Her Boyfriend's Bones

by Jeanne Matthews

  Her mouth worked but no words came out. She edged around and tried to look inside the storeroom again.

  “Had you read Phaedon’s journals before you gave them to Egan? You must have. Did Phaedon describe in his private papers how he’d turned your private museum into a secret armory?”

  “There was nothing in the journals about guns. Only maneuvers and security operations, the military hierarchy.”

  “Maybe you didn’t know how to decode the military jargon. Egan did. He found these guns and he’s been selling them.” Dinah gripped her flashlight and mulled her chances of batting the pistol out of Zenia’s hand before she could pull the trigger. If only she would move a bit closer. “Egan almost killed Thor with the arm of that statue. Do you remember the heavy coat Egan wore the morning you brought me here? It was probably hiding a bloody shirt. He changed clothes before he left the house with me.”

  Zenia backed farther away, her facial muscles writhing. “I don’t know about any of this.” Dinah had discarded the notion that Zenia didn’t lie, but the fuddled look in her eyes was no trick of the Stella Adler school of acting. She was confused. Dinah didn’t know if that made her more or less dangerous.

  “When did your husband tell you about his political change of heart?”

  “Phaedon died a patriot.”

  “That’s a lie, Zenia. He was a traitor.”

  “Pah.”

  “He was a traitor, but it wasn’t his disloyalty to the junta that made your blood boil, was it?”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “Yes, you do. It was his infidelity that infuriated you. You probably could have ignored a passing indiscretion, but he didn’t just have a meaningless fling. You believed he had fallen in love with your sister and she with him. That’s why you obsess over Marilita’s carnality and her disdain for all things right and proper. That’s why you informed on Phaedon and his fellow travelers. But tell me this, Zenia. Did Phaedon know in the end that he was murdered for adultery rather than for treason? Did Marilita know that you were her executioner by proxy?”

  “She was a murderess. That’s why she was executed.”

  “You have to own the truth one day, Zenia. You sent the murderers.”

  “I did nothing wrong, nothing any other patriot would not have done. Nasos and Marilita were aiding the communists to make war against their own government. They had to be stopped. Marilita brought radicals and communists into our house. She killed my husband.”

  “No, she didn’t. The junta killed him and framed Marilita. It probably didn’t matter who took the blame so long as the junta wasn’t seen as assassinating one of their own. But why did they kill him on the beach at Megalo Seitani?”

  “There’s no road. It’s a long walk. There would be no one to see.” She seemed to be tiring, her will to deny winding down.

  Dinah urged her on. “It sounds like the perfect spot for a group of insurgents to meet. You knew that everyone you wanted dead would be on the beach that day.”

  “I wanted no one dead. I wanted them arrested and put in prison. I wanted Phaedon to see them led away, to know that Marilita was dangerous to him and to all of us.”

  “Then your revenge went farther than you’d planned. Did you not stop to consider how the junta would react to even the suspicion that they had been double-crossed by one of their members? It would be worse than embarrassing. It would undermine their authority.”

  “The government investigated. Phaedon had not been a part of the conspiracy. He was exonerated.”

  “Of course he was exonerated and the propaganda machine set to work to smear Marilita and lionize Phaedon. To do less would be to cast doubt on the legitimacy of the entire government.”

  “I have no regrets. I reported a meeting of anti-government extremists to the authorities. No one could have foreseen that Marilita would murder everyone.”

  Dinah wasn’t surprised that Zenia had absolved herself of guilt, but she couldn’t believe that she held to the fiction that Marilita was the shooter. “What made you suspect an affair between Phaedon and Marilita?”

  She lifted her chin and her eyes cleared. “I saw them whispering together behind my back. He laughed at her impudence and her audacity. It was obvious she had seduced him. After his illness, when the priest began to blackmail him, I knew.”

  “Why didn’t you shoot him then?”

  “A tawdry domestic drama would have diminished us both.”

  The sleeve of the kimono fell over the gun. She pushed it back up and her black eyes narrowed to slits. Dinah tried to guess what she was thinking. She does get it, doesn’t she? She understands that this is the end of her pretense? She said, “Shooting me won’t do you any good, Zenia. You can’t keep the truth from coming out now.”

  “I’m eighty-five. No one will question an old woman who shoots a burglar. I have spent half my life defending my husband’s good name. I will not permit you to undo everything I’ve worked for and humiliate me.”

  “Don’t you understand, Zenia? The junta was a bunch of tyrants and torturers. Betraying them was what made Phaedon a true hero. It’s not his good name you’re defending. It’s your pride. All you have is hubris, just as the wolf says. If you shoot me, you’ll still have to pay for Marilita. He will make you.”

  She raised the gun. “Be quiet. I need to think.”

  Tell me about it. Thinking madly, Dinah looked over Zenia’s shoulder toward the open garage door. Her insurance policy hadn’t shown and it sank in that she should be seriously scared. “It’s not as easy to kill someone when they’re standing right in front of you as it is to have other people do it for you.”

  “Go inside there.” She gestured toward the crypt behind Asclepius with the gun.

  “I can’t. I’m claustrophobic.”

  “Go on, get in or I’ll shoot.”

  Dinah threw her eyes over Zenia’s shoulder and cried, “Thank God, you’re here!”

  Zenia turned her head and Dinah dived for the gun. As the two of them toppled onto the stone floor, Dinah wasn’t sure whether the pop she heard was the report of the gun or the sound of a hip breaking. In the melee, she couldn’t tell whether it was her own or Zenia’s. The pistol was loose and tangled up in the slick folds of the kimono. She felt like a brute whaling away at a brittle old woman, but this was no time for mercy. Zenia was groping for the gun with one hand and clawing at Dinah’s eyes with the other.

  Dinah rammed her knee into Zenia’s midsection and floundered amidst the layers of yellow for the gun. Finally she latched onto the grip and struggled to her feet. She checked the safety on the pistol and tucked it in her jacket pocket.

  “Are you hurt, Zenia? Is anything broken?”

  “Of course, I’m hurt, you fool.”

  When Mentor walked in, Dinah was helping her to her feet and checking her over for broken bones.

  Chapter Thirty-three

  “This woman is beating me,” said Zenia.

  Mentor looked between Zenia and Dinah, visibly confused.

  Zenia was tottery and Dinah forced her to sit down in the niche next to the funeral pot. “Come in, Mentor. Zenia and I were just reminiscing about the past and you can answer some very important questions for us.”

  “I don’t know how your friend came to be in my kalivi, Dinah. I have not wanted to speak with you because I have no explanation. It is beyond thinking.”

  “It’s what Thor would call a setup,” said Dinah. “Your good friend Brakus told me that you deal in stolen antiquities and hinted strongly that you would do anything to keep the police from discovering your illegal trove.”

  “I can’t believe Savas would tell such a lie. I date and catalog sculptural fragments and artifacts for museums. I translate the inscriptions from the ancient Greek. I write the descriptive cards. That is how I supplement my pension.”


  “Finally someone with an innocent sympliroma.” Dinah sat her bruised hip down gingerly on top of one of the marble feet. “But you can’t be surprised that Brakus gossips. He spread the rumor that Zenia casts the evil eye and poisons the village cats.”

  Mentor looked chagrinned. “No one actually believes in the evil eye.”

  “You believed the story about the cats,” said Dinah. “Your mother believed it.”

  Zenia gathered her kimono around her and sneered. “The village is full of superstitious fools. If anyone poisons the cats, it is Brakus’ wife. She has a plague of them begging and mewling about her kitchen.”

  “Irene would not poison a cat. And to say that I steal, that is a calumny.”

  Sitting hurt her hip and Dinah stood up again, which also hurt but not as bad. “I believe you, Mentor. The weapon that struck Thor came from that statue of Asclepius.” She pointed. “Is it a stolen masterpiece?”

  He inspected the statue. “The pitting on the cheek is wrong. Achieved with acid or a very fine chisel. I would guess it to be a not-very-good replica of the beardless Asclepius on display in the ‘Braccio Nuovo’ hallway of the Vatican.”

  Zenia sneered. “Phaedon did not trifle with replicas.”

  Dinah had the sense that she was watching a performance. The actress had undertaken a certain role and she couldn’t deviate from the script in even the smallest way. “You have an unfortunate relationship with the truth, Zenia. You fabricate grievances and grudges. None of the villagers in Kanaris had anything to do with Phaedon’s murder. And you fabricated an affair between Marilita and Phaedon. Did you ever ask Phaedon why he paid blackmail or learn what terrible sin he confessed to Brother Demetrius? Maybe he confessed to the awful things he did while implementing the Prometheus Plan.”

  “Rubbish.”

  “The thing that puzzles me is why you continue to let Constantine blackmail you when he doesn’t even know what embarrassing information he’s supposed to have.”

  “Donations to the clergy are not blackmail.”

  “You couldn’t understand why Marilita didn’t resent Nasos seeing other women, why she didn’t want to get married, why she and Phaedon had so much to say to each other in private. And there was that painting of the knight that she loved so much. You were jealous and you saw in it what you expected to see, Phaedon’s face. The way she looked at that painting must have seemed like a taunt.”

  “None of what you say is true.”

  “For once, you are right. I’ve asked Mentor to come here this morning and set us both straight.” Dinah thought she knew what Mentor would say, but she wasn’t a hundred percent sure. Whatever his answer might be, she needed to know. She didn’t think that need sprang from a desire to punish Zenia, but she wasn’t sure about that either. She’d have to think about it later. “Tell us, Mentor. Zenia and I would like you to verify the fact that Phaedon and Marilita were not lovers and Phaedon was not Alcina’s father.”

  “Why do you think I would know…?”

  “Because your mother told you all about Marilita. She adored her. They were like mother and daughter. Marilita confided in your mother and I’m guessing that your mother confided in you. She didn’t believe that Marilita murdered anyone. And after that awful mnimosyno, she must have been angry. She told you about Zenia’s heartlessness. She would have told you who else attended the mnimosyno. She would have told you if Alcina’s father was there and how he reacted to Zenia’s contempt for the deceased.”

  Zenia stood up. Her skin had a waxy cast and the faintest augury of doubt skirred across her face.

  Mentor said, “Mother went to visit Marilita in the hospital in Athens when Alcina was born. The father was there. Mother had the impression that he loved Marilita, but he was married to another woman and for whatever reason, he could not or would not divorce her.”

  “Who?” asked Zenia.

  “Aries Brakus. He and Marilita were secret lovers until her death.”

  When Oedipus learned about his mistake, he gouged out his eyes. Zenia received the news with a stoical calm. Either she was incredibly brave or incredibly unfeeling. On a professional level, the old tragedienne would surely appreciate the irony. But whatever she was thinking, Dinah’s thoughts were already rushing forward to a conversation with Egan, whom Zenia had thrown out of the house last night. She had guessed that it was Egan who was sending her the Nasos letters. This morning didn’t seem like a good time to confront her with yet another misunderstanding.

  Chapter Thirty-four

  Dinah looked at the bloodshot eyes staring back at her in Zenia’s bathroom mirror and frowned, but she wasn’t the least bit sleepy. It was as if she had crossed over into a permanently insomniac state, but her thinking had never been clearer. The lines zoomed between the dots like lasers, connecting everyone and everything into a comprehensible constellation. She felt acutely perceptive, as if she might begin speaking Greek spontaneously.

  She splashed cold water in her face. “You are punchy, you know that? Go back to Kanaris before you do something monumentally stupid.”

  She went into the kitchen where Mentor had brewed a pot of tea. She helped herself and wandered out into the living room. Mentor followed with the tea pot and the two of them sat down and sipped in silence. She had telephoned the hospital. Thor remained fast asleep. No change. Stavros had posted guards he could trust and gone back to his hotel in Iréon for a few hours rest. Zenia said that Egan had called for a room at the same hotel when she ordered him out. On Samos, coincidence was the norm. It would be interesting if Egan were to bump into Stavros in the hotel lobby. Out of context, he probably wouldn’t recognize him as Nasos.

  Egan had apparently left the house peaceably. He probably saw no reason to argue with Zenia. He could come back for his guns anytime. Maybe he’d already sold them and the buyers had simply been told to come and pick them up, or he could be content to cut his losses and move on.

  Good grief. What if he had decided to hop a flight to Brazil? All of a sudden it seemed urgent that Stavros be brought up to speed. What she had to say was too complicated and there were too many attendant questions to communicate over the phone. Everything on Samos was close by. She would make a quick run to Iréon and talk to Stavros in person before returning to Kanaris.

  She inhaled a second cup of tea and phoned K.D. to reassure herself that she had made it through the night. K.D. sounded chipper, possibly too chipper, but Dinah didn’t bother to cross-examine her. She would get into the contraceptive issue later. “Put a bag of frozen peas on that shiner,” she told her and hung up.

  Mentor said, “Zenia has taken to her bed and I have called Dr. Frangopoulos, just in case.”

  “Thanks, Mentor. After the doctor leaves, will you stick around for a while to make sure she doesn’t lapse into a fit of suicidal remorse or call Egan and warn him that Asclepius has given up his secret?”

  “Nè, málista. But where are you going? You are tired. You should not take crazy chances.”

  “I don’t plan to,” she said, and left the house the same way she had entered, through the underground passage.

  It was a Day-Glo sunrise. Fiery fingers of red stretched across the sky and tinted the treetops with a reddish glow. The air felt heavy and muggy. The old adage “red sky at morning sailors take warning” passed through her mind. Maybe Samos would see a little rain this afternoon. She rolled Farris’ Vespa out of its hiding place, buckled her helmet, and looked up at the menacing sky. If it rained before she reached Iréon, she was in for a soaking.

  Iréon was the site of the Temple of Hera, the Heraion. Before her idyll on Samos went to hell, Dinah had looked forward to spending a day there. She had read all about it. The early Samians worshipped Hera more than any of the other gods and at the beginning of the sixth century, they built a magnificent Ionic temple in her honor. An earthquake demolished it and they built an even more magnifi
cent temple in its place. It had a hundred and fifty-five marble columns more than sixty feet tall. An elaborate wall carved with battle scenes and sphinxes protected the altar. Giant statues lined the Sacred Way from the ancient city to the temple and worshippers invoked the goddess’ blessings by bringing rich votive offerings. Today the sanctuary lay in ruins, but in spite of everything, she still hoped for a passing glimpse.

  As she coasted through Pythagório, there were no cars or pedestrians. She had to remind herself that it was too early for the shops and restaurants to be open. She followed the signs to Iréon. The road cut across a flat, marshy plain where the Imbrasos River emptied into the Aegean. The sky had darkened to sepia and a stiff wind whipped the tops of the tamarisk trees and roughened the sea. The sharp, salty zing of ozone filled her nostrils. Thunder rumbled in the distance and a bank of ominous black clouds gusted in from the sea. Suddenly, she did not want to be sitting on this scooter like a lightning rod.

  The Heraion was just ahead. Discretion being the better part of valor, she decided to take shelter while she could. She pulled into the empty parking lot as a bolt of lightning unseamed the clouds and a spate of pea-sized hailstones rained down on her. They pinged off her helmet and stung her arms and shoulders through her thin jacket. She dismounted, removed her helmet, and looked around for a building of some kind, or at least an overhang.

  No one was manning the ticket booth, but it was locked and she hurried on past a trio of headless female figures into the hallowed sphere of Hera. There was no one in sight for acres around and all that was left of the temple was a field of broken stones and one lone remaining column. Its precarious, misaligned disks jutted up like a disjointed finger. She had expected a deal of destruction and despoliation, but these ruins were extravagantly ruined. It looked as if the previous heap of ruins had been freshly bombed. Zenia had mentioned an ongoing excavation, but Dinah saw no sign of it. Weeds and bushes cropped up around the broken stones and added to the sense of neglect.