai gardening. Neither Evzen nor Shane fit the bill. I was only twenty-seven. I could be patient and await the Bonsai gardening dental surgeon that God would surely bring my way.
Although, God was a little behind schedule. My prayer chart/life plan clearly stated that I was supposed to meet him two years ago. Perhaps I should have spent more prayer hours discussing specific time frames? I tore my attention away from the dental professional of my dreams and back to the taxidermist of my nightmares.
“What…confounds you, Mr. Elliott?”
“Why go to all the trouble of flying a Montana boy across two oceans to come and stuff your cat? Aren’t there any taxidermists in Greece? Or did you just flip through a U.S. phone book and like the sound of my name?”
Argh, that flirty smile again. But there really was no way to make my explanation sound even remotely sane, so I simply plunged ahead. “Chrysanthemum was my Ya-Yá’s, my grandmother’s, cat and she had a coupon.”
“Hmmm…but the cost of my plane ticket has surely negated any savings. You must have really wanted me to fly over here, Miss Jack.”
“It’s Jacqueline, and yes, I know. I am losing a terrible amount of money. But…” This was ridiculous. I sighed and handed him my Ya-Yá’s list.
Shane took the paper and spread it out against the back of the seat. His grin widened as he read.
“She died unexpectedly, and this was found with her Will,” I said. “Her lawyer doesn’t know if she meant it to be, but since it was in the same envelope, this list is now part of the document. The bank reads it as a collection of requirements that I must fulfill before I can inherit Ya-Yá’s house. I spent every summer with her when I was a girl. There is no other place in the world like Ya-Yá’s home. I can’t let the bank take it.”
I looked up, bracing myself for that teasing smile.
Instead, Shane met my eyes and simply nodded. “I understand,” he said. “My grandfather loved the sea.”
For a moment I thought that was all he was going to say.
Shane sat silently beside me in the cab, looking out the window as the city blurred past. Then he startled me by picking up the conversation, softly, as though the memories might evaporate if spoken with too much force. “Grandpa learned how to drive a boat before he ever sat behind the wheel of a car and lied about his age to join the navy.” Shane flashed me that quick, crooked smile. “I grew up on tall tales about the ocean. When someone is precious to you, sometimes you soak up a bit of who they are.”
OK, so perhaps Shane wasn’t the flannel-wearing ogre I had imagined. I yanked my gaze away from his profile as he grew silent, staring out the window as though waiting to catch a glimpse of his grandfather sailing on the bright Mediterranean ocean. But his new non-ogre status did not make Shane a dental surgeon.
The taxi rolled to a stop outside a long row of storage units.
Shane exited his door. He walked around and opened mine before I had a chance to process all that he had said. He was right though.
The love and attention Ya-Yá lavished on me every summer had seeped in and changed me. Her house was a symbol of all that.
Shane offered me his hand. “Well, Miss Jack. Let’s go find your cat.”
“It’s Jacqueline.” I took his hand and let him help me from the car. Hey, there’s no use getting all grubby scrambling out of vehicles if someone’s offered to help. Right?
The manager of the storage units glanced at my receipt and walked us along a long line of garage-style doors to unit twenty-three.
“This can’t be right. She wouldn’t need all this space for one cat.”
“It was a fat cat, right? Big fluffy Persian?” The manager replied in Greek.
After eight summers of listening to Ya-Yá muttering in the kitchen, I could understand him. I just couldn’t speak the language very well. He was right. Chrysanthemum had been quite obese in her prime. While there were too many starving animals on the streets of Athens, Chrysanthemum had never been one of them. Nonetheless, she was not so large
that she needed an entire storage unit.
“Not this fat.” I replied in English.
The manager winked at Shane when he rolled up the metal door. The name “Adras” was stitched across his breast pocket. A cool blast of air chilled the sweat from my face and sent a shiver across my skin. The storage unit had been divided up into row after row of refrigerated drawers. Like a safety deposit vault at a bank…or a morgue.
“Most people want more space. They have a small business, need to store extra merchandise. So we sell the whole unit. But a few just need a spot for their extra freezer jam, whole wheat baking supplies, or the remains of their pet. We have this unit for that.”
Shane saw me shiver and held out his flannel. “Are you cold?”
“Not that cold.”
He smiled and slipped the flannel back on. I couldn’t help but take note of how his tan, muscular arms and broad back stretched the thin cotton of his t-shirt. Focus, girl. The cat. Go get that cat. I snapped around and followed Adras to one of the drawers in the back.
He glanced down at my receipt and unlocked drawer number twelve.
I grimaced and avoided looking inside.
“Your Ya-Yá isn’t as strange as you think. We have several cats.” He waved toward the other drawers. “We even have a hedgehog.”
“Oh, good.” I let out the breath I’d been holding. A low cardboard box sat inside Ya-Yá’s drawer. At least I wouldn’t have to hold Chrysanthemum on my lap. I eased closer to the frigid metal drawer.
Shane watched me a moment, then stepped forward and picked up the box. “Please, allow me.”
OK, this wasn’t so bad. Despite his propensity for flannel, I gave him a small smile and followed Adras to the office where I cancelled Ya-Yá’s account. Perhaps the worst part of this whole ridiculous situation was over.
Shane would handle Chrysanthemum from here on out, and all I had to do was pay the man and send him on his way.
4
The Black Van
Ya-Yá’s house stood on a busy corner just a few blocks away from the Monastiraki Flea Market. It was from an older time when Athens’s streets were less crowded and a family could afford a home instead of only an apartment.
It was a good thing my boss, Pricilla, had connections in the city. I had a meeting with my new employer tomorrow. It needed to go well because I would need every bit of my increased salary as a bridal designer to pay the taxes on Ya-Yá’s old home.
The house was huge by Athens’s standards. Her home was lime-washed stucco in a pale, maize yellow. It had a flat roof, striped cloth awnings above the windows, and a host of odd angles and nooks. Several little balconies and one crooked stair jutted out from the side. A cast iron fence surrounded a crowded little garden dominated by the scent of jasmine and a wind-twisted cypress that now held an orange tree house. An arched gate interrupted the garden fence.
I paid the cab fare and paused for a moment as I pulled out my keys to unlock the door. I could almost hear Ya-Yá clanking around the kitchen making gemista, a savory summer dish of stuffed and roasted Greek tomatoes served with feta cheese and warm bread. In the process, she would most likely lose a couple of wooden spoons, three different jars of olive oil, and the cell phone I’d gotten her ten years ago that she never figured out how to retrieve her messages on.
But even with all of the misplaced items and constant grumblings in Greek, our meal in the garden at night would be perfect. The gentle chirp of crickets and a jasmine-scented breeze would wick away the stress of the day; after dinner, coffee and Baklava, which was always like the touch of heaven on my tongue.
How many times had I pulled up a stool to the kitchen counter and plucked a gooey square from one of her delicate china platters? Then we would walk to the open roof cinema and watch an old Greek comedy or an American western until the air was finally cool.
A broad hand on my shoulder made me jump.
“Jacqueline, are you all right?” Shane stood at my shoulder.
His eyes were a darker blue than before and so intent that I dropped the keys twice before I managed to shrug off his concern and open the door so he could carry the frozen cat inside.
The walls of my sanctuary were painted a warm buttery cream, and the shutters on Ya-Yá’s windows were golden poppy. The floors were a soft brown tile and felt cool against my feet as I slipped off my shoes.
“Which sink should I use?”
I turned around to look at Shane. “To wash? There’s a bathroom down the hall to the right.”
“No, to skin out the cat.”
I froze.
He didn’t actually mean…his eyes were a grave, solemn blue. Not a twinkle in sight. Oh, my goodness, he was serious.
I pressed my hand against my mouth. Bile burned in my throat, and I had to lean against the wall for a moment and hold my breath to keep from retching. Really? This could not be happening. “Don’t you have a workshop for that sort of thing?” I muttered between my fingers.
“Yes, I do. It’s back in Montana.”
“Can you do it in the garden?”
“This is a white cat, Jack. I need a clean surface unless you want her to look as if she was savaged by wolves.”
“It’s Jacqueline,” I gasped out. I turned and pressed my forehead against the wall, hoping for a brilliant idea that did not involve a dead cat in Ya-Yá’s kitchen sink. My breathing slowly returned to normal. OK, this was like a terrible trial or unlikely quest. If I were a young knight in a storybook, I would probably be fighting a dragon right now or saving some ditzy princess from a tower. I could do this. For Ya-Yá’s house, I would have to do this. Chrysanthemum must be preserved.
I turned and tapped my fingernails against Ya-Yá’s ancient pine bookcase. A yellow legal pad and my favorite purple pen were crammed into the top shelf. I’d already filled five pages with notes from all of the “wrong number” calls since I moved in. I picked up the pen, straightened the pad of paper, and turned back to Shane. I grimaced and stared at the box full of cat. At the rate I’d been blowing through money, I couldn’t rent a place for Shane to work. I’d already booked a room for him in the hotel across the street. Sadly, I was fairly certain that they would not permit him to…work in their sink, either. I swallowed against the burning in my throat, sighed, and closed my eyes.
“The kitchen is to the left. How long did you say this will take?”
“It will take at least twelve straight hours of work, possibly more. However, I’m thinking you want me out of the house in the evening?”
I nodded.
“I think I can be out of your hair before your coupon expires. I’ll need to cure the skin and make a mold of the rest—”
“I trust you.” I hurried to stop him before he could describe anything else. “Um…I’ll be in the garden if you need anything.” I put the kettle on.
Shane opened one of the large leather suitcases he’d brought with him.
As soon as a slight puff of steam rose from the kettle, I poured my tea and escaped before anything too macabre had occurred.
On second thought…I hurried back into the kitchen, snatched up a hot pot, and filled its accompanying pitcher with water. I carefully did not look at Shane as I made my escape and plugged my hot pot into the outdoor outlet at the edge of the garden. There, I should be able to get tea without witnessing…anything.
I smoothed out my favorite quilt under the spreading palmetto and took a sip of tea. Better. I cracked open a bridal magazine to peruse last year’s designs. Work, at least, I could understand. There were a few embroidery styles that I wanted to look over before my meeting tomorrow. I wasn’t sure what examples Priscilla’s friend Agathi would want to see. I should be prepared to do something different if my current portfolio was insufficient.
The fashion magazine blurred. I made a second pot of tea, careful not to look inside. Then I pulled up a new book on my e-reader. The sun was just beginning to sink into the horizon and cricket song filled the garden when something star
tled me out of the story.
In my peripheral view, a black van slowed as it rounded the corner. Perhaps this book was a bit too exciting. The heroine had just walked into an underground cavern full of cursed treasure, hand-wringing villains, and an unlikely deluge of venomous snakes. The story must be making me jumpy. There was nothing sinister about the black van. It was just a van. A van that happened to be black and happened to slow on my street. End of story.
I’d finished my sixth cup of tea, when a scuffing sound near the gate made me jump.
Three men in ski masks had entered the garden behind me.
My heart rate spiked, and my hands trembled. Then I realized it couldn’t be real. I must have fallen asleep because, really? Ski masks? No criminal outside of a badly made 1960’s re-run would have been caught dead in a ski mask, especially in June.
The men were thickly built and silent as they crossed the lawn.
This would be easy; all I had to do was act brave, and my dream would take a turn for the better. Perhaps I could even flap my arms and fly away like in my recurring dream about the rabid hamsters.
“Excuse me, this is private property.” I jumped to my feet and took a step back, kicking myself for how breathy my voice sounded.
The men didn’t pause for conversation. One of them lunged forward and grabbed me by the arm.
I screeched and flapped my remaining arm as hard as I could. I did not take flight.
His hand clapped over my mouth before I could make enough noise to alert Shane. His rough hands on my arms felt horribly real.
As a gag was crammed into my mouth, I stared up into the calm, dark eyes of my assailant. This could not be happening. But somehow, it was. The gag was stiff and dry, and I sucked breaths around it in desperate little wheezes. OK, so I was actually being gagged, but this tacky kidnapping couldn’t be for real. Was it the Grecian version of April Fool’s Day?
Athens Ambuscade Page 2