Killing Her Softly (21 page)

The settee out of the way, she stood back, her hands on his hips. “That leaves the armoire. I think we might need a block and tackle to get it out of there."

So far they had only uncovered a sturdy wooden wall that matched the walls around the rest of the wine cellar. And there wasn't enough space for a mouse to get behind the armoire.

Leslie suddenly snapped her fingers. “A secret door."

To Simon's surprise, she snatched the flashlight from him, opened the door and clambered on top of the wine crate. A moment later, she cried out in triumph. “I knew reading all those mysteries would come in handy someday. I found something."

She jumped off the crate, swiping at the cobwebs draped stickily across her face. “I suppose those don't mean no one's been here."

Grinning, Simon shook his head. “That many cobwebs can be rebuilt overnight. What did you find?"

"Help me move that crate, and we'll see."

They set the crate on top of the settee, raising new clouds of dust. Reaching into the armoire, Leslie tugged at the back panel. It moved outward in eerie, well-oiled silence, revealing a door fitted with a shiny brass cylinder lock. “Now what would that be?"

Simon crowded in beside her, the clean scent of him tickling her nostrils and setting up little shock waves in her belly. “Could be a passage,” he said. “These houses often had hidden exits in case of war or revolution. Or it's the entrance to a bomb shelter. Lots of people built them in the fifties."

"But the lock is new."

"So are several other things in the house,” Simon said. “Jason lived here openly before his windsurfing accident. He might have done some repairs. Do you have the keys? Let's try them."

None of them fit the lock, not even close. “I wonder if Jason had another set of keys, besides the ones I found,” Simon said. “Maybe we should give Jimmy a call. Oh, and let's bring up that box with Jason's papers in it."

With a cursory look at the rebuilt coal chute, they went upstairs, locking the doors after them.

"Of course, with Jason dead,” Simon said, “there may be no need to lock everything all the time."

"
If
he was the one coming in, and
if
no one else has a key,” Leslie pointed out.

Simon's eyes softened. “You're right, Leslie. It's better if you don't take any chances."

He moved to the telephone and called the police station. When he came back, he found Leslie standing in front of the open fridge door, contemplating its meager contents. He reached around her and closed the door. “I'll take you out for dinner."

"What did Jimmy say?"

"He said whatever personal effects they find in Jason's pockets will be returned when the body is brought back here from Kerkira."

"How soon will that be?"

"A couple of days, he figures. Oh, and Cecil's not in. We'll get him tomorrow."

Leslie plucked her dusty shirt away from her chest. “Just let me take a shower before we go out."

"Want me to scrub your back for you?” he asked, grinning.

Heat kindled in her eyes, then died. “I want to see Eugenia before we go, return her watch."

Simon's grin slipped. “Last night happened, Leslie. It's too late for regrets."

"It's also too soon after Jason's death."

"You didn't love him."

"I cared for him,” she stated. “Please, Simon. I need time."

He walked over and kissed her, his mouth moving gently on hers, promising passion. For an instant she leaned into him, but then she pulled away. “I'll be right back."

"Okay.” He tapped his fingers on the box he'd set on the table. “I'll go put this in the car. No one will know it's there, and it'll be handy to take to Papadopoulos."

Simon carried the box outside, his thoughts on Leslie. When would she trust him, know that he wasn't like Jason? At least Jason wouldn't be back to haunt them again. The thought gave him a perverse satisfaction, followed by shame that he didn't feel deeper sorrow for a life ended too soon, by violence.

On the other hand, every indication pointed to Jason's being involved with some rather unsavory people. Like Harlan Gage, for instance.

Simon had called a friend in Athens to run a check on Gage. The man had a string of arrests, a couple of convictions for petty crime in England, but all along there were suspicions of connections to bigger, more organized illegal operations. Just no proof.

They might never find the answers, now that Jason was really dead. Papadopoulos would get the estate settled, Leslie would sell the house—there was no way he could see that she could afford to keep it—and she would leave.

Pain twisted inside him. No wonder he'd grown quickly bored with the other women he'd known. He'd been waiting for Leslie; their meeting had been fated. And he knew he'd never feel this way—confused, intrigued, challenged, and happy—with any other woman.

He locked the back door, and waited for her in the front hall.

What if he told her he loved her?

At that revolutionary thought, his heart leaped. Before he could examine this idea, he heard footsteps coming down the stairs. His heart jumped again.

She was so beautiful, the elegant angles of her face softened by the dim golden light that suffused the house at sunset. Her hair floated loose on her shoulders, like that of a fairy princess in a child's storybook. He caught the fragrance of gardenias from her soap, and he wanted to carry her back upstairs and love her until they both were sated. Until she would promise to stay forever.

Stunned by the intensity of his emotions, he took refuge in levity. “You clean up nice, Leslie.” He offered his arm, and she tucked her hand into his elbow. “Shall we go?"

"We need to talk to Eugenia,” Leslie said. “About Allegra."

"We'll stop there before I go home to change."

Simon was silent during most of their dinner at the taverna. Leslie, her mind filled with the conversation she'd had with Eugenia, hardly noticed. But when the waiter brought their after-dinner coffee, she shook herself back to the present. “We have to talk."

He smiled faintly, enigmatically. “Yes. There has to be a connection between all the things that have been happening. We have to find it."

"Eugenia was out when Jason was shot,” Leslie said. “So she didn't see anything."

"What about Allegra?"

"She's not sure, says she may have been a long ago guest at the house. Could have been calling herself Allie or something.” She leaned forward. “Actually, she suggested we ask Cecil about her."

"Good idea.” Simon nodded. “I've been wanting to talk to him myself. That path, and a few other things."

Leslie's brow furrowed. “She also mentioned Eva, Jason's first wife.” She gave a short, humorless laugh. “She implied there might have been something between Eva and Cecil. Isn't that too fantastic?"

Simon didn't laugh. “Maybe it's not."

Leslie shrugged. “Anyway, I also asked about the repaired coal chute. Eugenia thinks it was done last February."

Last February, when numerous visitors had come to Jason's house at all hours of the night. Well. it could wait until morning. He'd rather tackle it in daylight.

They had barely entered the kitchen and locked the back door when the lights went out. Lightning stitched across the sky, followed by a low roll of thunder. Simon looked up. “Could be a storm. I thought I saw it rising over the sea."

He jiggled the flashlight he held. “Wait here. I'll check the fuses."

"Be careful."

"Aren't I always?” He lifted her palm and placed a kiss in it, giving her a wink heavy with innuendo. Little lightning bursts went off inside her, as if the storm had invaded her body.

He was back in a moment. “The breaker's on, so it must be a generalized power failure."

Leslie stood by the window, looking out toward the street. The stillness of her body seemed unnatural, and he hurried to her side. “Leslie, what is it?"

Then he saw what held her attention. Street lamps glowed faintly through the trees. He went into the dining room. Yes, lights were still on all over the village.

"Simon, what did Cecil do before he retired?” Leslie had her arms wrapped protectively around her waist.

"Cecil?” He frowned. “I think he was an engineer. Yes, that's it, an electrical engineer."

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Leslie gasped. “You mean Cecil is the one behind all this?"

Simon frowned skeptically. “I hate to think that. He's a bit eccentric, but essentially harmless. He's lived here for years without a hint of trouble."

"Still, Eugenia doesn't like him, and she seems a pretty good judge of character.” Leslie bit her lip. “His eyes are strange, as if they've forgotten how to laugh. Eyes are important in figuring out what goes on in a person's head."

"That may be.” Simon's frown deepened. “But I think motivation is more important, if we're considering suspects. Harlan Gage, for instance. He wants something from the house, has been snooping around several times that we know of, and who knows how many times that we don't."

Simon shoved his hands into his pockets and hunched his shoulders. In the dim, intermittent light from lightning flashes, his face looked troubled. A heavy click from the pantry had him spinning his head around. “Is there another flashlight?"

"Yes, on the pantry shelf, next to the fuse box."

He strode into the pantry. Leslie heard something fall and roll away, and a muffled curse from Simon. Then the light came on, a long beam causing her shadow to loom over her, dark and distorted. The beam veered away from her, and she saw him concentrating it on the fuse box.

A moment later, the house lights came on.

Simon came out, dropping the flashlight on the kitchen table. “That's weird. When I looked before, I'm sure the main breaker was in the On position, yet the lights were off. Just now, though, the breaker was off. I turned it back on, and we've got lights again."

"Is it possible to rig the lights so someone outside the house could turn them on and off whenever they wanted? Or give me a shock, like the light switch did the first evening?"

"These days, anything's possible,” Simon said. “But let's not be too hasty to blame Cecil. I think Gage lied about this being his first visit. I wouldn't be surprised if Gage was in and out of this house quite often when Jason was living here."

"You mean you've seen him before?"

"No, I haven't. Gage first arrived in the village publicly a few days before you came. However—” He paused significantly. “However, Gage could have been here dozens of times without any of the villagers seeing him, if he came in a car and drove straight here. This house is pretty isolated. You don't have to drive through the village if you come from Kerkira. Even on the bus, you could be let off in any number of places rather than the square. The drivers are quite agreeable about that."

"But if Gage had a key, why knock on the door when he wanted to come into the house?"

"To throw off suspicion? To make sure no one could pin anything on him?” He raked his fingers through his hair, clearly uncomfortable.

"What is it?” Leslie asked, alarmed.

"Leslie, I don't want you to take this wrong, but I've done some checking on our Mr. Gage. He could have rigged the lights. He's had quite a bit of electronic experience, most notably with house alarms and how to bypass them."

A cold fist clenched in Leslie's stomach. “What are you, some kind of cop? Not that I would hold it against you, but you might have told me. I don't like the feeling that you've been lying to me."

He briefly squeezed his eyes shut. “Leslie, I haven't been lying to you, but it's time you knew that I've been looking for Jason ever since he supposedly died in the windsurfing accident. There was something going on here that a division of the national police wanted investigated—suspected smuggling. One of my cousins works in that department, and last winter he asked me to keep an eye on Jason."

"Does Jimmy know this?” Leslie asked, keeping her voice steady. If she didn't think, she wouldn't have to face the reality that she had fallen for another man who had hidden things from her. And this time she wasn't sure she would recover. This time her heart was fully involved.

"No. I'm not doing this in an official capacity."

"Why are you doing it at all?"

"I told you, to help out my cousin. There wasn't enough evidence to appoint a special investigator—like many government agencies, they're chronically shorthanded."

"So you volunteered."

"You might say that. I was here, and I also have this conviction that I don't want my town to become a haven for criminals or a place where illegal activity can go on without anyone noticing."

"Jason wasn't a criminal.” Leslie voice rose in indignation. But at the same time, her shoulders slumped. How did she know? “I suppose you're going to tell me Gage is a known felon,” she said in a resigned tone.

Simon rubbed the bridge of his nose. “I'm afraid so. That's why I insisted on staying in the house with you. In case he decided to break in one night. I wouldn't have put it past him. After all, you'd been warned to leave."

"By Gage?” she asked through stiff lips. Her body functions seemed to have gone on hold, and her chest hurt when she breathed. “Was last night part of your job, too?” she blurted out over the pain flooding through her.

Simon grasped her by the shoulders. “Leslie,” he said tightly, “last night had nothing to do with Jason, my cousin, or any job. Last night was just us, you and me, making love."

"Why should I believe you?"

"Because it's true. Leslie—” No, he couldn't tell her. She'd never believe him. In fact, it would seem as if he'd made it up on the spot, to keep her from kicking him out.

He hauled in a deep breath. “I don't know if Gage is the one who warned you to leave. He's a crack shot, though. He could have killed Jason, but then, I suspect Cecil also owns a rifle. He used to hunt in his younger days. And Eugenia, oddly enough, also knows how to shoot. Her late husband belonged to a rifle club and taught her."

Leslie's eyes widened in disbelief. “That nice, gentle lady? Come on, Simon, give me a break."