Feta Attraction (17 page)

I expected some kind of instructions, but either there weren't any or perhaps in the fading light they just weren't visible. I leaned around to the inside, trying to keep out of the water, although I was already wet so it didn't matter. Still, the water might get deeper inside, and I did not want to know what might be living inside that underwater cavern. It would have been smart to bring a flashlight from the boat, but I was not going back through that cold water any more times than I had to.

A quick survey of the island revealed that it was only about twenty by thirty feet, containing a half dozen trees and no buildings.
This kidnapper must be some kind of amateur,
I thought, not for the first time. The table could not be left inside the cave where it would certainly be ruined by the watery floor.

A glance at the sky told me there were only a few minutes of daylight left. I unwrapped the belt and repositioned it, lashing the table to a tree. It was pretty conspicuous, and unless the kidnapper was a complete moron, it would be hard to miss it. It was hidden by some other trees, though, so it didn't seem to be visible from the water. I felt a momentary pang of guilt at leaving this valuable antique out to the elements, despite its being protected as well as it could be on short notice, but there was no help for it. Was rain forecast for the weekend? Sophie and Spiro were inveterate weather watchers, the weather being a pretty good predictor of what kind of business the Bonaparte House would do. The table should be all right as long as the guy showed up soon. I'd e-mail him when I got back home and tell him where to find it.

I surveyed my handiwork and double-checked the plastic to make sure it was as tight and weatherproof as possible. Time to get back home and wait. I headed back toward the boat, stepping over the rocks and fallen branches. A squirrel ran in front of me. These islands were full of wildlife, which made its way across the ice during the winter from the mainland. This island was quite small, though, and wouldn't support anything much larger than my little friend, so at least I didn't have to worry about being eaten by a bear or crushed by a moose. I reached the shore where I had disembarked.

No
Heartsong
.

My eyes strained in the darkness. No boat. I did not have the best sense of direction, but I had not gotten turned around and gone to the wrong side of the island. There was the entrance to the cave, and I was certain that that was where I'd left it. A brilliant white moon had risen and begun to cast its light over the river. There, about twenty yards offshore and drifting peacefully along like a ghost ship in a pirate movie, was my boat. Liza's boat. Which I had neglected to tie off.

EIGHTEEN

Damn. The boat was gone. I could swim to save my life but was no athlete, and only a complete idiot would try to catch up to it. Of course, only a complete idiot would not tie the thing up in the first place, but that went without saying. I patted my pockets with the vain hope of finding my cell phone, but I knew that was making its way toward Montreal right about now. Tears welled up.

Now what? I sat down on the rocks and wrapped my arms around myself to try to stop the shivering. I reached up and wiped the tears from my face.
Buck up, Georgie
.
This could be worse. Pretend you're on
Survivor. A few boats might go by, but the chances of them seeing me were slim. I could yell, but a boat engine makes quite a bit of noise and it was unlikely I'd be heard. It looked like I was here till morning, when one of the tour boats would pass. I could attract enough attention then by yelling and waving my arms at the blue-haired ladies on the first boat of the morning. It was going to be a long, cold night. I could only hope the killer/kidnapper didn't plan to retrieve the table tonight.

What I needed was a fire. What I did not have was any means of starting one—no matches or lighter, which would have been soaked anyway. It looked like it was me and my furry friend the squirrel for the evening, and he or she wasn't going to be much company.

I headed farther back into the interior of the island, where I hoped it would be a bit warmer within the shelter of the trees. It was still cold, and I wasn't drying. I looked around for materials to construct some type of windbreak. Some branches that had probably come down in the last big rainstorm lay nearby. I dragged some over by the tree to which I'd lashed the table and piled them up into a makeshift lean-to. I crawled inside to test it out for size and felt a bit warmer. Wait! The table was wrapped in both a blanket and a shower curtain. I had the belt. If I used the shower curtain to wrap the lean-to, and wrapped myself in the blanket, I'd be damp but pretty snug till morning.

The small rocks and twigs of the island's surface cut painfully into my knees and palms as I crawled out, stood stiffly, and stretched. My left arm tapped the wall of the shelter. It collapsed.

The waves lapped against the shore. In the bright sunshine it would have been a happy sound. Here in the moonlight it would be soothing and romantic if somebody special had been with me. Alone, wet, and cold, it was ominous like the slobbery tongue of a river monster licking the shore and getting closer to me all the time. The sound was mesmerizing and I shook my head to break the spell, willing myself to return to the task at hand. As I began to unhook the belt, another sound reached my ears. Not a natural sound like the waves, but a low thrum that was increasing in intensity. It was coming from the water and moving toward me.

I held my breath. It had to be a boat. It could be some kids coming out here to party. There were enough beer cans and graffiti littering the island that this was a very good possibility.

It could also be the kidnapper, who certainly hadn't left me much time if he was here already. Still, if he'd been watching me, he would have seen the boat float away and would probably have figured that I just couldn't get the thing started. He—or she—was dead wrong about that. I'd had no trouble getting the thing started. Driving it and securing it were other matters, though.

My hopes soared at the thought that it might be kids. If they hadn't started their evening imbibing, I could make up some story and get them to take me back to the mainland. The promise of a couple of twenties upon my safe delivery would secure that deal, no problem. Still, I should be cautious. If it was the kidnapper, he was not going to want to find me still here.

I moved back toward the interior of the island, cringing as each step made a crunching sound. I hid behind a tree on the channel side and held my breath. The motor grew closer and the engine abruptly cut out, leaving a sound void that was then filled up again by the increased lapping of the waves from the boat's wake. Any thoughts of rescue by a pack of rowdy teenagers were dashed. There were no sounds of boisterous merriment coming from the craft.

I ventured a peek around the tree trunk as my heart raced. A boat on its own momentum was coming toward the shore. The operator was evidently an experienced sailor, because the boat stopped well short of the shore. I heard the metal-on-metal rasping of a chain being lowered by a crank—an anchor. That had been my mistake with Liza's boat, not that I would have known how to work it anyway. A soft splash sounded as the driver exited the boat. I was perversely gratified to think that the perp would be as cold and wet as I was. A stout stick lay on the ground just out of arm's reach. It wasn't much as a weapon, and it wasn't yet in hand, but I knew where it was if I needed it.

A dark figure emerged from the water. I had a sudden image of the Creature from the Black Lagoon and stifled a very inappropriate, semi-hysterical laugh. The figure moved purposefully and didn't seem to care how much noise he made. I could see around the tree trunk that it was a tall man, but the moon was to his back and the facial features were indistinguishable. He looked left, then apparently decided to head to the right. He switched on a flashlight and shined it into the cave. The angle was wrong for me to get even a glimpse of him. While he was inspecting the interior of the cave, I decided to chance reaching for the stick. I held on with one hand to the trunk of the tree, and leaned over precariously toward the stick. As I reached to pick it up, my grip on the dew-wet bark slipped and I fell over into the debris. A shot of pain ran through my arm as I landed on it.

The crash caused the kidnapper to look up. He shined the flashlight in a slow, broad arc. I lay still, damp, and cold as a dead fish. Fortunately or unfortunately, I had landed on my cudgel. The tingling in my arm made me wonder whether either the stick or my arm would be any use to me. There was virtually no chance that I would not be discovered. Should I go on the offensive? I might be able to use the element of surprise. I ventured a look up. My pursuer was nowhere to be seen and must be searching the woods nearer the cave.

The flashlight beam was not visible, so I gingerly sat up. My arm was sore and the probing fingers of my other hand traced the tender, raised ridge of a nasty scratch. I didn't feel any blood, which was good because I wasn't about to go ripping off pieces of my clothing for bandages like in some Wild West movie. I got up, brushed off the pine needles that had stuck to me, and looked around, my weapon in hand.

A cold wet hand caressed my shoulder. I screamed. I heard a dull thwack and the hand let go. I spun around, a hard lump of fear twisting through my innards, and looked into the upturned face of my mother-in-law.

NINETEEN

“Sophie!” I was so shocked to see her I croaked out the name. “Marina?” I looked from one to the other in disbelief. Sophie was holding an oar in both hands and using it to poke at a crumpled figure on the ground. The figure began to moan softly as she prodded.

“Serves you right,” she spat out. “Come on, Georgie, let's leave this place. It's starting to give me the spookies.” Marina nodded in agreement, her plastic rain bonnet sliding back and forth over her pin curls.

A wave of relief washed over me at being rescued, but was quickly replaced by anger. And curiosity. I grabbed the flashlight from Marina's hand and shined it down onto the face of Captain Jack Conway.

I knew it! I knew he had to be involved in this somehow. That cockamamie story about his dead friend's son was all fabricated to make me feel sorry for him. He must have managed to escape the clutches of Patty at the diner and followed me to the docks. I hadn't been exactly inconspicuous as I got the boat under way. He would have seen the
Heartsong
float off and figured that I was on it, so he could come and pick up his booty. He hadn't expected that I would be here stranded.

“Let's go, girls, before he wakes up.” They hooked elbows with each other in the Greek way and moved toward the channel side of the island, where it turned out there was a quite serviceable rocky natural dock on which they'd tied up a small motorboat. I'd apparently missed that on my circuits of the island in the bigger boat.

“Life jacket, please.” Marina handed me the flotation device, which glowed eerily orange in the bright moonlight.

Marina fired up the engine and deftly maneuvered us out into the main channel. We sped full throttle back toward Bonaparte Bay. My jaw clenched at the speed she was coaxing out of this little craft, but she seemed to know what she was doing. Sophie held on to her rain bonnet, which looked to be an exact match for Marina's, probably both purchased from the impulse-buy rack at the cash registers at Kinney's Drugstore. We didn't speak, as we would not have been able to hear one another over the high-pitched buzz of the motor. In no time we had pulled up at the Bonaparte Bay docks.

Marina opened up the diner and we sat in the back booth while she fired up the coffeepot. I went to the ladies' room in the back and washed up as well as I could. When I returned, Marina had produced a plate of this morning's cinnamon rolls, which she had sliced into round halves and grilled with butter. I ate hungrily and took a long sip of the hot liquid before I spoke.

“How in the world did you find me?” I forked in another delicious buttery bite and waited for an answer.

“You been acting funny, Georgie.” Sophie stared at me, her face unreadable. “I want to see where you go.”

The old biddy had been spying on me! But if she hadn't been so nosy, I'd still be on that island, injured. Or dead.

“Where I go is none of your business!” I was saying that a lot lately. Damn, but that woman could irk me.

She continued to stare at me. I stared back.

“You seeing that Keith guy.”

“I've told you before, and I'll tell you again. I am not seeing anybody.”
Yet
.

“What you doing in a boat? You don't know how to drive a boat.” She couldn't accuse me of that anymore, thank you very much. I'd done an okay job. Except for the property damage and the fact that said boat was currently missing in action.

“Sophie, how did you two find me?”

Marina let out a little giggle. “We don't go right back to my house. We decide to have dinner downtown. Your little blue car was down at the docks and along came Brenda.”

Brenda! I should have known.

“How much did you pay her?”

Sophie looked smug. “Very cheap. Only five dollars.”

Was I so uninteresting that information about me only cost five dollars? I was kind of offended.

“So what you doing out there at night?” Marina asked. “What happened to your boat?”

“It sort of floated away. I'll have to call Rick at the police station to let the towns upriver know to be on the lookout for it.”

“Hmm.” They both continued to stare at me.

“How come that guy was after you?” Sophie demanded. “I give him a good whack, didn't I?” she added. She sure had. I could hardly believe she had been able to generate enough force to knock out a man of Jack Conway's size. I wondered, not for the first time, whether she had something to do with Big Dom's death, then shook it off. This was my mother-in-law, whom I'd known for two decades. She was many things, but she wasn't a killer no matter how much she wanted a bigger piece of the Bonaparte Bay restaurant business. I hoped.

If I didn't give them something, they'd never leave this alone. “I was supposed to meet someone there. Someone who might”—I bit into the pastry—“have a message from Spiro.”

Four penetrating eyes, two chocolate brown and two olive green, glared back at me. “Why he no call himself?” Sophie asked, suspicion undisguised in her voice. “Why he no call his mother? Why he no call you? You're his wife.” Marina cut her eyes significantly to Sophie, and they exchanged glances. Good Lord! Could they possibly think I did not know that my husband preferred men?

“He forgot his cell phone.”

“He is dead!” Sophie shrieked. “He don't go nowhere without his phone!”

Marina patted her arm and cooed sympathetically.

I sighed. “Sophie, I think he's okay.” Not that I had any proof of that at all, just a gut feeling. “He should be back tonight. Maybe tomorrow.”

She looked up, hopeful. Her eyes narrowed again. “How you know this?”

“You'll just have to trust me.”

“Hmmmm.” She gave me another long look and then turned her attention to the tiny cup of thick, bitter liquid in front of her. I'd never developed a taste for Greek coffee myself.

“Sophie, you and Marina need to go back to Marina's house. I'll stay here and wait for Spiro.”

Her eyes narrowed. “You not gonna meet that Keith guy, are you?”

I sighed. “Sophie, I do not have any plans to meet anybody. I am going home to take a hot bath, get into my pajamas, and turn on a Lifetime channel movie while I wait for Spiro. Period.”

“I have spies, you know.” How well I knew the truth of that statement. “You call me as soon as you hear from him,” she demanded.

“It's very late. Let's all go now. I promise you I will call as soon as I know where he is.”
Let's just hope that's not floating belly-up like a dead muskellunge in the St. Lawrence
.

Sophie and Marina glanced at each other, and Sophie nodded. “Here. You take this.” Marina offered me a tiny gun with a pretty pearly grip. I'd never handled a firearm in my life, and I was afraid to touch it. “Take it,” she insisted. “You just take off the safety, point at the bad guy, and pull the trigger.” She sounded as though she were teaching a five-year-old.

“Is this thing legal?”

“Legal, shmegal. Who cares? You gotta take it.”

I looked from one senior citizen to the other and sighed, taking the gun and stowing it inside a paper bag Marina handed me since my purse was out on the river somewhere. Did I have it in me to use a gun? Hopefully I wouldn't have to find out.

The cousins got into Marina's car and drove away. I waited impatiently for a few minutes to make sure they didn't circle back, then headed for the Bonaparte House. My key clicked in the lock and the door swung open. Ghost be damned. I was going in.

No noises greeted me other than the hum of the coolers and the ice machine. I switched on all the lights, feeling only a bit guilty at the waste of electricity, and left them on behind me.

I reached the door to my office and pocketed my spare set of keys. I booted up my laptop and fired off a return message to the kidnapper, that criminal Jack Conway. “The package has been delivered. Return Spiro to me now.” I didn't care if the bossy tone of the e-mail angered him. Though maybe I should. Sophie had hit him pretty hard and he might take revenge on Spiro. Too late to think about that now. The e-mail was sent. As soon as I had my family safe, I was going to call every authority I could think of and get Conway's cute but sorry ass court-martialed.

Then I would get my table back, convince Sophie to sell it, and send her back to Greece more or less permanently. That should more than make up for the money Spiro took, if it couldn't be recovered. And as long as I paid her a percentage of the restaurant's profits and some rent while the place was closed for the winter, she could live in style and lord it over her Greek cousins for the rest of her days. I'd have to buy out Spiro, but I had some money saved and was pretty sure he might be receptive.

This whole ordeal had made it crystal clear to me that my life wasn't headed anywhere, and wasn't going anywhere unless I took some action. I loved this restaurant. I loved what I did and the people I worked with. But I deserved a life of my own. Keith had been right about that.

I dialed Cal's cell phone. She'd be working today, but I didn't care. “Mom! Hi! Is everything okay?” Her voice was tinny but I could detect a note of worry in it. How was I going to answer that question? Everything was definitely not okay, but it would be soon.

“Sure, sweetie,” I lied. “I haven't talked to you in so long, and I missed you, that's all.”

“I miss you too, Mom.”

“Everything's okay with you?”

“Oh sure, I'm busy, but that's good. Sakis is taking me out tonight.”

“That's great. Have fun.”

“Is Daddy there? Can I say hi?”

“Err, Daddy's gone out, but I'll tell him you said hello.” I paused. “Be careful, Cal.”

“Mom, I'm always careful.” Uh-huh. At nineteen, everyone is untouchable and immortal. Perhaps it was for the best that she didn't yet understand that life is precious and too short.

“You're at work. I'll let you go now. I love you.” I would never live long enough to say that enough times to my darling girl.

“I love you too, Mom. I'll see you when you get here for Christmas, unless I can swing a long weekend sometime between now and then.”

“Bye-bye, Cal.” I hated to let her go.

“Bye, Mom.”

*   *   *

I headed upstairs, stripped out of my still-damp-and-starting-to-smell clothes, and ran a hot shower. I looked longingly at my bed, unmade though it was. The prospect of snuggling in and watching a movie, as I had told Marina and Sophie I would, was infinitely tempting, but there was too much to do. I left my bedroom door open as well as the bathroom door to let the steam escape.

Jack Conway was out on Devil's Oven Island, and if he wasn't still conked out, he was no threat for a while. He'd wake up from his Sophie-induced nap with a nice headache and the horrifying realization (I felt a twinge of unwarranted sympathy) that he was stuck there. Before we left the island, we had taken the liberty of untying his lines. His boat was now headed toward a rendezvous with Liza's boat somewhere around Morristown by now. Of course, that meant that he would be unable to return Spiro until morning, but that wasn't a problem. I was about to take matters into my own hands.