Feta Attraction (18 page)

TWENTY

With the last of the St. Lawrence rinsed away, I toweled off and left a trail of wet footprints on the wooden floorboards as I crossed the room. I ran a comb through my hair, then tied it back with a scrunchie. It would dry funny and look wonky tomorrow, but it was good enough for my purposes tonight.

I hurriedly dressed in some of the clothes that had been thrown around by whoever had searched my room, doing my best to overcome my squeamishness about them because I had no choice. Picking up my spare keys from the dresser where I had left them, I headed back downstairs to the kitchen door, grabbing a fleece jacket somebody had left on the hooks near the walk-in. My body heat activated the odor of stale cigarette smoke trapped in the synthetic fibers, eliciting a grimace from me, but there was no time to look for a fresher coat. I locked the door behind me and made my way back to the docks, where my Honda sat as I had left it in the parking lot.

“Somebody was looking for you,” a voice said.

I started and turned to face Brenda.

“Uh, yeah. I could maybe tell you who it was . . .”

“That's all right. They found me.” Her face fell as the anticipated baksheesh wasn't forthcoming. “I'll see you, Brenda. Come by the restaurant on Saturday and I'll give you breakfast on the house.” Even though she'd ratted me out to Sophie and Marina, she'd also been the one who'd saved me from a long night of exposure to the elements and quite a bit of embarrassment the next morning. I guessed I could spare a couple of eggs and some toast.

She smiled. “Okay, thanks!” I doubted she'd remember, but she might just show up.

I keyed the lock and got into my beloved little car. I fished around in the glove compartment and came up with a can of windshield deicer. I shook it to see whether I would need to buy a new can come November and felt some liquid sloshing around. I tossed it back in and then found the tiny LED flashlight I knew had to be in there somewhere. It switched on and emitted a bright beam of light, so the batteries were good. My cell phone was gone, but I did have the little pistol Marina had given me shoved into my jeans pocket. I removed it gingerly, before I shot myself. Now that I was about to embark on a torrid love affair, I had a sudden interest in the well-being of my nether regions. I placed the gun in the center console and covered it up with a wad of Donut Dee Light napkins I'd picked up on my last trip to Watertown.

The drive north on Route 12 was silent on this trip to Sunshine Acres, no eighties music to distract me from my mission. About a mile out of town a soft metallic clink sounded from somewhere in the car. I stopped breathing to minimize the interior noise. There it was again. I focused my gaze to the dark road in front of me, wondering whether the car was about to break down. I nearly ran off the road when a face appeared in the mirror. I yanked the wheel to the right, slammed the car into park, grabbed the pistol, and spun in my seat.

“Don't shoot, Georgie! Jeezum, it's just me.”

My breath released in a whoosh. “Inky? What are you doing in my car? You scared the hell out of me!” I lowered the gun, but kept it in my lap.

“I've been trying to reach you for hours, but you didn't answer your phone, and you weren't at the restaurant. I saw you at the Pancake Heaven, but I didn't want to come in to meet the rest of the family without Spiro. Your car was in the parking lot so I knew you'd be back. It was getting chilly”—he did a little fake shiver—“so I decided to wait for you inside.” His voice was singsong-y and melodious and put me at ease. I was pretty sure Inky wouldn't hurt anybody, but it paid to be cautious.

“How did you get in?”

“Oh, I grew up in Bassport. They taught us how to break into cars as part of the kindergarten curriculum.”

“Why did you want to see me?” His lovesick expression told me what he would say even before the words came out.

“I miss Spiro. And I know he must be missing me. I can feel it right here.” He made a fist and tapped the left side of his chest. “Just like Jane Eyre and Mr. Rochester, but hopefully without the blindness and the horrible burn scars. I feel like he's calling me psychically. And I just wanted to know if you'd heard from him, not that I think he would call you before me, no offense.”

“None taken.”

“So, any news?”

I considered. He was going to throw a monkey wrench into my plans for tonight, no question. “Inky, I think I should take you home. I have somewhere to go tonight. If everything goes according to plan, Spiro will be home by morning.” I regretted my words.

“Plan? What plan? Why do we need a plan?”

“Not
we
, Inky. I need to do this alone.”

“Is this like a commando raid? Do you know where he is, and we're going to take him home by force? Is that why he hasn't called me? Is that why you have a gun? Ooh, that is so sexy! Count me in, baby!”

I was running out of time. I had to get this show on the road. A thought occurred to me. “Inky, do you have a phone?”

“Does a Kardashian know how to work a room? Are you kidding? Of course I have a phone.”

If I'd been smart I would have borrowed Sophie's phone, just to have it. I considered taking Inky's by force, then dumping him on the side of the road to find his own way home, but I couldn't help liking him. I sighed. “Okay, you can come with me. But you have to do as I say.”

“You're the boss. I can't wait to see Spiro again. Where are we going?” He climbed nimbly over the seat and deposited himself next to me.

“We are going to find Spiro.” I pulled out and drove north. “Next time, use the door, okay?”

“Like I said, you're the boss.”

*   *   *

Twenty minutes later we had pulled off on the side road leading to the farm. “We're on foot from here, Inky.”

“You have your gun, right? Did you bring one for me? I should have brought a weapon, shouldn't I? Damn! A stun gun, or a shiv—that's what I need. Do you see a shiv anywhere?”

“No. You don't need one. We're just going to go and look around. We're not going to hurt anybody.”
If we can help it
.

I calculated it was about a quarter mile to get to the Sunshine Acres compound. I breathed deeply of the cool air. A gentle breeze blew the stink of the smoky jacket behind me, making me feel cleaner. I looked up. The stars were an incredible sight. Here in the North Country where there is virtually no light pollution, the sheer number of twinkly orbs in the night sky is fascinating. Overwhelming, sometimes, if you're a city type.

Inky kept up a constant stream of chatter. “I was reading those papers in that folder in your car while I was waiting for you. It was über interesting! Like, did you know that your house was built for Napoleon, but he croaked”—he made a slashing motion across his heavily patterned throat—“before he could escape and come live in it?”

“Yes,” I answered absentmindedly. I considered switching on the little flashlight I'd brought, but decided against it. The stars reflected enough light to see by now that my eyes had adjusted.

“His friends put all these expensive furniture and paintings and things in the house for him, but he never got to use them. It's kind of sad. I bet that's where that painting of Napoleon came from in your front room.”

“Hmmm.” I don't recall Inky ever being in the Bonaparte House, so how would he know about that painting unless Spiro brought him in? On second thought, I did not want to know any more. The guy could talk; that was for sure. I was searching my memory for the layout of the farm. There were about a half dozen buildings, some of which—the dormitory-like residence for example—I would not be able to search because there would be people sleeping in there. These were farmers and it was the height of their work season. They would not be staying up late. I judged it unlikely that Spiro would be hidden there anyway. I doubted that the whole commune was in on the business that was going on here. More likely he would be hidden somewhere in one of the little-used outbuildings.

“Did you know he had a brother? Well, lots of brothers. And sisters too?”

“I think I knew that.” We'd start with the big barn to rule that out. There couldn't be that many hiding places in a big open space.

“And as he conquered countries, he made his brothers kings. His oldest brother was the king of Spain. His name was Joseph, but his real name was Giuseppe, which he should have kept, in my opinion. It's so much more romantic, don't you think?”

“Uh, sure.” The smaller buildings might be more problematic. I had no idea what they were used for, so I couldn't predict how extensive the search was going to have to be.

“Joseph owned lots of land in this area. Well, farther north, up by Harrisville and Natural Bridge. Lake Bonaparte is named after him. There's supposed to be a cave there named after him too. Ooh, just last week I was reading about a cute little bed-and-breakfast on Lake Bonaparte. They'll lend you a boat so you can go explore the lake. Do you think you can spare Spiro for a night or two when we get him back? I could call in somebody from my shop in Watertown to cover for me here.”

“Yeah, sure,” I repeated. Spare Spiro from the restaurant? I thought that could be arranged, seeing as how we hadn't needed him at all during the days he'd been gone.

Inky prattled on. “Guess how he bought all the land up here? The Spanish kicked him out as their king, and he escaped with the Spanish crown jewels! They say he sold them so he had wads of cash to buy whatever he wanted. He built a hunting lodge on Lake Bonaparte—well, it was called Lake Diana then—and he had a gondola that he had himself rowed around in, and he used to wear a green velvet hunting suit. How tacky! Can you imagine? And he and his mistress and their daughter would go on picnics and he'd wear that awful suit and eat off gold plates out in the woods. Did you know he had an American daughter? Well, he had two daughters, but one got killed as a little girl when a flowerpot fell on her head. The one that lived married some loser guy that spent all her money and they lived in Oxbow. A Bonaparte in Oxbow? Have you ever been to Oxbow? That's hard to believe.”

By now we had reached the driveway to Sunshine Acres. I lowered my voice. “Inky, we can't talk anymore, okay? We are going to search these buildings for Spiro, but we have to be quiet. That means no talking. Or we could put him in danger.” Or ourselves.

“Got it, sweetie. My lips are like totally zipped.” I waited. There it was, the zipping motion across his lips. The muscles of his inked arms exploded into an impressive display of biceps, triceps, and deltoids. I could see why Spiro was attracted to him. He was certainly fit.

“Let's go.”

We walked up the grass along the side of the driveway, sticking as close to the line of trees as possible to avoid being seen. We passed the large rocky enclosure where the goats were kept. The animals must be in for the night. The large front doors of the big barn were closed, of course, and I just knew they would make a big squeaky noise when they were opened. We slipped around the corner looking for a side door, which I knew had to be here somewhere. Locating it, I put my ear up to the wood, heard nothing, and lifted the latch. The door swung open a crack. I peeked inside, being careful to keep most of my body hidden by the door. The coast seemed clear, so I motioned for Inky to follow me.

The building was large and cavernous, the air black and thick and unlit by the stars outside. The soft fluttering of wings sounded overhead. Ugh!
Please, not bats.
I had to risk turning on my little flashlight or we'd never be able to find our way around in here. I switched it on and its bluish beam cut through the darkness. I swung it around in a semicircle.

We were in an equipment storage building. In the center of the space were tractors in many shapes and sizes, giant scary machines with big toothy appendages out front, which I imagined were used for harvesting crops or tilling the soil. Surely Spiro wouldn't be hidden inside those machines, so I turned the beam on the walls. We walked around the perimeter of the building, searching for any nooks or crannies or interior doors. About halfway around we found a door. I opened it, then jumped back as an avalanche of wooden poles fell out with a deafening clatter that reverberated around the barn. Another flutter of wings heading in the direction of the driveway end of the barn made me look up. I shined the flashlight up toward the peak of the roof and, sure enough, about a million bats were now exiting the building through a ventilation window. I shuddered, steeled my nerves, then directed the beam down on the tangled pile of rakes and hoes and other wooden-handled farm implements that was now resting at my feet.