Island Casualty

by D. R. Ransdell

  Even a moron who had worried his friends by not checking in all afternoon could tell that his companion still had a sore wrist that needed rest. What I couldn’t determine was whether I had been forgiven or not or whether Rachel was hoping I would go away for the evening so she wouldn’t have to bother about me.

  I wasn’t sure which one of us felt more stuck. She wasn’t frowning at me, but she wasn’t taking hold of my hand either. She wasn’t offering a single clue I knew how to read.

  “Would you rather go to the taverna alone?”

  “I would rather you had a choice. It’s been a weird day.”

  “I’m sorry about scaring you this afternoon. I wasn’t thinking.”

  She didn’t bother to make eye contact. “Like I said, do what you want.”

  Do what you want. It was evidently a common Greek answer. She didn’t want me to know whether she wanted to be with me or not. Even if she had a preference, she wanted me to be responsible for choosing my own fate. Maybe she’d spent too much time in Greece.

  I performed a quick inventory. The café was crowded, but Eleni and Nikos had everything under control, so they didn’t need me. Given my druthers, I would much prefer a night of performing, even if I didn’t play that well, to a night of sitting at the café, or worse yet, a night of thinking.

  “Spiros won’t mind if I tag along?”

  “He’s expecting a full crowd, so the extra body will help us out.”

  “Vámonos,” I said. Let’s go.

  Chapter Twenty

  I couldn’t concentrate on music. A normal person might have been reflecting on the morning’s close call. A better musician would have been performing with enthusiasm, making a positive addition to each song. As a guest musician, I should have been trying my hardest to play well despite my unfamiliarity with the songs. I should have been watching Kostas the entire evening, anticipating chord changes by the way he positioned his hands over the accordion, thankful for the opportunity to sit in with cross-cultural peers. Instead I was completely distracted. Every time Rachel accidentally brushed against my leg or lightly touched my arm, I wanted to whisk us away to somewhere private and stay there for a good long time.

  “I guess things are going well,” Kostas said when we took a pause and left the stage for a few minutes.

  Rachel was talking to some customers a few feet in front of us, acting as if the day had been perfectly normal. Kostas had caught me drooling over her legs.

  “Sure. Except that we’re never alone.”

  Kostas laughed. “I’m sure it seems that way. Is that why you keep following her to work?”

  “Call it a strategy. You could have done without me tonight.”

  “Rachel’s not ready to go back to the guitar. She can hardly get through the violin tunes tonight.”

  “I thought she sounded all right.”

  “All right, yes. But she’s only using a little bow and hardly any vibrato.”

  “Right,” I said. Somehow I hadn’t noticed the differences.

  “Last night she was in pain, but she didn’t let on,” Kostas continued.

  “How did you know that?” I snapped. Then I chided myself for acting like Himena.

  “I’ve sat next to Rachel enough evenings to know her inside and out.”

  “Are you sure I’m not in your way?”

  He measured me with his eyes. “We went over this a few days ago. There’s nothing between Rachel and me aside from friendship. Haven’t you ever had a female friend?”

  “Maybe my brother’s wife.”

  Kostas offered me a cigarette as he shook two from his pack. “Rachel knows me too well to be interested. She’s watched me chase half the customers who walk through the door. She knows I’m not ready to be serious.”

  “Neither am I.”

  “Is that why you haven’t invited her to go to California with you?”

  I could have easily thought of a dozen excuses for not extending an invitation. The best involved the potentially long arms of Louloudi’s killer. “I’m out of work.”

  “You’re a strong musician. I’m sure you can find another job.”

  “I’m not so sure. At any rate, I need to leave town.”

  “Too many bad memories?”

  “I sort of got into a situation.”

  Kostas squinted at me. The taverna lights were shining right in his eyes.

  “Bloody hell. With a woman?”

  “Because of one.”

  Kostas nodded.

  “Rachel knows about it. Mostly.”

  Kostas nodded slowly as if he needed to start sizing me up all over again.

  The silence made me crazy. “Anyway, Rachel’s got a good job here. Why would she suddenly leave?”

  “I don’t mean now. I mean after the season is over. Spiros closes this place down by mid-October. That’s when the last tourists go home.”

  “I thought she had a winter job in Tucson.”

  Kostas scrunched up his shoulders.

  I couldn’t leave well enough alone. “What about What’s-His-Face, the singer?”

  Kostas scrunched up his shoulders even higher, but I knew what he was saying. If anyone was going to take Rachel’s mind off a former lover who was married and living in Athens, it was going to have to be me.

  Angelos called us to the stage to announce our next song, “Summer Moonlight.” Ooohs and aaaaahs went out from the crowd, and several women cried out the name “Vangellis.”

  Rachel avoided eye contact with me. Then she cleared her throat and began to sing.

  ***

  Soumba appeared during our final set. Spiros immediately sat him down with a brandy, but the police chief didn’t get a chance to listen to any music. Locals kept going over to his table to chat. On Amiros he wasn’t the Police Chief with capital letters. He was a fellow islander. He was one of the family.

  After the last song, Rachel and I migrated to Soumba’s table. The police chief nodded appreciatively. “You sang a good song,” Soumba told me.

  “Vaya con Diós is always a hit.”

  “Maybe we’ll keep you here,” Soumba said. “What do you think, Rachel?”

  She laid her hand on mine. It was the first tender gesture she’d made all evening. “Between the two of us, he won’t put up a fight.”

  “Bah! They never do.” He beckoned to Spiros, who immediately joined us. Then Soumba lowered his voice. “Someone asked on the exploding car?”

  The moment before he’d sounded jovial. The change took me off guard.

  “A few,” Spiros said. “I say ‘small fire.’”

  “We got more questions down at the café,” Rachel said. “All of Nikos’ and Eleni’s friends stopped by.”

  “I am not surprised,” Soumba said. “Their café is popular, so everyone knows them. But tell me, Spiros, you have noticed something strange going on?”

  “Me? I run a taverna.”

  “Spiros, I need your help. I need you to tell me anything strange that has been happening.”

  “Let me think. Theo!” The young waiter sauntered over from his perch at the bar.

  “When is the last time Mr. Lato comes?”

  “Alone or with the woman?”

  “With her.”

  Theo was tall and thin as if he’d grown too fast to keep up with his food intake. He counted the days on his fingers. “Five nights ago. Maybe six.”

  “And before that?”

  “A week ago Thursday.”

  Soumba listened carefully, reading between the lines.

  “How about Mr. Oikonomides?”

  “Last month.”

  “The guys who work with Stelios Panos were here a couple of nights ago,” I said.

  Spiros and Soumba rolled their eyes in similar ways.

  “It is lucky they’re not keeping all the money to themselves!” Spiros said.

  “We saw the men down at the port too,” said Rachel. “They were carting a sack labeled ‘oranges.’”

  “Very
hungry, those men,” continued Spiros. “They try everything on the menu and no complaining.”

  “I guess you can afford good food when you have a healthy business,” said Soumba.

  “Maybe Panos’ boys should taking the cooking lessons!” countered Spiros.

  As I reflected on Spiros’ liberal use of “ing” forms, Kostas came over to say goodnight.

  “Hey, Kostas,” said Spiros. “Do you think Panos should sending his boys to cooking school?”

  Kostas feigned careful consideration. “If he did, we might go broke!”

  They burst into laughter. I turned to Rachel, but she hadn’t followed their joking any better than I had.

  “Come,” Soumba said, rising and addressing Rachel and me. “I should take you out of here.”

  “Where are you taking them—jail?” Kostas joked.

  “Yes! I have a comfortable bed they will both like! Ha!”

  We followed Soumba to his car in the parking lot behind the taverna. “Get in, get in.”

  He unlocked the door. At Rachel’s bidding, I got in the front seat. “I bet you didn’t find accommodations near the port,” I said.

  “I called all around town. Twice. Every hotel on the island is full for Swedish tourists. I can’t find you a room anywhere.”

  “Shall we go back to Eleni’s?” asked Rachel.

  “Bah! I’m taking you home with me.”

  “We can’t stay at your house!” I yelled.

  He gripped the steering wheel with his two large hands to make a sharp turn out of the parking lot. “Why not?”

  “What about your wife?” Rachel asked. “I’m sure she wouldn’t want a couple of strangers endangering her family.”

  “Don’t worry!” He let several cars go by before he turned onto the street. “You only have the chance to endanger me. My wife is staying with my daughter.”

  “Is that the one who’s studying in Athens?” I asked.

  “I have only one daughter! Ha! It’s much easier to keep your children straight that way. I am one of three, but these days, one child is enough.”

  “Soumba,” I said, “we wouldn’t want to inconvenience you.”

  “It’s all right. I almost called my sister because her house is cleaner, but by now I think she is sleeping.” He pulled up outside the police station. “Give me a minute. I’ve got to collect some paperwork.” He whistled as he got out of the car.

  I turned to face Rachel. “Isn’t this kind of weird?”

  “Staying at Soumba’s? Maybe. Does it bother you?”

  “I don’t know. I’ve never stayed at a cop’s house before. The idea makes me nervous.”

  She relaxed against the vinyl seats. “I think it’s okay. Things don’t work this way in Tucson, but in Mexico they might. Durango, where most of my relatives live, is much like Amiros.”

  “I bet your cousins don’t spend the night at their police chief’s house.”

  “No, but they party with his son on Saturday nights.” Rachel squeezed my arm. “You look concerned, but you shouldn’t be. Soumba always speaks from the gut. If he says it’s no problem to put us up, he means it. Besides, he feels responsible. If we’re at his house, he’ll think we’re being well protected.”

  Soumba’s front seat didn’t have much leg room, but I stretched my limbs as far as they would go. “I’m so sorry I got you into this.”

  “Andy, we’re not even sure what ‘this’ is. And I’m bored with your apologizing.”

  “I’m sure you’d rather be sleeping comfortably at Eleni’s tonight.”

  “Tonight neither of us would feel comfortable there.”

  She was right. We would have lain awake, convinced that every noise represented a new danger. Thanks to Amiros’ grapevine, a hotel room wouldn’t have been that much different. Clerks were no doubt either bored or bribable. Lots of homeowners rented out rooms, but they would hardly be more trustworthy.

  Soumba popped back into the car, folders in hand. “Payroll!”

  “Don’t you have a secretary for that?” I asked.

  “Uff! That woman has more excuses for skipping work than smokers have for a cigarette. Payroll, I do myself. People have to pay rent. Other stuff can wait.”

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Soumba had a modest house south of the port in a pleasant, nondescript neighborhood full of scruffy olive trees. Bougainvillea crawled up his wall while flowerpots dotted his front steps. Proudly he ushered us in the front door.

  He led us through a dark living room to a kitchen big enough for a party. Condiments and unopened mail cluttered a wide table. A tall glass held clean napkins. Beyond the table, a black-tiled sink supported several days’ worth of dishes. Over the sink, a window looked out onto the night.

  “Sit, sit.” He went about the house opening windows and turning on fans while Rachel and I sat at his wooden table.

  I’d given up figuring out why I was about to spend the night at a policeman’s house and started concentrating on my companion’s perfect brown tan. As I’d found out the night before, the thin white strips where her bathing suit covered private parts made her body a geographic pleasure map. I wanted to get her alone for a few minutes before she did something drastic such as fall asleep.

  Soumba breezed back into the kitchen. “The house gets stuffy when it’s closed up all day, but you’ll be surprised how fast it cools down.” He opened his cabinet. “A drink?”

  “You’re probably tired,” Rachel said.

  “I was sleepy for a while. It’s boring to guard a house when nothing is happening. But I think you understand how I feel. By the time you finish work, even if it’s late, you’re wide awake.”

  We knew exactly. My mother had always suspected me of being lazy, and girlfriends had often suffered from the same delusions. They assumed that I rolled out of bed at eleven because I needed nine hours of sleep. They didn’t quite get it into their heads that if I lay down before four a.m., I never fell asleep.

  Soumba brought out clear glasses and poured each of us some retsina that one of his cousins had made. I lapped up the golden liquid, wishing I knew his cousin. Soumba sat across from us, stretching his feet under the table.

  “Most foreigners don’t care for retsina,” he told me. “They claim it’s too strong.”

  I could see their point. After all, the concoction was an unrefined form of wine. Given my current mental state, however, I merely wished it were stronger. We hadn’t gotten past small talk when I accepted a refill.

  “What’s your opinion on the fire?” I asked.

  Soumba leaned back until the chair tilted. “I know the same as I did this morning. We didn’t find clues from the driveway, and since there are no records for similar crimes on Amiros, we have no leads.”

  “So now what?” Rachel asked.

  Soumba bit off the cellophane from a pack of cigarettes. “What we can do? We don’t know where to start.”

  “Is there any chance this was accidental?”

  “Tzt.” He stared at me as if I’d lost every marble I’d ever owned. I didn’t bother telling him I was merely trying to be optimistic.

  Soumba offered us Marlboros, and we both took one. “The most we can do right now is to watch the house for a few days.”

  “After that?” I asked.

  Soumba took a drag and blew the smoke out slowly. “My advice? Forget about everything. Don’t try to understand.”

  “If possible I’d like to return to the States early next week. Would that be all right?”

  “You’re in a hurry?” Rachel asked.

  “Don’t worry for it,” Soumba said, saving me the embarrassment of trying to think up an answer. “Three more days gives us enough time. After, we know something or we say ‘never mind.’ By the way, you’re playing well with the group, Andy. You give them a bigger sound.”

  I was surprised first that he noticed and second that he gave what I thought was an accurate description, never mind my getting lost from time to time when we
played trickier songs.

  “The musicians are easy to play with,” I said. “No big ego trips. Angelos seemed abrupt at first, but he got over it.”

  “Bah! Ever since he went back to his wife, he recognizes his wrong life. And Dina, well, it’s a shame for him to admit he no longer hears.”

  This too was a surprisingly accurate assessment. Soumba seemed prepared to discuss music indefinitely, but I was too impatient to be polite. “Soumba, I heard something today you ought to know about.”

  “Oh? Where were you?”

  “At the beach.”

  Rachel looked me over. I hadn’t explained anything about my long absence.

  Soumba topped off my glass and poured himself another half. “A daily swim is the right kind of life. I swim early this morning. First one on the beach.”

  “Stelios Panos is importing merchandise from Turkey. He brings it here, labels it ‘Made in Greece,’ and sells it at a huge mark-up. That’s how he makes so much money.”

  Soumba sipped his retsina. “And?”

  “Isn’t that illegal?”

  “Yes and no.”

  I assumed he hadn’t heard me right. “Panos is importing Turkish goods and selling them as Greek ones.”

  Soumba shrugged.

  “You know about this?”

  “Everyone does.” He toyed with a hangnail before tearing it off.

  “Haven’t you tried to stop him?”

  “I should try? Anyway, he is the cousin to my wife.”

  “People buy his merchandise thinking it’s Greek.”

  Soumba flexed his hands behind his head. “The tourists don’t care because they don’t know the difference. The Greeks are too cheap to buy such things anyway. What’s the problem?”

  “You don’t care that he’s dishonest?”

  “Panos is a wholesaler. He sells to the Amirosian merchants who sell to the tourists. Everybody’s happy.”

  “He makes a killer profit. That’s not right.”

  “Why not? Andy, do you think this small island with no industry supports itself? At the end of the year, he always gives away several thousand euros. One year he gives for the schools. One year to fix the docks.”