Killing Her Softly

by Freda Vasilopoulos

  Leslie looked down at the flagstones, at the pool of blood that was all that remained of Jason. The doctor had ordered his body put into the ambulance and was waiting for Jimmy's okay to leave.

  "Did you find anything?” Simon asked in Greek as Jimmy emerged from the dense shrubbery at the edge of the patio.

  "Not much. He hid in the bushes and used a rifle. I found a shell casing, but it's a common type and doesn't tell us much, unless he was careless enough to leave fingerprints."

  "That's all?” Simon asked, disappointed. Yet, what had he expected? The killer to leave a calling card?

  "I'm afraid that's it,” Jimmy said. “But I'm marking off the area until I can get an expert from Kerkira to have a look. So I'm asking you and Leslie to stay out of that part of the garden."

  He turned and spoke to one of his men. “Would you ask Cecil Weatherby not to use that path?"

  "You mean he's been coming into this garden?” Simon asked.

  "What is it?” Leslie said.

  Simon repeated Jimmy's words, realizing Leslie hadn't understood the Greek. “How do you know he's been using the path?"

  "Flattened grass,” Jimmy said in English. “That path is used regularly. It's well-worn."

  "I wonder why,” Leslie said slowly. She shivered as a creepy chill crept over her skin. Had Cecil been hiding in the bushes, spying on her? “Each time we've seen him here, he's come up the driveway."

  "Yeah, he has,” Simon said. “But maybe we should talk to him anyway."

  "Does Cecil have a rifle?” Leslie addressed the question to Jimmy. “I understand he and Jason had a falling out years ago."

  "That's true,” Jimmy said. “But last summer and in the months before Jason's windsurfing accident, they appeared in public on apparent good terms. But I'll check whether Cecil has any weapons.” He pulled out a handkerchief and mopped his face. “Why don't we go inside, and I'll take down your statements?"

  * * * *

  By the time Jimmy drove away, leaving a young officer on guard until the forensics expert could arrive, the afternoon was far gone. Leslie rubbed the bridge of her nose, feeling a headache coming on. Simon came up behind her and gently massaged her temples. She rested her head against him for a moment, giving in to her exhaustion.

  "What are you going to do now?” Simon asked.

  "I wish I knew,” she said wearily. Nerves were jumping under her skin, and not even his touch could soothe them. “I'd better let Papadopoulos know."

  She'd called him that morning, and he'd taken the loss of the box of Jason's papers with surprising equanimity. But how would he react to this, the news that Jason had been alive up until now, and obviously hiding somewhere?

  "This is most irregular,” Papadopoulos said after she had filled him in. “Most irregular."

  "I would say that's an understatement,” Leslie said. “I suppose we'll have to arrange another funeral. Would you help me with that?"

  "A funeral.” Papadopoulos's tone was dry. “Jason didn't have a funeral before. Since there was no body and no relatives to mourn him here, it didn't seem necessary. I believe the village priest said prayers on the forty-day anniversary. Have the police taken the body? I take it you're still at the house?"

  "Yes,” Leslie said. “The police have a man in the garden, but since he died outside, they don't need the house for evidence.” She closed her eyes, feeling momentarily sick. In her ordered life in Canada, she'd never thought she'd be part of a violent crime. Two crimes, if they counted Melanie.

  "Well, then, I'll come down to Platania when they release the body. Oh, and please accept my condolences."

  "Thank you,” Leslie said faintly, not sure she deserved them. “I'll be in touch."

  She had just put down the phone when there was a knock on the front door. Simon laid his hand on her arm, stopping her from rushing to answer it. “Wait a minute. Jimmy's man is watching the garden. He can't see the front door."

  Another knock, a loud pounding that reverberated in Leslie's aching head. “Go see who it is, Simon. By the sounds of it, he's not going away."

  Scowling, Simon opened the door. “Oh, it's you."

  Harlan Gage stood outside, oily smile firmly in place. Behind him stood another man, dressed in a raw silk suit. “I understand you had some trouble here earlier."

  "You might say that,” Simon said dryly. “What do you want?"

  Gage looked past him at Leslie. “Please accept my condolences, Mrs. Adams. I know how you must be feeling. Jason was a friend of mine, too."

  Simon made a mental note to have Jimmy check whether Gage owned a rifle.

  "I was as surprised as you to find Jason alive,” Gage said. He gestured toward the man at his side. “This is Mr. Wheeler, an associate of mine. He's considering purchasing a house here, and would like to look at yours."

  Wheeler nodded at them without offering to shake hands.

  Leslie pushed past Simon. “When did you learn he was alive?"

  "Why, late yesterday evening, dear lady. Jason came to me at the inn, wearing dark glasses and a hat and scarf that concealed most of his face. He said he'd received a delivery for me that is being held at the house."

  "I received nothing,” Leslie said.

  "Perhaps it came before you arrived. Jason gave me this."

  Gage reached into the pocket of his wrinkled linen jacket and produced a folded paper that he handed to Leslie. She read the scrawled words, going down to the signature.

  "Is it real?” Simon asked.

  She gave him an annoyed look, chastising him for his nosiness. “It looks like Jason's signature. And the date is yesterday's. We know he was alive then, so he could have written it. I guess we have no choice."

  She turned to Gage. “Why didn't you come sooner?"

  "Jason gave it to me late last evening. I didn't think you'd appreciate a visit then. And when I came by this morning, you were out."

  "This morning?” Simon said. “What time?"

  "Early. The car wasn't here."

  The car hadn't been there all night. Simon stood aside, holding the door open. “Okay, I guess you can come in and have a look. But I haven't seen anything in the basement."

  * * * *

  The crate of cheap wine had disappeared from the wine cellar. Only a cleaner spot on the dusty floor showed where it had stood. The place where the other crates had been was wiped clean, all traces of oil gone.

  "Someone's been down here again,” Simon said angrily. “And that might be how the roses were left and the notes taken."

  "But how could they get up there, when I kept the door at the top of the stairs locked?” Leslie asked. A knot tightened in her chest; someone could have been spying on her not only from outside, but from inside as well.

  "Did we have a good look at it?” Simon asked. “I think the lock can be released from the stair side, although it's a little tricky."

  "Can we get on with it?” Gage had dropped all semblance of affability, and stood shifting impatiently from one foot to the other.

  "Oh, by all means,” Simon said sarcastically. “Where would you like to look?"

  "Jason said there's an old armoire in here. The box I'm supposed to pick up is in it."

  "Is it? Then I trust you have a key. It was locked the last time we looked."

  Simon led the way to the back of the wine cellar, swinging the flashlight from its cord. The lights remained on, however. Leslie brought up the rear, keeping her eye on Wheeler. If he was anything like Gage, she wouldn't put it past him to swipe a bottle or two when no one was looking.

  To their surprise, the armoire was not locked today. Gage swore when he saw what was inside, his tone so vicious that Leslie winced. “Well, what did you expect?” Simon asked. “The crown jewels?"

  The box inside the ornate cupboard was the very crate of cheap wine that had been near the wine cellar door a few days ago. “You're welcome to take it, Mr. Gage.” Simon added.

  Gage swore again. “He lied to me. He lied.�
� With that, he turned and stamped out of the room and up the stairs, his footsteps echoing eerily. Wheeler cast them a speculative look, then turned and followed him.

  Simon waited until the back door slammed, then went up and locked it. Through the window he could see the two men striding off down the driveway.

  "Is he gone?” Leslie asked from the top of the stairs.

  "Yeah, and I don't think he'll be back,” Simon said with grim satisfaction.

  "His friend didn't see much of the house,” Leslie said.

  "You mean you believed that story?"

  "No, of course not.” Leslie turned around. “D'you think we should have another look around the basement? The lights seem to be pretty stable."

  "Let's go, then."

  They explored the cavernous space, searching the walled-off storage rooms. A couple of them were locked, but the keys on Jason's ring, which Simon had lost and Baby had brought to Leslie, opened the doors.

  Inside one they found enough canned goods to withstand a siege. “Somebody must have been expecting a famine,” Simon said.

  He unlocked the door next to it, and let out a long whistle. “I think we've found where Jason was holing up. Or at least where he kept his clothes. Look, there in the corner. Isn't the box from the attic? Someone's been busy."

  "Papadopoulos will be pleased,” Leslie said flatly.

  "At least that explains the noises we kept hearing. Do you suppose he brought the roses?"

  Leslie gnawed on her lower lip. “I don't know. It's not the sort of thing Jason would do, unless he changed a lot. But then, there was so much I've recently found out about him, he could have, I guess. But why would he call me Allegra?"

  "The key question in all of this, I'd say."

  "Another question would be, did Jason go in and out through the house, or did he have some sort of secret way to get in the basement? I'd say there must be a way in here without going through the house, because someone's been coming in after I changed the locks."

  "Let's look,” Simon said.

  "You know,” he said ten minutes later, “this section is next to the wine cellar, but it seems longer.” Beginning at one end, he paced it off. “Okay, let's go inside."

  Inside the wine cellar, he counted the steps to the opposite end. “Yes, it is shorter. There has to be another room behind here, probably hidden by the furniture."

  Together, they shifted the smaller furniture between the wine racks. Dust rose around them, a clear indication that this stuff hadn't been moved in years. Leslie sneezed as she lifted one end of the ugly Victorian settee, and let out a little shriek when a huge black spider scuttled over her arm.

  The settee out of the way, she stood back, her hands on his hips. “That leaves the armoire. I think we might need a block and tackle to get it out of there."

  So far they had only uncovered a sturdy wooden wall that matched the walls around the rest of the wine cellar. And there wasn't enough space for a mouse to get behind the armoire.

  Leslie suddenly snapped her fingers. “A secret door."

  To Simon's surprise, she snatched the flashlight from him, opened the door and clambered on top of the wine crate. A moment later, she cried out in triumph. “I knew reading all those mysteries would come in handy someday. I found something."

  She jumped off the crate, swiping at the cobwebs draped stickily across her face. “I suppose those don't mean no one's been here."

  Grinning, Simon shook his head. “That many cobwebs can be rebuilt overnight. What did you find?"

  "Help me move that crate, and we'll see."

  They set the crate on top of the settee, raising new clouds of dust. Reaching into the armoire, Leslie tugged at the back panel. It moved outward in eerie, well-oiled silence, revealing a door fitted with a shiny brass cylinder lock. “Now what would that be?"

  Simon crowded in beside her, the clean scent of him tickling her nostrils and setting up little shock waves in her belly. “Could be a passage,” he said. “These houses often had hidden exits in case of war or revolution. Or it's the entrance to a bomb shelter. Lots of people built them in the fifties."

  "But the lock is new."

  "So are several other things in the house,” Simon said. “Jason lived here openly before his windsurfing accident. He might have done some repairs. Do you have the keys? Let's try them."

  None of them fit the lock, not even close. “I wonder if Jason had another set of keys, besides the ones I found,” Simon said. “Maybe we should give Jimmy a call. Oh, and let's bring up that box with Jason's papers in it."

  With a cursory look at the rebuilt coal chute, they went upstairs, locking the doors after them.

  "Of course, with Jason dead,” Simon said, “there may be no need to lock everything all the time."

  "If he was the one coming in, and if no one else has a key,” Leslie pointed out.

  Simon's eyes softened. “You're right, Leslie. It's better if you don't take any chances."

  He moved to the telephone and called the police station. When he came back, he found Leslie standing in front of the open fridge door, contemplating its meager contents. He reached around her and closed the door. “I'll take you out for dinner."

  "What did Jimmy say?"

  "He said whatever personal effects they find in Jason's pockets will be returned when the body is brought back here from Kerkira."

  "How soon will that be?"

  "A couple of days, he figures. Oh, and Cecil's not in. We'll get him tomorrow."

  Leslie plucked her dusty shirt away from her chest. “Just let me take a shower before we go out."

  "Want me to scrub your back for you?” he asked, grinning.

  Heat kindled in her eyes, then died. “I want to see Eugenia before we go, return her watch."

  Simon's grin slipped. “Last night happened, Leslie. It's too late for regrets."

  "It's also too soon after Jason's death."

  "You didn't love him."

  "I cared for him,” she stated. “Please, Simon. I need time."

  He walked over and kissed her, his mouth moving gently on hers, promising passion. For an instant she leaned into him, but then she pulled away. “I'll be right back."

  "Okay.” He tapped his fingers on the box he'd set on the table. “I'll go put this in the car. No one will know it's there, and it'll be handy to take to Papadopoulos."

  Simon carried the box outside, his thoughts on Leslie. When would she trust him, know that he wasn't like Jason? At least Jason wouldn't be back to haunt them again. The thought gave him a perverse satisfaction, followed by shame that he didn't feel deeper sorrow for a life ended too soon, by violence.

  On the other hand, every indication pointed to Jason's being involved with some rather unsavory people. Like Harlan Gage, for instance.

  Simon had called a friend in Athens to run a check on Gage. The man had a string of arrests, a couple of convictions for petty crime in England, but all along there were suspicions of connections to bigger, more organized illegal operations. Just no proof.

  They might never find the answers, now that Jason was really dead. Papadopoulos would get the estate settled, Leslie would sell the house—there was no way he could see that she could afford to keep it—and she would leave.

  Pain twisted inside him. No wonder he'd grown quickly bored with the other women he'd known. He'd been waiting for Leslie; their meeting had been fated. And he knew he'd never feel this way—confused, intrigued, challenged, and happy—with any other woman.

  He locked the back door, and waited for her in the front hall.

  What if he told her he loved her?

  At that revolutionary thought, his heart leaped. Before he could examine this idea, he heard footsteps coming down the stairs. His heart jumped again.

  She was so beautiful, the elegant angles of her face softened by the dim golden light that suffused the house at sunset. Her hair floated loose on her shoulders, like that of a fairy princess in a child's storybook. He caught th
e fragrance of gardenias from her soap, and he wanted to carry her back upstairs and love her until they both were sated. Until she would promise to stay forever.

  Stunned by the intensity of his emotions, he took refuge in levity. “You clean up nice, Leslie.” He offered his arm, and she tucked her hand into his elbow. “Shall we go?"

  "We need to talk to Eugenia,” Leslie said. “About Allegra."

  "We'll stop there before I go home to change."

  Simon was silent during most of their dinner at the taverna. Leslie, her mind filled with the conversation she'd had with Eugenia, hardly noticed. But when the waiter brought their after-dinner coffee, she shook herself back to the present. “We have to talk."

  He smiled faintly, enigmatically. “Yes. There has to be a connection between all the things that have been happening. We have to find it."

  "Eugenia was out when Jason was shot,” Leslie said. “So she didn't see anything."

  "What about Allegra?"

  "She's not sure, says she may have been a long ago guest at the house. Could have been calling herself Allie or something.” She leaned forward. “Actually, she suggested we ask Cecil about her."

  "Good idea.” Simon nodded. “I've been wanting to talk to him myself. That path, and a few other things."

  Leslie's brow furrowed. “She also mentioned Eva, Jason's first wife.” She gave a short, humorless laugh. “She implied there might have been something between Eva and Cecil. Isn't that too fantastic?"

  Simon didn't laugh. “Maybe it's not."

  Leslie shrugged. “Anyway, I also asked about the repaired coal chute. Eugenia thinks it was done last February."

  Last February, when numerous visitors had come to Jason's house at all hours of the night. Well. it could wait until morning. He'd rather tackle it in daylight.

  * * * *

  They had barely entered the kitchen and locked the back door when the lights went out. Lightning stitched across the sky, followed by a low roll of thunder. Simon looked up. “Could be a storm. I thought I saw it rising over the sea."

  He jiggled the flashlight he held. “Wait here. I'll check the fuses."

  "Be careful."

  "Aren't I always?” He lifted her palm and placed a kiss in it, giving her a wink heavy with innuendo. Little lightning bursts went off inside her, as if the storm had invaded her body.