The Divided Child (25 page)

           
His
eyes glinted angrily in the moonlight.
 
"No?
 
And how would you
describe it?"

           
"I'd
had a shock, that's all."

           
"A
shock?" he said sharply.
 
"What type of shock?"

           
I
bit my lip.
 
"Not a shock,
really.
 
Just an unpleasant
surprise.
 
I overreacted."

           
"Overreacted
to
what
?"

           
"Does
it matter?"

           
"Christine!"

           
"Oh,
all right.
 
While I was gone
tonight, someone went in my room and tore things up a bit."

           
He
stood there a moment, his expression frozen.
 
Then without a word he swept past me and started up the path
to the house.

           
"Where
are you going?" I called out.
 
He didn't answer.
 
I ran to catch
up with him, lowering my voice to a frantic whisper.
 
"Wait!
 
Geoffrey, please!
 
Someone
may hear you!"

           
My
pleas had no effect.
 
Except,
perhaps, that he stepped a little more lightly as he mounted the stairs to the
porch two steps at a time.
 
I pulled
off my shoes and ran after him.

           
The
French windows still stood open.
 
I
followed him inside and heard him swear as he caught his first glimpse of the
havoc.
 
He began circling the room,
picking up my cut-up purse, a torn-up book, my red-splattered dresses.
 
As he picked up these last, I saw the
color drain from his face.
 
"It's only

nail-polish," I assured him.

           
"And
next time?" he demanded harshly.

           
I
pointed to the mirror and my passport propped neatly underneath.
 
"I'm sure it was just meant to scare
me.
 
To chase me away.
 
I doubt whoever did this means me any
real harm."

           
"I'm
not about to put it to the test."

           
"Meaning?"

           
His
voice rose impatiently.
 
"You're leaving here tonight.
 
Now.
 
With me."

           
"Keep
your voice down!"
 
Shutting
the French doors behind me, I crossed to the bathroom door and closed it tight,
too.
 
"Have you
forgotten?
 
Spiro's room is right
next door!"

           
He
grimaced.
 
"I don't care
whether he hears me or not.
 
After
you've gone --"

           
"Geoffrey,
I'm not going anywhere."

           
“Yes,
you are.”
 
The expression in his
green eyes was determined.

           
"No,
I’m not.
 
I’m not about to cut and
run after the first little scare.
 
Do you think I want to give the person who did this --"
 
I looked around at my wrecked
belongings and felt the first stirrings of anger.
 
"Do you think I want to give that person the
satisfaction of frightening me away?"

           
"This
isn't a game, Christine."

           
"Don't
you think I know that?
 
I may be
stubborn; I'm not stupid.
 
I know
the danger is real.
 
But don't you
see?
 
Someone is awfully anxious to
chase me away.
 
Well, then, there
has to be a reason.
 
Perhaps my
being here is gumming up the works; perhaps it’s even protecting Michael in
some small way.
 
If that's the
case, what's going to happen if I just up and leave?"

           
His
mouth twisted in surprise, and he ran a distracted hand through his hair.
 
"You've hardly even seen
him."

           
"True,"
I admitted.
 
"But that might
change.
 
Besides, it's possible
just my being here is enough to make our attacker think twice.
 
I'm an outsider, a witness, and I'm
keeping my eyes and ears open to find out anything I can.”

           
“That’s
what worries me,” he said grimly.

           
“Look,”
I said.
 
“We both know the only way
to stop whoever's after Michael is to figure out why someone wants to kill
him.
 
Since you're the one who gets
his money if he dies, money can't be the motive, unless . . ."

           
His
voice was flat and void of inflection, "Unless what, Christine?"

           
"Geoffrey,
I'm sorry, but I have to ask: where did you go last night after you left me in
the Achilleon gardens?"

           
"Well,
let's see.
 
I nipped round to the
car park, stole a car, and tried to run Michael down.
 
Then I hurried back to my hotel for a nightcap with Demetra."

           
"Geoffrey,
please!
 
Be fair!
 
You're the only one with an obvious
motive, and you were right there at the Achilleon about the time the car was
stolen."

           
"So
was Skouras!
 
Have you asked
him
where he was?"

           
"No,”
I said.
 
“I thought that might not
be such a smart thing to do.
 
I
figured you'd have a perfectly innocent answer; I wasn't sure he would.”

           
He
flashed me a rueful look.
 
"I'm sorry.
 
You're
right, it's a reasonable enough question.
 
If you must know the awkward truth, I spent the time in question lurking
in the shrubbery -- keeping an eye on you.
 
I wanted to make sure Skouras behaved himself."

           
I
felt an odd pang at the thought, and forced a smile.
 
"I wish I'd seen you.
 
It must have made quite a picture."

           
"Shall
we change the subject?"
 

           
"Sure."
 
I was just as glad to think of other
things.
 
I looked around the room, almost
grateful it was such a distracting sight.
 
"Well,” I said, “at least now the police will have to take this
thing seriously.
 
Even Lieutenant
Mavros can't claim this mess happened by accident."

           
"Was
anyone with you when you found the room like this?"

           
"No."

           
"Not
even Skouras?"

           
I
shook my head.
 
"When I took
my leave of Spiro, he was sprawled on his bed, dead to the world."

           
A
muscle twitched in Geoffrey's cheek.
 
"I see."

           
I
said in exasperation, “He was passed-out drunk."

           
"That
explains everything, of course."

           
"It
should," I said impatiently.
 
"Anyway, why does it matter if there was someone with me or
not?"

           
"It
would be helpful if there was someone to back up your story."

           
"Why
does it need backing up?
 
Don't you
believe me?"

           
"What
I believe is irrelevant.
 
All that
matters is what the Lieutenant believes, and without someone to corroborate
your story, he may choose to believe you faked this all yourself."

           
"Why
would I trash my own room, destroy my own things?"

           
"So
you could point an accusing finger at Demetra and her household?”
 
Seeing my expression, he reached out
and touched my hand.
 
“I'm just
speculating as to what Mavros may think or my dear sister-in-law may
claim."

           
I
realized he was right.
 
I could
just picture Lieutenant Mavros gazing around the room with skepticism and
suspicion.
 
Suddenly, I felt very
tired.
 
I walked over to the bed,
pushed one of the suitcases aside, and sat down.
 
"So what am I supposed to do?" I asked.

           
"Leave,"
he said.

           
"I
told you, I'm not going anywhere."

           
"Christine,
please!
 
If you're right, if your
presence here
is
hampering our would-be murderer, he or she may try more
direct methods next time to remove you from the scene."

           
"It's
possible," I admitted, staring down at my hands.
 
"But if I run away and something happens to Michael, I
don't think I'll sleep very well at night."

           
He
tilted up my chin so I was forced to look into his eyes. "And how well do
you think I'll sleep if something happens to you?"

           
I
bit my lip and said nothing.

           
He
muttered something under his breath, pushed the other suitcase aside, and sat
down next to me.
 
"Very well,
if you're determined to stay, we'd better decide on a course of action.
 
What do you plan to do about all
this?"
 
He gestured to the
chaos in front of us.

           
"I
don’t know.
 
If it won't do any
good to go to the police, I guess I'll just clean it up."

           
He
nodded, looking thoughtful.
 
"That might not be a bad strategy.
 
This was meant to frighten you away.
 
If, come morning, you're still here and
acting as if nothing happened, Demetra may get rattled and reveal herself in
some way."

           
"Demetra?
 
You think she did this?"

           
"It
had to be somebody in the house.
 
Somebody who knew you would be away from
Ithaki
for the requisite
amount of time.
 
Somebody who could
persuade Skouras to keep you safely occupied."

           
"But
Spiro didn't tell his sister we were going out."

           
"He
probably didn't have to,” Geoffrey said.
 
“She was probably the one who suggested it in the first place."

           
"All
right, let's say she was the one who did this to my room.
 
What about the attempts on
Michael?
 
She was right there when
that car almost ran him down.
 
She
couldn't have been driving it."

           
"True.
 
But her brother could have.
 
You yourself know he was gone long
enough from the Achilleon to have done it."

           
I
nodded.
 
"But I still don’t
see why he should.
 
What motive
does he have for hurting Michael?"

           
Geoffrey
frowned.
 
"Robert's made the
same point.
 
I keep thinking it
must have something to do with my brother’s death.
 
But Spiro wasn't even in England when he died."

           
"Maybe
Demetra did something to your brother's car,” I suggested, “and Michael knows
something about it."

           
"It
certainly would supply a motive,” he agreed. “The only problem is that Michael
couldn’t know anything.
 
He was at
school -- forty miles away -- the day my brother died."

           
I
sighed.
 
"It’s so
frustrating.
 
Everytime I think
we’re getting somewhere there’s a new piece that doesn’t fit."

           
"I
know,” he said, “but my money's still on Skouras.
 
I don't suppose you've learned anything more about his
financial state?"

           
"As
a matter of fact, I have.
 
It turns
out he does need money -- fast.
 
Thirty thousand pounds to be exact."

           
Geoffrey's
eyes opened wide and he let out a low whistle.
 
"All right, Sherlock!
 
Would you care to explain how you found
that
out?"

           
I
grinned.
 
"Elementary, my dear
Watson.
 
I eavesdropped on Spiro
asking Robert for a loan."