Aegean Intrigue

by Patricia Kiyono

  Yannis had been sent to an Athens hospital to recover from his gunshot wound. Jane had gone with him, only to return to the campsite two days later. She wouldn't talk about Yannis, or anything else, except to say he was expected to recover. Christina had been charged with attempted murder and would eventually face a trial on Paros. Since the attempted theft of artifacts was a national crime, Professor Theo's trial would take place here in Athens.

  Outside her apartment window, tourists mingled with locals as they shopped and dined. The tavern across the street buzzed with conversations spoken in several different languages as the maître d' enticed passersby to stop in his establishment. Just inside the tavern's doorway, a duo began to play traditional Greek music and the tinkling sounds of the bouzouki strings reached Francie's ears. Costumed dancers formed a line and started to execute the steps of the syrto.

  The scene brought back memories of the evening in Parikia when Alex had stepped in to assist the elderly gentleman in leading the dance. She had known then he was a special man. She had wanted to suppress her feelings for him, but knew even then the effort was useless.

  Alex had tried to speak with her in the days following the professor's arrest. But Francie had rebuffed him each time. The pain of his betrayal ran deep, and she burned with embarrassment knowing another man had used her to get ahead.

  But he was just doing his job, her other self argued. He wouldn't have assumed her guilt if Zotis hadn't blamed her. He was a fair man who cared about people. There was the day he jumped into action when the professor cut himself. And the many times he had pitched in when he didn't have to, whether it was digging trenches or cooking meals.

  Had she acted in haste? Had she made a mistake? Already she missed seeing him each morning, the dark stubble covering his face before he had his morning coffee. No matter how tough his day was, he always had a smile and a kind word for everyone. She even missed his annoying “take charge” attitude, because she knew in her heart he would allow her to voice her opinions and would take them seriously.

  Hadn't he proven that he was different from the Greek men who had ruled her life? Hadn't he shown her he wouldn't try to smother her, to drain her and leave her with nothing?

  She had to talk to him. How would she reach him? She needed to apologize, to let him know she understood why he did what he did and accepted him for who he was.

  A knock on the door interrupted her thoughts. She had ordered her meal from a local restaurant, not having the energy to fix something for herself. Without stopping to wonder how the delivery person had gotten past the gate, she swung the door open, holding out a twenty-euro note. And then she froze. The delivery boy had the dark, sculpted face she had tried so hard to forget.

  “You should not open the door before knowing who is on the other side.”

  This man’s voice had the same lyrical rhythm as Alex’s. He had the same lithe build, the same ready-for-action stance, the same—

  “Francie?”

  She looked up into those sultry brown eyes, and for the first time she saw a hint of uncertainty. Was it possible…

  “Francie, please let me come in. I have to speak to you. After I’m done, you can kick me out and I won’t bother you again. But I need to explain something to you.” He held out the bag with her food. “I can talk while you eat, unless you have a guest waiting to share this with you.”

  Her mind finally kicked in, and she stepped aside, allowing him to enter. His large frame crowded the entryway, and she scurried to the dining area. She motioned for him to set the bag on the table and then collected napkins, plates, forks and glasses. The simple tasks allowed her to gather her wits and face him again.

  “If you’re hungry, you might as well join me.” Somehow her voice remained calm, even if her heart and her stomach disagreed. She sat, keeping her eyes down. Maybe if she avoided looking at him, she thought, she might get through this.

  Alex sat but made no move to eat. Francie pretended indifference, setting her food out and pouring her drink. She chewed, wondering how she was going to force the food down. After what seemed an eternity, he began to speak.

  “I knew you weren’t the thief. I knew it from the moment I saw you. But I had a job to do. I know you're angry about my deception. There were so many times I wanted to call Zotis and tell him to find someone else.”

  “Why didn’t you?”

  He waited until she met his gaze before answering. “Because I couldn’t leave you. And because I needed to find the true culprit so there would be no doubt you weren’t connected.”

  Could he really mean all that? Francie struggled to find her voice. Her throat went dry. “So was Professor Theo involved in the previous heists?”

  “I don't know yet. It's possible someone else was the pawn.”

  “How did Professor Theo get mixed up with Zotis?”

  Alex frowned. “He used a go-between. The professor never met Zotis, never had any direct contact with him. Someone in the crew left messages for him, as well as his payments.”

  “Someone—Yannis!”

  Alex reared back. “How—why would you think so?”

  “He was always on his Blackberry. And he was so preoccupied, except when he was with Jane. I couldn't understand how a graduate archaeologist student would be so clueless. I thought he was working for you, but it makes more sense that he worked for Zotis.”

  “Mmm. Well, Yannis was using Jane, getting her to do some of his dirty work.”

  “What?”

  “He would ask her to deliver things in town, saying he had a headache, or he'd give her a package to mail.”

  “How awful! Will Jane have charges against her?”

  “Possibly. It depends on how much she knew and the depth of her involvement.”

  Francie's brows drew together. “But Yannis wasn't on the last dig, so he wasn't the go-between for the other thefts.”

  “No, he wasn't. It took some time to find the connection for the previous thefts. Do you remember telling me about Andre Barrineau?”

  “Andre? The crew member from our dig in Turkey? Of course—he was so like Yannis, it makes sense that he filled the same role. Andre also had to be shown what to do and wasn't diligent about his paperwork. But he didn't have a Blackberry.”

  “No, because Andre knew what he was doing and didn't have to rely on instructions being fed to him all day. But he was captured by Interpol just before arrangements were finalized for this dig. Yannis was a last-minute replacement.”

  Francie took a moment to digest this.

  “Since the professor is going to be…indisposed for a while, you might have to come to the trial and field questions regarding the dig. After all, there were many significant finds. And you were the professor’s right-hand woman.” He paused before continuing. “We will see each other often. And I hope we will see each other outside the courtroom, too.”

  Her eyes widened. Alex’s revelation left Francie speechless, but he took her silence to mean she still considered him the enemy.

  He paled. “Please, Francie, say you’ll forgive me. I've discovered I need you with every fiber of my being. Without you, I am nothing.”

  He leaned toward her, holding his hands out, palms up, in supplication. “I want to begin a new life with you. If you want to stay here in Athens and finish your degree, I will be able to provide for you. If you want to go somewhere else, I'll follow you.” When she remained speechless, he got up and began to pace, waving his arms in frustration. “You don’t like my profession? I can cook. Maybe I can get a job doing that until I can open my own restaurant. Or perhaps I can—”

  “Alex, stop.”

  She stood and moved into his arms.

  “You don’t have to give up your way of life for me, Alex. I understand you were just doing your job, and I was foolish to blame you for that. I love living in Greece. We both have roots here. And I’ll be happy wherever you are.”

  About the Author

  During her first career, she taught
elementary music, elementary classrooms, and junior high social studies. She now teaches part time at Grand Valley State University.

  She lives in southwest Michigan with her husband, not far from her children and grandchildren. Current interests, aside from writing, include sewing, crocheting, scrapbooking, and music. A love of travel and an interest in faraway people inspires her to create stories about different cultures. She has written elementary school plays and educational materials. Aegean Intrigue is her third work of fiction to be published.

  Also by Patricia Kiyono

  Chapter One

  “Are you reading those ridiculous comic books again? Honestly, you’re a college graduate. Aren’t you a little old for those?”

  “Dad, they’re called manga. They’re different. They’re illustrated Japanese stories.” Leigh Becker closed her book and stood. Even as the words left her mouth, she knew correcting her stepfather was useless.

  “I don’t care what they’re called. They’re not exactly serious literature. You spend half your free time reading those silly things when you should be helping out around the house. Come over here and help me get dinner ready. Your mother will be home soon.”

  However, as soon as Leigh stepped into the kitchen, Frank Becker left for his study.

  “You do a better job of cooking than I do. I’d just get in the way,” he muttered.

  Leigh didn’t mind having the kitchen to herself. Life was more peaceful when her stepfather wasn’t around. He hadn’t been the same since his company folded. The man who was once larger than life had shrunk physically and spiritually. He spent hours in his home office, staring idly at his computer. He had sent hundreds of letters out, but no one wanted to hire a fifty-year-old former businessman. Lately, he’d been drinking a lot more. Leigh sympathized, but didn’t know how to comfort him.

  The family wasn’t struggling financially. Leigh’s mother was a well-known attorney, and Leigh had just started to work for the local newspaper. They hadn’t lived lavishly or spent foolishly, so the adjustments they had had to make were relatively minor. Still, it had been difficult for Frank to accept the fact his wife was now the breadwinner. For a short time, he had tried to help around the house, but now he left more and more of it to his stepdaughter.

  As Leigh pulled vegetables from the refrigerator, a buzz sounded from her pocket. She pulled out her phone and checked. It was a message from her best friend, Andy Tanaka.

  “Found something cool. Can you come?” Andy wasn’t one for extra words.

  “After supper,” she typed back.

  “OK,” came the quick reply.

  She smiled as she prepared the meal. At least she had something more interesting to look forward to this evening. She always enjoyed spending time with Andy and his family.

  * * * *

  Seated at his desk in his home office, Frank Becker turned on his computer. While waiting for it to boot up, he poured himself a stiff drink. He stared at the screen, his mind blank. What was the use of sending out his resume to more places? No one was going to hire him.

  Nobody wanted him. Even his wife didn't want him. She found excuses to be out of town, even out of the country, whenever she could. No errand was too small or too out of the way for Kirsten Becker. Twenty years ago, her ambition was what had attracted him to her. She could do anything—win a case in court, come home and fix a gourmet meal, and then go out and party. It had been such a boost to his ego when she had agreed to marry him. Her cute little five year old had come with her. And now the daughter was looking more and more like her mother. Like her mother had looked. Except without the cutthroat tendencies. Leigh was a softer, gentler version of her mother.

  Too bad he couldn’t have waited to marry the daughter instead.

  * * * *

  Three hours later, Leigh knocked on the front door of the Tanaka home. The tidy two-story Victorian on the outskirts of town had been a second home to her for most of her life. Since her mother had always worked, Leigh had spent many afternoons and evenings here. Unlike the modern ranch homes in the Beckers’ neighborhood, this house had a cozy charm and echoed with the laughter of several generations of Tanakas. On all sides of the house, and in the fields surrounding it, fragrant blossoms grew. Tanaka Farms was one of the largest suppliers of cut flowers in northern California.

  She barely had time to lower her hand when the door swung open and a tiny pair of arms encircled her waist.

  “Leigh, how nice to see you! Come in, come in.” Andy’s mom, Lily, stood barely five feet tall, but even at fifty-something she was full of energy and always exuded a warm welcome.

  The petite woman took Leigh's hand and led her in. Leigh loved this house. Beautiful blossoms adorned every surface, and the furniture was well worn and comfortable. The entire family was involved in the business, begun by Andy's great-great grandfather at the turn of the century. Andy had worked there since junior high, working his way up from stocking the retail store to driving delivery trucks. Now that he was a CPA, he spent his time in the corporate offices.

  Andy had told her another branch of the Tanaka family ran a similar business in Japan. Every few years, he and his siblings and cousins would go overseas to visit their relatives. She envied him that connection with extended family. The Beckers were not close-knit. They got together at Christmas time—for weddings and funerals—but she barely knew her cousins.

  Lily led her to the kitchen. “Would you like something to drink? A snack?”

  “Oh no, thank you,” Leigh replied. “I just had dinner. Andy told me he wanted to show me something.”

  “Sure. Go on back.” Lily waved toward the back door. “You know the way.”

  Leigh nodded her thanks and walked outside. Though Andy spent much of his free time with his family in the main house, he lived in what used to be the caretaker’s cottage. He had remodeled it to suit his needs—a bedroom, a small kitchen, a bathroom, and a weight room. But she couldn’t find him anywhere.

  “Andy? Where are you?” The cottage wasn't that large. Where would he be?

  “Over here.” His voice came from behind the wall. “In the storage shed.”

  The storage shed was attached to the back of the cottage, but she had never been inside. She retraced her steps and walked around. Andy had left the door open, and she stepped through. She curled her nose at the musty smell hitting her as soon as soon as she entered.

  She blinked, adjusting her eyes to the relative darkness. A single bare bulb in the ceiling provided the only light. All around her were dusty old file cabinets. These must contain the older records for Tanaka Farms, she thought. At the back, she finally located her friend, kneeling on the floor, hunched over an old wooden crate. He was still dressed in his work clothes—khakis, a tucked-in polo shirt, and loafers—and Leigh briefly wondered how he managed to keep himself looking so clean and crisp, even inside the dusty shed. He turned toward her, excitement lighting his face.

  He motioned for her to join him. Andy didn’t speak when a look or a gesture would suffice. It wasn’t that he couldn’t talk. He had managed to deliver an eloquent, though brief, valedictory address when they graduated from high school. But he said only what he needed to say.

  Leigh made her way to him. The crate looked different from anything she had ever seen. It was black, inlaid with delicate gold flowers. Though it was covered with a thick layer of dust, she could tell it was a treasure. Inside were some old Japanese clothes, a scroll, and two swords, one long and ornately decorated, the other shorter and plainer.

  “I wonder how your family got these.”

  “Dad says we had a samurai ancestor.”

  “It would have been over a hundred and forty years ago. The samurai were outlawed in 1870.”

  Andy’s hands stopped. He sat up and stared at his friend. A single raised brow communicated his question.

  She shrugged. “I read about it.”

  His eyes crinkled and his lips curved. “Your manga?”

  Andy was t
he only person who didn't tease or belittle her about her passion for the manga comics. “Yeah, I guess so. They teach a lot of history.”

  They looked back at the items in the crate. “This stuff is super old.” Leigh mused. “Seems kind of a waste to have it rotting out here. Let's bring it in the house so we can look at it closer in better light and show it to the rest of the family.”

  They replaced the items in the box and hauled it to the main house. As they put it on the kitchen table, Lily came in, staring curiously.

  “I thought I heard a lot of bumping and thumping coming from out here. What have you got?”

  Andy simply gestured toward the wooden box.

  “It’s a cool chest Andy found way in the back of the shed.” Leigh often finished Andy’s explanations. Maybe it was because they had spent so much time together, but she felt they knew each other as well as they knew themselves.

  She fingered one of the gold flowers on the lid. “This looks like a family crest.”

  Lily grabbed a dishtowel and wiped at the dust. “I think you’re right. It could very well be the Tanaka family crest. I’ve seen it on old documents, as well as some of the traditional ceremonial clothing we have stored upstairs.”

  Leigh opened the crate and took out the faded scroll. “This probably explains everything, but we can't read it.”

  His mother opened the scroll and peered at the document. “I can't either. I recognize some of the characters, but I don't know enough of them to make any sense of it.”

  She looked up at Andy. “Your dad knows even less than I do. Why don't you take this upstairs to your grandfather? He’s spent a lot of time in Japan, so maybe he can read enough to tell you what it says.”

  * * * *

  Ten minutes later, Kenjiro Tanaka removed his glasses and rubbed his eyes. He sat back in his easy chair. His rooms on the second story of the house were furnished with comfortable old furniture that suited him. Pictures of his family, past and present, covered the walls. Several shelves housed his collection of books. Grandpa Tanaka was a well-read man who had once harbored a dream of studying English literature.