Killing Her Softly

by Freda Vasilopoulos

  Leslie pressed her hand against her stomach, her throat closing. “You locked her up in the attic."

  "I didn't hurt her. I gave her something to make her sleep. But I knew I couldn't keep her, with Jason so often in the house. I used a pillow. I killed her softly."

  "As you would have killed me,” Leslie said. “It was you, wasn't it? And you tried to drown me in the bath, and you shot at me the first night."

  "I only wanted to scare you, to get you away from the house.” Cecil shook his head. “I wouldn't kill you. You said you love me.” He turned to Simon. “I didn't mean to make trouble for you, Simon. I asked Jason not to bother you, but he wouldn't listen. He said to let you take the blame when he thought Melanie drowned."

  "Thanks,” Simon said sardonically. “But why did he want to make trouble for me?"

  "He said it was your fault, Simon, when the hotel company pulled out of the agreement to buy the house. And he put Melanie up to accusing you of harassing her. He wanted to ruin your reputation, and, if possible, your business, to get revenge."

  "How?” Simon frowned. That would have been after his father's death. He'd gone back to London for a couple of months. The real estate development firm in which he'd been a partner had called him back to complete several projects he'd worked on earlier. Now that he thought of it, one of their big projects at the time had been in Greece. “Wait a minute. What was the name of that hotel company?"

  "Sunshine Resorts,” Cecil said.

  Simon nodded. “Now I get it. The new location on the mainland—the company I worked for arranged the sale and the financing. I wasn't even involved in that deal, but Jason probably didn't know that, and held me responsible for his losses. And I suppose all those trumped-up accusations about Melanie were also part of it.” A bitter smile curved his lips. “I guess justice has been served after all, although it's too late for my father. And too bad Jason had to die for it in the end. I would have been happy just to see him in jail for fraud or gun smuggling."

  "Why did you come, Leslie?” Cecil said plaintively. “Why did you spoil it? If we had completed the deal with the guns, Jason could have gotten out of the trouble he was in. Instead, Wheeler killed him.” He dragged in a raspy breath. “When I saw you, I thought you were Allegra, but Jason told me you were his wife."

  A tear crept down Cecil's face, to disperse in the bristly stubble on his chin. He let go his hold on Leslie's arm, and she was able to put a little distance between them.

  "Every time I saw you,” he said, “I thought you'd come back to haunt me. I couldn't stand it. And Jason was going crazy, jumping at every shadow. It was all falling apart."

  "You tried to scare me away,” Leslie said. “And when that didn't work, you fixed my brakes."

  "Your brakes?” Cecil said indignantly. “I never touched your brakes."

  "Then who did, Cecil?” Simon asked. “You left flowers, and a note that was practically an admission of guilt."

  Cecil's narrow shoulders slumped, and he swayed on his feet. Simon took a deep breath, and Leslie knew he was tensing himself for attack. She turned her head and caught his eye. Wait, she silently told him.

  "Gage. Gage did it,” Cecil said. “Gage taunted us about it, said our stupid amateur schemes to scare Leslie away weren't working, so he would try a sure thing."

  "Well, it didn't work,” Simon said bluntly. “Your funeral flowers were premature."

  "They were for Allegra,” Cecil said. A dry sob shook his bony frame. “It was all for Allegra. I couldn't let you find her resting place."

  "You were afraid I'd find the bodies, weren't you?” Leslie said.

  "Yes,” Cecil wailed. “I couldn't let them take her away from me."

  Outside, the mynah shrieked again, making Leslie start. He was closer, she thought. Any minute now, he would probably fly in the door.

  Unnoticed by Cecil, Simon had again moved right next to her. “Get ready to duck,” he murmured, his breath fanning her ear. “Whatever happens, remember this: I love you."

  "What?” Leslie gasped, her heart thudding.

  A flurry of feathers whipped past their heads. Cecil screamed and jerked his head violently to one side, his arms coming up to protect his face. The gun clattered to the floor. He stared at his empty hands for an instant, then dropped to his knees, frantically scrabbling for it.

  Scruffy barked hysterically as the gray cat leaped into the room, hissing as if he were demented. He swiped one paw across Scruffy's nose, sending the little dog yelping into the corner. He skidded to a stop in front of Cecil. Cecil sneezed explosively. The cat, in a complete panic, sank needle-sharp teeth into Cecil's ankle.

  Leslie scooped up the gun, realized it was useless in her hands, and tossed it to Simon, who neatly caught it.

  "Baby!” Eugenia's peremptory tone echoed across the room. “Come here at once."

  She stopped just inside the kitchen door, her mouth dropping comically open as she took in the sight of them. The mynah perched on top of a kitchen cabinet and let out a series of ear-splitting shrieks. The gray cat, his front paws clawing the bottom of the cabinet, hissed at the bird. And in the corner, Scruffy yapped like a dog gone crazy.

  A door slammed, cutting through the din. Leslie spun around. Cecil was gone, down the basement stairs.

  "Quick, the breaker,” Simon snapped.

  She jerked open the pantry door and threw up the switch. The basement stairs at her feet vanished into darkness. She listened. Not a sound came from the basement.

  In the kitchen, too, silence had mercifully been restored. Eugenia held Baby between her cupped palms. She murmured to him and the bird chortled softly, rubbing his yellow beak along her cheek.

  Simon, the gun dangling from his hand, cradled the cat in the other arm. The creature's fur once more lay in velour-soft order, and he purred blissfully, all thoughts of eating Baby temporarily subdued.

  "He can't get away,” Simon said. “Without power, he won't be able to operate that door."

  "Unless he left it open,” Leslie said.

  Simon gave the gun a distasteful glance and laid it on the table. “Eugenia, will you give Jimmy a call? Our phone's dead. Tell him to send someone to Cecil's house, as well, in case he goes back there. But my feeling is he won't leave Allegra."

  Eugenia looked from one to the other, her expression baffled. “Would you mind telling me what this is all about?"

  Simon gave a strangled laugh. “Later, Eugenia. Right now, we need Jimmy."

  "Okay.” She shrugged her shoulders and hurried away, long skirt swaying around her hips.

  "No wonder Cecil could come and go as he pleased in the house and we never saw him,” Leslie said. “It didn't make any difference when I changed the locks. He had his own door."

  "Probably rigged with a device like an remote garage door opener, but it won't work without electricity,” Simon said. “You know, I think I'll buy Baby a bag of bananas as a reward. If he hadn't kept stealing keys, we might never have noticed anything going on. Or thrown Cecil and his dubious associates into a tailspin."

  Leslie paced across the floor. Her knees shook with exhaustion, and her hair felt as if Baby had nested in it. And Simon—what had he said?

  She didn't want to think about it, and yet the three words kept ringing in her head. I love you.

  What was she going to do? One thing she knew for sure, he had a lot more courage than she did, where emotions were concerned.

  "Relax, Leslie,” Simon said quietly. “You're just wearing yourself out. What's Cecil going to do? We've got his gun."

  "What if he has another?"

  Simon's mouth tightened into a grim line. “If it'll make you feel better, I'll close the basement door and brace a chair against it."

  A dull thud from the basement make them both jump. The cat growled and launched himself out of Simon's arms. He streaked through the door and disappeared into the bushes.

  "What was that?” Leslie gasped as her heart leaped into her throat.


  "I'm going to find out.” Simon picked up the gun and headed for the basement door.

  "Wait, Simon,” Leslie said, closing her fist around his arm. “That might be what he wants."

  "I'll just go to the top of the stairs and see if he's coming up."

  Leslie tiptoed behind him. Together they peered down into the darkness. They heard nothing, although a flickering light was dimly visible.

  "Could be a candle,” Simon said. “I saw some down there. Or maybe just the sunlight coming into the basement windows."

  Leslie turned, and came up against his hard chest. Simon clasped her shoulders to steady her, and fire ran down her body at his touch. Awareness shimmered between them like heat lightning.

  Leslie licked her dry lips, her mind in a turmoil. “Simon—"

  "Yes, Leslie?” His chocolate colored eyes gazed at her, soft and confident and faintly amused.

  "Simon, what you said—"

  "Simon, are you here?” The voice cut between them with the force of an icy shower.

  Reprieved. She wasn't sure whether it was chagrin or relief that made her light-headed. The moment she sensed might be the most critical of her life was postponed. Maybe if she had more time, she could sort out her feelings.

  "Jimmy.” Leslie turned and greeted him with an enthusiasm that must have startled him.

  "Eugenia told me some garbled story on the phone, about Cecil with a gun. Is that the gun?"

  "Yes.” Simon reversed the gun and handed it to Jimmy.

  "I've got a man watching Cecil's house.” Jimmy efficiently inspected the gun, then let out a short laugh. “This isn't even loaded."

  "You mean we went through all that for nothing?” Leslie burst out.

  A heavy boom shook the floor under their feet. They all froze where they stood. “Not an earthquake,” Jimmy said. “The light bulb isn't moving."

  Another bang, sharper and higher, made Leslie clap her hands over her ears. Jimmy and Simon ran for the basement stairs. They paused at the top. Leslie followed, stopping abruptly when she smelled smoke, a pungent acrid smoke that stung her nostrils and made tears spring into her eyes.

  "Gas. There is a gas leak.” Simon took a deep breath. “Cecil,” he called down the stairs, holding his handkerchief over his nose as a black, oily cloud billowed up from the basement.

  Leslie could hear an ominous crackling. A chill enveloped her, despite the heat she felt under her feet. The place was on fire. The explosions were the wine and brandy bottles bursting, which would add more fuel to the fire.

  "Cecil,” Simon yelled again. “Can you hear me?"

  He started down the stairs, but Jimmy grabbed his arm. “You can't go down there."

  "The electricity,” Leslie cried, her voice cracking into a cough. “If it's on, he can get out through Allegra's room."

  Reaching for the breaker at her side, she turned it on. Lights flared briefly, then snuffed out with little pops as the bulbs exploded in the heat.

  "Cecil.” Simon's voice cracked.

  Jimmy took his arm. “Simon's, it's no use. He can't hear you."

  Mad laughter echoed up the stairs, scraping across Leslie's already lacerated nerves. Her blood chilled as she heard the words, probably the last words Cecil would ever utter. “They can't take you away, Allegra. We'll be together forever. Forever."

  The shrill voice died away as another explosion rocked the house on its foundations. Leslie staggered and would have fallen, but Simon grabbed her just in time.

  "We can't help him,” Jimmy said. “And we'd better get out of here. That sounded like a gas explosion, and there'll be more. This place is done for."

  * * * *

  Hours later, Leslie and Simon stood gazing at the ruined house. Blackened timbers formed a roof open to the red-streaked, sunset sky, the heavy tiles having collapsed into the hole that was all that remained of the basement. A couple of stone chimneys stood like obelisks, the only other survivors of the fire.

  "Well,” Jimmy said, coming up to join them as all but one of the fire trucks rumbled away. “At least the insurance will cover the debts."

  Leslie glanced at him in surprise. “How did you know?"

  "Papadopoulos has been cooperating with us. Jason was suspected of a number of serious crimes. When he supposedly died in the windsurfing accident, we asked the lawyer to inform us of anything he found in his papers that might lead us to his associates, much bigger fish in an organization that has branches everywhere. At least Gage's and Wheeler's arrests have helped us, and will probably lead to more arrests. Good thing you managed to keep that box of papers from the attic safe. There might be something in there."

  "I hope so,” said Simon fervently. “And poor Cecil was mixed up in it, too."

  "Only marginally, from what Gage says. And only in this deal because he helped Jason. He was more concerned about a new owner desecrating the shrine of his beloved Allegra."

  "At least he's at peace now,” Simon said soberly. “And who knows? Perhaps he and Allegra are together at last."

  "What will become of his work and his house?” Leslie asked.

  Jimmy shrugged. “I don't know. There may be some distant relatives. I guess we'll have to get Papadopoulos to work on that next."

  "Come, Leslie,” Simon said. “Let's go home."

  * * * *

  As he drove the little Renault through the village, Simon glanced at Leslie. What was she thinking? Was she planning her return to Canada? He wouldn't blame her if she did. Her introduction to Corfu hadn't been exactly a pleasant vacation.

  His heart ached when he thought of her leaving. But what right did he have to expect her to stay? She hadn't reacted to his rash declaration, except for that weighted moment in the pantry, when he'd seen the question on her face but had been unable to read the emotion behind it.

  "I'm sorry, Leslie,” he said.

  Her elbow resting on the open car window ledge, she lifted her head from its resting place against her hand. “Sorry? Sorry for what?” The words were slurred; she looked unutterably weary.

  "Never mind,” he said. “Later."

  Soft gray dusk filled his room. He stripped her down to her underwear and tucked her into his bed. She sighed, and fell asleep.

  He slowly removed his own clothes and lay down beside her, breathing in the vanilla fragrance of her skin. Her hair had a smoky tang to it, and again he felt a chill. He could have lost her to Cecil's madness.

  Laying his arm across her body, he tucked her closer, tempering the fierceness with which he wanted to hold her.

  Later, he told himself. He would have time later.

  * * * *

  Leslie woke when a lemon-colored sunbeam slid across her face. Morning? It couldn't be. She pushed her hair out of her face, grimacing at the feel of it. A warm, naked leg lay over hers.

  Smiling, she turned, slowly, so as not to wake him. His eyes were closed, those incredibly long lashes softening the angles of his cheekbones. His face was dark with two days beard growth. He looked younger in sleep, his lips parted as he snored gently.

  "Simon, I love you,” she whispered, her heart clenching with a fierce tenderness. It was as if the long, deep sleep had wiped away all her doubts, all her fears. “I love you."

  "Do you?” Simon asked in a voice husky with sleep. He opened his eyes, and stretched as lazily as a cat.

  Leslie's smile slipped, and momentary panic fluttered in her chest. She pulled back, inching toward the edge of the bed.

  His arm snaked out to bring her against him. She landed on his chest with a little oof. “Simon, you were sleeping."

  He smiled at her, his eyes as warm as melted chocolate. “I wake up when a woman says she loves me. It's never happened before."

  She playfully cuffed his shoulder, her embarrassment fleeing. “I bet."

  "No, it hasn't, except for my mother, and that isn't the same.” He nuzzled her hair, then traced his lips down her cheek and over her mouth, covering it in a deep, hot kiss. “So now that y
ou love me and I love you, what are we going to do about it?"

  Leslie tucked her face into the hollow of his shoulder. “I'm not good at relationships, you know. I married Jason for all the wrong reasons."

  "Then you can marry me for the right reasons. Is it so hard to trust yourself?"

  "Yes,” she blurted out.

  He ran his finger down her straight nose, then gently outlined her lips. “Don't sweat it, Leslie. Isn't that what you say in Canada?"

  She laughed; she couldn't help it. “Yes, that's what we say."

  "Then I'll teach you to trust yourself. We've got the rest of our lives to work on it."

  She sighed. “There's still so much that's unsettled. My job, for instance. How are we going to work that? I suppose, since you can't move your orchards, I'll have to live here."

  "Kerkira has branches of several major banks,” Simon said. “You should be able to get a transfer, or a whole new job."

  "I suppose.” She smiled suddenly. Yes, hadn't she come here expecting to find adventure? Not that she wanted her life to be as hectic as the past week had been.

  Her smile slipped. “There's more,” she said soberly. “Funerals for Melanie and Jason and Cecil. The will. The insurance. I just know I'm going to be a lot of trouble for you."

  "We'll work it out,” Simon said with that irrepressible confidence that had attracted her from the beginning. “Together."

  He moved so that she lay beneath him, savoring the feel of his hot skin against her, the difference between them, male and female. He began to kiss her, and all thoughts of trouble drifted away.

  The adventure was just beginning.

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  About the Author

  I was born in Holland but grew up in Alberta, Canada. From early childhood I wanted to be a writer.

  After working at various other kinds of jobs, I began to write seriously in 1980. The first published book appeared on store shelves in 1985. Since then, I have had 12 more books published, mainly romantic suspense, all at Harlequin Books.