The Forty Column Castle (19 page)

I blew out a breath. This was exasperating. What was he trying to say?

“Zach, listen to me, please. My aunt is here. She thinks she’s engaged to Mr. Bellomo.
I think he wants her as a hostage till he gets the jewels. The American couple may
be the link to the widows and the jewels. Zach, can you hear me?”

His eyes blinked open, and I thought I saw recognition. I wondered how long the drug
would take to wear off. One thing I knew, I wasn’t going to abandon Zach at this stage
after all I had invested in him. How was I going to get us out of here? I stared out
the French doors to the sea, turning deeper blue in the waning light of day.

Water. The yacht. We could leave by sea. The yacht was at the end of the peer. I’d
never piloted a boat in my life, but I was a fast learner, and I needed one for our
escape.

“Zach, I’m going to leave. You rest. Do you understand? I’ll be back. I’m looking
for a way to escape. Do you know anything about boats?”

“Boats,” he whispered as I arranged his limbs in a more comfortable position. I applied
more ice to his cheek and checked his bruises and cuts. He had bruises down his right
side over the ribs. I hoped the other guys looked worse. I propped his head so the
ice pack lay against his cheek and sat back to drink the cup of coffee I’d poured.
And think.

The lovebirds might be back from the beach by now. Long shadows were creeping into
the room. The lowering sun lit the eastern horizon in rosy hues. Sitting there watching
the light change through the French doors, I could have been enjoying the aftermath
of a day on the beach. But I wasn’t. I had gotten sucked into the world of criminals,
and Zach was one of them.

I decided as soon as it was dark, I would try to get to the yacht. My aunt and I could
go for a walk. That was it. I jumped up, decided to put on the little black dress
that was still flung over the couch where I had left it, make myself presentable and
find my aunt so she could take me for a walk. The two of us could get to the yacht
which might have a phone. I’d call Yannis, alert him, and arrange a rendezvous.

I checked myself out in the mirror and shrieked. I looked like a witch. I took a quick
shower, pulled my hair back into a ponytail and brushed on some mascara and blush.
That was a bit better. As I was smoothing on lipstick, inspiration struck. In mysteries
there was always a hidden staircase. I shook my head. No, that was farfetched. But
this was a big house and every time the servants came upstairs did they use that long
winding staircase in the main hall? I bet not. I bet they had their own staircase.
Why not hidden ones? I started to check around.

The hidden stairs were always in the library in mystery novels. But this suite had
no library. However, there was a little alcove in the bedroom that had bookcases.
I went to investigate. From the edge of the king size bed, I studied the alcove with
the bookshelves and cabinets. There wasn’t much in the way of books. The shelves sported
figurines and bowls with Greek designs in gold and black enamel. A rather ornate candelabrum
sat in the middle of the bottom shelf, gold of course.

To the side of that cabinet was a floor-to-ceiling louvered panel that matched the
white shelves. This panel seemed to have no function beyond mere decoration. I walked
over and started pushing the panel, looking for something like hinges or door knobs.
I didn’t have long to look. The louvered panel had a recessed hold on the side. I
slid the panel to the right and exposed another door that opened to descending stairs.

Why hadn’t I thought of this before? Eureka. The question was, where did the steps
go and did they offer any means of escape? Down I went. These were no back stairs
in the sense of cement steps and cinder block walls. No, they were polished wood as
were the walls, and they had the fragrance of the cedars of Lebanon. Even the back
stairs were first class in this palace.

As it turned out, they were not the servant stairs at all. They were stairs to a corridor
that led to the patio surrounding the acres of pool I had seen from the roof. Of course,
why wouldn’t each room have their own access to the millionaire’s playground?

Beyond the ameba shaped pool, sporting a fountain in the middle, was the beach, the
dock, and the yacht. Lounge chairs lined the side of the pool, enough for a cruise
ship. Palm trees swayed in the breeze. The black rocks that formed the cliff side
of the house gave way to a beach of white sand, bright even in the dimming light.
Underwater lights in the pool lit the area. I kept to the shadows and shrubbery around
the perimeter of the pool.

Not a soul enjoyed the beauty of the beach area. No one swam in the pool. A breeze
off the sea ruffled the palms. The sound of water splashing from the fountain in the
pool made me want to jump in. The scene was a good time waiting to happen.

I found it odd that such a gorgeous house had so little activity. It seemed like there
should be a crowd of party people having the time of their lives. But no one crowded
around the bar with thatched roof at the end of the pool nearest the house. Maybe
this was an off day.

Alone, I stood in the shadows watching to see if anyone moved, if anyone came out
for an evening swim or to enjoy a cocktail by the pool. Not a soul. Keeping to the
shadows, I followed the house, peeking in windows. They were enormous, the kind you’d
find in a room with a view, with crank out side windows. A little further on light
spilled out a window onto the walkway. I eased along in the shadows toward the light,
my black dress helping me blend in. I inched between shrubs, the mulch warm against
my bare feet, giving off the heat it had stored up during the day. I stopped short
of an open window. A single lamp gave off weak light onto the soft gray of the stone
walk.

I ventured a peek in the window. There, reading a newspaper, sat Mr. Bellomo looking
like anyone’s favorite Grandpa. He held the newspaper at arm’s length, demonstrating
a need to pay a visit to the optometrist for a new prescription. The gold frames of
his glasses glittered in the lamplight. Half a glass of red wine sat on the table
beside him. The brilliant white hair on his head, worn short and brushed back, was
thinning in the back. His fingernails were perfectly manicured. He wore a short sleeve
shirt that showed off his tanned arms. He looked like your local friendly golfer on
the nineteenth hole.

What mesmerized me was not how he looked, but what he was reading. He was staring
at the front page of the English newspaper, the local paper that served the British
population. My photo looked out from the front page side-by-side with a photo of my
aunt. The caption read “American Tourists Sought in Antiquities Theft”.

Mr. Bellomo knew he was harboring two people wanted by the authorities. One of the
two he had personally helped out of prison. He didn’t look surprised or concerned
about those photos, but I was. I wanted to talk to those authorities now. I whirled
and hurried back from whence I’d come.

I had to get the three of us out. If Mr. Bellomo knew the police were looking for
us, and he wasn’t making any attempt to report us, something was terribly, terribly
wrong. Now the thought of being in the custody of the police gave me a warm, fuzzy
feeling.

I nearly killed myself tracing my steps back to the stairs, but instead of going to
the one to my room, I kept going down the corridor, searching for the door that should
be in the wall below the balcony of my aunt’s room. It stood open as had mine. I took
the steps two at a time and found the top door closed but not locked. I eased it open
and slid the louvered panel door aside.

My aunt was stretched out on the bed, taking a nap.

“Wake up.” I gently shook her, hoping not to scare her.

She mumbled and sputtered, and her eyes flew open.

“Claudie? Where did you come from, dear? Goodness, I was having a bad dream. Someone
was chasing me, and I couldn’t get away.”

I didn’t want to tell her that we were living that dream.

“Aunt Elizabeth, we have to leave here as soon as it’s dark.”

“Whatever for? I like it here.”

“I bet you do. This place is palatial, but Mr. Bellomo may not have your best interests
at heart. We need to go to the police.”

“But, Claudie, dear, he got me away from the police. Why would I want to go back?”

“Because our photos are on the front page of the newspaper. We could be doing Mr.
Bellomo real harm, since it could look like he is harboring criminals.”

“We aren’t criminals. What are you talking about?” She sat up. “Now look, Marie-Claude.
I waited all my life for someone like Salvatore Bellomo to sweep me off my feet. I’m
in love, and he loves me, he said he did, and I’m not getting any younger, and we’re
getting married, and I’m not going back to jail. That is that.”

I sat down beside her on the rose satin bed spread and put an arm around her shoulders.
The bed could have been made of clouds, it was so soft.

“What if Mr. Bellomo is leading you on, hoping that you’ll tell him where Berengaria’s
jewels are, because he thinks you have them?”

“For heaven’s sake. I don’t have any jewels. How can I? They don’t exist, and he’s
never asked me the first thing about them. We don’t talk about antiquities or my being
in jail. We talk about books and fine art and the weather and our new life together.
We talk about wines and food and his family in Sicily. He came from a poor family
and is a self-made man, and I admire him. You know I come from humble beginnings,
and we have that in common.”

“For all this wealth,” she waved her hand in a gesture that encompassed the whole
room, “he’s a very humble man and a dear and I am going to marry him and no one is
going to stop me.” She looked at her watch, a new, sparkling gold filigree adornment
that I had never seen before.

“Oh me, now we are going to be late for dinner. Hurry and get some shoes on, dear.
I’ve got to change. Sal and I have been having lovely dinners in the garden, and I
like to fancy up a bit. Hurry now. He wants you to dine with us this evening.”

“He does?”

“Yes, now hurry. Where are your shoes?” She trotted over to the closet which contained
minimum two dozen dresses.

“Where did you get all of those?” I asked.

“Salvatore bought them for me and had them delivered. He buys me the nicest things
and has excellent taste in clothes.”

She held up one in the mirror. It was a deep blue sundress that would bring out her
cornflower blue eyes, had plenty of room for her ample bosoms, and sported a slightly
flared skirt.

“This will be perfect. I wear a different one every evening. I’m going to freshen
up in the bath and slip this on. Hurry now, Claudie, we don’t want to be late.”

She bustled into the bathroom and left me sitting on the edge of the bed wondering
what to do. Get my shoes, obviously. If I dined with the lovebirds, I might be able
to find out why Mr. Bellomo chose to harbor criminals, and if his intentions were
honorable. Maybe he would have the chief of police to dinner or whoever the guy was
that helped him spring my aunt from jail.

I hurried back to my room via the empty hallway to find Zach stretched out on the
couch in the same position I had left him. I freshened his ice pack and tried shaking
him awake.

“What?” he said, eyes fluttering open.

“Zach, are you okay?” I wasn’t hoping for much of an answer to that question.

“Claudie? I’m okay,” he said, “just a little sleepy. Ouch, my jaw is killing me.”

His eyes were drifting shut again. “I had this dream about fists raining down on my
face.” His speech was halting, and I couldn’t make sense of it. A dream? The way he
looked was not a dream.

“Okay, rest. I’m going to dine with my aunt and Mr. Bellomo. I don’t think you’ll
be going anywhere soon. I’ll be back, and then we’re leaving.”

“Right.” He conked out again.

I sat, hunched on the floor beside the couch looking at him and brushed his hair back
in place. He looked so vulnerable and beat up. He was in no shape for anything. His
face felt hot to the touch. I worried he might have a fever.

Lord, what a mess this all was. How was I going to uproot my lovesick aunt and drag
her from the dragon’s lair? How was I going to help Zach? He was a felon and a wanted
man. Didn’t we make a pair? I wished it were on the right instead of wrong side of
the law. I wondered how much a good lawyer cost in Cyprus, as I trudged to the bathroom
to pull myself together.

I fixed my hair into a top knot, fussed with my makeup, sprayed on more Ancient Breezes,
its crisp fragrance growing on me, found my cute sandals and slid them on. I had no
jewelry except the gold hoops I wore, but I liked the little black dress which hugged
my curves. Since I didn’t have rubies and sapphires this evening, the gold St. Christopher
medal would have to do.

I tucked the silky soft blanket over Zach and kissed his forehead. One side of his
mouth tried to twitch into a smile. The evening breeze off the water was cool, so
I closed the French doors to the balcony. I dimmed the overhead and left the table
lamp burning at the end of the couch. I looked back one last time as I left the room.
Zach looked so peaceful stretched out on that humungous couch. A scene of domestic
felicity. One could wish.

Aunt Elizabeth was ready when I arrived in her room.

“Does a limo come for us or do we walk to dinner?”

She laughed. “Oh, Claudie, dear heart, don’t be silly, of course we’ll walk.”

She sprayed a few squirts of expensive perfume behind her ears. “There, all ready.
How do I look?”

“Great.” I had to admit she had always been an attractive woman in a matronly sort
of way, always had a neatness about her. She wore a gold chain with a blue pendant
that looked like a sapphire with drop earrings to match. Salvatore sure was into gifts.

Her hair was soft white, easy to coif, and pulled back in her signature French twist.
The blue dress showed off her hour glass figure. With strappy gold heels and painted
red toenails, she looked like an AARP fashion model. I was proud of her. If only she
weren’t in love with a Mafia don.