Her Boyfriend's Bones

by Jeanne Matthews

  The hail shelled her and it didn’t just tingle. It hurt. She rapped herself for being a dummy. I should have kept the helmet. I should have kept going to one of the waterfront tavernas or on to the hotel. I should have given Stavros the lowdown over the phone and gone straight back to Kanaris and hit the sack. This is what comes of too little sleep and poor impulse control.

  Another bolt of lightning rived the sky and the fusillade of hailstones intensified. She spotted a stone building at the end of a long alley of broken stones and capitals and ran for it. A sign posted above the lintel said “Mouseio,” which she translated as Museum. The door was unlocked and she ducked inside. There were two long, glass display cases containing jewelry and bowls and implements. On the facing wall was a mural and a poem dedicated to Hera from the Homeric Hymns. An interior door opened into a second room with more display cases.

  Thunder boomed and the little building trembled on its foundation. Hail spatted against the roof and windowpanes. She looked out the window behind her as a jagged shaft of lightning ripped the heavens. Angry waves battered the sea wall, no more than a dozen feet from the museum door, and where the hailstones splashed into the sea, spouts of white water jetted up like a thousand fountains. Once again, Greece had surprised her.

  She walked around the cases, too tense to give the contents more than a cursory look. Shivering, she sat down cross-legged on the floor behind the second glass exhibit case, leaned her head back, and looked up at the mural of Hera. Scepter raised, she promenaded with her sacred peacock in front of a cloud-swathed Mount Olympus. Above the mural just under the roof was a long, horizontal window through which she could see and hear the successive salvos of hail. The plaque with the Homeric hymn read:

  To Hera, Queen of the immortals, of supreme beauty, Sister and Wife of Zeus, the loud-booming glorious one, whom all the blessed ones on long Olympus revere and honor no less than Zeus whose sport is the thunderbolt.

  Another thunderbolt struck quite close and rattled the windows. It sounded as if Hera and Zeus were having a knock-down-drag-out, but Dinah found the pelting hail and peals of thunder romantic. So long as she wasn’t being bombarded or drenched, she loved storms. She wished that Thor were here to put his arm around her. She could go to sleep listening to the bluster outside. She felt a pang of guilt. She should be waiting at the hospital instead of hunkered down in a drafty museum doing nothing. She took out her phone to call the hospital again.

  The door blew open. “You’ve made a dog’s dinner of it.”

  The door slammed shut. She eased back down on her haunches and powered off her phone. Egan had come to her.

  “You didn’t have to kill Fathi. For taking one gun?”

  “It wasn’t the gun,” said Brakus. “It was his mouth. If I hadn’t killed him, we’d be in jail.” He said something else in Greek.

  Dinah had assumed that Egan was the murderer. So much for her acute perceptiveness. She flashed to Fathi walking past the taverna trying to sell Yannis a gun. Brakus had heard and, as soon as he saw his chance, he must have bolted out the back door after him. Brakus had been a runner, an eight hundred meter man. He caught Fathi, took the gun away, and shot him. But he must have pulled a muscle or a tendon during his run. That’s why he was gimpy when he followed her back to the body.

  Egan said, “You were smart not to let Fathi know you were my partner, but killing him was disastrous. You could have scared him off, bought him off, anything. Attacking Ramberg was the last straw. I’m not staying to find out if he recovers. I want my money now.”

  “No!” Something—a fist—whomped the top of the exhibit case and Brakus launched into an angry harangue in Greek.

  Dinah slid Zenia’s pistol out of her jacket pocket. One of them was walking up and down on the other side of the exhibit case. She didn’t dare to move. They lowered their voices and Egan reverted to English. The drumming hail made it hard to hear.

  The sound of footsteps stopped. Her heart stuttered.

  “Blakas.” Egan imbued the word with maximum condescension. Dinah thought at first he had said Brakus’ name, but Brakus exploded and she decided that blakas was an insult.

  “Pathetic,” said Egan. His recurrent use of English seemed calculated to annoy Brakus. “You have involved too many refugees and now that unsavory monk. With the Ramsberg business, the national police will swarm over the island. We can’t take the risk.”

  Brakus answered in Greek, interspersed by more whomps on the top of the exhibit case.

  “Oh, for Christ’s sake.” Egan sounded tired and peevish. “You didn’t have to hit him.

  “When he…” A clap of thunder derailed the rest of sentence and then, “…could have acted shocked to see the guns. Have you never heard of acting? It’s Zenia’s house, no connection to us. But you had to get rough.”

  “If I hadn’t stopped him, he would have taken the guns.”

  “You should have let him. It’s too risky to move them now or to make any more sales. Even Zenia is suspicious. She didn’t believe my story that vandals broke the statue and that Pelerin woman has her thinking I sent letters pretending to be Nasos Lykos. I’m leaving on the four o’clock to Athens. I’ll wait for you at the Sunrise until two and you’d better not be late.”

  “Deilos. Coward. Whiner.”

  “Do what you want, Savas, but I found the guns and I want my…”

  “This is what you get.”

  “Good God, you’re as mad as your father.”

  A shot rang out.

  Dinah’s skin shrank. She heard the sound of something sliding across the floor. Egan’s body? Brakus was dragging him behind the display case. She had to do something. She looked up at the window over the mural and raised the pistol. What did Papas call the police? She racked her brain. Asty-something…asty...

  “Astynomia!” She shouted and fired three shots through the window. Glass and hail rained down. She scrambled to the end of the display case and took cover. All she saw when she peered around was Brakus’ back as he charged through the adjoining room. She heard wood splinter and glass break and she fired another shot to make sure he kept going.

  “Like a bad movie,” said Egan and laughed his dry, raspy laugh.

  She took off her jacket, pressed it against his wound with one hand, and phoned Stavros with the other. When Stavros understood the situation, she rang off and pressed both hands against Egan’s wound. Brakus’ aim must have been shaken by the thunder because the bullet had missed the lungs and heart and gone into Egan’s left shoulder. “I think you’re going to live, Egan. Since I probably saved your life, will you answer a question for me?”

  “What’s that?”

  “Were you really going to make a movie about Marilita’s life or were you just stringing Zenia along to gain access to Phaedon’s papers and his house?”

  “Afraid poor old Zenia was deluding herself about the film. She’s gone rather cuckoo, maundering about ghosts and letters from the dead.”

  Day 6

  Chapter Thirty-five

  Dinah slept most of the day. When she woke up, it was to good news. Stavros called to tell her that Thor had woken up and the surgeon reported that there were no observable neurological sequelae or cognitive deficits.

  She felt a flood of relief and then guilt that she hadn’t been there throughout his ordeal. “Does he remember what happened?”

  “He seems to have total recall. He learned that Greek notaries maintain records of all building construction and additions. Thinking that Phaedon had built a storehouse for the weapons he stole, Thor located the notary who handled the construction of Phaedon’s house and discovered the blueprints for an underground tunnel. He went to ask Zenia to show him, but she had driven into Kanaris and Egan and Brakus were the pair he found. He said they ‘got the drop’ on him, which I interpret to mean that he was overpowered.”

  She laughed. “It
’s an American idiom. From old TV westerns.”

  “What about Brakus? Did you find him?”

  “Yes. I can’t claim much credit for that. He had gone back to Kanaris to pack his money and his toothbrush. He is not a very intelligent criminal, but few are. I believe Egan Vercuni was the brains of their operation.”

  “Is Egan going to be all right?”

  “He is doing well for a giriatrikos.”

  “Geriatric?”

  “Nè. His days in prison will be short. He hopes to shorten them even more by cooperating with the police.”

  “Did he pay somebody to vandalize Marilita’s house?”

  “Yes. Sadly, there are too many in need of a few euros and willing to do most anything.”

  “What about Brother Constantine? Have you found out what his role was?”

  “Primarily passing information, says Vercuni. Always for a price. He helped Brakus move Thor and bury him in the kalivi, which makes him complicit in the crime of kidnapping. My men have been unable to find him at his usual campsite and he may have left Samos. We are still searching. He has been wanted for questioning in connection with his real estate fraud for over a year.”

  She broached the next subject somewhat tentatively. “I know who wrote Zenia those letters, Galen.”

  There was a long pause. “Who?”

  “You were right when you said that only the dead would know or care about Zenia’s sins. Your impersonator was Aries Brakus. Irene Brakus told me that he died in a mental institution about ten years ago. After he attended Marilita’s mnimosyno and heard Zenia’s rant, he started to obsess about Marilita’s death. For whatever reason, jealousy or madness, he started to believe that he actually was Nasos. Savas found a packet of unmailed letters among his belongings after his death. Irene didn’t know what he had done with them. Savas may have sent them just to get back at the high-and-mighty woman who despised him and his father as peasants. You’ll have to ask him.”

  “Perhaps that element of the case is best left unanswered, but I thank you for telling me.” His voice brightened. “Thor has been looking at his watch and asking where you are. What shall I tell him?”

  “Tell him to keep his gown on. I’ll be there in an hour.”

  Day 10

  Chapter Thirty-six

  Thor walked his chair back farther under the awning and grinned. They were celebrating the successful conclusion of his mission and discharge from the hospital in a fancy restaurant in Kusadasi. He was still bothered with pain from his broken shoulder blade, but his brain was intact and he was unusually animated. He said, “Both Papas and Egan have agreed to turn over the names of all of their buyers in exchange for a more lenient sentence and they’ll testify against Brakus. Between you and Galen, you’ve earned me a promotion in E-Fourteen. I just got the offer this morning.”

  “You’re not going to take it, are you, Thor? After what happened? It’s too dangerous.”

  “Sure I’m going to take it. I’m flying to Oslo tomorrow to have my head examined by the home team. I have to fill out some paperwork and after that, it will be official. I’ll be stationed in Berlin.” He reached for her hand. “Will you come with me?”

  “You know how I feel about cold weather.”

  “It won’t be cold for months yet. And when it does get cold, it’ll be a blast. I’ll buy you a pair of electric socks and take you skiing in the Alps at Christmas.”

  “I don’t think you should take the job.”

  “Why not?”

  “Police work is dangerous. You could have been permanently brain damaged. There are lots of other professions you could get into. You could go to law school and practice law.”

  He arched an eyebrow. “I’ve heard your views on lawyers and the legal profession.”

  “Become a history teacher then. You like history.”

  “I like police work better.”

  “You’re being a blister. It pays poorly, you have to rub shoulders with terrible people all the time, and it’s hazardous to your health.”

  “Seems we’re having our second fight. But two fights in ten days isn’t bad.”

  “You were unconscious for three of them.”

  He laughed. “Only two, really. In The Rockford Files, Jimbo is knocked unconscious in every other episode and he’s always fine.”

  “Life isn’t a TV show, Thor.”

  “Too bad. TV improves on reality, knotty cases cracked in an hour and no real blood spilled. I confess that I’ve missed TV here in Greece.”

  She gazed back across the strait toward Kanaris. “For Zenia, it’s been a real-life Greek tragedy. I can’t help but wonder how the story would have turned out if she’d simply asked her husband and her sister if they were having an affair.”

  “From what you’ve told me, she was too proud and consumed by jealousy. How did you figure out that Marilita’s lover was Aries Brakus?”

  “The eyes. The face in the painting had unusually prominent eyes and so does Alcina. Brakus, too. It’s a hereditary trait. They are brother and sister and never knew it. A tendency to mental problems may be another hereditary trait. Stavros told me that Savas didn’t sound any too sane when the police questioned him.”

  “He’s just trying to convince everyone that he’s nuts so they’ll go easy on him.”

  “Why, Thor, I didn’t think you had a cynical bone in your body.”

  “I hope the influence is mutual. Have you been feeling more optimistic by any chance?”

  “Yes, I have. Knowing that your head isn’t broken has made me very happy. And things have worked out happily for my friend Mentor. Irene Brakus has hired his daughter and her husband to work in the taverna now that she’s on her own and all that family togetherness is bound to lead to a match between Mentor and Irene. I think they’ll make a lovely couple.”

  “Speaking of the couple thing. You haven’t forgotten that there’s a question pending, have you?”

  She hadn’t forgotten. “My dig begins in September and it could go for months.”

  “I’m not asking you to give up the thrill of legendary Troy. It’ll take a few months for me to get established in Berlin. You could move in over Christmas.”

  “I hate leaden skies and frozen tundra.”

  “Berlin can’t match Greece for blue skies, but there’s no frozen tundra.”

  “Moving in together for real is a lot more complicated than basking in the sun for a few weeks on a Greek island. I’m not easy to live with. I’m prone to moods and doubts and I have fickle genes. As you know, my mother has been married and divorced seven times.”

  “Didn’t I hear you lecturing K.D. that children don’t inherit their parents’ defects?”

  “Don’t quote me back to myself. Sometimes they do and sometimes they evolve mutant defects of their own.”

  “You’re going to list for me your mutant defects now?”

  “No patience, a sarcastic tongue, poor impulse control, and I smoke. I wish I had a cigarette right now. I know it’s a filthy habit, you don’t have to tell me.”

  “I wasn’t going to.”

  “I’ve quit twice. I’m a backslider. And a dilettante. I have no stick-to-it-ivity. I can’t finish my dissertation. I can’t hold a job. I can’t stay in one place for longer than a few months. I’m a flibbertigibbet.”

  “My phrase book’s not handy. Help me out.”

  “Flighty and…flibberti…I don’t know. Flighty.”

  He smiled. “I’ve known you were a flight risk from the first day we met.”

  Her eyes followed a ship pulling away from Kusadasi, embarking for Patmos or Kos or Rhodes, maybe even Alexandria or Beirut. Places she’d never been. She turned back to Thor. “I hate lutefish.”

  “Lutefisk.”

  “Whatever. And aquavit. It makes my teeth hurt.”

  �
��Akevitt is mother’s milk to a Norwegian, but it’s not a deal breaker.”

  “Small things matter,” she said. “They add up.”

  “If you list them one by one, they do.” He replenished her wine. “You haven’t mentioned that you tend to jabber quite a lot, especially when you drink red wine.”

  She scowled. “I’m serious, Thor. I’ve crossed lines you wouldn’t cross, done things you wouldn’t approve of.”

  “What things?”

  “I don’t know. Broken faith, shirked duties, lacerated feelings.” She drew the line at telling him about her Uncle Cleon’s drug money in Panama. “I’ve lacerated a lot of feelings.”

  “Now you’re bragging. Why are you running yourself down like this?”

  “Before you ask a person to live with you, you should know. And you were right when you said I lied. I lie all the time.”

  “But not to people you care about, as I recall. I think I can live with the problems you’ve enumerated so far. Are there others?”

  “One other and it’s a doozie.” She took a large swallow of red wine. “You’ll have to rent a two bedroom apartment in Berlin. I’ve told K.D. she can hang with me for a while if her mother agrees to let her miss a year of school.”

  “Even after the kid lied to you about not being able to return to Atlanta because her mother had gone to Switzerland?”

  “Particularly after that. I’m not the best role model, but I may be the best she can find in the short term.”

  “The short term seems to be your forte.” His eyes grew serious. “Look, Dinah, I’m not dragooning you. This has to be because you want it, too.”

  This was it. Now or never. A bubble of fear floated up from her innermost depths. She flashed to what he’d said about her being the least cautious person he’d ever met. Maybe it was true. She closed her eyes and thought about Geronimo jumping his horse off a four hundred foot bluff into the unplumbed depths of Medicine Creek. Sometimes you have to take the plunge. If she didn’t, she’d be asking herself “what if” for the rest of her life.