Island Casualty (Andy Veracruz Mystery Book 2)

by D. R. Ransdell

  I felt that I’d been plunked down into a ‘70’s movie. The out-of-date kitchen had white cabinets that cried for a scrub-down. The aged faucet permitted a slow, irregular drip. The refrigerator wheezed. The table was littered with napkins from Big Gyros, a fast-food disaster by the port.

  The living room hadn’t changed since my previous visit. The chairs were in the same semi-circle. Ashes still spilled over the edges of the ashtray. The only difference was the lack of noise.

  I went upstairs to look for the “office.” In the largest of the three bedrooms, along with a heap of clothes and an unmade bed, a chest of drawers supported a laptop. The “office” was electronic, a sleek gray rectangle. The machine was either new or rarely used. No fuzz was lodged between the keys.

  The Acer turned on, but without a password I couldn’t even enter the “guest” side. I tried several possibilities: Stelios, Panos, diamonds, oranges, Amiros, imports. I guessed Panos was around my age, so I tried associated numbers. Nothing.

  I’d heard passwords were easy to break, but I had no clue as to the first step. Joey might have been able to help, but I didn’t want to call him long-distance about it. I was trying to decide whether or not to take the computer with me, but when I flicked it off, the crunchy sounds of the computer competed with the ones made by a car pulling into the drive.

  I peeked out the window, hoping that my ears had been playing tricks on me. Instead the culprit was my luck. From a dusty, brown jeep, three long-haired teens emerged wearing swim trunks and flip-flops. They didn’t seem like Panos’ friends. Maybe sons.

  I whipped the computer lid shut. I chose the bedroom that looked the least used and tried to scramble under the single bed. I didn’t fit. I ran to the second bedroom where the bed had a higher frame. I slid underneath, hoping the dust wouldn’t make me sneeze.

  “The key is supposed to be right here,” called a voice.

  Definitely American. East coast.

  I fingered the key, which was in the left pocket of my shorts.

  “Maybe you forgot to put it back last time.”

  The accent was similar.

  “Never mind. The door isn’t locked.”

  Once the teens entered the kitchen, I couldn’t distinguish words, but I could tell they were opening and closing the refrigerator, opening cans, and rummaging for food. Finally they gravitated to the living room.

  I was stuck. From the second floor there was no smooth way to get downstairs or sneak outside.

  Beep! The computer made a single, obnoxious croak.

  “What was that?”

  Three pairs of feet pounded up the stairs to “the office.”

  Since the teens were wearing swim gear, they couldn’t have been well armed. If I could catch them by surprise, I could subdue at least two of them. I started to scoot out from under the bed but changed my mind and scooted back. I couldn’t even catch my breath. More importantly, three to one were lousy odds.

  “You heard it too, didn’t you?” said one. “Some techno sound?”

  Someone opened the lid to the computer and tapped a couple of keys.

  “See the red light? Stelios forgot to shut down the computer right. He paused it instead.”

  I heard the tap of a few keys and then a purr as the machine turned itself off properly.

  “Come on! Let’s have another beer!”

  The trio returned downstairs. After a few minutes my regular breathing returned as well. I edged out of the bedroom so I could hear better.

  The voices from the living room were muffled. The boys had gotten more intent on drinking, and they giggled, imitating one another. I scooted to the edge of the stairs.

  “So where’s Stelios? You’re always praising your uncle, but we never get to see him. I’m not even sure he exists.”

  “He owns a house on a fucking island! Who cares if he’s always busy?”

  “What does he do?”

  “He sells stuff. Mostly Turkish crystal.”

  “They don’t make crystal in Greece?”

  “I don’t think so. Anyway, the factories over there are dirt cheap. He gets his stuff produced and then glues on Greek labels. Nobody knows the difference. But he makes a killer profit.”

  “And he keeps a fridge full of beer.”

  Turkish imports. Brilliant. From the east side of the island, Turkey was so close that Panos could be making twenty trips a day before noon.

  The teens’ talk degenerated into car models. I was hoping they’d settle for afternoon naps, but I was rescued by hunger. Evidently Uncle Stelios was free with his beer but didn’t have a handle on food. First, the teens complained that there was nothing to eat. Then one by one they made suggestions about where they should go. By the time they filed out, I was hungry myself.

  As soon as the sound of their jeep had died down, I slid the key back into the stone duck and hit the road. I stopped at the first deserted beach and sat and watched the waves. Without trying to, I caught myself humming Villa-Lobos. The Brazilian was one of my favorite composers. His intricate syncopations were mirrors of my uncertainties. Just as my thoughts, his rhythms led every which way.

  Chapter Nineteen

  “Joey, how’s it going?”

  “Hey, bro’! Did you get relaxed yet?”

  The reception along the side of the road wasn’t the best, but there wasn’t any traffic, and by holding my cell phone sideways, I could hear most of the words.

  “I haven’t managed to relax yet. I’ve run into some complications.”

  “Is Rachel making you work hard? You probably needed the exercise. You haven’t returned my emails.”

  I hadn’t wanted to read them. I knew they would ask questions about my lovely vacation. “It’s been hectic down here.”

  “On a beautiful island where all you have to do is swim all day and maybe make love all night? What’s the matter with you?”

  “An Athenian who came down with me on the ferry died the day after he got here. His name was Haridemos Kalamaras.”

  Joey didn’t reply.

  “Joey, can you still hear me?”

  “Who was this guy?”

  “We don’t know. But whatever he did in Athens, he must have had some kind of business going on the side. Probably contraband. At any rate, something went wrong. Either he was murdered or he killed himself. He drowned a few miles down the coast.”

  “My god.”

  “There’s more.” I filled him in about Stelios Panos and my trip to the police station.

  “I’d like to hear all the details,” Joey continued, “but I’ve got a client waiting in the lobby. How about if I call you a few hours from now? Anyway, I get better rates if I call you on a land line.”

  “I don’t know where I’ll be staying. Probably a hotel.”

  “What? Did you and Rachel have a fight?”

  “No. Someone tried to kill either me or Nikos. We’re not sure of the target.” I gave my brother an abbreviated synopsis of the morning’s events.

  He didn’t reply.

  “Are you still there?”

  “Andy, what the hell is going on?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “You don’t know as in you’re not quite sure or as in you have no idea?”

  I took a deep breath, struggling between being honest and not giving my brother a heart attack. “I’ve got a few ideas.”

  “Instead of being on vacation, you’re in a damned mess.”

  “Yes.”

  “I shouldn’t be surprised.”

  My knee-jerk reaction was to feel offended, but unfortunately, he was right. I was the one who got stranded on the highway with no money, the one who got tangled up with ex-girlfriends’ families, the one who’d gotten mixed up with Louloudi. Like as not, I called on Joey to help me reason out my problems. He wasn’t automatically judgmental, and I knew he was on my side. Whenever I tried to thank him for being a good listener, he’d laugh and thank me for giving him a way to appreciate his own family: two sw
eet daughters and a loving wife.

  As usual, my brother needed only a moment to turn to practicalities. “Let’s think. This car bomb, for example. Could it be a case of mistaken identity?”

  “I don’t know. Not even the police chief knew what to tell us this morning. Crimes like this don’t happen on Amiros. No one knows how to react. Listen, I need to ask you a favor.”

  “How could I possibly help you?”

  “I need you to change my plane ticket so that I can stick around for a few more days.”

  “What?”

  “If I make the call myself, I’ll be on hold forever, and it will cost me a fortune.”

  “You want to stay longer? You’re playing detective down there?”

  “No, nothing like that. The police chief asked me to stay.”

  “Don’t tell me he thinks you are involved with a murder. Please don’t tell me that.”

  “No, but I’m the last one who talked to Hari before he disappeared. Evidently I have something to do with Hari’s death, but no one is sure what that something is.”

  “I see.”

  “You don’t mind calling the airline?”

  “I thought you wanted to get back to the States and start looking for a new job. Noche Azul closed, you know.”

  “I figured it would.”

  “Your ex-boss is in jail.”

  “I figured he would be.”

  “So you made the call?”

  I didn’t have to answer. I’d used a cell phone I’d found at LAX. I hadn’t even said much. I’d contacted L.A. Crimestoppers, informed them about a paid hit, given enough particulars to be credible, and hung up fast before the phone’s owner could figure out he’d left his cell in a toilet stall. Otherwise I’d have bought a phone, made the one call, and thrown the thing away. That had been the original plan.

  I fingered my worry beads. I’d only had them a week, but I’d already worn away the plastic where the words “Greece” had been printed.

  “You probably did the right thing,” Joey said.

  “I waited until I was leaving the country. That can’t look good.”

  “It took several days for the investigators to catch up to him. He won’t necessarily connect things to you.”

  “It still looks bad.”

  For several evenings we’d debated the best course of action. Joey understood my temptation to forget the whole thing. That way I could have kept my job at Noche Azul and my quiet life in Squid Bay. But every night I would have hated myself for choosing the easy way out. Instead I defended a dead woman I may have loved. Now I had different problems. No mariachi group, no job, no prospects. Worse still, a murderer had probably figured out that I’d fingered him. And those were only the problems back in the U.S.

  “As I said,” Joey continued, “I thought you wanted to get back home and start hunting for a job. Certainly you could find something around L.A. That way you could still keep your apartment.”

  “I’ve considered it.”

  “You’d better consider it faster. You always get irritable when you don’t have a chance to perform for more than a few nights. You must be going musically stir-crazy by now, or have you succumbed to island lassitude?”

  “No. I’ve been filling in for Rachel. She sprained her wrist when we fell off the motor scooter.”

  “Who the heck was driving?”

  “She was. But she wouldn’t have lost control if we hadn’t been shot at.”

  “Shot at? With a gun?”

  “I know this sounds wild,” I said. “Bear with me. But it’s such a hornet’s nest down here that I don’t know whose trouble I’m in.”

  He paused, but I could hear him breathing.

  “I guess you better figure it out,” he finally said. “And as soon as you do, maybe you could give me a call. Then I’ll contact the airline to see about your ticket.”

  I hung up and drove on down the road to Eleni’s. Since Eleni and Rachel usually joined Nikos at the café by mid-afternoon, I expected to have the house to myself. I was anticipating some time to decompress. Instead Rachel and Eleni were on the porch. They rose as I drove up.

  “What’s happened?” I asked.

  Rachel locked her arms over her chest. “Asshole.” She turned and went inside.

  I got off the motor scooter and propped it up with a kickstand. Slowly I walked up the path to the porch.

  “What did I do wrong?”

  “We were worried,” Eleni said. “You said you would be back in a couple of hours. That was five hours ago. We were afraid something terrible happened.”

  “I’m sorry. I drove around, and then I stopped on some beach and sat. I didn’t think about the time.”

  “Obviously not.”

  “I didn’t mean to trouble anyone.”

  “Well, you did. Never mind.”

  “I figured you’d be down at the café by now.”

  “We were waiting for you to call.”

  “Eleni, I’m sorry. I didn’t stop to think that anyone would think twice about me.”

  Rachel reappeared with two overnight bags, one of which she shoved at me. “We have to take these down to the café.”

  “I’m sorry I didn’t contact you.”

  “Right.”

  “What’s in the bag?”

  “Clothes for work and a toothbrush for overnight. I couldn’t find your wallet.”

  “Thanks,” I said meekly. “I’m not sure where I left it.” Since Louloudi, I could never seem to find anything when I wanted it.

  “Soumba doesn’t want us coming back to the house this evening,” Rachel continued.

  “Where are we staying?”

  “He said he’d let us know.”

  ***

  By the time we got down to the port, Nikos was swamped trying to wait on fifteen tables himself. I was glad to be of use as a makeshift bartender. I spooned out the instant coffee, added dashes of sugar or milk, and turned on the electric shaker. If the frappés didn’t come out the same as when Eleni made them, at least nobody complained. Better yet, the stream of orders kept me busy. I made a dozen frappés in a row, finding comfort in the repetition. Rachel avoided me, spending her free time with friends who’d come over from Rhodes, the large Dodecanese island nearby.

  I’d finally sat down for a quick break with Eleni when Himena and her father approached. Himena was wearing an apron decorated with chocolate stains. Her long hair was tied in a bun and her face was sweaty. In contrast her father was fresh from a shower and a shave.

  Eleni stood and scouted for extra chairs. “Please sit down.”

  “We don’t have time to stay,” Himena said. “We only came to say we were sorry to hear about your car exploding.” She said the last word loudly and purposefully. Customers in the vicinity turned to stare before returning to their conversations.

  Rachel had told me that the Amirosian gossip vine was like a water faucet left all the way open all the time. Now I believed it.

  “Do you have any idea who tried to sabotage the car?” she asked.

  “We wish we did,” said Eleni.

  “Why would anyone do such a thing?”

  “We do not know.”

  “Someone held a grudge,” said the old man. “People are like that. You can’t stop them. You try to avoid such things for as long as possible.”

  Himena leaned forward. “We are afraid we may be next.”

  “How so?” Eleni asked.

  Himena pointed at me. “All this was triggered by your friend from the ferry.”

  I could understand why Eleni and Himena were acquaintances rather than friends. Himena enjoyed sarcasm as much as she relished one-upmanship. I felt like a sitting duck at a carnival shooting range. Even if I dodged the first bullet, my opponents would be able to catch me on the next round.

  “He wasn’t my friend,” I insisted. “I met him for the first time at your café.”

  “Still, you made the connection.”

  “He sat with me because al
l the other tables were taken.”

  Himena sat on the edge of the chair, a cobra prepared to strike if given provocation. “I have known Eleni all my life. She’s a lamb. And who could be after Rachel or Nikos?” Himena dug her fake fingernails into my arm. “Your dealings with that drowned man have endangered us. What did he tell you?”

  “Nothing special.”

  “That’s not true!”

  I jerked my arm away. Her fingernails left scratches but they didn’t draw blood.

  “Father, I told you he would admit to nothing.”

  My cheeks grew red as I fought to remain civil.

  “This is all a trick to get attention, isn’t it? Nikos probably set the car on fire himself so that people would be curious enough to come down to the café to check on him. That way you can steal all of our customers! Come, Father!” Himena jerked the old man to his feet. He wobbled as she led him away.

  “Island life,” Eleni muttered as soon as they were out of hearing. “Gossip and more gossip.”

  I inspected my speared arm. “I see that Himena doesn’t miss an opportunity.”

  Eleni sighed. “She always has some excuse to complain. I have learned not to listen.”

  “I suppose Himena isn’t married.”

  Eleni swatted a fly, but it escaped before she could kill it. “Himena was engaged once to a Norwegian who had come down for the summer. He did his best to get along with her, but at the end of the season, it seems he preferred harsh weather to a harsh tongue.”

  I didn’t blame him.

  Soumba’s police car, the only one allowed along the port during cruising hours, pulled up in front of the café. I went to join the police chief, and Rachel left her friends long enough to join me.

  “Good evening, my friends,” said Soumba. “How you are doing? You are feeling all right?”

  “I guess,” Rachel said. “Can you tell us where we’re staying tonight?”

  “Not yet. I will come to the taverna and let you know.”

  “Soumba,” I said, “there’s something I need to talk to you about.”

  “Not now, my friend. Mrs. Kofiniotis thinks someone stole her dog. I have to calm her down. Then I’ll go keep the eye to your friends’ house.”